Chapter Text
Dick was bored.
As it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as difficult to trick his new family into believing he was fine as he’d thought. They were perfectly willing to believe him, and perfectly willing to put the blame of any inconsistencies on the head trauma (although sometimes they’d give him strange looks—assessing, considering. He’d smile and wave them off and the suspicion would wane as quickly as it came). Which, while convenient, meant that he had all the time in the world to think.
And nobody to talk to.
They shuffled in and out of the house like the ghosts that haunted it (and he was certain the house was haunted, by the memories of the former residents at the very least. There was a weight that pressed down, that stole the breath from his lungs in certain hallways. There was one room with a large double door that caused the hair on his neck to stand every time he passed it. He did his best to avoid that part of the mansion).
He’d spent his time wisely—memorizing the pictures he kept, looking through his planner (which was half written in some language he didn’t recognize, and he knew a number of languages), and watching the others.
They weren’t very interesting either. Tim was constantly using his phone (which Dick was still a bit amazed by, that the internet could be carried around to be used at will, in such a small, convenient size (and he had to ignore the headache when he thought about it, because—he’d known for ages about the technology, but he hadn’t, and he knew how to use it so long as he wasn’t thinking too much, and—)) or his laptop, and his shoulders tensed and eyes narrowed when Dick came too close (apparently electronics were bad for brain trauma or something? He’d tuned out of the lecture too soon and had been forced to bed once Tim noticed his glazed eyes—Dick didn’t have the heart to tell the kid that it wasn’t the brain trauma that caused that look to surface). He also seemed distant, unwilling to talk to Dick.
It reminded him uncomfortably of the other kids in the circus, how after he’d been allowed to perform they wouldn’t include him in their games (not that he would have had the time to join, what with practice, but an invitation would have been nice). Tim was a mystery, and his discomfort around Dick…well, Dick could ignore uncomfortable silences with the best of them, but he found it easier to keep his distance and let the kid (wasn’t that weird—sometimes Dick felt like he was still eight, and other times it felt like he was eighty) control their interactions.
Bruce was—well.
If there was a living embodiment of the word “awkward,” it would be that man. He was constantly hovering, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted like he was about to say something—and then he would disappear. It was annoying, and one of these days Dick would corner him—except he couldn’t, because he had the feeling that if anybody would notice his acting, it would be Bruce.
He wasn’t sure why—but the assessing looks were heavier and more frequent from the man. Dick couldn’t tell if he’d realized something was off, or if he was just that suspicious naturally.
He’d put his bet on both, if there was anybody to take it.
Damian was interesting, at least. He was perfectly willing to talk at Dick, about a number of subjects—school, his pets, a show he’d just watched—and it was always the highlight of Dick’s day. Unfortunately, he’d clam up whenever Bruce appeared in the shadows—which was too often, it was like the man just waited for the worst possible moment to fade into existence—and he’d be silent and huffy with his little scrunched up nose upturned for the rest of the day.
It caused a deep resentment to burn in Dick’s chest whenever he saw the larger man. No wonder Dick had lived alone before this mess.
It was one thing to live with others, next to family, in the same grounds but different tents and trailers. But the hovering? It was making Dick’s skin crawl, and he didn’t appreciate the way Damian locked up. Between Damian’s reactions and the way Dick’s pictures had seemed more sparse, more solemn over time…he wasn’t sure, but it definitely raised his hackles.
Cassandra was…quiet. She watched him with large, liquid eyes and said very little, except for the occasional sign (which he was surprised he knew. An actual language with gestures rather than the few motions he knew from the high-top, to be used when yelling wasn’t an option, was nice to have in his arsenal. He wondered what else he’d forgotten).
Stephanie’s appearances were sporadic and gave him a strong feeling of being caught in a tornado—spun this way and that with only wreckage left in its wake. She was fun, at least, and it was good to have somebody else who he could just listen to. She was also the most cheerful of the lot (it wasn’t even a competition), and perfectly willing to play games with him or talk at him about everything and nothing.
He liked Stephanie, and wished she’d visit more often.
He hadn’t seen Jason again since the dinner—
Dick paused.
He hadn’t seen Jason since the dinner. Well. He was bored, after all…
He grinned to himself. Now. Who to recruit for his escape mission…
Damian.
