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Rain pours down on Wayne Manor, hard, drenching rain. It runs in rivulets along the sloping roof, streams down the chimneys, flows off the Gothic turrets, pelts against the french windows. A sharp wind rushes by, causing loose tiles to clatter and pulling the last of the dead leaves off the trees. In the distance, thunder rumbles. The world is the picture of dreariness, the Manor a looming fortress against a dark, cloudy sky.
But on the second storey, one window stands out against the gloom, a warm glow spilling from its panes.
Four figures can be seen through the glass, situated around a low coffee table.
One of them leans forward.
Stephanie Brown considers her opponent, lips pursing, eyes narrowing as she studies the man before her.
"I will go to your place and steal all your spoons," she says. "I'll stick googly eyes on all your appliances. I'll superglue Taylor Swift posters to your walls. I'll reorder your books. I'll fill your underwear drawer full of glitter. I'll paint all your helmets purple!"
The man, Jason Todd, stares back at her, eyebrows raised, unintimidated and unimpressed.
"Do your worst, Blondie," he says. "Destroy my apartment. Take down all my safehouses if you dare."
His finger taps pointedly against the surface of the table.
"You still have to pick up four."
Scowling, Steph continues to glare at him a moment longer, then with a huff, reaches for the pile at the centre of the table and draws four of the cards with the red Uno logo on their backs.
"I hope you enjoy glitter in your butt crack," she mutters as she adds them to the ones already in her hand.
Behind her, flames crackle and flicker in a large fireplace beneath an elaborately ornamented mantelpiece. An antique clock on the mantle—dark stained wood surrounding faded roman numerals—slowly ticks the seconds away.
When nothing is said and no action taken for several of those seconds, Stephanie turns to the person on her left.
"Your turn."
There is no reply.
"Earth to Timothy Drake-Wayne," she calls in a sing-song tone, giving her friend a nudge with her foot.
"Hmm?" He blinks at her, eyes which had been gazing vacantly at a distant corner refocusing.
Tim, like the other two, is seated on the floor by the mahogany coffee table, each person occupying one side. The fourth side is pressed up against a large, green couch.
"Your turn, Timbo," says Jason.
Tim gazes down at the card on the table, the one bearing the two 'plus four's and a picture of a hand holding a card of each colour. "What colour are we on?"
"Good question," Steph says and turns back to Jason. "You never said."
Jason mulls his hand for a moment, then stares thoughtfully at Tim.
Tim stares back, expression blank and inscrutable.
"Blue," Jason declares.
Tim pulls a card from his hand and places it—a blue six—on the discard pile.
Jason grunts, nose wrinkling in annoyance.
A smile pulls at Tim's lips.
Outside, the wind gusts by, rattling the window panes.
The room the trio currently occupy is one of the coziest in the Manor. Large by most standards but small compared to the hall-like spaces of the rest of the house, and though it contains a lot of the same decor—dark wood panelling, velvet curtains, oriental carpets, random oil paintings and antique vases—it has more of a lived-in feel. The edges are more worn, the couch and armchairs designed for comfort rather than style.
Near the couch, another set of cards lies face up on the table. A hand rests half-across it, fingers long and callused.
Craning over, Tim studies the cards, then pulls one out from beneath the fingers and adds it to the pile.
It's a blue 'draw two'.
Steph pumps a fist in the air. "Yes! Karma is swift. Thank you, Dick."
"Yeah. Thanks, Dick," Jason echoes in a much more sarcastic tone as he picks up two cards.
Richard Grayson, lying asleep on the couch, propped up by several cushions and half-covered by a knitted afghan, does not reply.
The rain continues beating against the windows. The fire spits and sparks. The clock ticks.
Another round begins.
Steph places down a blue three.
Tim places a red three on top, then pulls another card from Dick's abandoned hand and puts it down.
It's a red card bearing a bisected circle.
"Seriously, Tim?" Jason grumbles.
Tim shakes his head. "Don't blame me. Blame Dick."
Jason gazes over at Dick.
