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Part 26 of Where Bats and Birds Roost
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2023-06-22
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Big Brothers Deal with Birthdays

Summary:

Because even when birthdays roll around, a big brother's work is never done.

Notes:

Tim may be pretty ambivalent to damian atm but if u think that birthday mindfuck that bruce pulled wouldnt screw him over,,,,, :). And okay yes damian is a snotrocket but its also his birthday and he was raised in the loa and bruce would only fuck damian up more with the same kind of test that he pulled on tim and now tim just HAS to investigate and make sure tjat damian doesmt get the same stupid ass test even if tim is pretty sure damian would take the testing thing better thna tim did,,,,,but what if he didn't? Time to investigate.

Song recs:
paranoia party- Frances Forever
Flowers- khai dreams
despair. -Leo
Sorry haha i fell asleep- egg
If I could ride a bike- Parkbird, Chevy

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

     Dick has absolutely no clue what to get Damian for his birthday. What do you even get a kid like Damian? He really doesn't need more swords, knives, or sharp objects in general. No weapons. Damian liked music, mostly classical or something with the tablah in it. He liked animals, of course, but he should probably leave the live animal gifting to Alfred or Bruce. The boundaries with the older brothering-parenting thing while Bruce was dead were blurry enough with Bruce gone, nevermind him being alive and Dick's role in Damian's life was supposed to be 'the oldest brother'. Pet gifting felt like a distinctly parent role thing. So, pets were just out for politeness's sake. Or simplicity, if he was gonna be honest. So, what else would Damian like? What books would Damian like? What art supplies could Dick get Damian? There were a lot of questions to be asked and Dick didn't know if he could answer them all without tipping Damian off to Dick's Perfect Gift Hunt. "What art supplies do you have, Dami," Dick asks nochalantly as Damian scratches his pencil against the worksheet Alfred assigned to him.

"I have the highest end art supplies possible," Damian replied, mostly busy with scowling at his assignment, "And refrain from calling me that, Richard."

Damn, that was a bust. Unless..."What do you think of sculpting," Dick pried further.

Damian gives a squint that Dick is mostly sure means that he's considering Dick's question. "I have no prior knowledge on the subject," Damian answers finally, "Nor experience."

Oh, thank God. "Huh," Dick hums in response, already looking up beginner's sculptor kits in supply and finding the one with the highest quality.

Well, that hopefully meant that Dick had Damian's birthday present checked off his list. Now, as long as he could find a good kit for Damian, that would be perfect. Alfred had Damian's birthday cake (as well as his favourite ghrayabeh) covered. Bruce, well, Dick didn't know exactly what Bruce would get Damian but surely one of the World's Greatest Detectives could figure something out. Cass definitely had something figured out. Tim also likely had an idea for Damian's present and Jason...well, that was the next thing on Dick's personal checklist. Well, 'thing' since Jason wasn't a thing. Even when he sure acted like a 'thing'. Like a little punkhead thing. But that wasn't important. Immediately after the Damian Birthday Gift was resolved and checked off, next thing was to get Jason to come to the Manor. Now, Jason would come to the Cave once a week, and on a good week, even twice. It was amazing, so long as Jason and Bruce weren't left alone together for more than a minute or two. Typically, Cass, Tim, and Dick had that handled. But Jason had still only dared to enter the Manor itself to heckle at their dance practice for the All Hallows' Eve ball a few weeks back. Since then, nada. Who knows if Jason would come over, even for Alfred's cake and the time honored tradition Dick had started at the tender age of 10 of smashing a slice up Bruce's nose? Jason might miss that. Jason had loved that. "Alright, I have a really long, really early shift fielding 911 calls tomorrow," Dick excused himself as he rolled off the couch, "I'll be back in a few days for your birthday, D. See ya?"

Dick held his fist out to Damian. Damian would tolerate a hug sometimes but Dick had found his youngest brother was most accepting of fist bumps. Damian eyed Dick's hand and let out a short huff as he bumped his own fist against Dick's hand. He had such little 10-almost-11 year old hands. Although Damian might be a bit bigger than Dick was at 11. Dick used to be so much more...baby-sized. It was so strange to think about now, here he was, age 24, oldest of five. It feels so unreal and ridiculous sometimes. "Goodbye, Richard," Damian muttered, and Dick couldn't resist a quick noogie into Damian's spiky head.

"Richard," Damian hollered as Dick cackled, sprinting out the door. 

Had he turned his head slightly to the left, he would have seen the quick shape crawling out of Bruce's study from the window and making its way the the roof. But Dick, too busy sprinting in case Damian decided to give chase, did not turn his head to see so he did not see. After all, not only did Dick have an long, early shift working as a 911 operator the next day, he had to be in Bludhaven to patrol with Black Bat. Black Bat was usually a solo patroler, or she was with Blue Bird in Bludhaven, although Dick knew his sister would provide backup if he needed it. It was a nice thought, comforting, since before it had mostly just been him alone in the city before. And Black Bat and Blue Bird would take the city with the wild gang of Batgirls that Harper originally belonged to (bat girls in the sense their main weapons were actual baseball bats and Dick really doesn't know how Tim met them) when it rained. Dick really couldn't go patrol in the rain. He could always feel the ice cold fingers of the rain snaking down his skin, in his suit, to the zipper. The thunder sounded too much like 'cariño' for Dick to be able to go out safely or sanely when it stormed in Bludhaven. He tried once, when Black Bat had first moved to Bludhaven after finishing her business in Hong Kong and had gotten an apartment. It really wasn't all that long ago. She had taken one long look at him and demanded rather concisely, "Inside."

