Work Text:
“Are Todd and Drake trying to hide from Father?”
Dick has to pause to take in the question, and then has to look up from his laptop altogether to get a read on Damian before he attempts to answer. The kid’s expression is as unreadable as ever, but his body language is on the tense side, a particular stiffness that had been fading for awhile now.
It’s telling that he entered the room to ask a question directly, too, rather than lounging nearby with one of his pets or an art project and asking his questions in casual tones at calculated intervals. This tense formality is more like his first couple months in Gotham.
It’s a weird question, though, and Dick tries to put some thought into family dynamics lately. The girls have their own deal going on after Cass and her spaghetti incident dragged Tim into things, Jay’s been a little absent working on his supposed Christmas present for B, and B himself has been his usual degree of heartwarmingly overprotective on the bout of tame cases lately.
“Not that I know of,” he finally answers carefully, and reaches out with a foot to jab Damian in the arm, prodding for info. “Why?”
The kid evades, nose wrinkled, no doubt judging his current ergonomic situation. “They’re wearing red,” he says.
Dick blinks at him, but the cue to elaborate is not taken. “They always wear red,” he points out.
“Yes,” Damian agrees, his special brand of condescending agreement. “Is it an attempt to hide from Father?” And then, “Your posture is appalling. At least sit upright.”
Thoroughly baffled, Dick shuffles himself into something approximating a more regular position rather than curling around his laptop like a shrimp. “You’re gonna have to give me more to go on here, bud,” he says once they’re closer to eye level with each other.
Damian sighs, crossing his arms; it’s hard to tell whether it’s a more or less defensive posture than holding them rigidly straight. “Many species of bat are theorized to be unable to see the color red,” he starts, “and while some studies have indicated otherwise, certain researchers have found…”
Dick tries to pay attention, he really does, but his mind is spinning too fast with possibilities, and he can feel the grin overtaking his face. This is gonna be great.
When they go out for patrol that night, almost every single Mask is clad in red except for the Bat, who surveys each of his children with an increasing resignation. When he gets to Robin, with black and green still prominent despite the kid’s best efforts to join the joke and will his uniform to change, he just waits.
Robin doesn’t break. Nightwing pops up beside him, elbow on the kid’s shoulder like an armrest, grinning with all the sunny cheer he can muster in Batman’s direction. “Bats can’t see red,” he chirps, and gathers his shadow around Robin, pulling the both of them into the dark and out of human visibility.
B shifts minutely, still tracking them, and Nightwing very maturely sticks his tongue out at the man before tugging Robin along to fly with him. Over the comms, Batgirl and Hood are taking up the torment, and when some unseen joke finally gets Batman to audibly sigh, Robin cracks a grin of his own, and Nightwing laughs with him.