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The first thing he hears upon coming back to consciousness is “Rock, paper, scissors!”
Everything's dark, though, so he can't tell who's speaking. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realize this is because he has his eyes closed.
When he opens them, he sees Jason and Tim standing in front of him. Jason’s brandishing the scissors symbol before Tim’s paper in victory .
“Fuck,” Tim says. “This is why I never come out onto the field,”
Dick wants to ask what happened? but his mouth doesn’t seem to work, so what comes out is: “Whh’pen?”
Jason and Tim’s heads snap around to look at him.
“Robin!” They both exclaim, crowding up on him and looking concerned. The loudness makes Dick’s head hurt, and he winces a bit.
They both draw back immediately, looking anxious.
“Hey,” Tim says, in a much softer tone. “How are you feeling?”
Dick blinks. With a hand, he reaches up and touches the throbbing spot on his forehead; it doesn’t come away with blood, which is nice, but it still hurts like hell. He groans.
“Just dandy,” he says.
Tim gives him a reassuring smile. “You gave us a scare there,” he says, smoothing down Dick’s hair. Even the slight pressure of Tim’s hand through his fringe makes Dick’s head hurt, but it also feels pretty nice, so Dick screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe through it.
“What happened?” he asks again. He’s pleased to find that his tongue works now.
Jason scowls. "One of the thugs had a tranq gun," he says, and, oh, that's right, Dick remembers now. They had been in the middle of a battle. Had he gotten knocked out?
Geez, that's really embarrassing.
"I guess they wanted to take us as hostages, but the idiot missed me and Oracle. He got a lucky shot on you," Jason continues.
Knocked out by a tranquilizer. Dick can't tell whether that's more or less embarrassing than being straight up knocked out. At least Damian hadn't been here to witness it.
That still doesn't explain why his head hurt so much though.
"Head hurts a lot," he mumbles. He doesn't really want to admit it, but it's not like Tim and Jason can't tell. It's gotta be pretty obvious from the way he's acting. Ugh, he hates being injured. He remembers injuries at the circus were always followed by bedrest and physical therapy, and that was with his parents, who were normal about these things. Everybody here is still half convinced he'll shatter if he gets clipped. It'll be a mess. He'll probably get handcuffed to a hospital bed.
Tim sighs and says, "You hit your head when the guy dropped you." He runs a finger along Dick's crown, probably checking for blood. Dick manages to not wince this time. Progress.
Jason snorts, which immediately pisses Dick off. Leaning over to pull at his cheek a bit, Jason says, "I don't know how it did so much damage considering you were falling your own tiny height,"
Dick scrunches up his nose at Jason and bats his hand away.
"Don't be mean, Ares," Tim says, but he's grinning. Traitor. Dick is sick of them both. He closes his eyes. Hmmph.
"Hey," Tim says. "Keep your eyes open, Robin. We aren't sure if you have a concussion or not,"
"There is no way that taking that fall gave him a concussion," Jason says, but he sounds worried anyway. Jason’s so full of shit. To prove Dick’s point, he follows up with: "Should we call Agent A?"
"We can handle a mild concussion by ourselves," Tim replies, but his eyes do stray to his phone. "Robin, do you remember everything that happened before?"
Actually, Dick does. Dick, being the intelligent, analytical and observant guy that he is, has over the course of this conversation come to the conclusion that he's got a headache at worst. He doesn't have any gaps in his memory, and the pain has been steadily lessening, and he's thinking with perfect clarity.
He doesn't have a concussion. He says, "I don't have a concussion,"
The look on Jason and Tim's faces tells him they don't believe him.
"Well," Jason says dubiously, "You're at least coherent enough to deny it,"
Tim frowns. "I've read about people who hit their heads, develop a blood clot and never realize, and then just drop dead one day."
Jason and Dick both look at Tim in horror.
"What the fuck shit are you reading?" Jason stammers. "Oh my god, I'm calling Agent A,"
"I'm not going to drop dead from a blood clot!" Dick protests, because holy moly overreaction, Tim!
Tim puts his hands up in the hair. "I'm just saying!" he replies. "I've heard that it can happen!"
Tim is supposed to be the smart one of the family. Oh my god. Dick is doomed. His future is full of being trapped under quilts and locked out of the gym. He's never going to make it out alive.
The next day, Damian, in his full Shadow attire, drops in on them without warning. It's a habit of his that has only gotten more annoying as the years go by, because Tim is formally trained in being sneaky now and should really be able to hear him coming.