And Dick had listened, wrapping himself in all his blankets as Black Bat flew around the city, a frightening wraithe that would stop anything from happening in the storm. Anything. Bludhaven was safe with Black Bat. Tonight was an odd 'team up' night. These were rare. Before Cass had been more fully inducted as his sister, there had been the straining mount of tension caused by The Quake that had left Gotham in its No Man's Land state. She had been an unknown agent and Dick had been in the state if mind where he had to protect whatever family he had and protect whatever people he could too while trying to revive the city. Cass had originally registered as a threat. And afterwards, when Cass was his new younger sister, Dick had felt...off. She was, as far as Leslie had been able to tell and Babs had managed to track after finding out she was David Cain's daughter, the same age as Jason should have been. Would have been. Could have been. Jason probably would have loved having a sister, especially a sister his age. But the then-Batgirl had also been a teammate. And Dick had been the first one to ever work with a Batgirl, and he could do it again. Batgirls and Robins were always gonna be partners, somehow, and Dick was the first Robin. He could work with the new Batgirl. And the then-Robin Tim had stepped up as Batgirl's partner too, and with Babs as Cass's mentor and pillar of support, Dick had just been a half-way passenger in Cass's growth. He cared for her and Dick would spar and practice with Cass but they both played minor roles in each other' lives, with the exception of their relationship to Barbara and Tim and Bruce. The whole vigilante-family thing. And now, with everything being the way it is, Dick is more than happy to have more vigilantes setting up shop in Bludhaven. Dick was also happy to get to know his sister better, be closer to her. And Black Bat was a golden standard vigilante. So, Dick sped off towards Bludhaven. Maybe it'd be a donut patrol.

      It was a donut patrol. Cass held up a big white box with a dozen beautiful, sweet donuts. Jelly filled, cream filled, crullers, chocolate with rainbow sprinkles. Pure sugar and so tasty. '"Split," Black Bat said.

Dick nodded and they each took a donut. "You got D's birthday gift yet," he asked.

Cass nodded. 'Cactus,' she stated, and Dick is pretty sure that was related to the pineapple themed gifts she presented Babs with but he honestly wasn't sure.

"That's good," Dick decided to say, "You wanna help me track down Jason and get him to come to the party?"

Black Bat crammed her jelly donut into her mouth and gave him a thumbs-up. 'We can ask Tim too,' she suggested, 'If we need to, Tim can help us carry Jason there. Like prize boar.'

Dick nearly chokes on his vanilla cruller. The mental image of Cass hoisting Jason up on a spit with Tim and Dick helping support him pops right into his brain. "Black Bat," he coughs, "Hood- prize boar."

She pats his back carefully. "Alright," Dick wheezes, "Let's go, Double B."

Black Bat is impossibly fast, and his tendons and muscles stretch and burn at the exertion of pacing beside her. But Dick has over a decade of experience, of knowing how to jump and fall and fly. It's a good burn. "Left," she growls, and Dick leaps.

Patrol goes from 10 to 2. They fly across the smog and neon sky of Bludhaven, her in black and a bit of yellow and him in the black and blue. They look like a good team. They feel like a solid team. And it's fun to have someone fly right by him. Black Bat tucks 3/4ths of a strawberry cruller into Dick's hand and stretches on her toes to pat his head. 'Talk to Tim tomorrow,' she directs, 'We can plan Jason's trap.'

Dick ruffles her hair in return. "Go to sleep, Double B," he bids.

Black Bat's inky form melds back into the dark like the spooky little bat she is. Dick wriggled out of the Nightwing suit. He did have a nice little secret alcove for his gear but it was so far away. And he was tired. And Dick was an adult with a job, two and a half if you count checking in on the foster kids as Dick Grayson counted as half a job plus teaching gymnastics, and he had to be up at 5. So, Dick dumped his stuff across the floor and flopped face first into his bed. Oooh yes, bed. Thank you, dad's credit card, for the incredible mattress. He bought the shitty frame on his own but the luxurious mattress was all Bruce's cash. Maybe Dick could buy a party hat for Alfred the Cat. Cat-fred should get a birthday party hat. Little kitty cat hat for a cute little birthday party. Yes. Good plan...sleepy plan. Dick snored into his pillow. He probably shouldn't plan when he was tired.

"See ya, Helen," Dick called.

"Later, Richard," Helen hollered as they parted ways.

        From 5 to 2, Dick had fielded 911 calls, from 2 year olds accidentally dialing on mommy's phone to panicking teens whose friends tried to press meth on them and they excused themselves to flip out privately in the bathroom. Dick laughed with the apologetic parents and soothed the frightened teens who waited for the police to come and pick them up. Helen works by him, usually taking the same shifts as Dick early in the mornings so she can go to evening and night classes. She always calls him Richard and always said goodbye when they got off work. She was a fun coworker. Damian's birthday was in five days and Dick needed to buy birthday wrapping paper for the sculptor's kit that he was getting in two days. And before he forgets, he should definitely call Tim. Between Tim and Cass, the three of them could probably wrangle Jason to the Manor at least for cake. And maybe, if Tim was having troubles with finding a gift, Dick could help Tim find one. It'd be nice to spend more time with Tim. He wandered his way into a store, ambling around till he found the wrapping paper. He remembered his first Christmas with Bruce, sitting in the mudroom with Alfred surrounded by rolls of wrapping paper and glittering bows. "Follow my hands," Alfred had instructed, his wrinkling, pale hands guiding Dick's tiny, darker olive coloured hands around the gleaming golden ribbon.

