Archive of Our Own

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The night had started out simple enough. For once, most of the family was in Gotham, and for something other than a case – it was the week coming up to Alfred’s birthday, and if there was one thing they all understood, it was that for Alfred, all arguments and tensions were to be put aside.

But for someone turning seventy-five, Dick thought, Alfred wasn’t treating this as a big enough deal to warrant a week’s worth of celebrations.

“Really, boys,” he’d said to Tim and Dick when they’d outlined what they had planned, “I’d much rather you didn’t go to all this trouble. One luncheon is the same as five.”

“It’s no trouble, Alf,” Dick had told him with a wide grin. “It’s not every day you turn seventy-five.”

“I hope I’m still as functional as you when I’m even half that age,” Tim had said.

It was now halfway through the week, and they had had a golfing tournament, a cricket match, a croquet game (which involved more teaching than actual playing), and a marathon of films that Alfred had been trying to get them to watch for years.

Tim had wondered, at first, whether someone turning seventy-five would be able to handle all the excitement, but then he’d reasoned with himself that it was Alfred. Alfred wasn’t like other seventy-five-year-olds. If he’d been able to deal with Batman for as long as he had, then a week of no work and a few extra sports surely wouldn’t go wrong.

It was hard to put Alfred in the same category as ‘old and frail’, because for as long as they’d known him, Alfred had been the rock and mortar that had kept them all together. Even Bruce, Dick knew, had trouble seeing his pseudo father figure as anything other than a permanent figure in their lives.

“We need someone to go grab ice cream,” Jason announced, walking into the living room. “Someone,” he sent a pointed look to Bruce, “decided it’d be a good idea to experiment with it.”

Bruce glowered at him. “Maybe this someone thought—”

“Nope,” Jason cut in, making a zipping movement with his hand every time Bruce opened his mouth. “This someone didn’t think at all, because now there’s exploded ice cream all over the oven. How do you even do that?”

“Is it just me, or is he starting to sound like Dick and Alf had a love child?” Tim whispered to Cass, who snorted.

Bruce let out an aggravated sigh. “I’ll get more ice cream,” he said.

“Thank you,” Jason said.

It was hard to take him seriously in the apron Dick had gifted Alfred a few years ago, printed with soft flowers in periwinkle blue, with big writing on the front that proclaimed, ‘World’s Greatest Mom’.

Damian had already tried making fun of him for it, and had promptly come out of the kitchen with a bleeding nose that the rest of them rushed to hide from Alfred’s sight.

So Bruce had gone to the closest store – which was all the way in Gotham – with a strict list of flavours and brands to buy. Damian had at some point added in ‘really small marshmallows, gelatine free’, and no one had the heart to remove it from the list, despite Jason sending warning glances towards anyone else who tried to put in a non-ice-cream.

That had been three hours ago, and it was getting rather difficult trying to keep Alfred from being suspicious – thus ruining the week’s goal of keep Alfred happy at all times – particularly when they, themselves, were becoming increasingly worried.

It was late in the afternoon, and Bruce literally had one job. There was no traffic jam of people rushing home after work, and Cass had made sure to write, in big capital letters at the very top of the shopping list, the name of the store Bruce was to go to. Even a detour wouldn’t take this long.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” Dick announced, halfway through a heated match of Monopoly. “Bathroom. This old bladder isn’t as young as it used to be.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but only nodded. Dick, relieved, slunk away down the hall and upstairs into his bedroom, where he instantly flipped open his laptop. One hand typed frantically while the other dialled Barbara’s number, finger hovering over the call button but not wanting to bother her until he was sure Bruce was in trouble.

Bruce had taken the town car that Alfred used for grocery shopping and general trips into town. Dick easily opened up the GPS tracking device, which showed that it was right there in front of the ice cream store.

Dick frowned. Bruce had parker there, but never gotten back into the car. He tried calling Bruce’s phone, but there was no answer. Dick was about to access the tracking device on Bruce’s phone when he realised there was no tracker in it yet – Bruce’s previous phone had been smashed to bits only a few days ago, courtesy of Tim and Steph. Bruce had barely gotten it set up, with all the business of Alfred’s birthday, let alone put in a tracker.

