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The wind whispered outside his window and the dim moon failed to provide comfort. He was embarrassed.
Richard Grayson sat on his bed, above the covers, with his arms wrapped firmly around his knees that were tucked against his chest. He thought everything would be fine when he parted from his friends for the evening, that his confidence would follow him in solitary. He regretted parting as soon as he turned out the lights in his bedroom and became enclosed by the eerie atmosphere.
He felt ashamed regarding this fear. He trapezed across rooftops set high in the sky and he swung through the filthy, diseased streets of Gotham City (until he knew it better than he knew his own circus layout) all while chasing countless villains. He fought alongside memorable young heroes of the Justice League and the notorious dark knight himself. He is the current leader of the hero group the Titans. He shouldn’t be afraid of the dark.
But he was now.
It had been years since he first shuffled his bare feet through the cold hallways to Bruce’s bedroom door in the dark, seeking safe company to extinguish the fear that settled in after a particularly horrid nightmare. But he wished now more than anything that he could walk out of his bedroom door and find himself in the manor with only a few steps between himself and Bruce’s room. Instead, he was just over a few steps and a whole city away from Bruce.
He shook his head in a fruitless attempt to quiet the racing thoughts cluttering his nervous mind. He was leading a team now, his very own team. He shouldn’t be afraid of the dark.
But he was. And while sitting alone in the dark with his heartbeat quickened and a nervous sound lodged deep in his throat, he could no longer deny that he was afraid.
He was shivering in the cool air that bit lightly at his bare arms and toes, but he refused to risk slipping under the blankets, unable to justify the resulting great disadvantage if he came back...
He heard Cyborg’s finalized deduction declaring the previous day was the product of nasty hallucinogen components that befell him. He heard Cyborg announce he was officially free of the chemical. And after turning off the medical bay lights and seeing only the shapes of his friends, he believed this.
But those discoveries only eased him when he was surrounded by his friends.
Dick could swear he caught a glimpse of a tall body looming in the corner of his dark room and a gasp lodged uncomfortably in his throat as he snapped his head toward the mysterious shadow-- which turned out to be a coat hung up on his wardrobe door.
He squeezed his eyes shut and hopped out of his bed, racing to the light switch. His fist made heavy contact with the switch and he heaved a sigh of relief when bright light illuminated the empty room. He didn’t even mind that he had to squint against the harsh light that made his retinas itch uncomfortably.
Slade was not there.
He scanned the room again and tiptoed back to his bed after deeming it clear. He leapt a considerable distance onto his bed and crawled back to the middle, leaning against the headboard. He draped a soft blanket around his shoulder but his mind raced once more and he imagined someone waiting patiently under his bed for the perfect opportunity to attack. He shivered at the thought but refused to look.
Even with the bright lights, his heart raced with worry when he tried to close his eyes for rest. He felt exhaustion beg his eyelids to fall but the fear that a menacing figure was sneaking up on him willed them open and kept him from sleep. Hours passed by until he finally huffed out an annoyed breath and reached out for his cell phone on the bedside table.
“B?”
“What is it?” The gruff voice responded. Dick nearly flinched but remembered Bruce was scheduled for patrol that night.
“Nothing, I’m sorry,” Dick mumbled, rubbing his hand across his face, and kneading his palm into a closed eye. “Be safe, I’ll talk to you lat-"
“Wait. Are you okay?” Bruce interrupted, hearing the fear blanketing his child’s tone.
“... no,” Dick whispered.
“Where are you?” Bruce pressed urgently.
“I’m here at the tower,” his voice wavered, and he glanced around the empty room.
“Talk to me?” Bruce asked in a soft voice.
“I, uhm-I-I uhm,” his voice cracked and he rolled his eyes with a grimace, ashamed. He couldn’t even create a sentence. “Sorry.”
“I’m on my way,” Bruce informed him and wind crackled through the speaker, the sound of Bruce dropping from a building.
“No, B, I know you’re busy...” Dick shifted uncomfortably. Weighing heavily on his mind was the thought of something unfathomable happening in Gotham because the fierce dark knight had to leave post to comfort his pathetic child who was afraid of the dark for the first time in years. “You should just stay.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Bruce stated as though he didn’t hear the refusal.
“Stay on with me?” Dick begged hurriedly, worried the finality in Bruce’s tone would lead to him hanging up the phone.
“Of course,” Bruce replied firmly and began to fill Dick in on the latest news on the Gotham front, a distraction that was greatly appreciated.
