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It had been an unusually long patrol, since Batman was caught up in tracking a disturbing trend of similar murders that had occurred over the past week. It wasn’t until he glanced over and caught Robin leaning against the chimney mid-yawn that he realized it was nearly one in the morning, much later than a ten year old should be up. He winced. Alfred would not be happy, especially since they had to attend a brunch for the opening of the new Martha Wayne Memorial Exhibit at the Flugelheim tomorrow, well, today.
“Come, Robin.” His partner looked up at him, rubbing a hand across his eyelets in a futile gesture. “We have found everything we will for tonight. Time to head back to base.”
It was an indicator of how tired the child was that he didn’t call him out on the obvious lie, instead nodding and practically dragging himself away from the chimney and towards the fire escape that lead to the alley where the Batmobile-Darnit! Now he was using that ridiculous name, was parked.
He took a moment to reflect on how even his mental swears had begun to be censored under Alfred’s watchful eye these past two years as he watched Robin make his unsteady way down the fire escape. The fact that the boy hadn’t dived off of the roof did more than anything else to demonstrate just how tired he was.
Robin curled up and was asleep before the door was even closed and Bruce had pulled the cowl down. If he was more careful driving back to the cave than usual well, no one was around to notice.
Getting Robin out of the car proved an interesting challenge, Bruce was well aware of his ward’s octopus-like tendencies when asleep, he’d spent enough nights as a security pillow, but he hadn’t truly appreciated them until he was trying to detangle the boy from the Batmobile. He would manage to get half of him up from the seat, only to lose that ground while trying to pry his other limbs free of the vehicle. Eventually, he managed to detach him, only to have the life nearly choked out of him as Dick switched his iron, aerialist’s grip to Bruce’s neck.
Finally, he managed to shake Dick semi-awake and peel his mask off, shoving him gently in the direction of the medical bay where his pajamas were waiting for him. “Go get changed, Chum.”
Dick nodded a sleepy acquiescence and wandered off towards his locker. Bruce rummaged in his own, searching for the button down and slacks he had left there before they set out this evening.
They weren’t there.
Instead, neatly folded and looking innocently up at him, were a set of royal blue, flannel nightclothes, generously decorated with a familiar, gaudy, yellow and red symbol.
He stared dumbly at the…articles of clothing for a good minute or two. Dick had been trying to get him to wear them for months, citing that families, however unorthodox, had to have matching pajamas. Bruce had heard Alfred suggesting that Dick might have more luck if he tried a different set, but it seemed that the wily brat had won the butler over to his way of thinking at last. Even his sweats had been removed and Bruce knew without checking that nowhere in the cave would there be clothes that fit him besides these…things.
And Alfred had gone to bed hours ago, most likely on purpose so that Bruce couldn’t demand a different change of clothes.
A thunk from the medical bay reminded Bruce that he needed to hurry and get dressed, which he did with a scowl, glaring down at the fuzzy blue flannel. Dick tottered out into the main cave, wearing his own set of Superman pajamas and rubbing his eyes, which still had traces of the adhesive around them.
His ward blinked at him in non-comprehension for a moment before his face lit up in one of his brilliant grins. “You’re wearing them!”
It was nearly impossible to remain angry in the face of Dick Grayson’s unabashed excitement and Bruce felt his scowl melting off his face against his will. Dick pulled one last burst of energy from somewhere and climbed up onto the computer bank before launching himself through the air and attaching himself to Bruce’s back like a leech, curling his face into the hollow where Bruce’s shoulder and neck met.
“’M tired Br’ce. ‘S go t’bed.”
With a sigh, Bruce hefted the more-familiar-than-he-would-ever-admit weight and headed for the staircase, already plotting revenge against Clark, since taking on the united force of Alfred and Dick would be nothing short of suicide. He’d make sure the Big Blue Boy Scout never knew what hit him.
After he delivered Dick to his room, he stumbled towards his own, stripping the stiflingly warm flannel shirt off as he did so. He collapsed onto his bed and floated off into happy, juvenile dreams of a miserable Kryptonian showing up to Justice League meetings in a Batman T-shirt.