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“Alfred’s going to love you,” is the first thing Babs says when Dick picks up her call through his Carrera.
In the dog carrier in the passenger seat, Haley perks up from watching the snowflakes fall, the adorable three-legged pitbull puppy wagging her tail at the voice of her second favorite human. (The first being Dick, no contest.)
Dick snorts — because leave it to Barbara Gordon to compliment him and somehow make it sound like a complaint at the same time — but in the next moment, he chokes on his iced blueberry swirl cake latte he’d gotten from a coffeeshop in Bludhaven and almost causes himself to swerve off the icy, barely drivable road. It’s a good thing no one else is around. His windshield wipers swish the flurries off the glass, revealing miles and miles of nothing but the snowed-over, hilly New Jersey countryside ahead. A frozen lake sparkles in the distance, reflecting the last rays of the setting sun peeking through the incoming storm clouds.
“Unless you didn’t get it, which is fine, but you can’t take a casual trip to Kyoto and keep me in suspense this long.” Babs pauses, listening to Dick’s coughs. “Uh, maybe try to breathe, if that helps.”
When he’s sure there’s no ice, latte, or blueberry swirl cake in his trachea, Dick croaks out, “Your fault. You made me laugh. I can’t tell if you’re excited or pissed, Babs.”
“Of course I’m excited! Alfred’s an angel, and you have the best gift idea of the century for that man. I just can’t stand that you thought of it first,” Babs huffs, then corrects herself with a diplomatic, “I mean, you’re a great person.”
“I’m going to need a recording of you saying that.”
“You’re funny,” Babs says dispassionately. “Seriously, though — did you get Alfred’s gift?”
“Have you met me? Course I did.”
Babs lets out a low whistle. “It’s confirmed. Alfred’s going to love you.”
Dick feels a sense of achievement, thinking about what’s currently stored in the trunk from his trip across the Pacific a few days ago. Packaged firmly in a wooden box are sixteen hand-crafted knives by Yuki Masamune, a world-renowned Japanese bladesmith and chef notoriously elusive and rumored only to take custom orders from those who are worthy — and also, more importantly, Alfred’s favorite bladesmith and chef. The butler can talk about his work for hours — how his work glints silver even in the dark, boasts a paper-thin edge, and has a fiercely gorgeous look from the delicately hammered sides — so naturally, a custom set made for the perfect gift idea.
And since Masamune-san agreed to make it, the trip was worth it in the end.
Even if, instead of dramatically recognizing worthiness in Dick, the elderly bladesmith took one look at him and said, “Huh. It seems you’re the type of person who, after losing the trust of others, desperately seeks to gain their approval again. That’s pretty embarrassing for you, son. I will craft the blades for your grandfather. Because I feel bad for you.”
(Kyoto was a humbling experience.)
Dick hopes Babs is right — that Alfred’s going to love him. He needs a win after the year he’s had. It’ll be a step in the right direction to patch things up with his family so that they like him.
Well, okay. Not that they don’t.
He knows that they care.
Look, they’re family, and family cares about each other, obviously, but sometimes it’s fragile. Sometimes, all it takes for everything to splinter is just one detail Dick wasn’t on top of.
Like how Bruce “died” in the blink of an eye because Dick wasn’t there to stop him from getting blasted and lost in time.
Or how Damian threw violent fits for hours because Dick didn’t bother to pick up a parenting book before trying to console him.
Or how Cass shut herself in her room all day because Dick was too busy with funeral preparations to check in with his new little sister.
Or how Jason took on the Batman moniker and wreaked havoc for a few weeks because Dick couldn’t take the Dark Knight’s place himself.
Or how Tim when no-contact for months because Dick took Robin away.
Dick feels sick, thinking about how bad things could have gotten if Bruce hadn’t come back. If they just… kept on breaking like that, because Dick wasn’t the glue of the family he’d once prided himself on being, and instead more like… the adhesive properties of a sticky note.
But he’s learned his lesson.