The kid didn’t seem to like Jason that much—or Tim for that matter—but he was definitely on Dick’s side, and was very much in a rebellious phase, if the way he’d sometimes glare at his father was any indication.
He’d probably help, they could both get some sunshine—and maybe an ice cream cone—and visit the only member of the family playing ghost.
Dick was curious about him.
Well, he was curious about all of them, really, but Jason was currently the most elusive, and therefore the most interesting. The others were weird about him, too. There were a lot of narrowed eyes and sneaky glances and pursed lips whenever his name came up, and Dick wanted to know why.
“Hey, Dami,” he said, leaning over the back of the couch the kid seemed to have claimed as his own. Damian tilted his head back enough to see Dick, and—his eyes were wide, lips slightly parted, and—he was so damn cute.
“Richard?” Damian questioned. From anybody else, Dick would have corrected the name, but from this proper little brat? Dick had only ever heard him call the others by their surnames (or in the case of Bruce: the more formal father), so he was fairly sure this was Damian…relaxing around him. It was sweet.
He wished he knew exactly what their relationship was, there was something more there—
“Richard?” Damian prompted again, eyes narrowed. At some point, he must have twisted around, because he was no longer looking at Dick upside down.
Dick smiled at him, hoping to relieve some of the anxiety he was fairly sure he heard in his voice. “I’m fine, sorry.”
Judging by the way Damian’s scowl deepened, nose scrunched and looking like the world’s grumpiest brachycephalic, it didn’t work.
“I was wondering if you were up for a road trip,” Dick said with a wave of his hand, hoping to dispel the kid’s suspicions if he spoke quickly enough.
Damian’s eyes only narrowed further. “Are you attempting to escape Father’s reasonable demands of safety in consideration of your health?”
“No…?” Dick said as he tried to figure out exactly what Damian had just said. Unfortunately, that ramped the suspicion crinkled at the corners of his eyes to an unhealthy amount. Dick rushed to cover his blunder. “I mean, not really? I fully plan to come back. I was just thinking of visiting Jason…?”
Thankfully, Damian’s expression relaxed a bit (Dick doubted it was ever truly relaxed—the kid was tighter wound than Arlessa before a show on a good day), and he rolled his eyes with a huff. “Of course. I should have expected that you would attempt to confirm Todd’s well-being.”
Well-being? Now Dick was alarmed. Had Jason been hurt? Had he missed something due to his injury?
“You can’t drive, so I shall,” Damian stated imperiously, arms crossed and staring up at Richard with all of the imperial command his four foot self could offer. Dick was mostly amused, but confusion wasn’t far behind.
“I’m not sure,” Dick began, because he was fairly sure there were rules against children driving? Uncle Sergei had never allowed him to ride when there were outsiders around. He’d planned on them taking the bus, but…was this normal, maybe? They were rich, after all…
Well, the look on Damian’s face was as mulish as they came, so Dick ceded the argument before it could begin with an easy nod. The way Damian’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline told Dick that he probably should have at least tried to argue. The suspicion was back full-force, and Damian wasn’t even trying to hide it, eyes narrowed as he scanned Dick from top to bottom.
So, Dick was maybe not as great at playing himself as he’d thought.
Damian seemed to be satisfied with his appraisal, and led Dick to the garage without delay—his excuse being they had to leave before “Father” noticed (and again…controlling much? Dick was less comfortable with the idea of Bruce by the day).
Damian hopped behind the wheel of a sleek black car that looked like every other sleek black car in the (giant, who needed this many vehicles anyway?) garage, with deeply tinted windows and dark rims.
…Bruce was really sticking to a theme here, wasn’t he? Dick had half-expected the garage to be filled with horse-drawn carriages.
Dick watched as Damian—competently—started the vehicle without ever touching it—apparently the keys being close enough could start it? That seemed…like a good way to have it stolen, to be honest. Damian clambered (though he’d probably deny it later, he refused to admit that he was ever undignified) into the driver’s seat, and Dick followed his lead.
…It was so comfortable he could die.
He’d thought the mattresses in this place were too nice? The seats in this car made them seem like a few pieces of wood hammered together, in comparison. Dick had no idea how he’d lucked into an adoptive father who had more money than the entirety of Haley’s after a perfect set put together.
Damian peeled out of the long drive with a squeal of tires and the smell of burnt rubber, and Dick knew he shouldn’t encourage it—he had a brain injury, and this kid was a minor, and…and…
He whooped. This was way too fun.
