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“I didn't think Batman did the walk of shame.”
“Batman doesn't,” Dick said, giving Terry a look. “I'm surprised they still use that phrase in your time. I would have thought it wouldn't be schway.”
Terry frowned. “Since when do you say schway?”
“I speak several languages. I grew up in a circus. Picking up strange words and phrases is part of what I do. My exposure to other cultures—terrestrial and not—is extensive. Adding in schway is actually not a hard task. What are you doing up already?”
Terry grimaced. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to sleep in this place?”
“Actually, yes. I grew up here. And I was going to move everyone to Wayne Tower for a reason,” Dick answered. “Look, I haven't heard from the League yet. Neither has Oracle. I checked in with her this morning. Don't even start. I haven't slept before four in the morning in years.”
“It's nine-thirty. Or it was when I got up and got dressed. And by the way? Alfred having clothes on hand in my size—”
“Creepy?”
“Yeah.”
Dick shrugged. “Alfred is all knowing and all seeing and gets you anything you need, whether you need it or not. He's a living legend and myth all at once.”
“You really like the guy, don't you?”
“He raised me as much as Bruce did. More than Bruce did in some respects. I owe him my life more times than I can count, and he's family. I don't know what Bruce told you about him, but he should have told you that Alfred was the best thing that ever happened to any of us,” Dick said. He let out a breath. “I smell coffee. Alfred is the best.”
Terry followed him as he turned back from the bedrooms and toward the stairs. “Do you think you can get me back to my time?”
“Honestly? I have no clue. I'm sorry. That kind of science really isn't my thing. I'm a decent enough detective, a fairly good strategist, and the best acrobat I know, but as far as dimensions and the space time continuum—the only thing I'm good at with time is wasting it. Just ask my friends or my ex-girlfriends,” Dick said, shaking his head. “I know we'll do everything we can to get you back there, but there is a chance that it's not possible. I know that's not what you want to hear. I won't lie to you, though. There may be nothing I can do to help you.”
Terry nodded. “I know. Thank you for being honest.”
Dick stopped, looking back at him. “You know, we can make your stay here as worthwhile as possible. Personally—and this might be my own bias talking—but I'm worried you rely too much on that suit of yours. I'd like to show you a few things about investigation and fighting that have nothing to do with suits.”
“I'm not incapable—”
“I didn't say you were. If I really thought that, I wouldn't have left it to Alfred to sedate you. I'd just have hit you,” Dick said with a smile that had Terry frowning. “No, I'm not kidding. If I legitimately thought you were going to be a danger last night, I'd have made sure you weren't. I have enough to worry about with Damian with me. He was trained by assassins and he doesn't always know when he should hold back. And I knew Red Hood would be out in that mess, too. So, honestly, if I'd thought you were going to put anyone at risk—including yourself—I'd have hit you first.”
“Nice to know.”
Dick grinned. “Well, I did learn one or two things from Bruce over the years.”
“Right. Blame Bruce for that one.”
“I just did.”
“The idiots trying to run Father's business are going to ruin it,” Damian announced as he took a seat at the table. He scowled down at his bowl and then over at Grayson. “If you're not going to do something about it, I will.”
Grayson grimaced. “I really don't have time for that right now, Damian. There are too many other things to—”
“You can deal with the pretender,” Damian said with disgust. “I will deal with the incompetent fools employed by Wayne Enterprises.”
“I do hope, Master Damian, that you do not intend to speak to the members of the board in that manner,” Pennyworth said, and Damian noticed that while this Terry person and Grayson got their cups refilled, Pennyworth did not fill his. “That would hardly help manners.”
“Alfred is right. Look, Damian, we can't afford to antagonize the board right now. We need to—”
“What, have that puppet you have impersonating Father come and speak to them?”
“That is not an option. We're going to have to fix this ourselves,” Grayson said. He pointed a finger at Damian. “And no, that does not mean that you are going in there to insult the board or threaten them with a sword. Speaking of swords, we need to discuss you bringing one out as Robin the other night.”
“Grayson—”
“No. You are officially grounded as Robin. You broke the rules, and that has consequences. You have to face them. You can't ignore them or pretend that they don't exist.”
“You could not stop me if I wanted to go.”
“I could. I would. I will,” Grayson said. “Don't push me. I'm really not in the mood.”
“No, you would rather play house with the pretender. He's not your brother. None of them are. Not Todd, not Drake, not that pretender. You are not a father. You're not a brother. You're not even a son. This 'family' is a joke, and when you realize that—”
“Enough,” Grayson said, his voice cold and reminiscent of Father's. He rose. “You are not going anywhere today. Not to the board, not on patrol, not even into the batcave. If you're lucky, Alfred will let you help him polish the silver. I doubt you're that lucky.”
“Grayson—”
“Not now.” Grayson left the room before Damian could say anything else, and then a napkin hit him in the face. He turned to glare at the pretender.
“You are a real dreg, you know that? You have got to work on your people skills.”
“Feigning politeness is beneath me.”
“And liking people is a weakness. You said that last night,” the pretender said. He shook his head. “You just don't get it, do you, kid? You are pushing away the only person who likes you. If you alienate Dick, you've got no one left. That is a miserable way to live.”
“What would you know of it?”