Bruce was explaining how thugs during the previous week’s rendezvous tried to escape through the sewage system, a decision that drew a quiet snicker from Dick, when a tap on the window interrupted the story. His head snapped to the sound and relief flooded his body when he saw Batman’s silhouette. He stood up quickly, dropping his phone and making a point to ignore the itching thought of an orange and black gloved hand reaching out from under the bed to snap at his ankles as he bounded to the window. With a soft snick and gust of cold wind, Batman climbed through the window and looked around the room cautiously before his eyes landed on Dick, who was watching him with his head cocked slightly to the side in anticipation. Batman removed his cowl and locked eyes with the boy, waiting for him to speak. Dick did not know what to say so he shifted his weight between his toes and looked down at his fidgeting hands. He suddenly felt so small and childish. Bruce waited.
“B, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. It was silly of me to-" His rambling was cut off with a surprised yelp as Bruce quickly gathered him into a strong hug that was almost painful as he was pressed against the solid plate over Bruce’s chest. Dick paused for a consternated moment before relenting and hugged him back.
When Bruce felt Dick relax against him, he carefully guided him to the bed. Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed and motioned for the boy to join him. Dick paused for a moment before climbing up and sitting cross-legged in front of Bruce. After shifting around uncomfortably, he realized he felt his skin crawl because he had his back turned to the open space of his bedroom, an area he didn’t trust even with Batman watching his six. He scooted around and positioned himself next to Bruce with his back against the headboard.
Bruce kicked off his shoes and turned in the bed to face Dick. His frown hardened significantly as he got a decent look at his child. Dick met his frown with an expectant look, waiting for him to make the first move at conversation even though he was the one summoned here.
“Your face,” Bruce murmured, cupping his face in two large hands and running his thumbs softly along the bruises and scratches littering Dick’s soft features. “What happened?”
At that question and against Dick’s will, steady warm tears spilled from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He tried to look away and hide with embarrassment but Bruce’s hands remained firm on his face, holding him in place. Bruce gently brushed the tears away and Dick sucked in a shaky breath, but he did not speak.
“Who did this to you?” Bruce pressed further, rubbing comforting circles into his cheeks with careful thumbs. Purple caught his eye and Bruce glanced down at the dark bruises surrounded Dick's wrist. Bruce reached down and touched his wrist but he faltered after Dick sucked in a sharp, pained hiss through clenched teeth and yanked his arm away, bringing it to his chest protectively. Bruce paused before cautiously guiding Dick’s hand back and allowing himself the opportunity to examine the injury with ghosting fingertips.
“Richard, answer me. Who did this to you?” Bruce asked again, his tone demanding and more similar in authority to his Batman voice with the rise of anger as he looked at the bruised child across the bed from him. A memory flashed behind Bruce’s eyes, a memory of Harvey Dent laughing maniacally and raising a baseball bat high above that boy’s head. That bat came down in relentless blows against Dick’s small body countless times, like Dent’s fists had just prior, before Bruce was able to free himself and pounce dangerously at the man. Dick was no longer nine years-old, but he was still young and Bruce was still his guardian. And Bruce remembers he had smelled that blood for weeks. His eyes narrowed and his need for information rose in his throat along with the threat of bile that he pointedly ignored.
Dick felt the increase in tension and answered softly with a shrug, “Nobody.” Bruce nearly growled in frustration at the lack of a proper answer. He wanted someone to hurt for this. He wanted to feel his fists meet with someone's face over this. “Well, Slade. No, actually I guess it was just me.” A note of uncertainty rested in the end of Dick’s statement and his confused expression mirrored Bruce’s. Dick huffed in frustration at his inability to communicate what happened, and he shifted closer toward Bruce who saw the opportunity to wrap his arms around the child again, holding him tightly against his chest. Dick leaned up on his knees and wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck.
“I don’t understand,” Bruce finally whispered in Dick’s ear when it became clear that he was not going to provide further explanation without prompting.
“Neither do I,” Dick admitted and raised a hand from its place clutching the back of Bruce’s Batman suit with the intention of digging the palm in his itching eyes. His eyes closed and the dark lids were suddenly replaced with a black and orange mask. The recollection of Slade reared his fist back and threw the blow toward Dick’s face. He let out short scream and lifted his knees from the bed so he balanced on the balls of his feet. He quickly threw his body back and away from the arms holding him tightly, but his feet tangled relentlessly in the blankets under him. As he broke free of the strong grip, he fell backwards onto his back with a panicked cry. His eyes snapped open when he felt the mattress under him, and he was deeply relieved when the image of Slade was replaced by Bruce’s loving face, even if the man's current expression was shocked and even a little frightened.