A quick glance at Damian revealed the kid had a tiny smirk on his face—he’d done that on purpose, just for Dick’s enjoyment.
…Seriously, he was adorable, Dick wanted to keep him. Maybe he should kidnap him when he moved back to…wherever he lived. He was pretty sure Damian would be for it, the way he chafed under Bruce’s rule.
…Also, the way he turned to Dick whenever he entered the room like a sunflower greeting the sun. Adorable, but also terrifying. What had Dick done to deserve that affection? How could he live up to it, now that he’d lost so much? Lost everything? He…didn’t think he could, but he’d do his best, because—this kid…the way he looked at Dick…
Dick recognized the look, he just…couldn’t quite place it. It was definitely familiar, though, and he felt the need to live up to it—oh. Maybe…
He shook his head as they turned a corner sharply and focused on the ride, even as they entered a seedy part of town that Dick…wasn’t so sure they should leave the vehicle in. When he voiced his concern, Damian huffed a not-quite laugh at him. So. No need to worry about it, he supposed, since Damian thought Dick was joking.
Damian parked in an abandoned lot and walked up the steps to an abandoned apartment.
“I am certain that Todd shall arrive soon, since I tripped one of his alarms,” he told Dick as they settled onto something that might once have generously been called a sofa. Dick nodded, wondering why they were here when Jason clearly didn’t live here.
“—and the hell are you—” a sharp voice commanded as he rounded the corner, but he fell silent as he caught sight of the would-be intruders. Dick gave him a jaunty little wave, and Jason’s eyes narrowed to slits.
He tucked the gun (a gun! Why did he have a gun?! If the area was that dangerous, Dick was fairly sure Bruce would give him money to move, even if they were fighting—Bruce seemed the type to use money to smooth things over like that) into his pants and fell onto the round wood contraption in front of the barely-a-sofa.
“I thought Dick was still under house arrest,” Jason said conversationally. The hairs on the back of Dick’s neck rose in warning for some reason. Jason was being perfectly cordial, there shouldn’t be a reason for the sudden tension threading Dick’s muscles. He eyed the larger man—there were dark bags under his eyes, tension at his jaw. Although it looked like he was at ease, his knuckles were white and his tendons stood prominently.
“Surely you do not believe that Richard would allow himself to stay imprisoned forever? He has been rather patient lately. As such, I decided it would be best to allow him a moment of fresh air.” Damian’s chin was raised to a severe degree, his nose scrunched up. He looked like he’d eaten something bad.
Also, was Dick a dog? The way they spoke over him—and fresh air—made him feel like he was little more than a tolerated pet.
Jason snickered and leaned back, mocking grin stretched wide over his face. “Fair enough,” he agreed more easily than Dick had expected. “So you’re stretching his legs?”
This had to be an inside joke, right? If anybody was listening in, they really would think these two were talking about a hyperactive dog.
…Only one of those things was true.
He tuned back in, and watched as Damian and Jason bantered. There was something there—an undertone of bitterness on both sides—that Dick couldn’t understand. They seemed to be getting along,, even as they sniped, but…there was something he was missing. The missing memories could probably tell him, but as it was…he was worried.
“Well, Dickie,” Jason said and spread his arms wide, muscles flexing and smile stretching wide enough to be painful, “here I am. Is it everything you expected?”
And…Dick had so many things he could say to that, but instead, “Have you been sleeping enough?”
Jason’s bravado rushed from him, his arms fell and his smirk faded. His eyes were wide—had Dick really never shown concern for him before? That one question would cause that much surprise?
If so, then Dick really hated the person he’d become.
“Yeah. Just a long case,” Jason muttered, and—oh. Oh!
It made sense, now! The dilapidated neighborhood, the secondary location where it was clear nobody lived, the gun, the danger that radiated from Jason like a tiger’s hunger. Jason was a private investigator! At least that solved one mystery.
Dick hummed his sympathy, and Jason shot him a look that hadn’t decided whether it was suspicious or shocked. Well. If Dick was that bad at being family before, no longer. He’d make sure his new family knew he cared—or at least, he’d force himself to care until the feelings came naturally again.
He smiled at Jason, who—actually curled back a bit, for some reason. Damian had also edged slightly away from him on the seat, so Dick dialed back the force a bit.
He didn’t want to scare them away, after all.