A Towel is 'Borrowed'
Two years ago, if someone had told Dick he'd be inviting the junior Justice League (who also happened to be his neighbours) into his apartment, he would've laughed them out of the Bat Cave.
Even with Wally, alter-ego of none other than Kid Flash himself, standing before him, the former Robin still wasn't entirely sure he believed it.
Speaking of, the ginger was currently giving himself an amused once-over, though the detective wasn't entirely sure what warranted such a look. "Howdy, neighbour!"
Of course he was the kind of person to say 'howdy' unironically. Dick had to withhold an instinctual face-palm.
The man's ginger hair was still a tangled mess, the indent from his cowl pressed into the mussed-up sides. Green eyes, crinkled by crow's feet, beamed at him from behind freckled lids.
Along with a faded pair of jeans, the man was wearing enough plaid to send Alfred into conniptions.
Standing to the speedster's left, partially obscured by the door's wooden frame, was Aqualad. Or Kaldur, as Dick supposed he'd be called when not acting as the team's Atlantean leader.
The darker skinned man had a turtleneck on—likely to hide his inhuman gills from civilian viewers—but otherwise carried the same solemn expression as his heroic persona.
If Wally had been offended by Dick literally slamming the door in his face earlier, he didn't let it show.
Instead, the taller man simply re-extended his hand, grin widening when Grayson reluctantly reciprocated the gesture.
"Hi." Dick said flatly, moving on to shake the Atlantean's hand, trying not to stare at the others dark tattoos.
Were they the source of his water manipulation abilities? He was dying to ask.
The detective risked a glance over both the heroes' shoulders, crystalline eyes roving the seemingly empty room behind them.
Where were the rest of their team? M'gann, Artemis, and Conner weren't anywhere to be found.
And then, as if summoned by his thought process, a tepid looking Superboy entered with the slam of a door.
He was still wearing his loose cargo pants and black shirt, the all-too familiar Kryptonian symbol adorning his chest. Dirt covered the blue fabric on his legs, and Dick absently wondered if the clone had given him chase over the rooftops.
Also, more importantly, how had nobody figured out their secret identities by now? They were almost constantly in the media; had not an ounce of stealth between them; and apparently wore their costumes in public.
So how?
"The cleaning lady won't give me any towels," The hulking man bit out tersely, mouth pulled into a tight grimace.
Wally merely sighed as if he'd been expecting this. "We're in an apartment, dude. Not a hotel."
Conner's already deadly expression turned significantly darker, annoyed confusion lurking behind veiled anger.
The speedster tried again, body shifting into a defensive stance. It would've been nearly imperceptible to the untrained eye, but Dick had been trained to know exactly when someone was readying to make a run for it. "That means no towels."
Kaldur cleared his throat, tipping his head minutely in Dick's general direction.
Wally looked confused for the briefest of seconds, before understanding flooded his features. "Oh, right! I should introduce us—"
Superboy, apparently, had had other ideas. The clone took an admittedly threatening step towards Dick, cutting the speedster off with the barest wave of a hand.
The raven-haired detective, at Conner's approach, got the distinct urge to pull himself up to his full height. Which, unfortunately, wasn't overly impressive to begin with.
He'd faced down characters such as Killer Crock at the tender age of twelve, but this man still somehow intimidated him. Sure, Dick was fairly certain he could take Conner in a fight, but there was something strange about seeing the likeness of Superman's usually upturned lips morphed into a savage frown.
It was…unsettling.
"Do you have any towels?" The super asked brusquely, eyes quickly scanning Dick's disarrayed apartment with detached interest.
It was in that moment, with a jolt of terrifying clarity, that Dick remembered the suit of a wanted vigilante was currently hanging over his kitchen chair.
This situation was going to get very awkward very fast if he didn't act quickly.
That is to say, more awkward, seeing as—if there were an award show for Most Awkward Encounter—this one would definitely be winning.
He had to act, and he had to act fast.
Resisting the need to look over his shoulder and insure the notable blue bird emblem wasn't visible, he instead slapped his celebrity persona in place while yanking the mountain of a man in the direction of the bathroom.
"I've got a few that might work," He said with infused cheerfulness, ignoring Conner's surprised expression over getting hauled off by a midget "You can even keep it, since you've just moved in and all."
His bathroom was the only room in the apartment that he actively kept clean, everything impeccably placed and the counters practically gleaming. Alfred would be proud.
Dick grabbed the first towel he laid eyes on, hoped it was clean, and placed it into Superboy's awaiting hands.
Wally and Kaldur, seeming unsure of themselves, hesitantly stepped over the threshold and stood awkwardly in the confines of the disastrous kitchen.