Dick's chest slowly rises and falls. It's the only motion he makes, his soft breathing the only sound. His curtain of bangs hangs limply across his forehead, dark hair contrasting greatly with the pallor of his normally tan skin.
"It's no fun blaming him when he's asleep," Jason mutters.
"Aww, poor baby," says Steph. "Here." She puts down a red card with a picture of two intertwined arrows. "Have another go."
Jason raises his eyebrows in surprise. "That's very generous of you." He puts down a matching card in blue. "But it's your turn."
"Oh no, I insist," Stephanie replies and places a third reverse card in yellow on top.
"Hey," protests Tim.
"What's the matter, Tim?" says Jason with a smirk. "Feeling left out."
Tim scowls. "I thought you were mad at him," he says to Steph.
She shrugs. "Yeah," she admits, then her lips spread into a sly smile. "But not enough to pass on the opportunity to mess with you."
The sigh Tim lets out is long, low, and extremely put upon.
"Cheer up, Timmy," says Jason. "Here." He puts down a yellow seven, then pulls a yellow one from Dick's hand. "Now it's your turn."
"Finally," says Tim.
He glances at the card at the centre of the table, then at his hand.
His face falls.
Groaning, he takes a card from the draw pile.
"Ha!" exclaims Jason, delighting in Tim's predicament.
Tim glares at him. "I'm starting to think Steph was right about the glitter."
"No glitter in the Manor, Master Timothy," declares Alfred as the butler enters through a door at the far corner of the room, "as you well know."
"Don't worry," says Tim, intense gaze still fixed on Jason. "It won't be in the Manor. I've got somewhere much more interesting to put it."
"Oh, yeah?" Jason leans towards him. "I can think some really interesting places to put glitter too."
"Really? Ever tried getting glitter out of hair?"
"Ever tried sleeping in glitter covered sheets?"
"Are those cookies?"
Stephanie's sudden question causes an end to the staring match. The boys look up, all threats forgotten, noses rising as if only just noticing the sweet aroma that had wafted into the room with the butler.
A large white plate hangs aloft in Alfred's steady hands.
"They are indeed, Miss Stephanie."
With a graceful sweep of his arm, he places the plate on the coffee table. Dark brown cookies packed with white chocolate chunks and tantalizing crisp pecans are piled atop it, their warm scent indicating they were only recently removed from the oven.
Cards are abandoned as fingers reach out greedily to divest the plate of three of its contents. Expressions of gratitude and sounds of content fill the room, muffled by mouthfuls of cookie.
"You will remember to leave some for Master Richard, I trust?" says Alfred as he moves around to the side of the couch.
More muffled sounds are made, but it's hard to tell if the words are of promised agreement or refusal.
Leaning over, Alfred brushes back Dick's bangs and lets his hand rest lightly on his forehead for a moment.
Dick's eyes stay closed, his sleep peaceful though there is a worn look to his pale features.
The lines on Alfred's face deepen as he stares down at the eldest of his charges, then seemingly satisfied, he lets his hand fall, tucks the afghan more tightly around Dick's dozing frame, and leaves the room.
For awhile there is only the munching of cookies, the crunching sound joining the background noise of fireplace, clock, and rain.
Seconds quickly follow firsts. As the eating slows and the last few bites are savoured, eyes begin to dart about, glancing at one another and at the remaining cookies on the plate.
"So..." begins Steph with exaggerated innocence. "Winner gets the last two cookies?"
"I'm ashamed of you," says Jason, shaking his head with mock admonishment. "Scheming to steal cookies from an injured man."
"You're just annoyed you didn't suggest it first."
"I was going to suggest a fight to the death, but winning the game works too."
Tim gives both of them a look. "Come on, guys. Don't you think Dick deserves some of Alfred's cookies after everything he's been through."
"So do we," insists Jason. "We went through a lot of shit too. And besides"—he nods his head in the direction of the door leading deeper into the Manor—"Alfred's been baking up a storm ever since... you know. There's probably another dozen already in the oven."
Steph picks up the plate and starts waving it in front of Tim's nose. "You're telling me you don't want more of Alfred's moist, buttery delicious, double chocolate pecan cookies?"