And now, with winter break beginning and everyone flocking to the Manor for the first time in ages, Dick isn’t going to keep making the same mistakes. Starting with this gift for Alfred, he will make sure that everyone in Wayne household is happy.
“You should have heard him today, Dick,” Babs is saying. “When I was helping him with dinner, I asked him about chopping techniques, and he started waxing poetic about high carbon stainless steel and the physics behind the Tsuchime finish of Yuki Masamune’s work.”
Pulling himself from his thoughts, Dick innocently says, “Well then, I hope it’s not overkill that I got him a thank-you calligraphy print signed by Masamune-san, too.”
“Ugh. Best gift ever. I hate you.” There’s a loud thump from Babs’s end. Before Dick can ask if everything’s alright, Babs calls out. “Damian, no swords in the halls! You know the rule.”
“It’s an asinine rule,” retorts the youngest Wayne in the background, followed by another thump of something falling that probably shouldn’t have fallen.
Dick winces. “Sounds busy over there.”
“Everyone’s trickling in for dinner, so it’s pretty lively. And get this — I saw Bruce hold a smile for a full two seconds when he was talking to Jason earlier.”
“Wow, okay. Am I missing record-shattering events?”
“You are, and I need a refill on my Haley snuggles, so what’s your ETA?” Hearing her name, Haley yips. Babs coos immediately. “Aw, is that my good girl? Yes, you are!”
“It shouldn’t be long,” Dick replies, glancing at the GPS. When he’d left Bludhaven to drive to Gotham, he’d decided to avoid the many-hours-long traffic jam on the freeway and take the scenic route instead. Now, the snow is falling more like heavy rain, and the wind’s not letting up, but he’s confident he’ll be in Gotham City civilization soon. “Then you two can get married, I promise.”
“Listen, wisecrack, you won’t be invited to the wedding —”
“Babs!” a new voice calls out, interrupting her. “Look at — oh. Sorry. Who are you talking to?”
Dick’s heart leaps with a jolt of alarm. His fingers grip the steering wheel tighter as Tim’s voice comes through. He wills himself to relax. It’s Tim, and yes, he’s not Tim’s favorite person by any means, but there’s no reason for him to panic. He’s not going to mess anything up anymore. They’re moving forward.
“It’s Dick,” Babs says. “Want to say hi, baby bird?”
Dick inhales, filling his lungs with hope. He’ll ask Tim about school since Babs talked him into going back after dropping out — or maybe about any new skateboarding tricks since that kid loves that board — but his heart drops at Tim’s next words.
“Uh, no thanks.”
Dick’s mouth goes dry. Without taking his eyes off the increasingly hard-to-see road, he paws the air for his iced blueberry swirl cake latte a few times before finding it and taking a quick sip.
“I gotta… go do something,” Tim says hesitantly, his voice fading. Dick can picture him in his mind’s eye — slinking away while looking at Babs’s phone like it’s a can of Scarecrow’s fear gas. “See you, Babs.”
It’s fine. It’s totally fine. So what if Tim still hates him? Dick apologized, but things take their own time to get better. And he’s going to get better. He’s going to figure out a way to get Tim back somehow. With patience, and once he finds a way to make Tim happy —
“Dick? ETA?” It’s Babs, none the wiser to Dick’s manic brainstorming. Dick pulls his attention back. “Less than an hour, more…?”
Dick swallows and tries to sound cheerful. “Twenty minutes, Babs.”
“Sounds good. I can’t wait to see the look on Alfred’s face. He’s going to love you, have I mentioned that?”
~
A few minutes later, the sun is completely gone, and the beginnings of a snowstorm are coming through. The road, a dark gray stretch of pavement before, is now coated in a thin blanket of white that refuses to melt. Haley sniffs in alarm from next to him, peering out over the dog carrier at the sudden downpour of snow and heavy roaring of wind outside.
Dick speeds up the windshield wipers and lightly taps the gas; the engine revs cleanly as he cuts down the road, curving and sloping downwards around the terrain. The wind beats against the sides, high-pitched like an aria — and then over the frozen lake below the hill Dick’s on, there’s a sudden crack in the sky.
Thunder.