Dick had always used too much tape on the paper because he could never get it to stay in place. Alfred would hand Dick tiny little bits of tape to plaster across reindeer-printed or striped or starry wrapping paper. Dick always made the left side of the bow bigger than the right side and he liked using the golden ribbons more than the silver, green, or red. Dick stumbles across a roll of wrapping paper he liked. It was white with black cat silhouettes in different playful positions, tiny green paw prints dotted between the silhouettes of the cats. It was so perfect. He bought the whole roll and a pair of little beaded bracelets, one orange and one green, as a pair for Colin and Damian. He could wrap the packaged bracelets with the sculpting kit that would be delivered, with a little sticky note. Maybe Colin would be at the Manor for Damian's birthday party. Damian's been hoarding his little friend away from Dick, although Babs has sent footage of Abuse zipping through the streets on his Cycle of Abuse (Dick likes to think he influenced Damian's humor just a bit) with a much smaller figure clinging to the back, black cape flapping in the wind. It reminded Dick of when he had been in one of his good moods and would kidnap Jason to spend the day tearing up the roads on the back of his crappy Nightwing motorcycle. Jason's cheerful yellow cape would wave behind him in the wind. Or when he took Tim trainsurfing, the outer black of the much longer cape that went to Tim's ankles and made him into a shape that was just a handful of shadow, snapping behind him. "That all," the painfully bored cashier droned. 

Dick gave him a polite grimace- nobody seems to take smiles all that well in Bludhaven- and handed over his cash. Usually, Dick never carried cash but he didn't want Damian to scan his purchases and notice what he bought. As it was, he already had to use a burner i.d. to access a small faux bank account he dropped some cash in, covered up impeccably by Babs, to purchase the sculptor's kit. It'd be delivered to Bludhaven and Dick would wrap the gift there. He should get Babs her favourite coffee beans. Dick knew she liked the Cuban beans.  He would do that after Damian's birthday, as a little thank you for making sure Damian couldn't try and spy on what Dick was getting him for his birthday. His phone chimed out The Grinch song. Must be Bruce, then. "Hellloooo," Dick hummed as he picked up the call.

"Do you know if Damian's been looking for his present," Bruce grumbled.

Dick scrunched his brows as he finally decided after a few minutes of deliberation, "No. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't tell anyone if he was, but as far as I know, Damian hasn't been actively been hunting down his gifts? I'm just taking a few extra steps in case he does decide to be nosey."

Kids were naturally nosey, after all. Add in a Professional Nosey Person for a parent like Bruce and you have to start hiding your gifts and plans and surprises in the fricken sewers. "Hrmmng," Bruce grunted.

Dick sighed, "I know that noise. What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Bruce muttered, "My study was invaded. And my bedroom. It's been happening. One of the floor boards in my closet was opened and put back in place and I only noticed it when I walked on it without slippers and realized the grain was different."

Wow. Bruce must be going senile before 40 if he only noticed because the grain was different. "How did you not hear someone cracking your floorboards open like a can of sardines," Dick asked.

"They must've done it when I was out," Bruce reasoned.

"Don't interrogate Damian," Dick warned, "He's turning 11. It's his first birthday in Gotham. Let me talk to Cass, Tim, and Jason about it, kay? You just...hang out with Damian. Take him to the sparring mats for a couple rounds and get him some carrot sticks after. Let him talk about domesticated cats' bowel movements or watch a docuseries on prehistoric wildlife in the Congo."

"Hm," Bruce grunted, "...Thank you."

Dick chuckled, "Yeah, you're welcome. Where would you be without me?"

"Hrrmn," Bruce huffed, "...I'd probably still have the original chandeliers in the 4th floor West Hallway."

"Those were ugly and you know it," Dick argued cheerfully, "I made that hallway so much nicer."

Bruce mumbled, "Right. Drive...safe, chum."

The end of the call was abrupt and certainly awkward on Bruce's end. Dick just shook his head with a laugh and started on his way to his apartment to drop off his wrapping paper. Then he remembered that he should probably call Tim. Dick scrolled through his contacts and hit the dial button on Tim's contact. He didn't have a picture of Tim as his contact photo for Tim. Well, technically he did, but it wasn't discernably Tim. It was just a blurry streak of a basic white ghost costume sprinting through one of the small grotto of trees on the Manor grounds. Tim's hammock had collapsed and Tim had been asleep, and the fall shocked him into a fight or flight sprint with the sheet over his head that Dick delightfully caught a picture of and Babs caught a full video of. The best thing? Tim didn't remember shit about it happening. The dial tone went through. "Hey it's Tim, I might be busy but I'll get back to you as fast as I can, just leave a message," the voicemail chirped, the one for Tim's personal number only his friends and family had. 

Huh. Well, he was headed to Gotham anyways. He'll go check on Tim. 

        Tim's eyes widened visibly as he popped the door open. "Oh, Dick," he said, "Hi. Hey. Uh, sorry, I was gonna call you back right now, I just got in 20 minutes ago."

