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Dick knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the kitchen.
He and Barbara had spent the previous night at the Manor. They were being coerced into attending the Martha Wayne Foundation charity ball later that evening, and it was just easier to get ready there. With all of the workers coming and going, Manor traffic on gala days was absurd.
“Who died?” he asked, his eyebrow cocked. It was still early in the morning for Batpeople, so there were only a few others awake. Bruce, Jason, and Alfred were all seated at the table looking grim.
In lieu of an answer, Bruce handed him his newspaper.
“Neo-Nazi Extremist ‘The Sword of Light’ Strikes Again: Prominent Jewish Businessman Found Dead in Office.”
Dick wrinkled his nose in disgust. Gotham City had been plagued by hate crimes for almost two weeks. All the victims thus far had been wealthy or notable in some way: first a gay-rights activist; then a well-known Gotham University football player who was Jehovah’s Witness; and now a rich Jewish man.
Neo-Nazis were a special breed of evil in Dick’s opinion. His mother had lost several family members to the Holocaust due to their Romani heritage. It broke his heart that people continued to subscribe to such horrific ideology in the modern world. Being Romani was one of his favorite things about himself. He wished everyone could see the true richness and beauty of his culture.
He slid into a chair across from Jason and gratefully accepted a mug of coffee from Alfred. “Do we have any leads on this guy?”
Bruce shook his head. “Not yet. We don’t even know for sure that it’s only one man. But, Dick, look at the picture.”
Dick returned his gaze to the newspaper and narrowed his eyes at the photo. There, on the window of the deceased man’s office, was a message spray-painted in black:
“The gyp is next.”
His stomach dropped. “Oh. Well, that could mean anybody. I don’t even live in Gotham anymore.”
“You live in the next town over, and you’re still a Wayne. That’s close enough for this guy. Besides, name one other prominent Roma in Gotham City,” Jason said through gritted teeth. Dick could feel the anger pouring off of his brother in waves.
That was a fair point. There wasn’t a large Romani population in Gotham. Come to think of it, Dick couldn’t name a single other famous Gothamite who shared his heritage. When he had first been taken into state custody after his parents had died, CPS hadn’t even been able to find a translator for him (not that they had tried very hard; they hadn’t even asked him what other languages he spoke).
Because of the lack of awareness, he had faced a lot of ignorance and racism growing up among the Gotham elite. Some called him a thief or vagabond while others labeled him as “exotic” and hypersexualized him (even from the ripe old age of nine). Still, no one had ever tried to outright hurt him.
Fucking Nazis were the worst.
Dick sighed. “Okay, so what are we gonna do about it?”
“Well, you’re not going to the damn gala. That’s for fucking sure,” Jason asserted. For once, Alfred didn’t admonish him for his colorful language.
“Jason’s right,” Bruce nodded. “You shouldn’t go tonight. It’s too risky. In fact, you may want to consider leaving town while we handle this. Take Barbara on a vacation or go see Wally.”
Dick shook his head. “Oh hell no. I am not leaving town so you guys can go Nazi hunting without me. I want to help catch this guy.”
Jason huffed. “I told you he wouldn’t go for it.”
“This isn’t the first time one of us has been threatened. Besides, the gala tonight is here at the Manor. That means we’ll have the advantage of all your surveillance technology, Bruce. If he tries anything tonight, then we’ll be able to catch him.”
“We’re not using you as fucking bait, dipshit,” Jason protested.
“While I must take exception to Master Jason’s language,” Alfred said with a warning glance, “I do agree with his sentiment. Surely, we can come up with a better course of action than putting yourself in harm’s way, Master Dick.”
“Alf, I’m a vigilante and a cop in one of the most crime-filled cities in America,” Dick pointed out. He turned to face his father. “B, this guy wants to kill me because of my ethnicity. My mother’s ethnicity. Surely you realize I can’t walk away from that. And even if I could, if he can’t get to me, then he’ll just go after someone else. Most of our family goes against the Aryan ideology. Cass, Damian, and Duke are all non-white, Tim is bisexual, and Barbara – my girlfriend – is disabled. Any one of them could be next. So let’s catch this psycho now while we know who his target is.”
The room grew quiet for a few moments while Bruce pondered his son’s words. Finally, he relented. “I’m calling Kate in to run surveillance and serve as backup. You are to stick closely to Jason the entire time. If things start to get hairy, you leave. Understood?”
Dick grinned. “You got it, Boss.”
Jason groaned. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Why, Dick, you look so handsome tonight,” an old lady – Mrs. Jeffers, he believed – cooed as she raked her eyes lasciviously up and down his body. “Please give your father’s tailor my deepest gratitude. Those pants do wonders for your behind.”
Dick forced himself to laugh. “Careful, Mrs. Jeffers. You know I’m taken.”
“So am I,” the woman waved off, “ but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate pretty things. I’m sure your girlfriend would understand. There’s no way she could hope to keep you for herself. Your people are known for being, well, free spirits.”
Yep. There it was.
“Okay, this conversation is over,” Jason snapped. He put a protective hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Just because your old sack-of-bones husband can’t get it up anymore doesn’t mean you get to take out your repressed horniness on my brother. Just buy yourself a vibrator or something and leave him the fuck alone.”
Dick took great pleasure in how red Mrs. Jeffers’ face got. She mumbled a few outraged remarks then stomped off, probably to go tattle to Bruce.