“I got into a fight with my father the day he died,” the pretender said. He shook his head. “I said things I shouldn't have, and I will never be able to tell him that I'm sorry, that I didn't mean them... I know you want to think that you don't need anyone, but you don't fool anyone, either. What Grayson thinks of you matters to you—he matters to you—and he could have died last night. Any night. It's what he does and who he is, and that's not going to stop. What happens to you if you lose him?”
Damian glared at the older boy across the table. “I would survive. I am not a child. I can care for myself.”
“Yeah, that's what every teenager thinks right until their parents die,” the pretender muttered, getting to his feet. “You're an idiot, but maybe you still have time to grow out of it.”
“I will kill you.”
“Now you sound like my little brother.”
“Disgusting.”
The pretender laughed.
“This is one of Bruce's cars, isn't it?”
Dick nodded, ignoring the beeping of his phone again. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, and sooner or later he'd have to get away from here to go check on Hush, but he wanted to get Terry started on something that would help and distract him first. Tim had been geeking out over the tech in Terry's suit last time Dick spoke to him, and hopefully he would be able to fix it. Dick would have to deal with Damian when he got back, and that he was not looking forward to, either.
“Figured. It doesn't seem like you.”
Dick frowned. “What about it is not me? It's fast, it's sleek, it's expensive—”
“It's all for show. You seem more practical than that.”
Dick eyed Terry suspiciously. “Who have you been talking to? I am not sure anything I do is practical, especially these days.”
The kid shrugged. “I suppose plenty of people would consider being Batman crazy, but you know I'm not one to talk. I wear the suit, too. And with less of a reason for it than you have.”
“What, crime just... stopped in your time period?”
“No, I mean...” Terry grimaced. “You stepped in because Bruce is dead and his son needs you and the city does. There hadn't been a Batman for twenty years when I stole the suit.”
“Stole the suit? Tell Jason about that. You two might actually get along,” Dick told him, seeing the kid frown out of the corner of his eye. “He met Bruce stealing the tires off the batmobile.”
“You're kidding.”
“Nope.”
Terry shook his head, looking out at the city. “This is so weird. I've seen pictures of the city in history books and videos, but even virtual reality doesn't come close to it.”
“Gotham is a living, breathing monster.”
Terry looked at him, and Dick pretended not to notice as he moved the car through traffic, cutting a few turns close and getting a chorus of honks for his trouble. “Where were you really last night?”
“Damian's commentary on my nocturnal habits aside, I don't have much of a social life these days. I finally understand why Bruce gave up on it. Batman is a whole other world. Nightwing still had time for friends and a steady girlfriend. Batman... doesn't.” Dick shrugged. “You know where I was. First Joker, then Two-Face, then Red Hood, twice.”
“Look, I know I'm not from here, and I don't know you that well, but you're lying, and I don't like being lied to,” Terry said. “You said you knew who arranged the Arkham escape. You went after them. Who was it?”
Dick turned into the parking lot, taking the first available space. “You're not going to let this go, are you?”
“No, but on the bright side—you don't have to worry about me telling anyone else. I'm not planning on sticking around, remember? I'm just killing time until we get me back where I belong. And this secret you don't want to share is going with me.”
Dick grimaced. “I hate your father's DNA.”
Terry laughed.
“I know I don't have an appointment,” Dick said, giving the secretary a smile, “but I would really appreciate it if he could spare us a few minutes.”
Terry added his own smile when the woman glanced in his direction, but his mind was far away from this, back in his own time and in Mr. Wayne's files, trying to remember all he he'd read about Hush. The file had left out more than was in there, and that made Terry uneasy, especially since he knew that Dick had gone after this guy alone.
The door opened before the secretary could answer, and Terry blinked. He knew he should have expected it, but his mind still connected Commissioner Gordon to a woman with glasses and a gun, not an older man—he did have the glasses, but still—that wasn't Terry's Commissioner Gordon.
“Commissioner.”
“Mr. Grayson.”
Dick's smile seemed more forced now. “I know you're busy, but if you have a minute, there is a favor I'd like to ask of you. It could result in you getting another good man for the department, or it'll scare some sense into him.”
“Oh?”
Dick pushed Terry forward. “This is... a distant cousin, Terry. He's got it in his head that he wants to be a cop. I figured the best way to see if this was what he really wanted was to take him through a case and see how well he does with it.”
Gordon looked suspicious. Terry couldn't blame him. It wasn't like Dick had told him the plan. He'd been blindsided by it and probably didn't do a very convincing nod when Dick had said he wanted to be a cop. “You want him to shadow one of my detectives?”
“They're all so busy, and I wouldn't want to add to the city's burden. I was thinking more along the lines of a cold case,” Dick said. He reached up into his hair, scratching his head. “I may not have thought this through all the way. I suppose you could just give us the Grayson case and I could walk him through that one.”
“You?”
“I was with the Blüdhaven police,” Dick said, shrugging. “It wasn't for very long, but I haven't forgotten all of those academy classes. I can manage, and anyway, the point was for Terry to do most of the work.”
Gordon gave Dick another look, not trusting what he said, and then his phone rang, taking him back into the other room.
“You used to be a cop?” Terry hissed at Dick, wishing Mr. Wayne had told him more about this guy so he'd know what to expect, even if this Dick Grayson was different from his world's Dick Grayson.
“I've had a very long and very misspent youth.”