“Find anything?” Tim said from beside him, and Dick jumped a foot in the air.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair. “His car is in front of the store. He isn’t answering his phone, which doesn’t have a fucking tracker.”

Tim frowned. “I’ll call Babs,” he said. “You go back and keep them—”

At that moment, there came a ringing noise from the landline.

Dick and Tim glanced at each before Dick raced towards the door. There were only two phones connected to it: one in Bruce’s study, and another in the living room just off the smaller parlour.

“I’ll get it,” Dick yelled, hoping his voice would carry as he dashed towards Bruce’s study.

Typically, it was Alfred who answered the landline. But this week had been a study in relearning habits – for them and Alfred – and yells like this had become commonplace.

“Wayne Manor,” Dick said into the phone, pressing it against his ear. “Dick Grayson speaking.”

“We have Bruce Wayne,” a robotic voice said from the other end, and Dick froze. “If you want to see him alive again, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

“What do you want,” Dick asked, even as he frantically texted Tim to track the call. He had to keep this guy talking until Tim got here. “Please, don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you say.”

Tim ran into the room, laptop cradled in his hands. He hooked something up to the line, and Dick carried on with his worried son act.

Not that it was completely an act.

“No cops or he dies. Four million dollars. Cash. At the docks, warehouse five. Be there in three hours—”

“Hang on,” Dick said, making his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. “All the banks are closed at this hour. Where are we gonna—”

“You expect me to believe Wayne doesn’t keep at least this much in cash around the house?” There was a burst of static that was probably laughter. “He’s admitted to it himself.”

“Put him on,” Dick said. “You expect him to tell me everything?”

In front of him, Tim gave a thumbs up and turned the screen around. He had Barbara on the phone, cradled between his shoulder and ear, but he didn’t risk speaking into it.

“You’re his heir, are you not?” the kidnapper said with scepticism.

“Yeah, but you think a man like Bruce Wayne trusts me? I am from the circus.”

Tim’s mouth twisted, but Dick didn’t care. He had to get Bruce on the phone, and this was the easiest way to do it. Whatever Bruce said would give him enough information to perform a rescue.

There was a pause, before Bruce was on the phone.

“Dick?” he asked, voice much more ragged than Bruce’s usually was.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, and immediately winced. Bruce had always taught him to first ask whether or not they were on speakerphone.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice a little pointed. Well, if Bruce had the energy to sound like that, then there was a pretty good chance he was.

“Are you on speakerphone?”

On his end, Dick pressed on the speaker button, so Tim could hear it. He’d hung up with Barbara and was now texting the group chat they had with the rest of their siblings, filling them in on the situation. Dick was glad it was Jason and not him making the decision on whether to hide this from Alfred.

“No, they’ve been surprisingly good to me. This place is a little draughty for my tastes, but I suppose there’s something quaint about the city noises—” There was a thwack! and Dick winced at the sound of Bruce being punched.

“Okay, okay!” Bruce said on the other end. “Sorry, fellas! I was just making small-talk!”

Moments like this, Dick appreciated the Brucie act all the more.

“Hey, leave him alone!” Dick yelled into the phone.

Bruce’s voice was breathless when he came back on. “Sorry ‘bout that, chum,” he said with a wheezing chuckle. “You know me, always running my mouth. The money. It’s under that old clock I have. You know the one.”

Dick nodded. Bruce was telling him to come in costume, which meant that they’d be dealing with this without cops. There was a nervous pit in his stomach as the kidnappers yanked the phone from Bruce, repeating their instructions before hanging up. He was in charge now, and the familiar weight of that settled on his shoulders.

Dick glanced at Tim, but at that moment, Jason walked into the room.

“Bruce got himself kidnapped?” he said. “Are you shitting me?”

“Hey, it’s not like he planned on it,” Dick said automatically, running a hand down his face. “Alfred?”

Jason grimaced. “He knows something’s up, obviously. You can only go to the bathroom so many times, and everyone’s phones were buzzing.”

Tim glanced at Dick. “Should we leave him out of it? If this goes south—”

“It’s not going to go south,” Dick said firmly. “We can tell him it’s part of another surprise we have planned, and that Damian’s going to keep him company—”

“I will not stay back while the rest of you are out there rescuing Father!” Damian said furiously from where he and Cass had appeared at the door.