The detective felt a malicious thrill of satisfaction knowing they were as equally uncomfortable with this as he was.
Did that make him petty? Probably. Did he care? No, not in the least.
The Graysons were performers first, after all, and dangdid this one deliver.
Keeping that same trained smile in place, the one that covered professional business magazines and monthly tabloids alike, he subtly shifted so his torso blocked any possible view of the suit. Hopefully they wouldn't think his odd stance strange enough to comment on.
Conner, after giving his towel benefactor one last nod of approval, stomped out of Dick's apartment. Or maybe he wasn't stomping; it was hard to tell when the super's muscle mass alone was equivalent to that of a small elephant.
Once the Kryptonian had exited, Dick was left alone with a grim Kaldur and beaming Wally.
Perfect. Excellent. Exquisite. Wow. He could not convey his sarcasm more blatantly.
"I'm Wallace West, but you can call me Wally. My stoic friend who looks like he just attended four funerals is Kaldur'Ahm." The ginger's nose wrinkled, "And rude towel thief also goes by Conner Kent."
Dick schooled his face into what was hopefully an interested expression, "Richard Grayson, but I prefer Dick."
He could see the speedster visibly restrain himself from cracking a, likely less than PG 13, joke. "Alright…Dick."
The detective felt his overly happy smile shift into a smirk before he could stop himself. "Whatever you say, Wallace."
Instead of looking put-out like Dick had expected, the speedster barked out a deep laugh. The sound was somewhat at odds with the man's regular speaking voice. "Good to know you're not a complete stick-in-the-mud."
Kaldur coughed lightly into his hand, "That is to say, since we first met you five minutes ago," He gave Wally a pointed glare, probably hoping to remind him they were pretending not to have met Dick before. "You've seemed a little tense."
The whole trained detective slash vigilante shtick aside, and even without his naturally good people reading skills, Dick would've still been extremely suspicious of these two.
They were terrible actors; and that was putting it mildly.
He was half-tempted to expose them here and now, just to see the surprise on their faces.
But then he'd have to fess up to being a wanted vigilante, breaking into the BPD, holding a knife to their Martian's neck, have them accuse him of murder again…yeah, not worth it.
Mentally heaving a sigh, he decided to play their little game for now. After, all the less they suspected Detective Grayson, the less likely they were to connect him with Nightwing.
That, and who knew what useful little tidbits he might uncover when the team was at ease? Things like potential weaknesses, relational issues, or even allergies.
Not that he would ever use someone's allergy against them in an actual fight, but knowledge was power and all that jazz.
They were already spying on him, after all. Wasn't it only fair he return the favour?
Acting the part of exhausted cop—which honestly wasn't that hard, seeing as he was both exhausted and a cop—he leaned back against his chair with a huff. "I guess I have been a little tense lately."
"A little?" He heard the speedster murmur, though the comments was accompanied by a sharp oof.
Glancing up, he saw that Aqualad had elbowed his loose-lipped teammate in the side.
"I'm a detective for the BPD," Dick continued on as if he hadn't noticed Wally' slip-up. "We don't get a lot of paid vacations."
They didn't get any paid vacations, actually. And even if they did, would he ever take them up on it?
No. The answer was no.
The ginger seemed to genuinely perk up, feigned surprise widening his eyes. "Awesome. I wanted to get into forensics when I was younger."
The detective gave him a quick appraisal, silently changing his perspective of the other man. Wally had seemed immature, borderline childish.
For him to be interested in cataloguing crime scenes and analyzing data seemed…out of character. Or, at least, out of Kid Flash's character.
It completely stumped him for a moment; the realization that there were actual people behind their personas. He knew KF, but did he know Wally?
Bruce always had a way of de-humanizing people, of choosing not to believe in their better natures. Dick had never been able to be that impersonal, that cold.
Even with Gotham's lowest lowlifes, he'd always had a sort of companionable relationship with them. Sure, they'd still try to kill him if given the chance, but what else were friends for?
Dick had always admired Batman's resolve for professionalism before, but now with this lanky, overly plaid freckled man giving him that too-genuine smile, he wasn't sure what to think.
For, if this hero was not all he seemed behind the cowl, what about the rest of them?
Only when Dick felt his smile begin to slip did he curb that train of thought, carefully setting it aside for later inspection. He didn't have time for a personal crisis and, if there was one thing Grayson excelled at, it was compartmentalizing.
Before the detective's contemplative silence had time to drag on, a shirtless Conner strutted out of the other apartment's bathroom, dark hair dripping wet.
He paused, eyes flicking from Kaldur to Wally, as if assessing them for signs of injury, before finally settling on Dick.