Tim bites his lip, eyes drawn inescapably towards the cookies. "You're sure Alfred's making more?"
"I can already smell them," assures Jason.
Tim glances at Dick, winces, and then nods. "Alright. I'm in."
"Knew we could corrupt you," says Steph with a grin.
Jason snorts. "Didn't take much."
"Yeah, yeah," says Tim. "Whose turn is it?"
Steph responds by picking up her cards and putting down a green one.
They go around—a green six, a green four, a green skip.
Steph sticks her tongue out at Tim.
And around again—a green two, a red two, a red five, a yellow five.
The clock continues to tick. A log shifts in the fireplace. The distant sound of thunder is heard.
Jason places a yellow seven on the pile and declares, "Uno."
"Shit. Already?" says Steph.
"Got to keep up, Blondie," says Jason.
He searches for something in Dick's hand to put down but can't find anything so draws him a new card.
Tim stares intensely at the discard pile on the table, eyes deep with thought.
"Tim..." says Steph.
"I'm thinking."
"This isn't poker, Timmy-Boy," says Jason. "You can't count cards in Uno."
"The hell I can't."
Tim careful puts a red seven on the pile, then looks at Jason.
Jason merely raises an eyebrow.
"Well, that was pointless." Steph puts down a card displaying all four colours. "Green."
Both Tim and Steph stare at Jason expectantly.
Jason raises his lone card and gazes at it as if in contemplation, then sighs and picks up another.
"You're only delaying the inevitable."
After a quick glance at his new card, Jason puts it back down—a green zero.
Reaching for Dick's cards, he draws out a green four. He's placing it on the pile when Tim interrupts.
"Penalty for not saying 'Uno'."
Jason blinks. "I did say 'Uno'."
"Yeah, last time," explains Tim, a smug smirk on his face, "but then you picked up another card and put it down going back to one again and you didn't call it."
"What? No, I... Fuck!" Jason groans and takes two cards from the draw pile. "Stupid game."
"Not my fault you can't remember the rules," says Tim, still grinning. He throws down a green reverse, then takes a green two from Dick's pile. "Oh, and 'Uno' for Dick."
Everyone suddenly stops, goes silent, the sound of the rain outside seeming to increase as they stare at the single card lying by Dick's resting hand.
"What? Seriously?" says Steph. "How the hell did that happen?"
Tim's forehead furrows. "Um... I'm not sure."
"You guys were playing for him though."
"Yeah, but I wasn't actually paying attention."
"He hasn't won yet," says Jason, and he puts down a red two.
Stephanie places a red five on top of it.
They turn to Tim.
"Look," he says, face twisting into an awkward grimace.
"Tim..." says Jason, warningly.
"I don't have many cards left."
"Don't say it."
"So I don't have any real choice in what I play."
Jason sits up, hands braced against the table top. "Don't you dare."
Tim puts a blue five down, then reluctantly slides Dick's last card—a blue four—over top of it.
Steph stares at the card, dumbfounded. "Dick won." A grin spreads across her cheeks. "He won. He... He..." She falls backwards, cackling loudly.
"You have got to be kidding me," says Jason, tossing his remaining cards down.
Tim shrugs. "At least, Dick gets to keep his cookies."
Stephanie's laughter grows louder.
There's a soft groan from the couch. Drowsy eyes blink open and take in the tableau of the three figures surrounding the coffee table.
"Wha..." Dick closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath, and reopens them. "What's going on?"
"You... you..." Steph tries to say but her chest is still heaving with laughter.
"You won," Tim says for her.
Eyebrows draw together as Dick gazes at the cards on the table, then a smile graces his lips. "Told you I could... beat you in my sleep."
Jason groans. "You had to say it."
Dick's face grows even brighter when his gaze latches onto the plate and its contents still sitting to one side. "Cookies!"
He pushes himself up, torso twisting, arm stretching out as he tries to reach them.
Then his breath hitches and the lines of his face tighten.
"Fuck..." The explicit escapes in a strained whisper as he collapses back onto the couch.
