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It turns out, being a vigilante is expensive.
Dick always knew that, of course. He knew Bruce was a fucking billionaire, and that he used his copious amounts of wealth to fund his nighttime activities. That the reason they had the high-tech gadgets and top of the line gear is because Bruce was richer than God and could afford it without blinking.
Yeah, he knew all of that. In an abstract sense. But he didn’t really understand until he was doing this out here on his own, alone in an entire city, responsible for financing all of his own equipment.
He’s enough of a professional to know it would be dumb as shit to go out in subpar gear, and luckily the Titans aren’t exactly hurting for cash, so he has enough to establish himself. Make a good suit, and set of weapons, and a pair of grapple guns that won’t crash on him. But he won’t allow himself to mooch off the team accounts forever—it’s supposed to be for the team, and since Dick is currently not an actual member, it didn’t feel right to keep taking money for his own ends instead of theirs, even if they told him they don’t mind.
He minds. The falling out with Bruce is still fresh in his mind, still a burning wound, and part of that is his dependency on the man. How much he counted on Bruce for everything, and he can’t allow himself to fall into that pattern again.
(He ignores the part of his brain that points out Bruce was his father, and was supposed to provide for him. That doesn’t matter, not when Bruce fired him. Not when he decided he was unfit. Not when he adopted a new boy despite the fact that he never adopted Dick—)
So. It’s Expensive.
Which means Dick needs a job, one that pays well. Those, as he’s found, are seriously hard to come by when you’re a seventeen-year-old with only a high school diploma and a semester of college under your belt. Which means Dick’s reality isn’t a well-paying job, but a series of jobs that manage to reach a level of income that allows him to pay for his small apartment and feed himself, and upkeep his equipment so he doesn’t fall short in the field. It’s just barely, but it’s enough.
It also means he’s fucking exhausted all the time, but it’s a work in progress. He didn’t expect everything to go perfectly right away, and it’s only been about six months so far—he isn’t going to be discouraged just because he hasn’t yet mastered adulthood.
Out of the three jobs he’s currently working, the coffee shop is his favorite.
He likes the ambiance, the way the lighting is soft and the chatter low, the wood paneling of the walls and comfy couches and chairs spread throughout the place, the casual attire the employees are allowed to wear. He likes the familiar motions of making the drinks and heating up the food, and the easy companionship of his coworkers. He definitely likes the fact that everything is 50% off for employees.
And he likes the customers. The regulars, who always offer him a warm smile when he starts making their usual before they even have the chance to open their mouths, and the newbies who flounder for a moment at the long menu before looking nearly determined as they place their order.
And, of course, there are a few specific customers that make the place...particularly worthwhile.
The first time Hal Jordan comes into the café, Dick freezes in surprise. It doesn’t take long for anger to hit, his eyes narrowing as he pictures just why Green Lantern would be in a random Bludhaven coffee shop, what favor Bruce must’ve promised him to get him to check in on Dick.
A scathing remark is on the tip of his tongue, when Hal’s eyes land on him and go wide, jaw dropping in surprise.
Dick’s been around expert performers since the day he was born, exceptional liars since he moved in with Bruce. He knows what it looks like when someone is bullshitting, especially in such an exaggerated way. But Hal’s shock is genuine—he truly had no idea he’d find Dick here. Must’ve just been passing through, stopped in for some coffee. A strange coincidence, sure, but a coincidence nonetheless.
That was a few months ago, and Hal has been coming in semi-regularly since. Any time he comes planet-side, or is on the East Coast for business, he drops in. Buys a random drink without glancing at the menu and strikes up a conversation, chatting with Dick like he’s an equal instead of a sidekick the way Dick’s been so used to for years.
It’s—nice. Worth the teasing his coworkers subject him to any time Hal leaves. Dick can admit to maybe flirting, just a little. And he’d be more embarrassed about that if the others didn’t insist Hal was flirting, too.
A more recent addition to the visits is Oliver Queen of all people.
He comes in in a suit Dick knows costs more than half his year’s income, sunglasses perched on his nose as he surveys the place. He, opposed to Hal, doesn’t look even slightly surprised when his eyes land on Dick. He simply cocks an eyebrow and strolls forward, drawling out an order with such superiority that it has Dick’s teeth grinding, sympathy for Roy rising in his chest.
“Hal finally fessed up to where he’s been coming,” Oliver says, once Dick has handed over his drink. “Figured I’d have to check out the jailbait he’s been so distracted by.”
Instead of being offended, Dick finds himself replying with a dry, “The age of consent in New Jersey is sixteen.”
It makes Oliver bark a laugh, flash a smile, and then suddenly they’re talking like old friends, Oliver engaging with him like he’s Nightwing instead of the teen hero who was on a team with his son. Dick might’ve thought Oliver was a lesser version of Bruce when he was younger, but goddamn if this isn’t more respect in one conversation than Bruce has shown in two years.
It becomes routine, from then on. They never come in together, but still both Hal and Oliver visit, both buying random drinks, both spending far too much time talking to Dick when they could surely be doing far more important things. Hell, Oliver runs an entire company for fuck’s sake! And yet still they come to this tiny coffee shop...just to talk to him.
Dick can admit that he’s maybe a little attached to it. That the attention, after being so thoroughly dismissed by his mentor, feels damn good. That he loves the way Hal always gives him his entire focus, despite being such a distractible individual. The way Oliver’s gaze begins to drift over his body after they’ve been talking for a while, far more desirable than how Dick has felt since he and Kory broke up. A warm feeling in his gut instead of the distaste when random strangers hit on him.
He eats it up. And maybe it’s pathetic, maybe it’s desperate, but he can’t bring himself to care.
It’s maybe seven months in when they finally come in together.
It’s later than usual, right at the tail end of Dick’s shift instead of right in the middle. It’s almost jarring to see them together, at least out of costume like this. Strange to see Oliver’s smirk next to Hal’s bright eyes.
And when they invite him out for some drinks, intention clear in the way they look at him—
Dick says yes.