Dick felt a little silly for being so worried. Tim was 16 and notoriously self-sufficient. If Tim were really in any actual trouble, he's sure he would call up Kon-El, Cassie, and/or Bart before Dick or even Babs ever knew about anything. "Want me to...," Dick gestured down the hall with his thumb.

"No," Tim shook his head, "You can look at Damian's present. See if it's good. I have no clue what 10 year olds like."

Dick shuffled his shoes off and stuck them in the cubby by the door. He noticed the new wicker basket on the floor. "For Bart's shoes," Tim told him, "He gets a basket. Dex uses it as a bed when Bart's not over."

Dexter prowled around the corner, ears flicking. The large cat slapped at Dick's shoes languidly until he batted the shoes out of the cubby and laid on top of them. Dexter pointedly stared at Dick with huge amber cat eyes, unblinking. Alrighty then. Tim flipped a sheet of paper over, laying his pen and an open envelope. "You still write letters," Dick teases.

Tim wrinkled his nose at Dick. "My friend and I like writing letters to each other," he defended, "He's my pen pal."

Dick almost asked more about his little brother's pen pal. Dick didn't even know pen pals were still a thing. Tim distracted him by popping open one of the lower cupboards and crawling into it. Like, all the way into it. Like a little rat creature. Apparently, it was bigger than he thought it was. Tim wiggled back out with a box, very rat-like indeed. If Tim were a rat, he'd be one of those little white rats with a pink nose and feet that likes to chew on cardboard. "Homemade glow in the dark paints," Tim explained, "They can go on the walls. Or canvases. Anywhere, really. I painted my entire dorm room when I was 11 and nobody noticed till I had already switched schools. There's also an invisible ink kit. I used to like those when I was 10. I used to use them to write secret messages to my Mother when she came back from trips between flights. I still have the diary we shared."

Dick looked into the box. Six small plastic pots with lids capping the tops, a handful of brushes in various sizes, and a fountain pen with an inkwell. It was a good gift. "Good job," Dick grinned, "Now, as long as you don't sign your name, he'll probably use it a lot."

Tim snorted, "I wasn't gonna sign my name. I always thought signing your name on a gift was weird. I was either going to forget to do it or just not do it at all." 

Tim thinks a lot of things are weird. Dick thinks Tim's always been a bit of a Boy Basketcase although it's been a while since Dick's called Tim that. There's saw dust on the hem of Tim's jeans, Dick realizes, squinting at the wooden dust on Tim's baggy jeans. Tim looks down at his ankles. "Oh. That's from a project from yesterday," Tim comments, "I have a lot of those. And I forgkt to wash my pants."

Tim did have quite a number of projects. Maybe he had gone crawling through the scaffoldings and construction of his half-done water plant where ACE Chemicals used to be to check on the progress without having to make a formal visit. The newly rehabilitated land and the chaotic mess of construction would enable any local Spook like Tim to go adventuring as freely as he wished. Tim liked scaling up things high up, with his camera, usually. "Well, I got Damian a sculptor's kit. What do you think of this one," Dick showed Tim the kit he had ordered for Damian.

Tim considered it, nodding at Dick's choice. It was just the two of them, with Tim's big, slightly eerie cat loafing on the chair by Dick and a gingerbread candle flickering on the table. He imagined, from an outside perspective, they both looked rather content. But Dick could see the nervous jolt to Tim's already flighty, quick fingers and the constant, anxious bounce of Tim's knee. Tim had always been prone to a certain degree of flightiness that he unconciously displayed, caused by a high extremity of overthinking and natural tendencies towards catastrophosizing. Dick is sure that if Tim were more aware of it, Tim would erase all the anxious tells he showed. Although Tim's anxiety levels must be reaching maximum capacity for Tim to be so clearly showing how nervous whatever was on his brain was making him. He should probably distract Tim's brain. "Wanna help me and Cass get Jason to come to the Manor for some cake," Dick asks mischievously, "If we get him to come over, we get to see Bruce get face-caked."

Tim laughs as his fingers still slowly, "Yeah. I'm not gonna miss the chance to see Bruce get face-caked."

         Cass shows up in twenty minutes and between her and Tim, they already have a pin on Jason's location. They won't share it with Dick and they blindfold him, spin him around 15 times really fast in a spinny chair and with a bit too much gusto, stick Dick (pft) into the backseat of Tim's car, and roll out. Tim drives around for what had to be an extra 25 minutes in sharp circles and awkward twists and turns before actually going to where ever Jason's safe house is. It was kind of like being on a roller coaster. Except a little worse. "I feel like if I take your blindfold off, I'm gonna see those stupid cartoon swirls where your eyes should be," Tim stated dryly when the back door opened and Dick sat up from where he was laying on the seats.

"You don't have to go so fast," Dick informed him helpfully as he tried to lift the blindfold.

A cold little hand gripped his hand. "Don't touch it," Cass ordered.

Dick sighed. Bossy and spooky, the both of them. Another cold little hand grabbed Dick's other wrist. Tim and Cass tugged Dick along behind them and he heard the distinct sound of something being picked while someone else typed away at something. He was going to assume Cass did the lock while Tim neutralized whatever defenses Jason had set up. "Stop taking my food," Jason hollered as the door opened and shut behind them, "And my fucking jackets, both of you!"

Dick tugged his hands free to lift the blindfold off. Jason looked up from his book and groaned, "Ugggghhhh, Dickwing. Why'd you bring him here?"

"Cake," Cass stated simply.