Haley lets out the most heart-wrenching whimper.
Oh, no. Dick doesn’t need to see her puppy-dog eyes — that sound itself has him hitting the brakes. He might not have been going that fast, but he’s not a monster. If Haley’s scared, then screw it, they’ll go at a snail’s pace.
But the car doesn’t glide to a stop. It just glides. Skidding over the icy road way too fast, down a hill.
Haley barks, and for a split second, just before Dick’s fingers squeeze down on the wheel, he sees a cabin alight with warm golden light in the distance.
And then his stomach is dropping unpleasantly because they’re hurtling down the sloping, curving road, much too close to a rocky ledge that drops off sharply to the icy frozen lake below.
Sheer adrenaline and years of vigilantism have Dick taking his foot off the brake and attempting to maneuver the too-far gone Carrera back into control. The speed picks up and they hurtle towards a patch of pine trees surrounded by a snow pile. It’s only on impact that Dick realizes that the snow’s mostly ice. Ouch. Their airbags blow out, and they jerk to a stop with a resounding groan of metal and tree. Something fully snaps, and Dick sees one of the pine trees fall and disappear.
The first thing Dick does is check on Haley — who is safe in her secured carrier, and the moment she can, she barks and jumps out to Dick, her eyes big and worried. The relief is cut short when Dick realizes he’s just totaled his car. And then, moments later, he sees his phone in the center console, cracked and black-screened. Oh, goodie.
“Well, at least we’re okay,” Dick says after a long moment, and Haley licks his chin.
Sagging back in his seat with a sigh, he stares at the snow-covered windows and waits to catch his breath. He’s going to need to call Bruce — who won’t be thrilled about having to get his grown adult son, that’s for sure. So much for starting off winter break on the right foot and making everyone happy.
Then Dick looks at the rearview mirror and his heart drops even further, realizing something pretty important.
He’s at the very edge of the hill.
The entire car shakes as the wind blows. With a mumbled swear and Haley tucked under his arm, Dick slips out of the car and into the biting negative degrees, and rounds the destroyed Carrera. Just as he thought, the hillside drops rapidly below. Peering over the edge, he can see the lake, mostly frozen, with the exception of directly below, where the ice has been shattered from the fallen pine tree. It’s not a survivable drop.
A sensation of needing to throw up rises within Dick — until his eyes fall on the trunk door, partly open and swinging in the wind. Alfred’s gift. Without thinking, Dick sets Haley down and lunges for the trunk. Dick can’t let Alfred’s gift slip out of the trunk and fall into the lake. He can’t. He can lose the car and the phone, but not something that will make Alfred happy.
Carefully as not to slip off the ledge, Dick retrieves the box from the trunk, still safe in his backpack. He lets out a sigh.
Haley barks in triumph.
And then the Carrera lets out a creaking noise. Dick leaps out of the way just as the car slips from where the snow and pine trees are holding it in place, slowly downwards. And then it tips, going bottom up, and it’s gone.
Metal crunches against ice and water down below.
Dick feels grateful for his car insurance.
The wind howls. The snowfall grows heavier. Dick shakily takes a few steps away from the edge, scooping Haley into his arms, and makes his way down the road towards the soft plumes of chimney smoke in the darkening sky against the blinding snowfall — from the cabin that he saw earlier.
They’ll probably have a phone.
The cabin isn’t far at all. Bordered by pine trees, it stands like a hearth in the raging blizzard. Golden light spills through the windows. Dick thinks he can smell food. A white light shines from above the front door, and that’s when Dick sees the hanging wooden signpost with carved and painted words. BIRDIE AND BEAU’S B&B, TRAVELERS WELCOME!
The door swings open with a jingle before Dick reaches the front door, revealing a woman, maybe a decade older than him, in a green apron with red apples and a halo of blond curls. Then her mouth splits into a smile, and Dick feels like he’s been pierced through the chest with a dagger. Something about her face is so strikingly familiar, and something hurts, but why — ?
“A guest!” she hoots. “Beau, honey, we have a guest!”
