I was 14 when Dick started the tradition. He just got over being replaced and was desperately trying to get to know me.
I say "desperately" because everybody can sense when goldie was desperate.
On the third Friday of every month, Dick would bang on my door like the freak he is and demand entrance. Once he's in, he'd sit on my bed and force me to finish homework. He would not leave until everything is done. The guy even has the gall to check my homework to make sure.
Then, he drags me to Bruce's room and declare "movie night."
Yes, the Wayne manor has a fuckin' movie night courtesy of the resident acrobat, Dick Grayson.
No one is exempted from movie night. Even Alfred gets his own space on the couch and forced to sit down after all the popcorn has been made.
We take turns picking the movie. When it's Dick's turn, God forbid he chooses another chick flick or some second rate animated film. On Bruce's turn, it's always from reknowned directors like Spielberg, Nolan, or Cameron. Nothing less for the goddamn Batman. Surprisingly, it's Alfred who chooses the movies with deep plots that leave you with something to think about.
Me? I usually go for the movies with a lot of action. One time, I accidentally picked a gory film and from then on anything I pick that's not rated "G" has to go through Dick and Bruce.
And like the fact that those nights started in the same way, it would end in the same way.
I'd find myself dozing off by the third CD, since back then a 3-hour films would be in three to four disks, and someone would carry me to my room.
By the time they'd tuck me in, I'd know who it was. Dick would quickly cover me with the blanket, peck my forehead and whisper, "Night-night, Little Wing." Meanwhile, Bruce would take his time with the covers before carding his strong, calloused hands through my hair. The door would close soundlessly for either of them.
Then, I died.
But I guess its safe to say that that didn't last lonng.
Soon, I was travelling the world. Somewhere in a particularly superstitious place, I heard a saying.
"The first one to sleep is the first one to die."
No scientific or magical proof just this belief in this faraway place filled with queer people.
But as the third Friday of the month arrives, I can't help but think that maybe these damn crazies are wiser than they sound.
Back with a vengeance, I soon return to Gotham.
It took a year of me screaming profanities at the big, black Bat and Bruces's glares to finally reintroduce me to the fam. But on the third Friday of the same month, I returned to my apartment with Nightwing on the couch declaring that he's hidden my secret stash of booze and that he wouldn't give them until I agree to come to the manor for friggin' movie night.
So it happens.
He drags me to the manor and I find Bruce and Damian fiddling with the television and Tim on his laptop looking for movies to, ahem pirate, download.
An hour in, Alfred would silently slip away. By the second film, Replacement can be seen sleeping on the couch, head rested against Dick or me. Bruce volunteers to take him to his room. He doesn't return for the rest of the night. By the time the second film has ended, Damian is already asleep on Dick's lap. I stand to close the set and sit back down as Goldie starts talking.
Back then, I could have sworn he won't stop. He keeps telling stories that would have sounded like he was on drugs if you didn't know who he was. Sometimes, there's beer involved. Sometimes, he makes me crack up but we shush before Damian wakes. Always, he asks about my life and I oblige.
We talk well into the night. The fact that some nights, I do most of the talking was a secret he took to the grave.
The conversations last until the sky changes from black to blue and I notice that he has fallen asleep, his head resting on the back of the couch. I couldn't carry them both, so I bring a blanket for the two of them.
Alfred would walk back in the living room and catch me watching the sunrise. He'd stand beside me, offer tea, and stay until it was time to cook breakfast. Then, he would usher me into my room in the manor and tell me to go to bed in that eloquent, Alfred-means-it way he has.
And as sleep finds me, I think about the proverb and the damn order everyone goes to bed every damn third Friday.
It wouldn't have mattered if everyone would just stop going at it like clockwork.
I couldn't get it out of my mind for years. It bothered me that I was the last one up when I usually can't keep my eyes open after 11.
When the family grew bigger and became a freakin' clan, tradition changed and I kinda stopped giving a shit about the order. There's a fuckton people on the couch to keep track of.
But that peace stopped when reality bit my ass harder than the demon brat could hack me into pieces.
First, Alfred passed away in his sleep. We only knew because it was the first time he didn't wake up from his alarm.
Next, Tim kicked the bucket a hero. He was following a human trafficking crime lord when they spotted him and shut down Red Robin for good.
Old man Bruce died finishing Tim's work. He just had to go with a bang.
Demon Brat was diagnosed with fucking cancer. Guess he was human after all. He was 45 when we had to pull the plug.
Goldie was around 60 when his daughter told me that he has been rushed to the hospital. It was stroke, they said. I was talking with him on the phone when he just went silent.
Now, I sit in the chair of a century old church watching Mar'i speak a eulogy to her father. I tried preparing something to say last night, but all I could write was "Alfred Tim Bruce Damian Dick." In that exact fucking order.
Maybe I should have prepared for this. Maybe I should have written all of their eulogies years ago. That friggin' proverb should have been my personal warning.
Maybe I should have stayed dead all those years ago. Then, maybe I wouldn't need to know how it sucks being the only survivor left.
But if memory serves me right, Alfred should be joining me any minute now.
I can be ready for that.