Steph's laughter dies and all expressions of exasperation and amusement are replaced by ones of worry.
"Dammit, Dick," says Jason. "If you tore your stitches trying to get a fucking cookie..."
"Would've... been... worth it," replies Dick, breathlessly. His eyes are screwed shut. One hand clutches his stomach.
"I doubt Leslie would see it that way. Do you know how many hours she spent working on you? How many hours we had to wait while she pieced you back together? Your insides are currently being held together by tiny threads, so maybe you should try and—"
A socked foot swings out and kicks Jason in the shin halting his tirade.
He scowls at Stephanie.
She raises a pointed eyebrow in reply.
"Sorry," Dick says, quietly.
"Yeah, yeah," mutters Jason. He starts gathering the cards and shuffling them back together.
Dick remains lying among the couch cushions, arm wrapped around his stomach.
"Let me see," says Tim. "I mean if you did tear something..." He doesn't finish the sentence and the words are left hanging uneasily in the air.
Kneeling beside the couch, Tim begins peeling back layers—the afghan, Dick's blue-gray hoodie, the old tatty T-shirt beneath, then the large square of gauze taped over Dick's stomach.
A long red line bisects Dick's abdomen adorned with a dozen black stitches.
"These ones look good," says Tim.
He gently prods near the incision.
Dick hisses.
"Sorry," says Tim, wincing in sympathy. "Is it tenderer than before?"
"Cold fingers," is Dick's reply.
"Timothy Fish-Hands strikes again," declares Stephanie.
Without glancing away, Tim says, "Jason, would you..."
Jason tosses a handful of cards at Steph.
They hit her in the face before she's able to swat them away.
"Hey."
"Just defending Timothy." Jason's nonchalant shrug is somewhat ruined by the evil twinkle in his eyes.
Stephanie gives him a look. "That's rich considering the things you call him."
"Older brother's privilege."
Steph tosses the cards back at Jason.
"Everything seems okay here," says Tim before things can escalate any further. "But we should check your back too."
Dick groans. "No. No more poking." He makes a weak swipe at Tim's hands. "It's fine. I'm fine."
Tim reluctantly tapes the gauze back into place and covers Dick's torso once more.
"Um, no offence," says Steph, "but you don't look fine."
There's tension in Dick's face as he gazes fixedly at the ceiling. A clammy sheen of sweat covers his forehead and his hands are curled into fists.
"Full offence," adds Jason. "You look like crap."
Dick doesn't reply. He just closes his eyes and takes slow deliberate breaths.
"Dick?" says Tim, forehead creasing with concern.
Jason glances at the ticking clock on the mantle and curses. "He's overdue for his pain meds."
Tim springs to his feet. "I'll get them." And he's out of the room before anyone can say anything.
A gust of wind hits the window pelting rain against the glass.
Steph shuffles over and takes Tim's place beside Dick.
"Hey, did I tell you about Cass' attempt at brownies?" she asks.
Dick's head gives a tiny shake.
"She caramelized them. Can you believe it?"
She takes hold of Dick's arm as she talks, draws up his sleeve and starts tapping idly along his forearm as if she were playing a piano sonata on his skin.
"Still can't figure out how she did it. She must have forgotten to put flour in or something. Those things were completely stuck to the pan. I mean completely. We had to throw the entire thing out, pan and all. At least, it wasn't as bad as when she set the blender on fire."
Dick's lips twitch in something which is almost a smile, but his eyes remain closed,
"Babs keeps saying one of us should learn how to cook, but personally, I'm fine just living on Cup Noods and takeout. Not that Babs is one to talk. She can't cook either. She once tried serving me something she called a mushroom risotto, but I'm pretty sure there weren't any mushrooms in there. Or rice for that matter."
Steph stops tapping and starts massaging Dick's palm instead.
"You have really nice hands." Her eyes light up. "Oh! We should totally paint your nails! I've got the perfect colour."
"Let me guess," says Jason who has moved over to the fireplace and is using a poker to poke at the crumbling logs, "it's purple."