Dick sighed. This night was steadily going downhill. “Okay,” he said. “First things first. We need to figure out where he’s being kept. Who’s on Alfred duty now?”

“He said he needed a few hours of alone time,” Cass said. “He went to his quarters.”

Evidently, Alfred had realised they were ‘managing’ him, and decided to remove himself and probably get to the bottom of this. Dick hated to do it, but right now he had to focus on getting Bruce back.

Tim cleared his throat. “I’ve narrowed it down to these apartment blocks. From B’s clues, it’s small, draughty, and near running water but somewhere in the busier part of the city, which leaves these ones.” There was a bunch of highlighted lots on the map.

Dick nodded. “Okay, let’s suit up. We have three and a half hours to do this before they want me at the docks with a four mil.”

Dick had known from the get-go that they wouldn’t all be heading out, but that only set off a screaming match between Jason and Damian before Dick shoved two fingers into his mouth and whistled as loudly as he could.

Three pairs of eyes spun round to him, standing atop the bench holding the Batcomputer. Cass signed good projection to him, which normally would’ve made him smile, but now he only ruffled her hair as he hopped back down.

“Keep it together,” he said. “Jay, how old are you?” When Jason opened his mouth, brow still furrowed, he mimed a zipping motion. “Nope. You lost the right to respond to that when you got into a fight with a kid half your age.”

“I am not half—”

“Well, it sure seems that way with how you’re acting now,” Dick told Damian, the boy immediately quietening. “Next person who acts below their age gets to be the one to explain to Alfred what’s happening and why we didn’t fill him in sooner.”

Bruce, quite frankly, was more than slightly irritated at this turn of events. The men had grabbed him from the street in front of the store, leading him to their van at gunpoint. With three massive thugs there, it would be a miraculous feat of ingenuity if Bruce Wayne got out of there alone.

He was currently tied to a chair, ropes around his hands sloppy and loose, but not loose enough to warrant getting himself free without having some sort of training. Bruce resigned himself to wait for his rescue.

He could hear his kidnappers talking, as far away from him as they could get to avoid being overheard. It was no use – this room was, at most, three by four metres; there was nowhere they could go that would be out of Bruce’s earshot.

“How do we even know the brat’s going to come through?” hissed the one called Raddock. He’d been absolutely furious when one of them had used his name in front of Bruce. “His inheritance is probably enough to buy all of Gotham.”

“Wayne practically owns Gotham, idiot,” the blonde one responded. He was far less worried than Maddock. “If he doesn’t, then we,” a very coarse gesture about killing Bruce, “and go after him. The next one down the line might feel the love.”

“How many of them even are there, at this point?”

A shrug. “Lost count. But works for us. Keep going down till someone complies.”

It was obvious from their line of thinking that they were absolute amateurs, with a massive overconfidence streak that would almost certainly have gotten them caught by the police eventually, if Bruce’s family hadn’t been vigilantes.

But now it was time to distract them. “I wouldn’t worry about long term plans, fellas,” he said, rocking back and forth on the chair. “My kids love me. They’ll come through with the money.”

He received two sceptical looks, but the blonde one seemed to want to humour him. “Sure, pops.”

Bruce blinked. Pops? He was getting older, but not that old. And from the looks of his captors, they weren’t much older than Dick. His affront must’ve shown up, because the other one laughed.

“Don’t worry, Brucie, if you get out of this alive, you’ll still have money left to get rid o’ those wrinkles.”

At that moment, the door was kicked in, and Batgirl leapt inside, saving Bruce from having to answer. Bruce had to hand it to her – he’d had absolutely no idea Cass was there, or that the people on guard duty outside had been taken out.

The two men leapt to action, whipping out guns and yelling. Adding to the chaos was the sound of the window – tiny as it was – smashing as Robin broke through, the grapple line just long enough for him to shove at the nearest thug with his feet, taking him down.

Red Robin entered next, using the front door and stepping over the bodies strewn around the place. Bruce, who realised all of a sudden that his face was a tad too calm for a civilian in this situation, gaped exaggeratedly and struggled to free himself.