Damian snaps, "Why does nobody in this wretched place tell me anything?"
Tim sighs and crosses his arms.
"Hello, Shadow. You're back early," he deadpans. "How was Chicago? Gotham has been lovely. Oh, I'm fine, thank you, how have you been?"
Damian sends him a glare. "If it's been so lovely, then why did I have to find out from Red Hood that Robin was injured yesterday on patrol?"
Tim has no idea how Steph found out. He hadn't told her. Did Jason? Why was Jason spreading this information? Did Tim's life mean nothing to him?
Cass frowns. "Robin was injured yesterday?"
Yeah, Tim is a little screwed.
"Under Oracle's supervision, no less," Damian spits. He looks at Tim. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"My official statement on the matter," Tim says, "is that I want to be an only child again. Did you really come back from Chicago for this?"
Cass, looking more perturbed by the minute, says, "Is that why he's been acting weird?"
"He's been acting weird?" Tim and Damian demand at the same time.
Cass nods. Tim feels the dread run down his spine. Why did he believe Dick when he said he was okay? He had known he should've called Leslie!
"He's been… upset, I think. He stayed in bed all day today and hasn't spoken to anybody."
"Oh my god," Damian hisses, turning to Tim. "What did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything!" Tim protests. "He got knocked on the head a little last night, and we were worried he had a concussion, but we had Agent A check him over and he was declared okay!"
The extent of Alfred's diagnosis had been taking it easy the next day. There hadn't been any call for bed rest, or no moving, or anything.
"His condition must have worsened today," Damian says. It's a little harder to tell through his mask, but he seems agitated. Restless. One of the most striking things about Damian is his constant composure, so seeing the anxious energy in his actions is… worrying.
Then again, it's Dick. Tim gets it.
Damian says, "Are you not aware that head injuries can lead to hidden blood clots that end up causing irreparable damage?"
Tim hates that Damian of all people is the one to corroborate him on the blood clot thing. He's torn between agreeing, because he literally said that last night, and disagreeing, because it's Damian.
In the end, what he says is a terse, "The blood clot issue has already been covered."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Damian says.
Cass now looks significantly more concerned. "Should we check up on him?" she asks.
"Perhaps a call to Leslie is in order," Damian mutters, pulling his phone out of his costume's belt.
Cass shakes her head. She puts a hand over Damian's. "Let's check," she says. "Robin will not like it if we call without talking to him."
Damian looks like he wants to protest, but Cass' logic is sound, and even he can see that.
Tim gives himself a second to be deeply envious of how well Cass can get through to Damian, and then he lets it go.
He has a little brother to check up on. He shouldn't have left the Manor so quickly after they had gotten Dick home. He's going to fix this, and then he's going to go and mope about the state of his family life all he wants in the peace of his own tower.
It's a plan. Of sorts.
When Alfred gives him the all-clear and declares him perfectly healthy, outside of a soon-to-be bruise on his forehead, Dick thinks that will be the end of it.
Clearly, he underestimates this household. He wakes up the next morning with a glorious purple-green-gray bruise on his head, and an awkward Jason hovering by his bedside.
Jason takes one look at him, hiw brow pinched, and says, “Maybe you should stay here today. And skip patrol tonight.” It’s almost sweet. Dick’s got a mental tally of all the times people in this household have shown him emotion, and Jason’s in the lead, even if all of his displays are first accompanied with blustering and mockery.
Still, Dick decides then and there that he’s not going to let this happen. His headache went away after fifteen minutes, his bruise only hurts when he presses on it, and he refuses to stay inside for no reason. Inside Wayne Manor sucks. Outside Wayne Manor rules.
Eyeing Jason, Dick sighs and flops back onto his bed. “Maybe I should,” he says, in his best I’m-the-baby-of-the-family voice. “Geez louise, I’m tired.”
Jason immediately backs away from the bed, like he thinks his mere presence is detrimental. He says, “Sounds like a plan, Dickie. I’ll bring your breakfast up here, okay?”
Dick burrows into the covers. Peeking out with one eye, he says, “Okay.”
Jason smiles at him, something kind of helpless. Dick feels a little bad lying to him after seeing that expression. Jason must really be fond of him, to smile at him like that. It makes Dick feel warm. Maybe that’s just the blankets over his head.
“Rest up, kiddo,” Jason says.
By the time Jason returns with the breakfast tray, Dick is long gone. Honestly, if they didn't want him to sneak out, they wouldn't have made it so easy.
