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Tim was getting ready for patrol when Dick emerged from the lift. He was standing better. His shoulders were even and he wasn't favouring his ribs like he'd been the last time Bruce had seen him. He always made good time on physical recovery.
But then, coming out of a week-long coma had other complications.
Dick grinned at him, “Hey B.”
He grunted, “Why are you in Gotham?” Dick had gotten Joey to drive him back to Blüdhaven the moment Leslie had allowed it. He'd been bothering his poor boyfriend to drive him home for days, but Joey cared more about doctors’ orders than Dick. Bruce had been selfishly glad of that fact. It had meant that while Dick was at his most injured, he was nearby. Bruce could reassure himself that he hadn't lost both his sons. His eldest was down the hall, in his own room. Though he'd definitely startled himself when he’d gone to check on Dick and seen Joey first. Which was stupid, he'd belatedly realised that of course Joey was also there.
His embarrassment had been enough to defuse Dick's indignation at Bruce treating him like he was still a child.
Dick closed the distance between them, “Appointment with Leslie,” he hummed, leaning on the desk.
“Tell me you didn't ride here before you got the okay.” Bruce didn't look away from the report he was typing up. Dick had been having issues with his balance and his fine motor skills since he woke up. He was taking it badly, in spite, or maybe because of, Leslie’s constant reminders of how he was lucky he didn't seem to have any cognitive issues. But then Bruce probably wouldn't have been taking it any better.
Dick pulled a face, shrugged, and that meant his shoulder was definitely better. “Maybe I did.”
He sighed. If Dick had gotten good news, he wouldn't be trying to get a rise out of him. “Leslie hasn't cleared you for field work.”
A huff. “Leslie is acting from the perspective of someone who thinks I should take this as a sign to retire.” He was bitter. Hero work had been his life for so long and Bruce felt guilt twist in his ribs at letting him be Robin in the first place. Leslie wasn’t wrong. What happened to him could very well have been career ending. It could still be career ending if his symptoms didn’t ease.
Levity. He should aim for levity here. “Well, young athletes, especially gymnasts and acrobats, do hit retirement age before the rest of us.”
Dick shoved him lightly. Or their version of lightly, which was probably harder than he was meant to be shoving anything. “If I'm at retirement age, what's that make you?”
He shook his head, “I'm more akin to a professional fighter, and that gives me until forty-five.”
He barked out a laugh. “You're an asshole.”
Bruce looked at him, “Why not go straight home?”
“Because you don't listen to Leslie,” He smiled slyly.
Oh. Oh no. “I do when it's about you.”
He groaned, “Come on Bruce! I'm going insane with boredom.”
“You don't have reports for the Titans?” he hummed, hoping that Dick’s usual perfectionism would mean that he'd be occupied with paperwork.
“Finished all outstanding. Donna won't give me any more. Says I should be resting.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
Bruce pulled up another file and made an annoyed noise, “She's right.”
“You've never rested a day in your life.” He was signing as he spoke, fingers not quite forming the shapes. It was probably something Joey suggested to help with his fine motor skills. “What are you working on?”
He flicked his gaze back to the screen, “Mob case.”
“Giving you trouble?” he asked, shifting so he could see the screen better.
“Hn.” It was giving him a lot of trouble. It should have been solved long before now, but his investigation had come to a screaming halt when Alfred had told him Dick was in Blüdhaven General. He’d been trying to pick up the threads since Dick had been discharged, but like all mob cases it was a horrendously over-complicated mess. Which meant he had two bodies and a web of interconnected criminals who could easily be involved but weren’t guaranteed to be. He knew who ordered the bodies to drop but he had nowhere near enough evidence to take them down directly. He needed the killer.
But it was beside the point. He turned to watch him for a moment, “Symptom report.”
He rolled his eyes but answered. “Dizziness has reduced by approximately half. Instances of vertigo basically gone. Fine motor skills are improving steadily.”
Bruce frowned. Dick had stopped signing, probably so that he wouldn't notice his hands were shaking. He pulled the grapple from his belt and held it out. When Dick didn't immediately take it, he pressed it into his hands, “Fire it.”
“You're being ridiculous.”