Dick flailed to regain his composure gracelessly while he gasped short breaths. After he sat up again, a small sob ripped through his throat and he ran an angry hand through his black hair. His exhales turned to pants and he clutched at his chest as he moved away from Bruce with his growing panic. Bruce grimaced at the sight but he pushed that anxiety aside in favor of wrapping his hand around Dick’s uninjured wrist and pressing the boy’s hand to Bruce’s own suit-covered chest. Bruce then raised his other hand and placed it over Dick’s pajama shirt, over his stuttering heart.
“Match me,” he whispered firmly, just like he had during every panic attack Dick suffered through since he first moved in with him and became his ward a few years ago.
Dick cried out, a wretched sound that Bruce felt deep inside, and shook his head hurriedly. “I can’t feel you,” he gasped between painful exhales, and the shrill sound of wheezing filled the room. Bruce realized the Batman suit was too thick for Dick to feel his heart beat and the steady rise of his chest.
Bruce quickly moved to rise from the bed, a hand reaching up and lingering on Dick’s cheek before the reverse shuffle of his knees through tangled blankets carried him away from the child. He stood from the bed and slipped out of his Batman suit while watching Dick begin to fold in on himself like a collapsing tower of cards. Bruce returned to the bed clad in his undershirt and boxers and carefully resumed their earlier position.
With Dick’s hand back over his chest, Bruce inhaled deeply, exaggerating the swell of his chest as he held the breath, and then he exhaled alone, allowing the air to come out whistling behind his teeth. “Focus now. Match me, Richard.”
Dick sucked in another stuttering gasp at that moment but he nodded his head in jerking motions, signaling he was ready to try. He watched Bruce with large, owl eyes that were glossy and full of unshed tears, and he tried to mimic the deep breathing he felt underneath his hand. He winced uncomfortably while they held their breath together, the sweeping need to gasp out pounding against his lungs and head as though he were drowning. His exhales were more hasty than Bruce’s, but he soon fell into the slow rhythm.
After counting ten healthy breaths, Bruce nodded and whispered praise and affirmations to Dick before gathering him in another hug. The boy sniffed quietly and murmured an embarrassed apology into Bruce’s shoulder, like he always did after an episode. Bruce leaned back to look at Dick’s ashamed, lowered gaze. Bruce hooked a finger under his chin, gently guiding his head up to meet Bruce’s eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Now, let’s start from the beginning.”
Dick nodded and opened his mouth to relay the moment when he picked up Slade’s mask when a sharp knock on the door startled him.
“Robin!” Cyborg called frantically through the heavy metal door. “I heard you yell, what happened?”
“Nothing,” Dick croaked out, wincing at the sound of his voice. He hated sounding weak but before he could further berate himself mentally, Bruce cupped his cheeks again with two hands and rubbed his thumbs in soft circles until the boy relaxed into the touch.
“Robin?” Cyborg asked again, timidly.
“I’m fine, I just- uhm- I fell,” Dick closed his eyes and sighed lamely, knowing there was no way his friend believed that obvious fabrication. “Go back to sleep.”
"I thought I taught you to lie," Bruce whispered with a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Dick crinkled his nose at the man. “He’s worried about you."
“Good leaders shouldn’t do that to their teammates,” Dick hissed back with earnestness but no bite.
“They are also your friends, and they want to know that you are okay,” Bruce stated firmly, lowering his hands from Dick’s face. Dick immediately longed for that touch again but he pushed that yearning aside in favor of scowling.
“I’m fine. And that’s what I told him,” Dick crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Bruce before another knock interrupted him. He turned toward the door again.
“Who are you talking to? Is somebody in there with you?” Cyborg’s voice was careful and Dick feared he would burst through the door in preparation for a battle.
“It’s fine, I’m talking to my dad!” Dick called back hurriedly but froze with black pupils blown wide after the word slipped out. A deep red flushed his face and his spine straightened as though he were called to attention.
“Robin?” Cyborg was calculating the risk of leaving and going back to sleep while his leader acted so strange. Dick knew Cyborg would make the same decision he would have if the roles were reversed, and he slipped out of bed, still avoiding eye contact with Bruce. He picked up a bandana from the floor, which he hastily folded and wrapped around his head to cover his eyes. He carefully shuffled his feet to his bedroom door and opened it. Still feeling exposed, he cautiously threw his arm up over the bandana as though it would provide his identity with additional security.