When Damian, Cass and Tim storm in through the front door, Jason knows he’s fucked.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he says immediately, just to get that out of the way. Damian narrows his eyes at him.
“I will deal with you later,” Damian says, and if Jason didn’t know any better, he would be scared. He knows better though, so all he does is huffs at Damian in response.
“We’re here to see Dick,” Cass says. She pauses. “I did not know he was injured.”
There’s the slightest, slightest bit of accusation in her tone. Jason feels a little bad, and then realizes he’s being manipulated. There’s a glint in Cass’ eye, her detective look, the one she gets when she’s trying to get to the bottom of something. Jason will not be fished for for information.
He says, “Tim made me promise to not say anything,”
“You’re such a fucking snitch,” Tim snaps. “We had a mutual agreement!”
“Both of you, shut up,” Damian says. “I should’ve been notified immediately. It is clear that I am the only person around here competent enough to look after Richard’s wellbeing.”
Cass clears her throat. Damian meets her gaze, and they have an intense and brief staring match. Jason’s money is on Cass.
Damian narrows his eyes and says, “I revise my statement.” Cass nods. Fuck yeah. W for him.
Jason asks, “How did you find out anyway?”
Damian draws himself up to his full height, which he only does when he’s monumentally pissed about something. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Stephanie informed me.”
Yeah. That would do it. No wonder Damian’s mad.
Tim interjects, “And since you’re the person who spilled to Steph, you’re double the snitch, and you broke our agreement first, and this is your fault.”
Jason splutters. “I haven’t spilled to anybody! Fuck you, Tim, she’s your ex-girlfriend, you’re obviously the one that told her!”
Tim rounds on Jason. “I didn’t say anything!”
“Neither did I!” Jason retorts.
“Guys,” Cass says, raising her voice. “Don’t argue.”
Tim mutters something that suspiciously sounds like this is why I moved out, and it’s only out of deep respect for Cass that Jason doesn’t fucking jump him. Also, she’s begun to do that thing where she flexes her muscles as a threat, and it’s really quite effective.
Damian breaks away from the vague square they’ve formed, making a frustrated sound in his throat. “Enough of your petty squabbles,” he snaps. “I am going to see Richard,”
Oh, shit. Jason had gotten so caught up in this family’s bullshit that he had forgotten that he was fucked.
He says, “Um, you can’t see him,”
Damian’s immediately suspicious, honing in at the sight of hesitation. He rounds on Jason, tilting his head to the side like a bird.
Jason wonders, in the privacy of his own head, what it’s like to live with a normal family. To live with people who aren’t all trained detectives and vigilantes. What a life that must be.
“Why not?” Damian asks. He’s putting on his predator voice, the one that still sends chills down Jason’s spine, even though he’s been hearing it for years now. It’s been a while since it’s been used against Jason, is all. He’s just not used to facing it down anymore.
Jason swallows nervously, which in itself is a dead giveaway, and says, “He needs to rest. We shouldn’t disturb him.”
Tim frowns, and, in a move that would be fucking hilarious if it didn’t spell out Jason’s doom, mirrors Damian’s head tilt. Fuck, he has to be catching onto the scent of Jason’s fear. Jason’s fucking this up so much. Why is it that he’s the only bad liar in this family?
“You’re hiding something,” Tim accuses. “Spill.”
Jason looks to Cass in one last ditch attempt at getting support. No such luck. They make eye contact, and she signs TELL, one word, her face hard. He’s so fucking fucked.
Jason covers his face. He had really, really hoped this morning when he found Dick gone from his room that he could track down the kid by the end of the day. Yell at him a bit. Really make him feel the fear of his older brother. Then, bring him back without anybody else knowing.
Life just doesn’t like to work out for him, it seems. It’s even worse that it’s not just Cass, or Bruce, who Jason could theoretically negotiate with. But Damian is here as well, and Damian’s very bad at losing, but he’s an entire fucking lost cause when it comes to Dick Grayson.
“So this morning,” he begins. Everyone else in the room leans in. “Dick said he was feeling tired. So I was like, cool, okay, rest up in your room, I’ll bring you your breakfast, and then when I brought that breakfast up…”
Damian says, in a perfectly controlled manner, “Jason Peter Todd.”
Jason groans and flings up his arms helplessly. “It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know! I never saw it coming, okay, I was just bringing up his fucking toast and jam and then bam! The kid’s long gone! All that greets me is an empty room and the disappointed ghosts of my ancestors!”
