Chapter Text
"da- robin, what the hell are you doing here?"
"it’s my turn to accompany you. didn’t father notify you beforehand?" the teenager sassed, arms crossed and chin tilted high as he stared up at you.
your eye twitched in annoyance. with a long sigh, you took another sip of your green tea. "i didn’t even tell him i had a case today."
"tt. i didn’t believe that, so he sent me to check on you." damian smirked smugly. "and my suspicions were proven correct."
you sighed in defeat. there was no winning against him.
"but it appears you’re slacking off instead." damian glanced around the dimly lit bar with a deadpan expression. "drinking in a bar."
"you- i am not slacking!" you whipped your head toward the bartender— who also happened to be your client. "tell him i’m not slacking. i’m here for a case!"
damian raised an eyebrow and turned toward the bartender with an intimidatingly scrutinizing stare. the woman visibly flinched beneath the glare of the young teenager dressed in full robin armor, swords strapped to his back.
"u-uh, yes actually," she stammered, brows furrowed nervously. "while i was working, i heard this popping sound… like a champagne bottle being opened."
damian immediately made a face. "maybe because it was a champagne bottle? you work in a bar, after all."
you shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.
"no," the bartender quickly continued. "at the time, nobody had ordered champagne."
"maybe they secretly brought one in," damian interjected making you glared at him even harder.
"stop meddling with my job."
"i was only helping."
"you don’t seem like it."
completely unaware of the silent argument happening between the two of you, the bartender shook her head and continued speaking.
"that’s what i thought too… until i checked every table one by one. nobody had opened any champagne or wine bottles."
damian glanced around the establishment. the place was smaller than most bars in gotham, with an open layout that allowed the bartender to see practically every corner from behind the counter. hiding something as noticeable as a bottle would’ve been difficult.
"and every time i heard the popping sound," she continued, "i’d also hear something fall onto the floor right after. but when i cleaned up after closing, i never found any corks." she paused briefly, making sure both of you were still listening.
"and there was also this weird smell."
"a weird smell?" damian repeated, one brow arching.
"was it gunpowder?" you asked immediately, nearly jumping out of your seat.
the bartender hurriedly shook her head. "n-no! it wasn’t gunpowder. it smelled citrusy… lime, to be exact. it was faint, but i’ve always been sensitive to citrus scents since i was little. and none of our drinks or dishes use lime." to your dismay, damian suddenly looked intrigued.
great. there was no point trying to kick him out of your business anymore.
you cleared your throat, slipping back into your professional demeanor. as long as your younger brother didn’t cause trouble, he could make for a decent assistant.
"how many times did you hear the sound?"
"hmm… around two or three times a day."
"did the same patrons happen to be here whenever it happened?"
"yes, actually." she pointed toward a table near the center of the bar. "they’re over there."
four people sat together— three men and a woman, looking like nothing more than ordinary coworkers unwinding after work.
a few hours later, damian was growing visibly restless. mostly because you hadn’t done anything except sit there and observe while the bartender busied herself serving customers.
"alright, you are definitely not working right now," damian grumbled. "stop wasting my time."
"first of all, i never asked for your help," you replied calmly. "second of all, didn’t b teach you how to be patient as a detective?"
damian huffed, cheeks puffing slightly as he crossed his arms like an offended cat. eventually, he gave in and plopped down onto the seat beside you with a quiet little "tt." you smiled and ruffled his hair.
"if you want to stick around, you better learn patience. patience breeds success, after all."
damian muttered something under his breath in a mix of english and arabic that you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. you only smiled more fondly. because despite everything, damian was still just a kid, and he might not admit it, he likes doing cases with you more than he's with Batman.
truthfully, you had been observing the group the bartender pointed out. they seemed like ordinary office workers celebrating one of their birthdays— a middle-aged man named mr. smith, who appeared to hold a slightly higher position than the others.
the slimmer man beside him was mr. miller. the woman sitting across from them was ms. jones. and the chubbier man was mr. harris.
they’d spent most of the evening giving birthday presents to mr. smith, who by now was heavily drunk and half-passed out over the table.
mr. miller had gifted him a rare pool cue, proudly claiming it took months and nearly a thousand dollars to acquire.
mr. harris gifted him a custom dart arrow with a specialized metal tip that apparently cost over five hundred dollars.
and finally, ms. jones gave him several rolls of film for his analog camera.
the others joked about how lucky she was for spending the least on her gift, only for her to reluctantly admit that mr. smith had previously pressured her into buying a signed poster from his favorite singer— one that cost nearly two thousand dollars.
none of them looked particularly happy. if anything, they all seemed exhausted and quietly resentful. mr. smith sounded like an absolute jerk, you scoffed.
not long after, the group called over the bartender— vivi, you recalled her name was— and ordered a bottle of champagne.
moments later, both you and damian heard the distinct pop of a champagne bottle opening. except this time, it was actually champagne.
"this is going nowhere," damian muttered, idly swirling the mango juice vivi had kindly made for him.
"you know, you can always go back on patrol with batman," you teased, taking another sip of your drink. "i’m sure chasing thieves is more exciting than sitting here."
"tt. batman can handle gotham himself," damian scoffed. "i’m sure he’s delighted, actually. he gets to brood alone."
"touché." you snorted softly. "but don’t you have school tomorrow?"
"it’s friday night…" damian muttered your last name sharply, making you laugh. but before you could tease him further—
a loud scream suddenly rang through the bar, followed by the heavy sound of something hitting the floor.
your head snapped toward the group’s table where mr. smith now lay motionless on the ground. you immediately rushed over, damian right behind you, and quickly checked for a pulse.
"h-he’s not breathing," ms. jones whispered, covering her mouth in horror. "it’s like he’s dead…"
you glanced toward damian as your fingers remained pressed against mr. smith’s neck.
damian met your gaze and gave a sharp nod.
you nodded back.
"it’s not like he’s dead," you said grimly.
"it’s because he already is," damian finished.