#set immediately post Batman 703

[zahri-melitor]

After the last few months, Dick still is adjusting to the fact that Tim comes back to the Penthouse after patrol. He sleeps in a bedroom in the apartment. There’s a comm in his ear with a tracker in it that Dick can pull up on the computer and find his location. He’s here. Dick knows where he is.

If Dick has stood in the doorway of Tim’s room at 5am, after waking from a nightmare, to listen and watch the sheets move as Tim breathes…well. Anyone might do that. He hadn’t realised how well he knew the exact sound of Tim snoring as he slept on Dick’s couch, until that background noise was no longer there.

He’s really here.

Tim’s back in the Bunker after patrol right after Batman and Robin get in, changing before going upstairs. Alfred has already retreated to bed, so the three of them are left to scrounge a post-patrol snack from the fridge.

Damian is first to the fridge, sticking his head right in. He’s always hungry at the moment. It’s probably a coming growth spurt. Dick remembers the feel of patrol as a pre-teen and as a teenager, when your appetite never seemed to end, when he’d get hungry every few hours and sneak snacks in his pockets and drop in on late night vendors and on particularly long stakeouts Bruce would reach into his belt and pull out little bags of dried fruit and jerky and pass them to Dick without looking.

“Grayson,” Damian demands. He sounds confused. “Who opened the extra orange juice. Why are there multiple containers open.”

Dick blinks, then looks over Damian’s shoulder. He’s right. There are three containers of orange juice at the front of the shelf. Two of them are open, and the third one, still sealed, is decorated with a little texta dot on the seal line that Dick’s eyes are immediately drawn to.

Dick turns his head slightly and looks at Tim. Tim’s smirking, but also has a far away nostalgic look in his eye.

“The orange juice is all open, Tim?” Dick asks. Oh. This brings back memories.

Damian reaches for one of the cartons. Tim snorts.

“Uh, not that one,” says Dick hastily. Tim. TIM.

“What’s wrong with the orange juice, Drake?” Oh no. Damian now sounds super suspicious.

“You didn’t do this with Damian?” Tim sounds amused.

“Alfred’s right here,” Dick points out. He’s not being defensive, honestly. It’s just…Alfred would never let any of them get away with this. Alfred’s the one who cooks all Damian’s meals and makes sure he’s getting an adequate diet for a young vigilante training like Damian is, who enforces bedtimes and routine and sets the rules. It’s not like the last time he was Batman, when it was just Dick and Tim on their own.

Shit. Dick had only just been 21 back then. He and Tim had been such kids, his failed wedding or not, knocking around a too-large Manor on their own with no supervision, with responsibility for the entire city. He’d thought he was so grown up then.

It’s one of the reasons he’s insisted on moving into the Penthouse. There were too many memories tied up in being in the Manor when Bruce wasn’t there. He couldn’t face dealing with it while Tim was also gone. He’d needed that fresh start.

He reaches over Damian’s shoulder and hands the offending carton to Tim. “It’s an old joke of Tim’s, Damian. Don’t worry. Tim, you can explain the situation to Alfred in the morning when he’s making breakfast and sees everything’s open.”

“Only if there’s still multiple cartons,” says Tim. He lifts the carton to his lips, making firm eye contact with Dick, and chugs the entire thing.

“That’s disgusting, Drake!” squawks Damian.

Dick starts to feel his heart heal a little. They’re going to be ok.