“Fire it.” He repeated. “Humour me.”
Dick’s face was bordering on betrayed, but he raised the grapple, aimed it at the roof of the cave and... didn't fire. The gun shook in his hand and he held his wrist to steady it, but his finger wouldn't squeeze the trigger. He made a frustrated sound and adjusted his grip so he had two fingers on the trigger. It fired; the hook clattered off a stalactite much further down than Dick had aimed at. Bruce levelled him with a flat look.
“Oh, fuck you. This thing is twice the weight of mine.” He said as it wound itself back up.
“Would you let one of your team out in this condition?” he asked.
Dick rolled his eyes, “Would you go out in this condition?”
That was an illustration of his hypocrisy that he didn't want to think about. He was saved from having to by Tim emerging ready for patrol. “Dick!” he rushed over but pulled up short of slamming into him. Dick pulled him into a hug anyway and Tim beamed, rambling, “It's so good to see you! Are you cleared to patrol? Are you coming out with us? It’s gonna be so great! I can't wait to get to go out with you!”
Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. Tim looked up to him so intensely and he was so determined to be a good role model... Dick signed one handed, ‘Don't.’ He sighed, “Sorry Timmy. My grip isn't quite there yet. It's too risky.”
Tim’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly, “That's okay! You shouldn't go out injured I know. I’d rather you be safe.” He pulled back, still grinning. “Are you gonna run comms?”
“B?” Dick leant back on the bench.
“Still no cognitive issues? Brain-fog, mood dysregulation, sleep issues?” he hummed.
Dick shook his head, “No more than before the coma.”
Bruce grunted but moved away from the computer. “Joe’s upstairs?”
Dick flopped into the seat, “Mm-hmm. Fidgeting with the piano. He said it’s still sounding off.” Definite confirmation that Dick hadn’t taken the bike down. He’d been fairly sure, but there was still a slight hit of relief.
“I got it tuned.” He frowned. No one had played it since his parents’ deaths, and it hadn’t occurred to him that it would drift out of tune until a restless Joey had tried to play it when Dick was still in a coma. He didn’t like that his father’s piano was so badly in need of a service so getting it one had ended up oddly high on his priority list.
He shrugged, “Get a new guy. I trust Joey's ear more than yours.”
“Hn.” He’d have to check up on that. “Protocol. Until you're cleared you need someone with you in the cave.”
Dick kicked at him. “Never once in my life have you done that.”
He pulled the cowl up, gestured Tim to the car. “It's a new protocol.” He wasn’t losing anyone again. No matter how safe the cave was he wouldn't take the risk.
Dick rolled his eyes. “You're ridiculous. Go. Have fun~”
Tim called out a goodbye as Bruce sped from the cave.
*
The batmobile roared into the cave at one thirty, which was early, but Tim was new to being Robin. He needed to get home. Bruce would go back out once he was sure Tim was in bed. Dick had done well on comms, responsive, clear, and completely on the ball. Tim shot from the car the moment it stopped. Bruce could barely hear the hello he called to Joey, over Dick's blaring metal music.
He should be able to pick out the artist, as a matter of principle, but all Dick’s bands sounded the same to him and it made him feel old. Bruce climbed out, nodded as Joey waved, on his way to turn the music down. Dick was congratulating Tim on a good night's work. Trying to steer him towards the showers. He eventually succeeded, finally turning his smile to Bruce. “Hey, B. You heading back out?”
He grunted his answer. “Taking another look at that case first.”
“Oh! Can I–?”
“Shower, Tim.” Dick said firmly. “Besides, you don't need to.” He laughed brightly as Joey came up behind him and curled his arms around his waist.
Bruce scowled, “It needs to be taken care of.”
He bapped at Joey's hands until he let go. “I solved it.”
He stopped. Turned. “You were on comms all night.”
“You say that like Alfred doesn't run comms and clean the whole cave at the same time,” he dismissed, bringing up the case files. Bruce decided not to acknowledge that it took longer than it should.
Joey flicked his shoulder, ‘Stop it. You're downplaying again.’
