Chapter Text
Dick was really feeling his inner-Damian today. He exhaled heavily through his nostrils, and his eye twitched as he strode up the front steps of the manor.
His impromptu nap earlier had lasted an entirely unfulfilling fifteen minutes before being interrupted by the blaring of his Wayne Phone to the wonderful ringtone he’d set for Bludhaven’s Chief of Police, Delmore.
“Criminal” by Britney Spears blasted for an entire twenty seconds before he’d mustered up the strength to answer the call, only to be told under no uncertain terms that he was to report back to the precinct by that evening or his job was on the line. As if he didn’t have enough vacation days stocked up to practically retire.
Suffice to say, Dick was exhausted (and mortified over earlier, but he was ignoring that with a determination that rivaled Bruce’s crusade as The Batman), he needed to wrap up the situation between his brothers and potential sort-of cousin that may or may not even know they exist, and he had a fuse set so short it was an honest-to-god miracle it hadn’t already blown.
This time, he managed to let himself through the front door without any interference from a wayward panicking brother or from the much more expected Alfred.
The fact that the butler was missing yet again upon Dick’s arrival had a kernel of suspicion - and a further sense of solidification in his practically guaranteed hunch - sprout up in his chest.
Alf had a knack for always being at the door when one of them came home, and Dick would have to be as blind as a bat - hA - not to notice how “coincidental” that was. If Alfred was anything like Dick - or, better put, if Dick was anything like Alfred - then some liberal use of trackers probably had something to do with the butler’s preternatural ability to always be exactly where he needed to be.
Which, of course, made it all the more suspect that Alfred hadn’t been anywhere in sight both this time and the last that Dick had dropped by.
And, alright, maybe Dick was a little bummed that his grandpa hadn’t been around to at least say hi to his grandson that came by to visit the least out of the bunch.
Dick let out a heavy sigh, shaking himself out of his mini pity-party as he finally made his way to Bruce’s office, clicking open the door with the hidden thumbprint scanner and letting himself through. It was for the best that Alfred wasn’t here for the impending conversation, anyway.
-
It was ten minutes into the conversation, and he was getting nowhere with them.
Dick groaned frustratedly, cutting off Tim’s rant (which he had stopped listening to once it circled back around itself to blaming Harry for being around Alfred without ever giving a solid, evidence-backed reason) as he rubbed at the spot between his brows. “Do we seriously have to go over this again?” he griped, glaring at his pair of younger brothers through slitted, bloodshot eyes.
“Yes!” Jason insisted, throwing his arms up as if Dick was the one being stubborn, which was supremely not helping his case. Nor was Tim’s rapid nodding in agreement.
Dick let all the emotion drain from his expression, leaving it an eerie, dead-eyed mask that he knew looked all the creepier with the empty smile he paired with it, and his brothers leaning back in their seats. Folding his hands over his lap, he slowly annunciated, “Alfred. Deserves. Respect. And. Space. We. Will. Be. Giving. It. To. Him.”
For a second, there was peace. Silence.
Tim ruined it by leaping up from his chair, his expression a perfect blend of frustrated righteousness as his hands fisted at his sides. “But-!”
Dick cut him off with a sharp slicing motion of his hand and a harsh “Na - ah!”, narrowing his eyes until Tim snapped his mouth shut and sat back down with a thump, arms crossed over his chest and lips pursed tightly. Jason glared balefully. Dick ignored them both, finally letting his mask drop and rubbing a hand over his face. “What I don’t get,” he began, “Is why you two have a problem with this.”
Jason let out an incredulous scoff, mouth dropping open in outrage. “Excuse the fuck out of you?” he demanded. What.
Tim added his own two cents. “Yeah! What’s that supposed to even mean? Obviously, we’d have a problem with - with this.” His lip curled with something like disgust.
Completely baffled now and starting to edge on being offended on Harry's behalf despite not having met the guy before, Dick raised a highly doubtful brow at the both of them. “No, I get why Dami has a problem with this -” “-Damian knows?-” Dick continued, blithely ignoring the interruption, “-but you two? I can honestly say I’m disappointed in your behavior.” He held back a wince at how... Dad-like that sounded. Eugh.
Tim gaped at him, expression slowly sinking further and further into shock the closer his jaw got to the floor. Jason, in turn, was staring at him through squinted eyes, face contorted like he was looking at a particularly grotesque piece of roadkill in front of him that he couldn’t decide whether he was more disgusted or fascinated by. “What the actual fuck?"
Dick should've been commended right then and there for resisting the sudden and immense urge to grab at his own hair - or his brothers’. “I honestly don’t know how to put it more straightforward to the two of you!” he said incredulously, throwing his arm out at them. “Since I’ve gotten here, all you’ve done is call Harry names, say he doesn’t deserve to be around Alfred, and given no reason for that whatsoever except that you just know that he’s using Alfred, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean!”
Tim and Jason both went to interject, but Dick steamrolled over them.