“I hope your ancestors forsake you,” Damian snarls. He turns around and stalks towards the stairs, brimming with an awful energy that Jason can’t place. It’s so fucking unnerving to see.
“You should have told us,” Cass says. There is both forgiveness and reproach in her tone, which sends rather mixed signals, but Jason guesses he feels a little better. Sure, his kid brother is still missing, and has been missing for hours, and Jason’s going to get murdered by his angry ninja brother, but hey! His cool ninja sister has forgiven him for it. Small mercies, or what the fuck ever.
Tim just looks at Jason, and then sighs. “Come on,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go make sure Damian doesn’t destroy the household.”
That’s a type of forgiveness as well, so Jason’s technically got the majority vote right now. He’s going to need it, if the four of them can’t track down Dick in the next 20 minutes. Like, really, really need it.
He looks up to the ceiling. There’s a conveniently placed skylight for him to look through. God bless rich people.
Despairingly, he says, “Please come back, Dickie. Your older brother’s going to murder me otherwise,”
Cass snorts and says, “There will be a line,” and yeah, yeah. Jason’s fucked.
Steph says, between licks of icecream, “Oh, by the way. I accidentally let slip to Damian that you got knocked around last night.”
Dick shrugs. He’s missed Damian, actually, so it’ll be nice to see him again. Plus, he knows it’s going to be pretty funny to see his reaction to Dick’s ‘injury’, if it can even be called that. Dick prides himself on being able to pull out emotional reactions from Damian. It makes him feel special. Needed, even. Damian really kinda needs somebody to remind him that he feels things.
He says, “Aw, it’s alright. He was gonna find out eventually,”
Steph nods. “Can’t hide from a shadow,” she says, quoting the popular street phrase about Damian’s hero alterego.
Dick snorts. “The night claims all,” he finishes, completing the rest of the quote. A two part Batman and Shadow proverb. He can’t believe Bruce and Damian of all people are the stuff of urban legends. Like, have you met them? He wishes he could tell all those people on the streets about the stuff he’s seen their amazing Batman and Shadow do.
He says, “One time, I saw Bruce drinking orange juice straight from the fruit.” He licks his icecream. Mmm, mint chip.
Steph stares at him and says, “I have no idea what that means.”
“Like, yknow,” Dick says. He holds up a hand and squeezes an imaginary orange over his mouth as a visual aid.
Steph’s mouth drops open. “Are you telling me that Bruce Wayne once cut up an orange and squeezed the juice into his mouth just like that?” she asks.
“Several oranges, actually,” Dick chirps. “He probably got enough for a whole cup.”
Steph spends a few more seconds in shock. Then, and it switches so fast that Dick can’t even see the change, she bowls over howling with laughter. He’s actually a little worried she’s going to fall off the roof that they’re sitting on. He squishes closer to her.
“Oh—oh my fucking god,” she gasps, “are you telling me he stood there and cut several oranges and squeezed them all individually into his mouth? Bruce Wayne did that? Fucking Batman did that?”
Dick giggles along with Steph, feeling the grin stretch his face wide. “I was on top of the fridge, and I was gonna wait for him to go away before getting down, but he just stood there doing that for like. Five minutes.
Steph laughs so much she almost chokes. Dick loses himself in the laughter too, evolving from delighted giggles to genuine belly laughs, until he and Steph are both clutching their stomachs with tears in their eyes.
They take so long to calm down that Dick’s icecream starts to melt down the cone. He attempts to lick up all the trails of melting icecream, but there’s too many, and they develop too quickly. Steph has already finished most of her icecream, because she had only gotten one scoop, while Dick had gone for two; now, he almost regrets it.
Only almost, because duh, icecream.
With mint chip lines running down the back of his hand and more to come, Dick has no other choice. He shoves the entire cone into his mouth.
Unfortunately, exactly five seconds after that moment is when Damian, Tim, Cass and Jason all burst onto the scene. Dick’s starting to red with the effort of chewing and breathing.
Damian stabs a finger in Steph’s direction and yells, “You fucking kidnapper!”
Steph takes one look at the group of them, and then turns to Dick. She says, “Good luck, Dick. Let’s do this again sometime.”
Then, she shoots her grapple and leaps off of the roof. Damian makes an incoherent sound of rage.
Dick, mouth still full of icecream, offers them all a wave. “Hi guys,” he says, voice muffled by waffle cone.
Cass is the only one who waves back. Smiling, she says, “Hi, Dick. You’re in so much trouble.”