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Dick woke up to the feeling of something cold and wet sniffing at his fingertips. It pressed against his hand harder when he seemingly didn’t stir fast enough for whatever this thing was. He knew he should panic. His eyes should snap open, and he should fling himself to the other end of the bed to get some much-needed distance, but he couldn’t put the pieces together.
In his defence, everything else about the situation screamed safe.
The pillow he currently had his face pressed into smelt like the manor’s laundry detergent; he’d know it anywhere. Alfred had used the same brand probably since he started working there. He could visualise the container, a clear mason jar filled with a white powder and labelled accordingly. Alfred never said what the brand was, but he’d occasionally gift a small portion of it when Dick let on he was getting homesick.
The thing bothering him was doing just that, bothering. Not mauling, gnawing or otherwise mutilating his hand. It was just gently annoying him. It was determined to get a reaction; he could give it that, but it was harmless all the same. He moved his hand away, but the thing followed after him.
It slowly dawned on him that something was wrong. There was a general nausea swirling in his stomach, and the right side of his face felt far too warm. A sharp pain dug into his right ear, like someone was shoving a needle through his eardrum, trying to get at his brain. He winced away from it, but of course, he couldn’t escape it. He should really get up so he could inspect the damage in the mirror.
To his knowledge, he hadn’t been injured. He’d crashed at the manor because his case was entangled in a case Bruce had been working on, and naturally, anything that touched Gotham, even in the slightest, belonged to him. Not one to let things go, he figured he’d help solve the Gotham side and then head back home. He should’ve known something would go wrong.
So he was in the manor, which meant that this thing, which had now upgraded to very carefully nibbling at his fingers for attention, must be one of Damian’s many pets. It wasn’t the cow. Alfred wouldn’t let it anywhere near the expensive carpets and art that nobody but him truly appreciated. It couldn’t be the cat because the teeth weren’t sharp enough and the tongue wasn’t made up of barbs. That left the dog, but he was shy as anything. As tough as Titus looked, without Damian to stand by, he kept to himself until his beloved owner beckoned him.
Curiosity, and needing to know why it felt like half his face was on fire, finally got the better of Dick, and he forced his eyes open. Sure enough, it was Titus. He didn’t look obviously delighted to get the attention he’d sought finally, but he did stop turning Dick’s fingertips into prunes.
“Hey, bud. You want one room over,” he joked. Titus moved closer until their noses bumped together, giving his face one big sniff, then retreating back as though his inspection were done. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” He thought the dog would run off to find his rightful owner after realising he’d be no fun to be around, but no. Titus disappeared for a moment, then the bed dipped, and he felt him rest his heavy head on his legs, curling to fit the bend of his knee and borderline pushing the bottom half of him off the bed. A smile forced its way onto his face despite how bad he felt. He dragged his lethargic hand down to pet Titus’s back, scratching at one of his favourite spots until it felt too hard to keep moving. Some more sleep might help.
Dick figured he must be dying. He had to be because now, not only was the elusive Titus pressed against the back of his legs, but now Alfred (the cat, not the human. He really wished he had a hand in naming him for the sake of clarity) was gently pawing at his face. His eyes opened weakly as the cat continued to bat at his cheek and watched with mild amusement.
“Joining the cuddle pile?” he mumbled. Even though he’d slept more, his energy felt lower than when he first woke up. His ear was still on fire, and throbbing had been added to the stabbing pain threatening to stab right through to his brain.
There must be some painkillers in his bedside cabinet, but it was so far, and he could barely blink without a massive amount of effort. Ear infections were a special kind of hell. It all felt too close to his brain, too raw. It was all the worst part of other viral infections rolled into one, with hardly any decent relief. At least he could watch TV with the flu.
“Fetch painkillers?” he attempted. It seemed like something Damian would teach either of them. Could you train a cat? He saw a cat on a lead once so they must be trainable. Apart from Titus popping his head up for a second, neither of them made any move to leave. “Worth a shot.”
Alfred seemed to get the idea that he wasn’t going to move any time soon and huffed. He lumbered over to where Dick’s hand rested on the covers and nosed at his fingers until he lifted them, then put his head underneath. Dick mustered up enough energy to give him a little scratch behind the ear for his efforts.
“I’ll be so pissed if you eat my face,” he grumbled. He remembered coming across a body that suffered the same fate. He gave the cat to Selina, too worried animal control would put it down for its desperation. “If you get hungry, you can snack on my fingers, but that’s where I draw the line.” Alfred purred softly. “Glad we could come to a compromise.”