Steph looks unimpressed. "For your information, it's a shimmery deep blue," she says, and then adds, "It only looks purple when the light hits it a certain way."
Dick manages a wavering smile and cracks his eyes open to gaze up at her. "What... what about... Jason?"
"You're right. We definitely need to paint his too."
"Only if I get to pick the colour," says Jason as he dumps another log on the fire and moves the screen back into place.
"Aww," Steph protests. "I wanted to paint them something nice and sparkly."
"No sparkles."
"Are we back on glitter?" asks Tim as he re-enters the room, a bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
"We've moved on to nail polish," explains Steph. "What colour do you want?"
"What?"
"For our mani party. We're doing ours nails after Uno."
Tim rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says, moving around her to Dick's side. "You choose."
Steph grins in delight.
Jason shakes his head. "Bad idea."
Tim ignores them. Undoing the pill bottle, he shakes two out into his hand and hands them to Dick followed by the glass of water.
Dick downs the pills gingerly, every move made as minutely and as slowly as possible. He coughs as they go down and his face crumples into a grimace.
"You okay?" asks Tim.
Instead of replying, Dick holds up a hand.
The others remain silent as he takes several deep breaths. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and raspy.
"Getting skewered by rebar seriously sucks."
For a moment or two, dark memories flit across the faces watching him.
Thunder rumbles through the air as rain continues to trail down the window glass.
Then Jason says, "Well, it's not as if anyone expected it to be pleasant."
Steph's sombre expression cracks into a wicked smile. "Yeah, then we'd all want rebar in our guts."
"You guys have a seriously twisted sense of humour," says Tim, shaking his head. "I'm just glad there's no longer any rebar in Dick's gut."
"Also slightly less liver," adds Jason.
Dick chuckles and then groans. "Please don't make me laugh."
"Here." Steph picks up one of the remaining cookies and hands it to him. "Eat your cookie."
"Mmm, cookie," says Dick as he gazes at it tiredly.
"Don't just stare at it," says Tim. "Eat it. You shouldn't be taking pain meds on an empty stomach."
"Mmm, medically prescribed cookie," says Dick, and he starts nibbling at its edges.
Jason gives the Uno cards a quick shuffle. "Another game?" He starts dealing them out without waiting for a reply.
"Okay, but I'm sitting next to Dick this time," says Steph, shoving Tim towards the side she'd formerly occupied.
"You just don't want to get hit by any more of Jason's 'draw four's," says Tim.
"There is that."
The cards slip gracefully from Jason's hands one by one, landing in four scattered piles near each edge of the table.
"So what are we playing for this time?" Jason asks when he's done.
"Winner gets to choose the other players' nail polish colours," declares Steph with a grin.
"You're on," says Jason. "Hope you like toxic neon green, Blondie."
Steph leans towards him, grin growing wider. "Love it."
"Great job, Jason," says Tim. "I'm pretty sure there isn't a single colour Steph won't willing wear. Or Dick for that matter."
"We can't help... having such sophisticated... fashion tastes," says Dick.
Steph raises a fist and he bumps his against hers.
Jason huffs. "I'll find something."
"You can... try," says Dick.
They pick up their cards—Steph giving Dick a scolding look and handing him his when he tries to reach for them.
The first card of the draw pile is turned over—a blue seven.
And the game begins again.
A blue draw two, a blue three, a blue skip, a blue eight.
Rain drizzles down the darkened window glass.
A blue four, a yellow four, a yellow five, a yellow one.
The minute hand approaches five as the mantle clock ticks and tocks.
A colour change to red, a red reverse, a yellow reverse, a yellow seven.
Dick's hand—the one holding his cards—begins to droop, his eyelids start to flutter.
A yellow nine, a draw four switch to green, a green five, a red five.
The flames crackle and dance across the logs in the fireplace. Cards spill face up across the table's surface as Dick's hand drops limply down.
Without a word, Stephanie picks one up—a red four—and places it atop the pile.
Outside, rain continues to pour relentlessly on Wayne Manor.
But on the second floor, one window still glows.