"Jeez, man." The speedster groaned, shooting their host an apologetic look over their roommate's half-naked state. "Way to make a good first impression."
None of them were making a very good first impression, the detective himself included, but Dick wisely decided to keep that to himself. "It's, uh, fine."
Superboy's glare zeroed in in him again, blue eyes coldly analyzing every detail. Apparently whatever he was searching for on Dick's face he found, for his cloudy expression lightened somewhat. "Thank you."
The vigilante wanted nothing more than to push them out the door, slam it in their faces (again), and install several heavy-duty deadbolts.
Unfortunately, he had a persona to maintain, which meant forcefully removing them from his premises wasn't an option. Stupid, inconvenient social norms.
Alternatively to tossing them out, he slipped another smile on and gave the massive man a quick nod, "You're welcome." He then gave Wally one of the blandest stares in his arsenal, "And if you guys ever need anything else—soap, extremely personal hygiene products, toothbrush, a luffa—you know where to find me."
"I genuinely cannot tell if that was sarcasm or not," The speedster stated, auburn eyebrows drawing low over his eyes.
It was sarcasm, definitely sarcasm. Dick would never lend anyone his luffa.
"The offer stands for us, as well." Kaldur said, dropping his hands onto his confused companion's shoulders and guiding him towards the door. "If you ever need anything, we're only a door away."
Oh. Oh no. They weren't seriously considering making this a common occurrence, were they? Dick wanted to cry.
Fortunately, Wally seemed to catch on to the fact that the detective was having an internal crisis and allowed the Atlantean to lead him out. "Thanks again, Dick! Maybe we can have dinner sometime, or like a brunch? Is brunch even a thing anymo—"
Kaldur, bless his aquatic soul, gently shoved the speedster through the door and closed it, leaving himself and Grayson as the room's only occupants.
"I apologize for my roommates' behaviour. Wally is passionate, but he means well. And Conner does not give his approval freely."
Dick remembered the feel of the super's cold stare and couldn't help but agree. "It's fine. Just wasn't expecting any…company."
A wry smile twisted Kaldur's darker skin, "I gathered as much." He gave the messy a kitchen pointed, but strangely not judgemental, glance. "I'll leave now, I simply wanted to insure there was no ill will between us."
"None at all," the detective winced, already hating the geniality of their conversation, "neighbour."
"Have a good night, Dick." One last quiet smile, and then the man was practically gliding out of the room, exercising the same fluid grace Nightwing had seen up on the rooftop earlier.
Soon as Kaldur was gone, Dick sagged against his chair, almost toppling it over in his sudden surge of exhaustion.
His trick knee, one that Two Face—or had it been Joker?—bashed in several years ago, throbbed rhythmically as he grudgingly limped towards the recently closed door.
Usually it was fine, but sometimes when he worked himself too hard, or stood awkwardly at a gala for too long, it was as if he could feel the bones breaking all over again.
The lock sliding into place sounded like heaven; the muted voices from the other side echoing like damnation.
It was only when he was free-falling into his beautiful, flawless, perfect bed, that Dick realized he had just flaunted his PJs in front of half the junior Justice League.
PJs which included his tie-dye college sweater. That was three sizes to large.
Letting out a few of his old circus day curse words, one's that would have even stone-faced Bruce blushing, he buried his entire head underneath the pillow to hide his mortification. He was far too tired for this.
No wonder Wally had looked so amused when he first entered the apartment. Dick was practically drowning in his oversized clothes.
So much for maintaining a professional air, he thought sleepily. That ship had evidently sailed without him.
His stomach began to growl up a complicative storm, but the raven-haired man ignored it, burrowing further into his comforter in retaliation. There was no way he was getting up.
If he left his bed again, who knows what would happen. Maybe Superman would fly in through his window and try to borrow a razor, or Flash would zip in and steal his bathrobe. He wouldn't even be surprised at this point, not after seeing Superboy make off with his bathroom towel.
No, it was better not to risk it.
With a small but genuine smile twisting his lips, Dick finally allowed himself to sleep.
He would deal with this in the morning, if at all.
(A/N): My personal favourite ship? Grayson x Bed. Or Grayson x Sleep, either works ;P
Also, I am so sorry for the late update! I got roped into this week long canoe trip (It was horrible, would not recommend) and had no time to work on this :'(
Anywho, I just wanted to mention that, in this fic, Batman's going to be OOC. And horrible. Like a 0/10 parental figure
It feels strange to write him like that (cuz he's literally my fav DC hero), but that's just the way this AU is gonna be. Sorry if you were here for some wholesome paternal interactions :/
If you have time, reviews give me life! Stay safe :D
~ASL