Because of the blindfold, he didn’t see Cyborg sigh with relief at the sight of his safe friend. He also didn’t see Cyborg purse his lips together to hold in a snicker at the image of their team leader (usually stoic and formidable) wearing space pajama pants and a Flash t-shirt.
Cyborg considered innocuously ruffling his hair and pointing out how sweet Robin looked at night to get a friendly rise out of him, but Cyborg noticed the red smeared over his cheeks and the occasional soft hitch in his breath, no matter how hard Robin tried to cover it up. Cyborg understood Robin had been crying and his chest ached in response.
“See? I’m okay, Cy. I’ll talk to you in the morning,” Robin finalized in a hushed voice, afraid of waking up more of the team. If the other three members congregated in the hallway, he would never get rid of them and they might even wish to enter his room. He thought of Bruce hiding under his bed until the sun came up, an image that would have drawn a cackle from his chest if he hadn’t felt so emotionally-spent.
After a short pause, he added sincerely, “Thank you for checking in.” Cyborg accepted this and wished Robin a good night.
Dick heard retreating footsteps and relaxed slightly before realizing he still had to face Bruce after accidentally calling him the ‘d-word.’ He slowly turned toward the man and pushed the bandana up to rest on his forward. He met Bruce with a raised eyebrow and an apology written in his grimaced expression. Bruce had a softer pink spread across his own cheeks and he lowered his gaze.
“Hey, B, I’m really sorry about that,” Dick ducked his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, wincing at the contact with a tender bruise. “I didn’t really mean to call you that, it just sort of slipped out. I’m really sorry.”
“No,” Bruce said hurriedly, waving his hands in front of him and looking into Dick’s eyes. “Please don’t be sorry. I don’t mind that at all.” A small grin tugged at the corner of Dick’s mouth as he climbed back onto the bed. “Now, lets start again from the beginning,” Bruce stated firmly and the small hint of happiness slipped out of Dick’s expression, leaving dread and horror in its wake.
Dick recalled the events in careful detail, slowly stumbling over the parts where he screamed in frustration at his friends, where he grabbed Starfire’s arm because she didn’t move to stop Slade, where they had to sedate him. Bruce involuntarily tensed as he heard about each hit Dick took, from the blows to the face courtesy of 'Slade' to the one from the Tamaranean before he woke up strapped to a bed. Dick finally told Bruce about Cyborg’s findings, but he admitted he was still afraid the bridge would blow up any moment now and that would be his own fault. He received a warning.
Bruce listened patiently, refraining from making interjections.
“But I felt him, B,” Dick insisted in a firm voice. “I felt him snap my wrist and hit my face. I felt him push me down the stairs and I felt him grab my ankle and pull me. He stepped on my cape when I tried to get up, I felt it choke me. How could I imagine any of that?” Dick cried out and bit his bottom lip, watching Bruce intently until Bruce realized he was waiting for an answer.
He shook his head slowly because he didn’t know how one could have imagined any of that.
“Cyborg said I would have died tonight if they found me any later. He said my vital signs were so erratic...” Dick heaved a worried exhale and dragged a hand through his hair roughly, peeling off the bandana and throwing it to the floor. “Slade was actually scaring me to death. I do not think he is truly gone.”
Bruce struggled for a response but eventually rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder and asked, “Do you remember Crane’s batch of fear toxins? Maybe this is similar to that.”
Dick shook his head purposefully. “No, B. I do remember that horrible stuff but that never left me with these,” he pointed to the dark bruises across his face. “Or this,” he pointed to his sprained wrist.
“You know A and I were always there to help you while you came down from it. There were occasions when you almost hurt yourself because you didn’t know where you were. Remember the time you almost walked clean off the roof of that museum?” Bruce tried to reason, but Dick huffed with venomous agitation and leaned against the headboard with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, turning away from Bruce.
Bruce winced and desperately grasped at the slim chance to carry the conversation away from the possibly-impending argument. He reached out to run fingers through Dick’s hair and gently tugged at it to bring his eyes back up to meet Bruce’s. “Maybe it is nothing like the Crane fear toxin,” he whispered with earnest in his eyes. “Maybe it was something completely different. You and I, we are detectives aren’t we?” Dick nodded hesitantly. “Then we will look at the facts. Tell me the facts.”