"I'm not baking Dickhead a cake-," Jason started.

"No, I'm here to convince you to come to Damian's birthday for cake. At least for the cake," Dick interjected.

Jason mumbled under his breath and snapped the book shut. Sor Juana, apparently. "Why would I go," Jason grumbled.

"Because there's cake, it's Damian's birthday, and it'll make Alfred happy," Dick offered.

"Two of those things are manipulation," Jason told him.

Cake and Alfred,' Cass guessed sarcastically, which, it was honestly a little impressive how she managed to make signing come across so mockingly sardonic.

"Don't sass me," Jason protested, "I made you crepes! Multiple times! And omelets!"

"And Alfred helped provide you with the lessons to make crepes," Tim added on, "And omelets. Would you really leave Alfred out to dry like this?"

"Stop being such a manipulative little shrew," Jason argued, "This is like fucken  psychological warfare tactics."

"You won't even come over for the face-cake smashing," Dick asked.

Jasin tilted his head consideringly, rubbing contemplatively at the stubble on his chin. "Hey, can you give us the room," Dick asked Cass and Tim.

They nodded and spun on their heels to go...somewhere. Unless they decided to eavesdrop. Dick tentatively eased himself on to the cushion beside Jason, folding his legs up in a criss cross. Jason sighed heavily, shoulders slumping enough so they didn't seem as wide as normal. God, Jason had really gotten bigger than him. Dick never imagined that it would happen. Especially not when Jason had been gone. He thought he would be that little 11-15 year old who got caught in the middle of one too many screaming matches with Bruce and the 11-15 year old who Dick had swung between being an asshole to and loving with all his heart. "You're a fuckhead," Jason started.

Dick nodded and hummed, "Uh huh."

Jason continued, "Am I even allowed up in the Manor? Isn't dear old dad afraid I'll get some old blood on the fucken Persian rugs or whatever?"

"Bruce has gotten so much worse on the rugs," Dick informs helpfully, "And you've always been more careful about that than he has."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Hey, if Bruce tries to say something, I can start one of our old knockdown drag outs. Away from all of you, of course," Dick bargains, "Just- can you come have a birthday party with us?"

Jason fiddled with the hem of his pants. "If he tries to get me to have a come-to-Jesús moment, I'm jumping out the window," Jason finally said, "Don't leave me alone with B for more than a minute, if that."

Dick lightly slugged Jason in the shpulder, agreeing with a grin, "No prob...Little Wing."

Jason loudly groaned, "Fuck off, Dick-sicle, I'm almost 3 inches taller than you and almost 40 goddamn pounds heavier. I could squish you if I didn't think you consist entirely of jello."

Cass poked her head back around the corner, face puffed with what appeared to be left over pancakes while Tim popped cotton candy grapes into his mouth carelessly. "Did- are those my left over pancakes," Jason asked, "What if I licked those?"

'Same germs,' Cass informed sagely, her face all the less serious when it was bulging at the sides with pancakes, 'We all share germs. Except Tim. Because his immune system is really sad.'

"I'm not sad, I have grapes," Tim replied airily, "Cotton candy grapes."

"My grapes," Jason gripes, "And that's not how germs work, Cass."

'Are you a germ doctor,' Cass asks, 'Show me your germ doctor card.'

"There's no winning with them," Jason hissed, "No wins to be had. I hate it."

Dick grins and claps Jason's shoulder. He leans over to whisper, "Not if you sit on them."

Jason's eyes gleam. Dick leans back again, waiting. Jason has yet to learn all the terrible (for the younger ones), wonderful (for the older ones) privileges of being an older sibling. His first younger brother has no clue that fights can be won with a good, solid squishing of siblings under your body, usually with a 90% success rate. It's okay; Dick will teach him. 

       Tim drives Dick back to the Nest after Cass, Tim himself, and Jason spin Dick around like a dreidel after blindfolding Dick before they leave the safe house. "You know," Dick comments idly, "This feels like a very benevolent kidnapping."

"Please rate us on Yelp," Tim tells him dryly as he turns another right corner.

Dick probably couldn't tell where Jason's safe house was, given that they'd taken a completely different route than the one they'd initially driven. One of the handful of ways to confuse a Bat was have another Bat do it, after all. Or approach them with emotional confrontation. "Five stars, please," Cass adds on, just as dry.

"Ha ha," Dick huffs.

Dick doesn't remember till they get back into Tim's civilian parking area and he can take the blindfold off. "That's what I was trying to remember," Dick remembers, "Do either of you know about why a part of Bruce's floor got pulled up in his closet? His office also got broken into."

Cass tilts her head, then shakes it. Tim chews his lip before he says, "I can't think of anything, really. Maybe he broke the floor at some point and had it replaced and he kinda just...forgot? I mean, with all the knocks to the head and the time stream screwing with him, I'd bet his memories are a bit screwy."

Tim taps his fingers thoughtfully, "I wonder what his brain scans look like now versus before the time stream. I bet it did something to his brain tissue."

Okay, Mad Scientist Tim was starting to creep out a bit and that bit of Tim already had its fun with the whole skateboard shenanigans. It was getting put away for the rest of the year. "I'll talk to Bruce then," Dick decides, "Besides, maybe Catfred just pushed stuff around in his office."

Tim waves at his desk person, Omar, who only seems to own purple button up shirts, who waves back as they all step into the elevator. "Dex does that to some of our stuff," Tim laughs, "I think there's a drawer just for the socks he's taken from Bart in my spare room."