~
Instantly, Dick is hit with the warmth coming from the hearth of the bed and breakfast. Crackling in the corner of what looks like a living-room-turned-dining area is an orange, glowing fireplace. Even Haley notices the temperature change, her tail swishing happily against Dick’s shirt.
Basking in the glow of the fireplace are the few empty tables with mismatching chairs that have been set with tablecloths and fruit basket centerpieces. Some of the bananas look ripe enough to be used for banana bread. They probably haven’t had customers in a while.
Birdie beams at him as she slides behind the front desk, which is more of a kitchen counter with a cash register.
“You’re in luck, hon. We’re completely open, no travelers all day, so you can have your pick from all our rooms! We have a king, complete with a bathroom suite and a television — which won’t actually work, though, considering that we lost power a few hours ago — but we’ll throw in a free…”
“I just need to make a call, actually,” Dick says, flashing Birdie his best smile to let her down easy. “My phone broke and my car kind of… uh… fell into the lake.”
Birdie’s eyes have gone wide. Something about her expression is so reminiscent of something in the deep folds of his memory that Dick can’t breathe for a moment.
Maybe it’s magic, Dick thinks wildly as he stares at Birdie. Or she’s a meta with the ability to… make people feel sad and happy at the same time? Is that possible?
“Oh, no! The lake? Are you hurt, hon?” she asks, her hands covering her mouth. “Beau, are you hearing this?”
From the kitchen, a heavyset man with sparkling eyes looks up, momentarily distracted from his work of sorting through firewood, and says, “Birdie, love, let the poor guy use the phone instead of fretting.”
Looking worried, Birdie slips out from the kitchen counter front desk and leads Dick into a room on the other side of the hall. It’s a small office, with a sizeable whiteboard on wheels on one side, and a whole lot of disorganized financial binders lying around. Dick steps in and nearly trips, catching himself on the desk. His eyes catch onto an unfolded letter on top, partly tucked under a coffee mug. The bold red print stamped near the top catches Dick’s eye.
FORECLOSURE NOTICE, it reads.
So they’re so low on funds they’re about to lose their home. Having learned tact from Alfred, Dick does not say what he’s thinking, which is, Dang, that sucks.
“Excuse the mess, hon,” Birdie says. “It’s been a while since I cleaned up — there’s just too many bookkeeping things, and it gets away from me.”
“I get it. I have a little brother who gets the same way,” Dick says, thinking about the way Tim gets during a case. “It’s really endearing, actually.”
“What a sweet thing to say! You must be a kind brother.” Unaware of how much emotional damage she just delivered to Dick with those kind words, Birdie squints at him. “You know, you look familiar, hon. Do I know you from somewhere? Are you maybe an actor?”
Jason’s the drama buff. Dick’s barely shaken his head no when Birdie’s gasping.
“Oh! I remember, I’ve seen you in the Gotham Gazette! Richard Grayson, heir to Wayne Industries, Bruce Wayne’s son!”
Heir is a little dramatic and reminds Dick of Damian, but Birdie looks so excited that he doesn’t bother correcting her.
“I am Bruce’s son,” he admits, causing Birdie to gasp and jump up and down like a little kid.
But then, all of a sudden, her eyes shift, and she’s pulling away from the wall like it’s made of fire. She pulls the whiteboard closer to where she’d been standing and pats it awkwardly. Then she scrambles over to her desk, pulls open a drawer, and plucks out a red cell phone before tossing it to Dick.
“Here’s my old cell. Give it a whirl, hon.”
A little strange, but Dick has spoken to a sugared-up, caffeinated Steph before, so he’s not exactly new to sudden conversation switches without a proper segue. Thunder rumbles outside as Dick dials Bruce’s number.
The call doesn’t go through.
Dick’s hope deflates like a balloon.
“Oh, well. That’s to be expected,” Birdie says matter-of-factly, one hand fidgeting with her apron as she takes the phone back and tosses it in the desk. “We already have poor signal, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this wind took out our nearest cell tower. The storm looks like it’ll last all night, but Beau can drive you out to town in the morning until you can grab a better signal.”