“I don’t get what your problem is! Alf is Alf! Stop interfering and just trust that he’ll be able to figure out if his own damn grandson is being genuine or not while he gets to know him!” he lectured heatedly.
Like twin horror-movie dolls, Tim’s and Jason’s heads snapped to the sides to look at each other with wide, unblinking eyes. Dick jerked back from them.
“You think-?” Tim started.
Jason grimaced, expression twisting further before he gave a revolted shudder. “God no,” he turned to wrinkle his nose at Dick, “thanks for putting that thought in my head, Dick.”
“What?” Dick shot back defensively - not even knowing what he was being defensive of. His brows came together. He was starting to get the feeling he was missing something important here.
“I wish that guy was his grandkid,” Tim responded miserably, sinking into his chair.
“And only his grandkid,” Jason tagged on with repulsed vehemence.
Dick paused, squinted. He darted his eyes between the pair, taking in their defeated postures. “You wish this guy was Alfred’s grandkid?” he repeated, not bothering to hide his disbelief.
Tim released a moan of despair, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head in a vehement, ‘No.’
Which, given, was what Dick had initially expected, but now he had the feeling that he was on an entirely wrong set of tracks to his younger brothers’ train of thoughts.
Jason exhaled heavily, leaning forwards and slapping his palms down against the table between them with a solid smack. “Tim’s just sayin’ it woulda been a helluva'lot better if this guy was Alfie’s kid than what’s really happenin,’” he explained, explaining nothing.
Trying to convey as much, Dick said, with emphasis, “What?”
Tim mumbled something into his hands, but Dick only made out “They’re” or maybe “Their” from whatever he was trying to say.
He looked to Jason for clarification.
Jason very deliberately did not meet his gaze, instead giving Tim a smack on the back of his head that had the younger bolting upright and wide-eyed with a startled yelp, taking half a second to take stock before glaring at Jason, who gestured pointedly at Dick.
Tim turned to follow the motion, took note of Dick’s very much still confused - and getting more so by the second - expression, and visibly wilted in his seat, face crumpling into a look of such anguish that Dick felt a sprout of concern erupt in his chest along with the sudden, intense urge to smother him in a hug.
Tim seemed to steel himself, though, his spine straightening and his lips thinning determinedly, and he stoutly pronounced, “They’re dating.”
Dick opened his mouth to say… something, only to snap it right back shut and nearly bite his tongue clean through as a loud bang came from the other side of the door followed by the rapid sound of footsteps receding.
There was a moment of stunned silence. He, Jason, and Tim exchanged looks. All three of them were already out of their chairs, having sprung upright and into ready positions at the sudden noise.
Steph was out with Cass, Alf was out (probably with Harry, who was apparently not, in fact, his grandson but instead was his… boyfriend??), Bruce still wasn’t back from his space mission, and Damian…
Dick pulled out his phone, checking the time.
“Oh, fuck me,” Jason announced simultaneously.
Fuck me indeed. Damian had been set to have arrived home nearly ten minutes ago, and he had absolutely just heard the revelation his brothers had just dropped.
-
Damian scowled angrily as he rubbed at the red mark still marring his forehead, his other hand clenching into a fist that had his nails biting into the flesh of his palm. Even if they had likely heard the resulting racket, at least nobody had been present to see him make a fool of himself by slipping and knocking his skull against the door frame as his concentration lapsed. He castigated himself yet again. That had been the mistake of a witless child.
At least Richard had finally ceased his incessant badgering at his door, wisely having known better than to attempt to enter without permission lest he catch himself on the wrong side of a dagger, and Damian was at last left in silence to parse through his thoughts.
‘Dating?’
Who with whom?
Make no mistake, Damian had been observing his brothers’ poor excuse of a conversation for several minutes prior to the revelation, but it simply did not make sense. He could not - he refused - to accept what Tim had claimed to be the true relationship between Pennyworth and that conniving, miscreant of a thief.
This was Pennyworth that they were referring to. Damian was not so obstinate as to feign obliviousness to the butler’s upstanding nature and redeeming qualities that even Father looked up to. Alfred the Cat was proof enough of this acknowledgement, so it was pure madness to attempt to claim such a figure would willingly engage in such an… immoral relationship with one practically a third of his age.
That was something Ra’s would partake in, and Damian was secure in his knowledge that not a single person who knew of the two men would ever equate them to be the same, especially in such a heinous regard.
Therefore, there was a simple deduction to be made: From the depths of the Lazarus Pits and below, there was no Earthly conceivable way that Pennyworth was truly ‘dating’ the wretch.
(Damian resolutely ignored the infinitesimally miniscule portion of him that unwillingly felt a sentiment tangential to relief at the thought of it being true. There was nothing to be relieved about in the first place, after all. What difference would it make if the mongrel was the butler’s grandchild or his paramour? None. Neither would have affected Damian’s standing in the family in any way, shape or form, regardless. Not at all.)
Damian released a slow, measured breath, and if a layer of tension had eased from his shoulders… nobody would ever live to know.