Really, Dick should get up. He was old enough to look after himself, and he’d dragged his bullet-ridden body home enough times to know he could find the strength to get himself seen to. Alfred (the butler, not the cat) was probably knocking around somewhere and would be all too happy to take care of him, but he couldn’t. He could call out for help, but that was horribly pathetic. It wasn’t like an ear infection could kill him anyway, and someone would eventually notice he hadn’t made an appearance. Someone would find him. He just had to wait.
“Have you seen Titus?” Damian asked, leash in hand. It wasn’t like Titus to miss their walk. He usually sensed when it was around that time and sat dutifully at his leash on the coat rack, grabbing it from the hook if he felt like his owner was taking too long. Damian hadn’t needed to call his name in at least a year, and the rest of his training had stuck nicely, so he didn’t understand the sudden change.
“No, I haven’t seen Dick either. I thought you might’ve gone together?” Bruce replied.
“Grayson hasn’t come down yet?” He shook his head. Odd that the acrobat skipped breakfast this morning too, when he usually jumped at the chance to get first pick of the spread Alfred put out. He assumed the acrobat went out for a run whilst the weather was dry, but he should be back by now. “Did you say something to him?”
“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “Right, well, this time I didn’t do anything. I haven’t seen him since last night, and I believe we parted ways amicably.”
“You believe?”
“He was somewhat annoyed about having to solve the Gotham side first, but no more than usual,” Bruce explained. “Maybe he took Titus out as a favour to you.”
“I only have one leash.”
“Did you check the garden?”
“Every inch of it, but there’s no sign of them. Alfred’s missing too. Pennyworth said he hasn’t seen him since breakfast. I asked if he’d seen Titus, but it was the same story.”
“Unless they’re in your room?”
“I left the door closed so my oil painting could dry in peace.” He was still finding flecks of green in Alfred’s fur. He racked his brain for where else they could be, but nothing came up right away. They all had their little routines, but he’d already checked everywhere they’d usually be. It was strange not to see either his pets or Dick all day. He couldn’t imagine they’d all be in the same place either. His pets kept to themselves, much to Dick’s disappointment after all the times he’d tried to buy their love with treats.
“Why don’t you ask Dick? He must’ve left his room at some point today. I can’t think what kept him there but you know what he’s like. He probably found his old GameBoy and got carried away.” Damian nodded to himself. It was worth a shot.
Dick’s door was cracked open. When Damian touched the doorknob, it was wet. He grimaced and wiped his hand on his pants. He pushed the door the rest of the way open, avoiding the doorknob this time, and peeked inside. Sure enough, there was the missing trio, but his relief didn’t follow.
Titus popped his head up at his entrance, then hurried off the bed. He gently took Damian’s jumper sleeve between his teeth and led him closer to the bed, nosing at the back of his legs to force him closer. Alfred slipped out from underneath Dick’s hand where he’d been sleeping soundly and walked up to the acrobat’s face to bat at his cheek. By all means, neither of his pets should’ve been in here. They didn’t venture into the other bedrooms unless it was a last resort, usually to call attention to Damian suffering somewhere. It would be adorable to see them practice this same care with someone they hardly paid attention to, but it begged the question of why they were doing it.
“Grayson?” Dick flinched away from the noise and turned his head away with a groan. It looked like he wanted to turn his body completely but couldn’t quite coordinate his limbs. “Grayson?” he tried again, but much quieter. “What’s wrong?” He stepped closer to get a better look. The right side of Dick’s face looked sore, and his ear was nearly completely red. Vermillion, he noted. “Are you sick?”
“Think so,” Dick finally said, his voice rumbling. “Ear infection, probably.”
“It looks sore.”
“Think I’m dying. They’re my funeral procession.”
“Nonsense. They'd be awful pole bearers.” He gazed at his animals, a ghost of a smile on his lips. They were protecting him. They knew something was wrong and decided it was best to stick by his side until a human found them. “Good dog,” he praised, petting Titus’ head. “Good cat,” he added, scratching underneath Alfred’s chin. “Have you taken anything?”
“Not moved. Thought Alfred would eat my face.”
“He prefers to catch his meals,” Damian assured him. “I’ll get Father.” He looked between his pets. “Keep watch.”
“For what? I’m not exactly making any great escapes right now.”
“You could develop mastoditis, which could lead to a brain abscess and potentially seizures.”
“It can WHAT?” Dick squeaked.
“They know how to handle seizures, don’t worry.”