No phone. No way of calling for backup. Dick supposes he might just have to stay the night, after all.
“Did I hear you talking about the cell tower?” Beau asks when they emerge from the office. “Why didn’t you just try the landli—”
Birdie breaks out into a very loud fit of coughs, cutting her husband off, who in turn, looks at her strangely.
She ignores him and looks at Dick. “Let me set you up with a room here for tonight, alright, Richard?”
That’s when it clicks for Dick. The reason Dick thought she looked so familiar it hurt. Birdie’s not a meta or a magician.
She just reminds Dick of his mother.
The hair color is off, but coincidentally, Birdie has Mary Grayson’s green eyes, dimples, and smile. Mary even used to wing her eyeliner at that same angle. And here she is, someone who reminds him of his mother, offering him warmth, shelter, and food. And maybe that’s why Dick finds it within him that he wants to stay.
“Sure,” he says, allowing himself to relax, and Birdie claps her hands excitedly. Beau looks at Dick firmly.
“What would you like for breakfast tomorrow, son?” he asks gruffly. “I make a mean stack of pancakes. With syrup.”
At the word pancakes, Haley pops her head out of his jacket with a yip. Birdie and Beau stare at the little puppy in surprise.
“Oh, right,” Dick says, looking down. “Are either of you allergic to dogs?”
~
Maybe it’s because of the iced blueberry swirl cake latte in the late afternoon, or maybe it’s because he almost drove himself and his puppy off a cliff a few hours ago, but Dick can’t sleep.
Dick’s not alone, though. Next to him on a pillow, Haley’s been squirming just as much as he’s been — and now, her ears are pointed upwards, alert. Sitting up, Dick moves to cuddle her close, or maybe sing her a lullaby — he’s awesome at lullabies, it doesn’t matter what Babs says — but the puppy leaps off the bed and scratches at the door, the same way she always does when she needs to go.
“Oh, okay. Bathroom time it is,” Dick says, slipping out of bed after her to let her out.
But something weird happens. The door doesn’t open.
Dick blinks slowly, trying the door again. Rather than jammed, it sounds like it’s locked. Weird that this door can be locked from the outside — how did Dick even manage to do that? — but after a second of Haley’s whimpers, Dick dips into the bathroom to grab a couple of floss picks (provided along with the complimentary toothbrush and toothpaste) and makes quick work of the mechanical lock. The door pops open, and Haley takes off the moment she sees the hallway, and down the stairs that they’d come up.
With a quiet plea that Haley doesn’t get too excited and pee all over the floor, Dick winces and takes off after her.
Downstairs, the hallway is dark, the light from the fireplace dimmed. Haley sits by the front door, her tail softly thumping against the welcome mat. Dick catches up and moves his hand to turn the knob and push the door open, but —
Again, weirdly, it doesn’t budge.
Locked from the outside.
Why would they — ?
Then, he hears muffled voices amidst the silence of the night in the bed and breakfast. Down the hall, across from the kitchen. Birdie and Beau. Oh, good. He can get one of them to open the doors. But instead of knocking once he gets to the office door, Dick just stands there, stomach churning like a rising tide of suspicion that has only been building on itself since he walked into this place.
“…how much should we ask for?” comes Beau’s voice.
Birdie’s response is clear. “At least a million.”
“A million? Ain’t that a little… high? We don’t need that much, Birdie, love.”
Oh.
Dick’s not an idiot, but he does have the slightest hope that they’re playing some kind of board game.
“I know, but it gives us some room to negotiate, doesn’t it? Plus it isn’t too much. It’s Bruce Wayne we’re talking about.”
Oh, shit.
“We don’t… we don’t even know what we’re doing, Birdie. This isn’t right, and if we get caught — ”
“It’s this or we lose everything, Beau. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — we’ll barely touch that boy’s life. Just collect the money and call it a day.”
Haley lets out a small whine, and Dick’s pulled from the conversation back to her, sympathy pulling at his heart. Forget the fact that he’s been low-key kidnapped, she still needs to pee, and the doors are all locked.