Tim came over to Bruce, undoing his ties. “How’re you doing, Mr Wayne?” he asked, massive grin on his face. Without anyone noticing, he slipped Bruce an earpiece. “He’s on.”

“B?” Dick was on the other side. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Bruce said, lips barely moving as he stood up and backed out of the room, Red Robin leading the way.

Cass was busy tying up the unconscious bodies before they woke, but she flashed her eyes to his and gave a nod. Bruce knew, even without seeing her face, that she was smiling at him.

“Red, I want you to disappear. We can’t have too many vigilantes at the same scene, especially for this. Robin, round up that last one, and stick to the shadows with BG. Oracle tells me there’s one more straggler; she’s tracked him to about a block away.”

“Where’s Hood?” Bruce couldn’t help asking Tim in an undertone. It was out of character for his second eldest to stay out of the action.

Tim snorted. “We drew straws to see who would stay with Agent A and keep him off our trails. He lost – or won, depending on how you look at it.”

So Alfred didn’t know. Bruce was relieved; he didn’t want to ruin the evening more than it already was.

Police sirens had been getting louder and louder, but they finally peaked and held. Bruce gave Tim a look, and Tim sighed and disappeared.

Jim got out of the cruiser, walking over to Bruce.

“Commissioner!” Bruce said, voice shaky but cheery. “You’re just in time!”

“Bruce. What happened?” Jim walked over, indicating to the three other officers with him to enter the building.

“Kidnapped,” Bruce said ruefully, as though embarrassed. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “I was heading out of the ice cream place – kids, y’know – and they came out of nowhere!”

Jim’s eyes widened slightly; he clearly hadn’t been expecting this. “I’ll need a statement, in that case. Are you alright? I’m going to call an—”

“No, no! I’m fine! They barely touched me! Whole lotta threats, barely any bite.” Bruce hoped his smile was reassuring.

It was another hour or so before he was cleared to go home. Dick had arrived by that time, with Jason in tow, to collect Bruce. Bruce knew that it was because they didn’t want any one person to be absent from the Manor – from Alfred – for too long, but he hoped they knew that Alfred at this point was probably just barely humouring them. They were much worse detectives than he gave them credit for if they hadn’t realised that.

And this was Alfred. He knew everything that went on in the house, let alone Bruce disappearing until midnight and the kids vanishing on and off.

Jason opted to drive the town car back, which Bruce had expected. He could see that Jason felt some form of guilt, and didn't know what to do with it; Bruce would probably have to speak with him at some point. He got into the car Dick had brought and let out a breath, relieved to finally be getting back. He’d just about sunk into the seat when a thought occurred to him.

“Wait!” he said.

Dick practically slammed on the brakes, whirling round to face him.

“The ice-cream! I never got round to getting any.”

Dick gave him an incredulous look. “B, trust me, after everything that’s happened today, ice-cream’s probably the last thing on anyone’s mind. Especially Jay's.”

“The store at the next corner is open late. We can check there,” Bruce said, ignoring him. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he had to get that ice-cream, or it would plague him for the rest of the night.

Dick sighed, but complied, pulling up in the five minute parking by the side of the road. “Stay here,” he said with a twisted grin. “I’d rather we didn’t try your luck twice.”

Bruce gave him a look, but Dick only waved as he walked into the store. In the meantime, Bruce changed the radio channel. Whatever this mess of beats Dick was listening to, it wasn’t music.

Dick didn’t take much time, appearing only minutes later with two bags in hand. He placed them in the back then got behind the wheel again, immediately grimacing.

“C’mon, it was a good channel,” he complained. “You always do this when I find something that’s actually playing decent stuff.”

Bruce grunted. “I was kidnapped. I deserve to listen to what I want.”

Dick snorted. “That a new rule?” But he didn’t change it back.

They were halfway back to the Manor when Bruce spoke. “You did good,” he said. “I only heard the wrap-up, but they were well coordinated, and you evidently did your research before going in.”

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it again when nothing came out. A moment later, when Bruce was really beginning to feel the awkwardness, he finally said, “Thanks, B.”

Bruce hummed. “Now, what’re you doing to poor Alfred?”