“I got beat up,” Dick mumbled.
“You certainly have bruises. Another?”
“I saw Slade.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Raven saw Slade when she went in my mind.”
“Next?”
“The bridge didn’t blow up.” Dick sat up again and faced Bruce once more, his arms drifting back down to his lap.
“That is a fact. Anything else?”
“Cyborg found that stuff in my blood. Stuff that came from Slade’s mask after I picked it up. And he didn’t see it in my blood any more after tonight.”
“What does this sound like?”
“Hallucinogen,” Dick murmured, face flushed with shame.
Bruce hummed and shrugged. “It could be something else too.” Dick looked at him hopefully. “It is amateur detective work to settle on one explanation without looking closer and examining other theories, don’t you agree?”
“Yes.”
“And are we amateurs?”
“Of course not,” a smirk appeared on his face.
“Of course not. I think we should contact the League tomorrow and see if anyone has heard anything about Slade returning. How does that sound to you?”
Dick nodded vigorously. “Yes, that’s very a good idea.”
“I’m full of them, chum. My next very good idea? It’s time for us to sleep now.”
Dick’s optimistic demeanor fell once more and he paled suddenly. “I’m afraid he’s under the bed,” Dick whispered, pressing himself into Bruce’s side and glancing at the edge of the blankets.
“I’ll check that right now,” Bruce murmured and slipped off of the bed before Dick could protest. He watched anxiously as Bruce lowered onto his hands and knees and peered under the bed. Dick held his breath in anticipation, waiting for the verdict that he already knew.
“Ah,” Bruce finally confirmed. “No Slade. But...” he reached under the bed and pulled out a box that turned Dick’s cheeks a light pink and widened his eyes. “I did find this.” Bruce opened the lid, knowing exactly what the box contained, and pulled out a stuffed elephant. Zitka.
Dick groaned in embarrassment and hid his face in a pillow, despite the fact that this specific stuffed animal came to him as a welcome gift from Bruce himself. Bruce chuckled and climbed back onto the bed, setting the elephant right next to Dick’s face. The boy raised back up from the pillow and picked up the elephant.
“I don’t need this anymore. This was from long ago, I was so young.” Dick huffed but Bruce noticed he didn’t toss the elephant aside.
“Not that long ago, and you are still so young,” Bruce murmured carefully, carding his fingers through Dick’s hair again. “You’re only fifteen, chum.”
“Only fifteen and I am leading my very own team of superheroes,” Dick remarked with a satisfied smirk.
“You’re an impressive fifteen,” Bruce admitted, beaming proudly. Dick flushed once more, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face.
“I had a good teacher,” he shrugged.
“Is that a real compliment from the famous leader of a team of superheroes?” Bruce asked with a tick of an eyebrow.
“Try not to let it get to your head, B,” Dick rolled his eyes but laughed at their teasing.
Despite his previous squawking, Dick placed Zitka on the bed by his legs.
“Please stay here tonight,” he whispered, glancing nervously at Bruce.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Bruce stood from the bed once more and cautiously walked toward the light switch, watching Dick for signs of apprehension. He saw a flicker of worry pass through his eyes but that quickly dissipated and he smiled at Bruce with a sharp nod. He flicked the lights off and crawled back in bed next to Dick.
As soon as Bruce slipped under the covers, Dick quickly moved closer, pressing his face harshly into Bruce’s side and intently taking in the comforting smell of Bruce’s detergent and deodorant. Feeling content and safe, Dick sighed with sleepy satisfaction and he threw an arm around Bruce’s middle, pulling himself even closer.
“Thank you for coming here,” he murmured, exhaustion already pulling him away from consciousness. Bruce hummed and rubbed his back to further placate the boy and within seconds, he heard the soft breathing of sleep.
Bruce remained watchful throughout the night. He wondered if these hallucinogens were purposefully planted, or the unlucky byproduct of fate. He wondered if they were activated.
During his slumber, Dick rolled away from Bruce in favor of becoming a starfish sprawled on his back, arms slung above his head and legs spread out. Bruce seized the opportunity to roll over and grab his computer gauntlet from the floor. He was very productive over the next few hours, reading through numerous files, contacting the League for possible information, and arranging several prison meetings with the big-time villains to see if rumors of Deathstroke’s return reached their ears. As he was messaging Officer Gordon personally to provide him with an update, Dick rolled over once more and rested with his head on Bruce’s chest and his leg thrown over Bruce’s leg. Bruce smiled to himself and considered snapping a picture to show Alfred. Instead, he discarded the computer next to him and threaded his hand in Dick’s hair, running his fingertips across his scalp.