'He still has three of my capes,'Cass mentions, 'He snuggles in them. What does Conner call it? A p-u-r-r-i-t-o.'

She finger-spells out purrito because Dick assumes that there's no translatable sign for the word itself. "They're still downstairs if you wanna grab them," Tim offers.

Cass shakes her head and sagely says, "Cat's capes now."

Dick should get a dog. Or maybe not, considering his schedule. Dogs require a lot more attention than cats. He knows Bruce has plans on fostering a deaf German Shepherd puppy soon, he thinks the dog's name is Ace. The dog will be for the Manor, so Dick can partially own the dog by way of visitation. That'll work. For now. But Damian seems very happy with Catfred and Tim is certainly happy with Dexter. Even if one cat is the most spoiled, haughty kitten in the history of Gotham probably and the other is a 20 pound menace of a cat who seems to hate almost everyone. As evidenced by the furry bowling ball Dick takes to the face the second he walks through Tim's door. "Dex does that to everyone," Tim casually dismisses as he pries his cat off Dick's face, "Usually it doesn't really effect anyone but I guess a Kryptonian or an Amazonian or a Speedster taking a cat to the face is different than a baseline human."

Dexter has a very smug face for a cat, Dick thinks as he spits blue-grayish fur out of his mouth. "I know you like sleeping on Kon's face but Dick can't get squished like he can. Or Bart. Or Cassie," Tim chastises lightly to his very unrepentant pet, "So let's not do that."

Dexter purrs loudly whuch is about as sorry as Dick thinks the cat is willing to be. Oh well. "It's seven," Tim notes, "Are you heading back to Bludhaven soon?"

Dick mulls it over in his head and grins, "Nah. How about a Red Robin-Nightwing night if Cass wants to go back to Blud?"

Cass nods, 'I'm patrolling with Harper tonight. Blue Bird and Black Bat are out together tonight.'

Aw, their names match up, like Cass's and Tim's do. Dick is glad Cass has been making friends in Bludhaven, with other vigilantes. "Sure," Tim agreed, "Nightwing and Red Robin. That sounds fun."

Cass took off for Bludhaven soon after, leaving Dick to swing by the Manor for a spare Nightwing suit. He ways kept two spares at the Manor, although maybe he would ask Tim to store one at the Nest. "Cass and Tim don't know anything about the floor thing," he announced upon entry to the Cave.

"Mrg," Bruce grunted, which, woah, that's a new Bat-sound, or at least one Dick hasn't heard in a very, very long time.

"It appears that the share of gifts Master Bruce was planning to contribute has been stolen," Alfred snipped, "As well as every gift box available within the Manor."

Uh, holy gift thieving. "Why," Dick muttered, "Who the Hell would do that?"

Dick was pissed. That was an asshole, beyond an asshole move, no matter how you slice it. "A skilled thief," Alfred reasoned.

Bruce grimaced deeper than usual, "Someone who would be able to crack the safe password and disable the alarms and security."

"So any one of your kids," Dick sighed.

"I think," Bruce grumbled, "You should go speak with Tim again."

"What the fuck, Bruce," Dick snapped.

"He has a bad history with Damian," Bruce explained, "And as mature as he may act most of the time, he is still inclined to immature behaviour of 16 year olds. And he has a strong history of...mistruth."

Funny, because Dick could say the same thing about Bruce. "Just...check in," Bruce mumbled, "I don't want to accuse him. Or...anyone. That's why I'm asking you."

Dick clenched his fists, grit his teeth, and nodded.

       Dick kept shooting glances at Red Robin. He had been half-distracted the entire patrol by Bruce's lingering words. "You doing okay tonight, N," Tim worried, tapping Dick's elbow.

"I'm doing just fine, little red bird," Dick promised, playfully jabbing at Tim.

Dick could name quite a number of Tim's flaws. Tim was manipulative, sneaky, a chronic liar, obsessive, forgetful, almost invasively nosey, and horrendously self-reliant and more than a few times, self-possessed in that way only teenagers could manage. Dick remembered being exactly like that at age 16. Tim was as self-destructive as any Bat could be, and he considered himself his only real authority he had to answer to and catastrophosized better than anyone Dick knew. Tim had almost 0 concept of personal boundaries that was only fuelled by the presence of literally almost anyone in his life. But Tim wasn't malicious. Tim was motivated to do what he thought was best, Dick knew that. Dick didn't want to think Tim had done anything with bad intentions or a cruel reasoning. Tim batted Dick's fingers away from him, the cowl pulling the visible part of his face into a joking scowl. "Let's go for 30 more minutes and then we can go back to the Nest for a bit before you head back to Bludhaven," Tim offered.

"What, no slumber party," Dick teased.

"Sorry," Tim said apologetically, "I've been moving some stuff around my spare room in my apartment and it's a bit of a mess right now. It's not super guest friendly and the Nest on its own isn't really comfy."

Suspicion tickled at Dick's mind. "That's fine," Dick told him, flipping across a rooftop with ease.

They looped around the next ten blocks, flying comfortably beside each other. The return to the Nest left Dick's stomach turning uncomfortably. "I think I have some extra clothes you can wear," Tim yawned as he stepped out of his small shower area with water dripping down his cheeks and slightly damp hair, "They might be Jason's." 

"I'll take them," Dick replied.