Just then, footsteps approach and the office door flies open. Birdie’s eyes find Dick’s, and her mouth drops open.
“You — how did you — what are you doing here?” Birdie demands sharply. Behind her, Dick can see a wide-eyed Beau.
It’s been a hot second since Dick’s been kidnapped, but something tells him that Birdie and Beau aren’t exactly professionals. He actually kind of feels bad for them.
If this were any other situation, he would have probably gone into fight mode. But here’s the thing. He’s tired, and Birdie and Beau aren’t really threats. And what’s he going to do, beat up a financially struggling couple and then take their car and drive to town to look for a police station, only to get picked up by Bruce, who probably won’t be too pleased about having to rescue Dick’s ass?
He’s Dick Grayson right now, not Nightwing. Babs will find him soon enough anyway, so what’s the harm in just… playing along for now?
“Haley just needed to use the little doggy’s room,” Dick says with a laugh. “But the door’s… you know, it’s locked.”
Birdie stares at him a second longer. “Hm. You heard everything, didn’t you, hon.”
So much for playing along.
“I’d maybe ask the Bruce Wayne for more,” Dick finally says, cracking the tense air around them with a joke. “I’m curious how much you can get for me.”
Birdie’s wary expression turns venomous. Haley growls at her. Someone moves behind Dick, and then —
Dick’s head rings terribly, there’s barking, someone shouting, and the last thing Dick sees is Haley viciously peeing on Birdie’s shoe as he hits the floor, and everything fades away.
~
Wayne Manor is warm and full of laughter and sound, and for once, not because of a gala full of stuffy rich Gothamites, but because of Bruce’s family.
Kate and Damian are having a conversation while feeding Alfred the Cat with tuna sticks, Titus and Ace are happily chasing each other around, Cass, Jason, and Steph are playing Capture The Flag with plates of nachos instead of actual flags, and Alfred is leafing through a kitchen catalog and relaxing for once. Babs is sleeping, her head nestled on Tim’s shoulder as Tim balances Babs’s laptop in his lap, typing away.
Dick’s on his way — still driving, Bruce guesses, since his eldest hadn’t picked up his call or answered his text.
Something catches Bruce’s attention. Tim’s chest has started to rise and fall more rapidly, his fingers flying over the keyboard and looking more and more distressed as each second goes on. Bruce makes his way over, unsure of what type of parenting he’ll need.
But when Tim looks up, panicked, and says, “It’s Dick,” Bruce feels blindsided.
“What’s happened?” he demands.
Tim’s face is pale. “Babs said that Dick said he’d be here soon, but it’s been two hours, and his calls aren’t going through. So when I searched for his location — I used the Watchtower satellite to find out where Dick went missing — there’s — it’s — I can see his car, in the ice.” Babs stirs from her nap and blinks confusedly at Tim, who takes a shaky breath. “There was an accident. His car is wrecked. And I can’t find him — I think… I think he fell into the lake, B. I don’t know if he’s…”
The world stops turning for Bruce.
No. Not again.
~
Dick wakes up with a throbbing headache and a dry throat, which is always an annoying way to wake up. It’s completely pitch black, save for a battery-operated nightlight in the corner, revealing him to be in his room at the bed and breakfast.
Panic courses through him — not at the memory of Beau knocking him out from behind — but because where’s Haley? His panic dissipates when he sees her in the corner of the room, pitifully placed under an upside-down wastebasket. He jumps out of bed, his headache forgotten, and pulls the basket off her.
“Aw, girl, did the mean bed and breakfast owners put you in time-out?” he asks, checking her over for injuries again. Haley lifts herself onto her hind legs to lick at Dick’s face, and he laughs. “Thanks for being my knight in shining armor back there.”
Haley’s tail wags happily in response.
The door is locked and barricaded this time, Dick learns after some investigating. The couple must really not want him getting out again.
“Well, I’ve had enough of this place, what about you?” Dick says, rubbing the sore spot on his head. Haley yips in agreement. “And I think I know a way out.”
