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Dick had no idea what had happened. Providing constant chatter as he and Peter went into the office, he was met with a very, very still Damian Wayne.
Technically, he only had his mask on.
Stillness usually meant something terrible. Death, or poison.
“So…” Dick prompted, making a encouraging hand motion.
Damian sniffed, and flopped backwards onto Dick’s chair. Not good. The kid always sat upright, no matter what.
“Scarecrow gas. Added to some loopy Joker gas with Poison Ivy’s. Level seven? It hasn’t truly kicked in yet, but you were the only available ally. Kent is busy, Father is busy. The Joker gas is kicking in. Chloroform me.” Damian yawned. At least the kid maintained his cover, though his huge extension of formality and knowledge that ten-year old kids didn’t know abolished that fact.
“Aww, you consider me an ally! How cute!” Dick said, walking over to Damians side as he started laughing. Dick slapped a cold,chloroform-dripping cloth onto Damians mouth, knocking him out in roughly five minutes. Gosh, League Of Assassins, chill out on the tolerance.
“Neal. That kid. Did you just knock him out.” Peter was the first to speak, of course. Damian had a slash wound on his stomach he had been hiding particularly well.
Dick hummed in reply.
“Did I?”
“You didn’t?” Diana asked, confused.
“I never said I didn’t.”
“This is ridiculous, Neal. You might go to jail for this for assault and denial.”
“Oh I won’t! He asked for it, and I never said I didn’t knock him out.” Dick cheered.
“Okay. Sure. Come here, we’ll just hand you the… metal bracelets.”
They were grossly underestimating his intelligence. Being cheerful didn’t mean being dumb.
“Hmm.. how about no?” Dick said, picking up Damian’s finally limp body and handing him to Tim who had entered the room three minutes ago.
“Ew, do I have to? Why does he smell absolutely incredible, oh my god,” Tim said, throwing a disgusted look at Dick, receiving shocked looks from agents who hadn’t realised his presence.
“Why are you even smelling him? Yeah, just dump him in the back or something. Back of the car, not the trunk.” Dick added, sending Tim a look.
“Look, the smell’s strong okay? What shampoo does he use, holy.” Dick nodded. Sure.
Tim went down, muttering something suspiciously close to ‘I’m throwing him in the trunk,” and Dick started packing his stuff in his desk, humming the Superman theme.
“Neal. Where do you think your going?” Jones asked.
“Home, duh. Hey O!”
Barbara’s voice filled his ears.
“Hey Dickface. Deleting all files on Neal Caffrey.”
“Shame, hated playing him. And don’t call me that.”
“It’s catchy.” With that, Dick leapt over his desk, skipping down the steps despite loud shouts.
“Neal! Get back here!”
Peter looked out his window to meet the figure of Neal Caffrey jumping into the Batmobile.