Dexter wove between Tim's legs as he walked towards some small room off to the side. Must be a storage closet or something. Dick bit the inside of his cheek as he dashed towards the elevator. He jabbed at the button to take him up to Tim's apartment. There was something somewhat hysterical about the 'elevator music' being the narration of what might be a Tony Hawk documentary. Dick slipped into the apartment. More photos were on the walls, one with a white haired teenager studded with face piercings and holding a skateboard that said 'Eve Was Framed' on the bottom of the board that was facing the camera. The candle on the coaster on the kitchen table was pumpkin spice and it was 3/4ths melted down. Dick almost tripped over the skateboard left in the hall. Tim had mentioned the spare room specifically, the one he once said was rarely used by anyone besides Dexter for naps. So maybe...Dick approached the spare room door and jiggled it. It was locked. "Dammit, Tim," Dick mumbled.

He considered picking it. Did he have enough time to focus on one room? Could he maximize his efforts instead combing more areas of the apartment? So, instead of messing with the lock, Dick turned away and walked to Tim's room. His closet was empty, and the underside of his bed was too. Dick stamped his feet across the floor boards; no hollow areas. Dick started poking through the kitchen cabinets when the elevator dinged. "What are you doing," Tim asked, holding his cat in his arms.

Dexter's tail flicked, his ears pulling flat against his skull as his eyes narrowed. Dick could lie. He could lie with the best of them, he really could just say he went looking for a snack. Would Tim believe him? Does Dick want to lie? "Did you rob Bruce," is what comes from his mouth instead of any redirection or platitude he could muster.

Dexter's shoulders draw up even though he stays cradled in Tim's arms. Tim seems to crumple internally, something along his spine folding under the weight of Dick's eyes. The admittance comes quiet in the cool air of the apartment. "Yes."

        Tim slides a key into the locked door of his spare room. Dick looms behind him, hand weighing on Tim's shoulder. Dexter's head is slung iver the opposite shoulder and he looks like he is considering sinking his big kitty claws into Dick's skin. "I've been scanning them," Tim tells him as he leads Dick inside and flicks on the light.

Dick has no clue how any of the stacks piled across the floor and bed could be considered organized but he's sure Tim has some odd system put in place in his brain. Nothing is ripped or torn. Nothing is crushed or flattened or broken in any way. Tim carefully picks up an empty present box with the tips of his fingers, swiping his fingers along the edges. "I haven't had time to x-ray it or anything but so far I haven't found any device Alfred or Bruce could have put in the boxes or the actual gifts. They put their gift boxes together, y'know, so I haven't touched six of the boxes. Don't mess with the gold ones with the green ribbons, those are their gifts to Damian. The rest of these boxes are just empty gift boxes but I just wanted to double check to make sure they wouldn't, like, plant a false gift. I had no clue we had 22 empty gift boxes in the Manor, but, you learn something new everyday," Tim rambled.

Wait. What? What was Tim even talking about? "Tim, what are you even on about," Dick questioned, fully bewildered...bat-bewildered...batwildered.

"Damian would probably take any testing from Bruce better than I did," Tim continues, "He'd probably appreciate it a lot more than I did but how do we know that? Does his first birthday with Bruce really have to be some assessment? It'd be sucky for Damian, even if it might've been routine in the League? I mean, do you think Alfred put poison in the cake? I doubt he put poison in the cake. But what if he did? Or he put it in the food? I could bring some general antidotes, I should have them down in the Nest in my chem lab but what if Alfred used a really obscure poison? Should I steal a sample of the cake and test it just to be sure?"

"Alfred wouldn't put poison in the food," Dick tells him, still confused.

"Do you want to help me scan Damian's present," Tim wonders and Dick is still so confused, "We can get through it really fast and put them back by tomorrow morning-,"

"Tim," Dick interrupts, "What are you doing with all of...this?"

"I was thinking. And I couldn't stop. Damian's 11. I was thinking about how he's 11 and he's a major snotrocket but he's, like, 11. Eleven minus one is ten and ten divided by two is five so now I've realized Damian is five and I was thinking it'd be really shitty if a five year old's birthday party was some kind of freaky skill assessment," Tim told him calmly, although his fingers were anxiously combing across his cat's side and Dick is pretty sure Tim hasn't slept in a while if his odd little head is doing math with their ages like that, "I have all the necessary equipment in the Nest to non-invasively scan the boxes and gifts and I can replace any assessment device with, like, a Space Pen."

"Okaaaay," Dick mumbled, "Okay. Tim. Wanna tell me why you were thinking about this?"

"Uh, birthdays," Tim offered, "Just, birthdays. I guess?"

Oh. Now Dick remembers. "Is this about your 15th," Dick asks.

Tim waves his hand around, one hand scratching Dexter's flank nervously. "I'm over that, it's almost been two years," he dismisses, "I was already older. But I was thinking that Year One as Robin isn't exactly prime assessment material time. That's, like, a Year Two or Three thing. But Damian's got a higher skill set than we probably did so Bruce would probably speed up the timeline but you were Batman for pretty much all of Damian's first Robin year so if you were to call an assessment I don't think anyone would argue but Bruce is the one in the Batcowl now so...this."

There's so fucking much to unpack here. Like, the Manor would barely be big enough to unpack the baggage here. "So you stole all the boxes in the Manor and Damian's gifts," Dick summarizes.