The doors might be a no-go, but the windows are fair game. So he slings on his backpack, plops Haley in the front pocket, and slips out the window instead.
It’s freezing outside, but he makes quick work of slinking down a drainpipe to the first floor windows. After making sure it’s all clear, Dick opens the office room window with a graceful extension of his leg and smoothly lands inside.
The office is just as messy as the first time, but Dick beelines it towards the whiteboard — and pushes it aside, revealing what Birdie had been so adamant on hiding from him yesterday.
A corded landline.
AKA, a phone that would work even if there was a power outage or a cell phone tower down. The moment Birde knew his name, she’d planned on keeping him here until she could make some money off of him. Glancing at the shut office door, Dick quickly makes the call. Someone picks up on the first ring.
“Dick.” Bruce’s voice is so sharp it could probably compete with Yuki Masamune’s kitchen knives. “Dick, say something.”
“Hey, Bruce, relax — I’m fine,” he says, feeling an avalanche of relief at hearing his father’s voice. “Don’t freak about the ransom, though. Not either of our first rodeos, right? I could use a ride, though.”
“You’re alive,” Bruce says, and there’s a clamor of noise behind him. He hears the voices of Damian, Jason, Alfred, and others. Dick’s heart pangs, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just Haley’s tail hitting him in the chest.
“I’m… yeah,” Dick agrees slowly. Was he… did they… hang on, did they think he wasn’t?
“We couldn’t get ahold of you,” Bruce says. “Tim had the call traced and located the car wreck. It was too close to the cliff. We thought — since you weren’t in the car — ”
Dick processes these words. Slowly, confusion bleeds into manic understanding as he thinks about what it might have looked like for his family. Phoneless, he’d left the car at the bottom of an icy lake and walked away on the ice road, leaving no obvious footprints.
“Wait, you didn’t get the ransom call?”
“Why would we have gotten a ransom — ?” Darkness enters Bruce’s voice. “Dick, tell me where you are.”
But before Dick can say anything, something warm nears his throat, and Birdie’s standing right there. Beau stands close by, but he looks more worried about Birdie than anything else. The poker she’s holding right by Dick’s neck glows orange at the sharp end, pulled straight from the fireplace.
“You’re not leaving here until we get paid the million,” Birdie demands, her voice carrying an edge of desperation. “I don’t care if it comes from you or your family. But you’re giving it to us.”
“Who is that?” Bruce asks sharply.
“Oh, them. It’s — I’m at this —” Dick cuts himself off when Birdie’s poker digs into his skin. “Look, they’ve sort of kidnapped me, it’s — hang on.” He lowers the phone and looks painstakingly at Birdie. “Can you not? I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“If you tell them our location, you can say goodbye to your neck, hon,” Birdie says, her hand faltering even as she says the words.
Dick stares at Birdie, wondering when she’d clicked from warm hostess of a bed and breakfast to kidnapping to straight-up murder. To her credit, though, she does look very unsure of herself. And also guilty.
“You’re not a very good kidnapper, are you,” Dick notes. “You never made the call.”
Birdie’s cheeks flush. “We were going to. Just couldn’t figure out a price.”
“You kept asking for too much, Birdie, love,” Beau says.
“Well, someone’s got to advocate for us, right? We deserve more than this,” Birdie replies, looking distraught, but she shakes her head rapidly and continues to point the poker at Dick. “I want to travel. I want to buy things. And I’m so sick of never having any of it — I’m so sick of all this hard work being for nothing. So, what’s it going to be, Richard?”
Also on the line, Dick can hear Jason swearing up a storm, Babs trying to come up with a plan, and Damian using SAT vocabulary words to creatively insult Birdie’s lineage — and somehow, all that commotion grounds Dick to reality. He looks at Birdie, and realizes that all her resemblance to Mary Grayson has fallen away. She still has green eyes and dimples when she smiles, but now Dick can see he’s looking at a completely different person—someone who might be sweet on the outside but doesn’t actually care for him at all. And very understandably, has her own problems.
And it’s so different from what he gets from his real family.
Because as many times as he messes up, his family still feels like home.