“Pretty sure you just cost B a donation,” he said, smiling at his brother. “Thanks, though.”
Jason still looked peeved. “Yeah, well, I don’t handle sexual harassment well. Geez, Dick. Is it always like this for you?”
Dick shrugged. “Has been pretty much since Bruce took me in. The media has a long history of misrepresenting the Romani people – they still call us ‘gypsies,’ for Christ’s sake. So a lot of Americans have this vision of Roma either being dirty thieves or these exotic, overly sexual people. As a result, I’ve always felt really fetishized. Bruce tried his best to shield me from it, but there were always those like Jeffers who got through.”
“I always knew people found you attractive, but that was just shameless,” Jason shook his head. “I’m sorry you have to deal with shit like that.”
“I appreciate that, Jaybird, but I know it hasn’t always been easy for you, either. You’ve had your fair share of nasty remarks.”
“Hey, I can handle all the ‘street rat’ stuff and Eliza Doolittle jokes. But if some old lady said to me what she just said to you? I would probably lose my ever-loving shit.”
Dick chuckled. “I’ll give you that.”
The gala continued as normal. Bruce did approach them about the Jeffers incident, but after Jason explained what the woman had said, their father’s face had darkened. He promised to remove the Jeffers’ from any and all guest lists he made going forward.
Dick found himself wishing he had always had Jason at his side during galas. His brother was like a scary guard dog. If anyone so much as looked at Dick for too long, he was on them like white on rice. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had gone this long during a Wayne social event without someone trying to pinch his ass. It was refreshing.
“Hey, you,” Barbara smiled as she approached him. “I’ve barely seen you all night.”
Dick leaned down and planted a kiss on his girlfriend’s lips. God, she looked amazing. Her dark green gown contrasted beautifully with her curled red hair, and it hugged her curves in all the right places. He was definitely going to enjoy taking it off later. “I’ve been stuck socializing. You look incredible, by the way.”
“Oh, get a room,” Jason huffed.
Barbara laughed. “Hello to you, too, Jason. Still being a good bodyguard?”
“I’m being the best damn bodyguard. You don’t wanna know how many times I’ve defended your boyfriend’s honor tonight.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “While I do appreciate you keeping my ass away from pinching fingers, I wouldn’t go that far. I am perfectly capable of defending my own honor.”
“Sure you are.”
Soon, the crowd gathered around the stage for Bruce’s speech. Waiters wove between the crowd, offering the guests champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Dick kept a constant eye out for trouble. He analyzed every single person that entered within five feet of him. With the crowd focused on Bruce, if Mr. Lightsaber or whatever his name was planned on making a move, now would be his most opportune time.
Aha.
He saw a waiter approaching him from his two-o’clock. Caucasian male in his late thirties. 5’10” and medium build. His pants were half an inch too short, and his cuffs were only halfway buttoned. If Dick knew one thing, it was that Alfred Pennyworth would never allow a staff member to enter his ballroom with half-buttoned cuffs.
That was his guy.
He opened his mouth to alert Jason, but then the man caught his gaze. He knew he’d been made. The guy turned around and tried to hastily make his exit.
Naturally, Dick followed him.
The guy was fast, but Dick was faster. He tackled the man a few feet away from the kitchen, sending them flying to the ground with a loud crash.
“Filthy gypsy trash,” the man spat as he struggled underneath Dick’s weight.
Dick narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you? Nobody likes a Nazi.”
He punched the dude right in his stupid face.
Jason dropped down beside them. “You got him,” he said with a grin.
Dick nodded, feeling a smile of his own spread across his face. “I did.”
His brother’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Dick, you’re bleeding,” he breathed, motioning to his side.
It was then that Dick noticed a burning pain emanating from his side. He had been so jacked up on adrenaline, he hadn’t even noticed before. He looked down and, sure enough, there was a growing spot of red on his shirt.
“Dang. It appears I may have been slightly stabbed.”
Jason cursed and slammed his hand against Dick’s bleeding wound. It hurt like a bitch, but Dick was pretty sure it hadn’t hit anything important. Pretty sure.
Security guards caught up to them pretty soon after that. They alerted them that paramedics were on the way then dragged Dick’s would-be murderer away from the scene so they could hand him over to the police. When the guy was pulled away, Dick saw what he had been stabbed with: a small silver dagger with the Nazi eagle engraved on the hilt.
Ewwww. Even the dude’s knife was racist.
Bruce, having seen the commotion from on the stage, had stopped his speech and was barreling his way towards them. Around him, the rest of the security team was already working on clearing out the ballroom.
“What happened?” he demanded upon reaching his sons. Tim and Damian were trailing closely behind him.
“I punched a Nazi in the face,” Dick declared proudly.
“Idiot got himself stabbed,” Jason huffed at the same time. He had grabbed the waiters cloth off of Mr. Lightsaber’s stolen uniform and was using it to apply pressure to his brother’s side.
Dick winced. “That is also true but a lot less exciting.”
Bruce crouched down and gently lifted Dick’s shirt to get a better look at the wound. “It doesn’t look to have hit anything vital, but it’s fairly deep. You’re definitely gonna need some stitches.”
“Gross. I hate stitches,” Dick complained.
“At least you got to punch a Nazi in the face!” Tim reminded cheerfully. “That’s totally awesome.”
Dick’s smile returned. His little brother was right. It was totally awesome. So what if he had gotten lightly stabbed? To him, it was all worth it.