"I'm being careful with the stuff and I'm putting them back as soon as I put some monitors on them so neither Bruce or Alfred can sneak in any devices," Tim practically confirms in his convoluted, roundabout way. 

"They wouldn't do that," Dick tries.

Tim shrugs and wryly allows, "Maybe. But what if they did? You've done really good with Damian, Dick. He backslides and he trips up but ultimately, I think you did a lot of good for him. We all know that Alfred and Bruce have the best intentions but that can just...fall through. So, what if Damian doesn't take getting 'tested' well? And maybe I've been an asshole to the kid. Getting into a fistfight with him and punching him in the face weren't exactly instances of stellar showmanship of humanity. I'd rather actively be an asshole, though, than be an asshole through complacency."

An asshole through complacency. Dick carefully reaches for a box. "Well, I'm not sleeping tonight," he sighs.

Tim sighs softly at his side, and Dick sees the anxious fluttering of his fingers still slowly. "Yep," Tim agrees, "No way. I'll buy ypu donuts in the morning."

Well then. That makes it all worth it then, doesn't it?

     Dick takes it upon himself to return the boxes and the gifts to the Manor. Then he hides them. "I took them," Dick lies, "I wanted to make sure you didn't pull any bullcrap on Damian."

Dick will take the fall. 'I helped steal them,' Cass tacks on, 'We were very careful.'

Cass's dark eyes dart over to him, solid and promising. 'We take the fall together', her eyes insist. And, oh. Oh, that's...unexpected. And sweet. Dick is the eldest, has always been the eldest. But Cass, despite being Jason's age, a couple months older than him which is 6 years younger than Dick and also more Tim-sized than Dick or Jason-sized, is the second eldest. Alfred nods, accepting, "Very well, Lady Cassandra, Master Dick. Will you both be in charge of the presents till Master Damian's birthday?"

"Yes," Dick said.

Cass agreed, 'We will.'

Alfred beckoned Cass to the kitchen for some tea cakes. Dick made to follow when Bruce clamped a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't," he accused, "Take them, that is. It's...very difficult for you to lie to me. You can do it, I just...know you."

"Can you prove it," Dick asks, side eyeing Bruce strongly.

"...Not scientifically. Or practically," Bruce admitted. 

Dick grinned. "Then I didn't lie!"

No proof, no crime. Dick is pretty sure that there's a saying somewhat like that. 

      Damian's birthday is pretty, for a late Gotham November day. It's not too horrifically windy and the clouds aren't pouring down sheets of rain yet, although they might do so by night time. The thunder amd lightning are barely audibly and visible, respectively. Dick had spent the night the day before Damian's birthday. "Come with me, Richard," Damian demands, "You will spar with me till sunset."

Well, it doesn't go on till sunset but Dick spars against his youngest, newly 11 brother for three hours. "Acceptable, Richard," Damian mutters, then delivers a quick squeeze around the middle.

"Hey, I thought you were the one getting gifts today," Dick laughs quietly, not squeezing back but offering a fist bump to Damian instead.

Damian reluctantly bumps his fist against Dick's, a slight deep red brushing along his cheeks. Then, Cass volunteers, 'You versus me. Former assassin rules. First blood drawn wins.'

It's a furious dance, one part precise viciousness, one part grace. Cass wins after five hours and Tim slinks down the stairs into the Cave, quiet as he ever gets and perches himself in the Batcomputer chair. There is a new set of darkly coloured bladed nunchakus on the weapons rack with a small black ribbon that Dick doesn't know where Tim could have gotten them from and he's a bit too afraid to ask. Blessing of all blessings, Damian largely ignores Tim and drags Bruce to the mats. But the ribbon ends up on Alfred the cat's collar anyway. It's a two hour match that ends in a draw when Jason roars into the Cave in his helmet and a big pastel pink sweater with a beheaded clown holding a birthday cake and wearing a ruined birthday hat. It's a terrible, awful sweater and Dick doesn't doubt in the slightest that Damian will be owning a matching sweater somehow. Jason smirks down at Damian and scruffs him by his workout shirt, holding the 11 year old above the ground. "I'll smack you around when you hit fifteen or get taller than both Spooks, which ever happens first," Jason bargains.

"I'll fight you next year, Todd," Damian growls.

Dick muffles his snort into his hands and gets a jab in both sides of the ribs from Cass and Tim for his troubles. "Master Damian, a young Mister Colin is here," Alfred informs.

Dick watches his family, his siblings and his youngest brother's friend. Damian is playing, or at least play-wrestling, almost rough housing in the way that's standard for kids that age if a bit more violent and real. But Damian is playing and Dick feels relief in his pool in his chest. It isn't exactly the childish sweetness that Dick wishes he could give Damian, give any of them, but it's nice. "First slice, Master Dick," Alfred whispers sneakily into his ear later that evening when the cake is being cut.

"Sure, Alf," Dick agrees.

Being the oldest can be rewarding, sometimes.

Notes:

Like ive said i dont actually know damians birthday or dicks or bruces so im going based off vibes that damian is a november baby and i wont change that. I only know jasons is august 18th bc its less than a week before my older sisters birthday and im very sure tims is july 19th bc that is a very odd date to my brain for some reason i cant explain even to myself i think dicks might be march 1st bc i keep thinkimg about 'born on the first day of spring' and dick gives March vibes so :shrugs: and ive never seen a character with more late december birthday vibes than bruce
Either postimg this for my 19th bday (on the 17th) or doing a late post either way im now 19 🎉

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