It’s an excellent thought to end on because just then, Batman comes crashing through the window — clearly having traced the call without Dick ever having to say anything.
~
Dick’s dogpiled by all his siblings when he gets back to Gotham via the Batmobile. There’s laughter, tears, and warm limbs pulling him in, and Dick never wants to leave the center of it, hugging everyone back as hard as he can without cutting off their oxygen supply. Because apparently, for several hours, they thought he was dead.
Among the reactions, he gets a punch in the shoulder from Jason (“Dying’s my thing, Dickwing,”), a solemn glower from Damian (“I’m glad you didn’t drown in a frozen lake,”), and a long stare from Cass (“…”). Meanwhile, Babs wheels over and takes her own sweet time hugging Haley, who slobbers all over the redhead’s face.
Finally, after Dick extracts himself from everyone, he spots Tim standing apart from them all, watching the commotion with a relieved expression. But when Dick steps towards him, the younger boy darts away, making another excuse. Dick doesn’t follow after him. Things take time.
“He was terribly scared when we didn’t hear from you,” Alfred says, stepping up to Dick.
“But he’s still mad at me, Alfie.” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “If I just… if I hadn’t been so rash, with making Damian the Robin costume, and if I’d just talked to Tim first —”
Alfred holds up his hand, silencing him. When Dick meets Alfred’s gaze, the older man is looking at him with an abundance of compassion. “But nothing. This past year has been hard on all of us, but out of all of us, you’ve taken so much blame on your shoulders. These are not your burdens, Master Dick, so you ought to try setting them down.”
Dick inhales deeply. “I’m the oldest. That makes it my responsibility. I have to keep us all together, so we don’t go breaking apart again.”
“Might I point out that we’re all here right now, Master Dick? This family is not fragile. If there’s a person to be credited for that, I would say that that person is you.”
Dick feels his face flush. “Thanks, Alfie.” He clears his throat, unable to wipe the smile off his face. “Um, but I have something for you.”
Dick gives Alfred the wooden box from his backpack. Alfred’s warm smile turns curious as he opens the box — and then his mouth drops open when he sees the sixteen hand-crafted knives inside.
“Master Dick,” Alfred gasps, looking at the glimmering knives in the box. He looks emotional. “I’m… these are Masamune originals…! Flawless, exquisite craftsmanship! Just how did you ever attain them?”
“Eh, a short weekend trip to Kyoto,” Dick says, grinning and feeling more relaxed than he has in days as he watches Alfred pull out the knives and look “positively chuffed” at the Tsuchime finish. He doesn’t need to ask if Alfred loves him — gift or no gift, he has a feeling he already knows the answer.
The butler looks up at Dick with shining eyes and then fiercely says, “Prepare to be delighted with your favorite dishes for the entire year, Master Dick.”
Score.
~
There’s nowhere Dick would rather be right now than right here — curled up in his bedroom in Wayne Manor, completely warm with Ace and Haley draped over his legs. Everyone’s asleep in their respective rooms, not that far away. It’s bliss. Dick’s half snoozing, half awake, when he hears the quiet knocks on the door.
Actually, they’re more like soft taps. Dick isn’t sure who would be knocking at his door that lightly. His younger siblings are all very loud. Cass, maybe? Dick has a feeling she wouldn’t knock — she’d just slip in —
Slipping into his fluffy bunny slippers, Dick shuffles over and opens the door.
It’s the last person Dick expects to see.
In the hallway stands Tim in an oversized t-shirt with the Periodic Table of Elements. His hands fidget, and he’s looking anywhere but up at Dick.
“Tim? What are you — oof,” Dick cuts off, struck speechless as Tim suddenly hugs him, his face crushing into Dick’s chest.
“I’m glad you’re not dead, okay?” Tim says, his voice thick. Just as quickly, he lets go and turns around. “Okay, bye, good night.”
But Dick feels such a strong wave of affection for his little brother, his arms quickly circle Tim’s midsection, trapping him in a hug.
“I knew this would happen,” Tim says, and gives up on trying to escape.