Dick stirred a few times throughout the night, sometimes fearfully gasping and with pleas of mercy on his lips that felt like blows to Bruce’s chest. Bruce steadied him each time, whispering confirmations and kissing the crown of his head until the boy mumbled incoherently and became the victim of dreaming once more, leaning heavier on the safety of Bruce each time.
~~~
The team was shocked to find Batman drinking coffee in their kitchen the following morning. He leaned against the stove and faced Robin, who was sitting on the island counter and kicking his feet absently. Batman heard the team enter but he refused to take his attention off of his son, who was telling a story with his arms held out wide, showing the approximate size of something large. Their leader appeared joyful now, a jarring change in comparison to the day before, or even the weeks before.
Robin finished his story and looked at his friends, grinning proudly. The sight of dark purple bruises covering the visible parts of his face in the day light startled them. They felt uncomfortable at the sight and grief pulled on their chests as they recalled Cyborg’s discovery the previous night, that someone had in fact triggered the hallucinogens. Someone wanted this to happen to Robin.
“Team, you remember Batman from move-in, right?” Robin asked, cheeks still split with a toothy grin.
“No, I do not believe we have met,” Starfire spoke up, her answer matching those of her teammates, and floated slowly toward the pair. “I am very pleased to meet you, The Batman.”
Batman smiled pleasantly to the titans and nodded with a generalized greeting. He then turned back to Robin and jerked his head, signaling it was time for him to return to the manor. Robin deflated at the gesture but hopped off the counter to lead Batman to the door.
“Why don’t you stop by some time, chum?” Bruce murmured when they were out of ear shot, and he pushed back his cowl.
“Today?” Dick asked cautiously and grinned when Bruce nodded enthusiastically.
“I’ll tell A. You know he will probably cook those enchiladas you love, if you ask him nicely.”
Dick snorted, “Yeah, if Jay won’t stop him from making those out of spite, just like last time.”
Bruce chuckled softly at the memory. “Jay loves those enchiladas too, he requested them last week.”
Dick huffed and rolled his eyes under his domino mask. “Oh, so Jay just hates me then?”
Bruce rested a gloved hand on Dick’s cheek. “Of course not.” Dick understood Bruce was telling him the truth but he felt bitter. “He told me he wants to get to know you better. He wants to spend time with you.”
Dick cocked his head at that, truly surprised.
“So today. What time should we expect you?” Bruce asked, pulling Dick into a private hug.
“Three sound okay?” Dick asked, returning the gesture and wrapping his arms around Bruce. “We have training this morning and then I was going to brief them on a rising threat that I’ve noticed over the past week.”
“Perfect,” Bruce pressed his lips to Dick’s forehead, and though Dick’s nose crinkled in response, his chest bloomed with warmth. “By the way, I’m telling A about the state of your fridge. Be prepared for that.”
Dick’s mouth fell open and he nearly paled at the warning. Their fridge was almost empty, only containing a sandwich that Cyborg left in there, a few heads of lettuce courtesy of Beast Boy, and a single egg. In addition to that, Dick believes he saw a particularly interesting culture of mold growing on what looked like a kiwi in the refrigerator drawer. None of his roommates, himself included, considered themselves good at shopping, and so none of them did. His lips drew down in a nervous frown.
“He will definitely take you to the store today. Grocery shopping with several lectures and disappointed looks,” Bruce warned with a small grin tugging on the corners of his mouth. “He won’t like to hear you are not eating.”
Dick shrugged. “We are eating. We just get pizza a lot.”
“He definitely won’t like that.”
“You know, B, it’s probably really bad for his blood pressure to be so stressed out. You don’t have to tell him,” Dick countered but Bruce only raised both eyebrows at him. “Okay, so you have to tell him...”
Bruce turned toward the door and wrapped a hand around the knob.
“Can I stay the night?” Dick asked in a voice so soft, Bruce struggled to hear it. Despite the low tone, Bruce also heard a silent question to sleep with him tonight, in his room and next to someone who checks under the bed for monsters- in this case, one particular monster.
“Yes,” Bruce responded in an equally subdued voice and Dick bit back a relieved smile that Bruce saw anyway.
“I’ll see you later then, be safe!” Dick gave Bruce another quick hug and watched him replace his cowl and walk outside.