Dick smirked, and it was a face Bruce remembered form when he was Robin. Full of mischief and cheek. His hands echoed him haltingly, “Are you saying it’s not impressive that Alfred can clean the whole cave without missing a beat on comms?”
He shook his head, kissed Dick’s forehead, ‘I think you're both super impressive.’
Dick smiled, bumped into him gently. ‘Thank you,’ “The answers were staring you in the face. I re-ran your samples against the ones from a couple of weeks ago.” The results were flashing on the screen, and the pieces slotted into place in Bruce’s brain. “Particulates in the boot prints in the lobby matched with the ones ground into the carpet in the office. They’re from a very particular gravel, it has shells in it. You only really find it around here, because only people who can afford Bristol property prices can afford to have it shipped into the country.”
“Caplan.” Bruce growled. The egotistical asshole had crowed about it when he got his drive redone with that hideous imported gravel. “He doesn’t have mob ties.”
‘Didn’t.’ Joey gestured for Dick to continue.
He pulled up another file, “The family financial records get weird in the last month. Now the Caplan’s have been living above their means at least as long as I’ve been around. But even so, they took a nosedive and then suddenly shot way up. Normally, at least, considering how…”
“Notorious.” Bruce supplied.
He nodded, “The Caplan’s are with their loans, I’d guess loan shark. But the records show two transfers and neither from cash.”
‘And with two bodies,’ Joey put in.
He scowled, “Caplan isn’t a hitman. He gets nauseous looking at a rare steak.”
“Frederick Caplan, sure. But Damon?” He pulled up a half-filled in police report for assault with a deadly weapon. Apparently, Bruce hasn't been keeping a close enough eye on the son. “God bless Gordon filing scrapped reports for us.” He grinned, “There are several of these and that’s just the ones that made it this far. Their staff have a sky-high turnover as well. According to Turner Alvares Damon’s got a reputation for almost killing his domestics. A not-insignificant amount of their loans goes to paying people off.”
Bruce looked at him out of the corner of his eye, “Turner Alvares?”
“Works the catering circuit, done domestic work for a bunch of people in Bristol.” He hummed.
Bruce kept watching him.
He shifted, “He looks older than he is. Looked seventeen when he was fourteen. Worked for the catering company that Gotham U used for their benefits a few years ago.” Dick was watching a bat clambering in the ceiling; Joey was watching him with a fond look and a barely concealed smile.
“The waiter you were in the cloak room with when you were thirteen.” Bruce surmised.
Dick hissed, “We barely even kissed. You were awful about it for a month.”
“He did look seventeen.” Bruce reasoned.
“He wasn’t! You ran a full background check on him!”
Bruce nodded, “Got the company for violating child-labour laws.”
“You cost him his job; he was supporting his mother.” Dick pointed out.
“And they got the immediate support of the Wayne Foundation.”
“Which is the only reason he still talks to me,” He huffed. “Which you should be glad of because he knows everyone in the domestic community.”
Bruce hummed. “So does Alfred.”
Dick rolled his eyes, “I love Alfred very much, but he knows all the senior staff in Gotham. Turner knows the ones that are being turned over.” He stood straight, ‘Never mind.’ “Damon wants to be a hard ass, but he’s an idiot. Killed them with his fucking snapchat location on. He’s gift-wrapped.”
“You’re a good detective, Dick.” He was flicking through the reports and results, “And you’re right. I should’ve seen it.”
Joey kissed Dick’s hair, smiled understandingly at Bruce, ‘Considering the month you’ve had?’
“Hn.” He stood, set the files to print. “I’ll drop this to Gordon.” He put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, “It’s late.”
“Joey, you tired?” He looked over his shoulder as his boyfriend shook his head. “We’ll stay on comms. Besides, Alfred promised my favourite breakfast.” He grinned.
Bruce nodded.
Dick punched his chest plate gently. “I’ll debrief Tim, make sure he gets some sleep. Go on. You’ve missed enough patrol on my account.”
He smiled slightly, ran a hand through Dick’s curls. “Keep an eye on him, Joe.” He watched for Joey’s nod before he pulled his cowl back up. “If you wanna look through some more cases, just don’t overdo it.” He said climbing into the car.
“Hypocrite.” Dick called out, grinning.