A.N: Short chapter is short and, again, transitional. I've been away for a while, I'm sorry about that, but there've been some rl troubles, etc. Hoping to get back to this fic and also Alone.

They all sat at one end of the incredibly long polished table together, not at the opposite ends, separated by what would have seemed like a sheer insurmountable distance, like Billy had expected. He'd seen that kind of scene in movies, comedies, in which people had to yell to talk to each other or use toy train sets to serve as means of passing around the ketchup. The table was still huge, though, and the room was… well, more elegant than anything Billy had ever seen in his life, museums his parents had worked at included.

But then, he'd already had that feeling the first time he'd seen the house, Wayne Manor, looming over the city like a huge, ominous animal. To Billy, everything about Gotham, from the grey, overcast sky to the sinister gargoyles perching on almost every building, was like a silent reminder of Batman. It made him feel like a trespasser and it made him keenly aware that he just didn't belong. Not even an hour in the city, and Billy already missed his sunny home.

The food, though…

When Alfred set his plate down in front of him, Billy had to actively keep himself from drooling. The savory smell coming from the kitchen had been taunting him even before dinner had been ready, pretty much as soon as Billy had come downstairs, still damp from the shower, new clothes kinda itchy on his skin. He'd sniffed the air like a dog then, and now that his food was within reach, Billy couldn't wait any longer.

He grabbed his fork and dug in, shoveling mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth while trying to saw a bite of his steak off with his knife at the same time.

"This is really good!" he said, or tried to say at least, since only half the words made it through his mouthful of mashed potatoes. And that wouldn't have been so bad, except that when he looked up he realized that Mr Wayne, Dick and Alfred were all three staring at him, various degrees of surprise, amusement and, in Alfred's case, scandalized distaste written on their faces.

Billy felt heat rise to his face. Way to make an idiot of yourself, Batson. He swallowed quickly, almost choking, and ducked his head in embarrassment. At lunch he'd remembered to hold himself back, but Alfred's cooking was better than anything he'd ever tasted – excluding only his mom's homemade pizza.

"Table manners, sir," Alfred said in mild reproach, but Mr Wayne just smiled encouragingly.

"We'll work on that," he said, "and now, please, sit down, Alfred."

Alfred very nearly jumped out of his shoes at that. "Sir!"

"That is an order. Billy is part of this family now and I don't want him to get the wrong impression."

"I'm afraid we might not entirely agree on your definition of what constitutes the ʻwrong impressionʼ-"

"Come on, we're having dinner together," Mr Wayne interrupted. "We don't do this often enough as it is." Billy caught an apologetic glance from Mr Wayne, cast vaguely in his direction, and wondered what exactly that meant for his future.

"Bruce has late meetings," Dick said. "And, you know, I've got school, so…"

What could Billy say to that? They had to realize that this was a million times better than anything he was used to, right? Still, the way they all looked at each other for a second there made him feel a little like he was missing something huge and obvious. "Oh…" was all he could come up with, not sure what kind of reaction was expected of him.

Thankfully, Mr Wayne cleared his throat and changed the topic.

"Speaking of school, I'm going to make a few calls tomorrow, regarding your future school, among other things," he said.

Oh, Billy thought, eloquent as ever. He wasn't sure he liked this topic better than the last one.

Dick, however, perked up a bit. "Gotham Elementary?" he asked, sounding wistful, and added, with a look at Billy, "I used to go there. It's a good school. Plus, I know most of the teachers, so if you need any advice…"

That was nice at least. Billy had had some experience with foster siblings and, so far, Dick was among the nicest he'd ever had – which didn't say much because the others—well. But Dick's smile looked honest; it reached his blue eyes and made them light up. He didn't seem to hate Billy just for existing, which was a totally new experience on the foster sibling front. Then again, maybe that was just because there were adults around.

"A doctor's appointment might be in order as well, sir," Alfred chimed in. He was sitting down now and ladling mashed potatoes onto his plate. Not the kind of thing butlers on tv ever did. Billy felt like there was still a whole lot he didn't know about this family.

Still, a doctor's appointment? He hadn't had a real one of those since before he'd become Captain Marvel…

"I'm not sick," he said, not really protesting, just pointing it out.

"When was your last check-up, Billy?" Mr Wayne asked.

"Um, I'm not sure…" Billy ducked his head, staring at the food left on his table; suddenly he wasn't all that hungry anymore. It was weird, having adults in his life again, making decisions for him. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"That's why you need one." Mr Wayne said, and while he didn't sound mean or especially firm about it, it was still clear that this was his final word on the topic.

"So," Dick said, once they were alone in Dick's room after dinner. Mr Wayne had sent them up, telling Dick to show Billy around and excusing himself to make those phone calls that would dictate Billy's future. Billy wasn't too keen on thinking about that.

Anyway, Dick said "So" and Billy braced himself for what would inevitably come next: the laying down of the rules, the hazing, maybe. He swallowed, wondering how long he'd last in this house. A week?

How long would he even want to stay?

"So," Dick repeated, his face breaking into a wide grin, "how do you feel about Mario Kart?"