Chapter Text
Dick was wiping down the counter. Too many crumbs. How is it possible that making one sandwich generates so many crumbs? And Dick would stop thinking about the counter being gross, but if he’s not thinking about the counter, he was thinking about Tim. Because Tim hadn’t shown up yet. Dick wasn’t too concerned because it was only 9:30 and no one typically started patrol until 11, but he still wanted to make sure he had enough time to explain everything before Tim had to get started.
Before he could let himself think about it too hard, his phone started buzzing. He answered it without really looking, not many people had this number. “I was thinking,” Wally’s voice came from the other end, “Next Saturday, you, me, pizza, possibly stargazing, most likely video games. What do you think?”
Dick grinned, even though he knew Wally couldn’t see it. “I’m always down to spend my nights like that.”
“Well then, it is a date.” Dick could hear the smile in Wally’s tone. “Sorry I called during your small sliver of peace for the day, I didn’t want to interrupt the other way you like to spend your nights.”
Dick huffed a laugh. “First, I’m always happy to hear from you. Second, Tim is taking my patrol tonight because he thinks I need to sleep more.”
Dick couldn’t hear Wally’s shit-eating grin so much as he could feel it in his soul. “How many days in a row do you have to go without sleep for Tim Drake to tell you that you need sleep?”
“It’s not as bad as you think,” Dick defended himself, “I’ve been taking naps.”
“Oh, of course. Because that’s enough sleep.”
“You know what, I don’t appreciate your tone right now.”
“Oh no, how ever shall we come back from this moment,” Wally said in a transatlantic accent, as if he was a dame in an old movie.
Dick laughed. “You’re not allowed to tell Tim, but I’m actually looking forward to how much sleep I’m gonna get tonight.”
Wally snorted. “You Bats and your weird relationships with sleep. I will hang up and let you get to it then.”
“Okie dokie.”
Another snort. “Goodnight, Dick.”
“Goodnight, Wally. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Dick hung up and put his phone down. He looked at the clock again. Not even 9:45 yet.
He didn’t normally get so hung up on time, but Dick had a bad feeling tonight. This gut feeling that something was about to go wrong. He got that feeling the night his parents died. He got it again the week Jason died. He got it before Jason attacked Tim, and the day Bruce got banished through the timestream, and the morning before Damian was killed, and the day Barbara was attacked by the Joker, and dozens of other times.
Basically, Dick was worried about Tim.
Realistically, Dick knew that if Tim was gonna start patrol at 11, he wouldn’t be there until 10 at the earliest or 10:30 at the latest. He knew that he still had an hour before he should start worrying, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.
Dick was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t process the click of the door opening until he heard the bang that followed.
His vigilante training was the only reason he didn’t drop immediately upon being shot. Dick grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter and used it to keep himself on his feet.
Great plan.
Until the gun went off again. And again.
Dick hit the ground a little harder than he expected. He blinked a few times, trying to reorient himself. He briefly caught a glimpse of his attacker. Once he saw the green, he rolled onto his stomach. He just had to reach the emergency alert and he’d be fine. Someone would come.
He only got a few inches forward before something came down on his back. Hard. Between the bullets and whatever just hit him, Dick was shorter on breath than he would have preferred.
The world was spinning. He tried to push himself up again only to be hit again.
Dick forced himself onto his back with enough time to see the mystery object come down on him again. It was a crowbar. Jason would think it was cosmic irony or some shit like that. If Dick focused, he could almost hear Jason making a joke about it. Delirium wasn’t a good sign, but Dick couldn't bring himself to care all that much. He’d much rather pretend that the last thing he’s hearing is Jason telling jokes and not the psychopath above him laughing while bringing down the crowbar again. Because this was it, wasn’t it? Dick couldn’t get to the alert system and his attacker wasn’t letting up and he’d been shot three times and he’s losing too much blood and Tim wouldn’t be there for at least another ten minutes and–
Dick closed his eyes. If he was gonna die, he wasn’t gonna do it by putting himself in shock.
Instead, he thought about Sunday dinners with the family. Everyone was at the last one, something that didn’t happen a lot. Damian had placed in his art show the night before, so it was a celebration. Dick had been able to convince Alfred to actually sit down for once after dessert was served. No one had bothered to leave the table. Dick thought about taking his brothers out for ice cream. Tim always got mint chocolate chip. Damian was partial to any sorbet they had at the time. Duke didn’t have a favorite flavor, instead he always just chose the Featured Flavor. Jason, the heathen, enjoyed strawberry. Dick thought about going to Cass’s last ballet performance. He’d asked for the day off months prior. She was amazing, as always. Better than anyone else there. But maybe he was just biased. He thought about Steph helping him make glitter bombs. She was the only one willing to get messy when it came to pranking the Big Bat. Especially since they would certainly be caught red (or glitter) handed. He thought about the acrobatic equipment Bruce had put in the manor’s gym when he was 10. About how Bruce had clearly been scared to present the birthday gift. About how happy it made Dick to be able to connect to his parents again. About the small smile Bruce offered when Dick thanked him. He thought about the day his adoption papers were finalized. About Bruce sneaking him and Tim out to get root beer floats. About how Alfred made stuffed peppers for dinner and pirogo for dessert that night. Dick thought about Wally. About how long they’d known each other. About their first kiss. About the date they were supposed to go on next week. About how the last words he said to Wally were “I love you” and he was okay with that.
The crowbar came down again.
Dick was losing his grip on consciousness.
At least he would get to see his parents again, he thought. He would get a hug from his dat. He would hear his dya call him Robin again. He couldn’t remember her voice.
The crowbar came down once more, and the world faded to black.