Chapter Text
Some days, Tim wished he had learned to never go along with Dick’s more unusual plans for brotherly bonding. Most days actually. But particularly since today their attempt at staking out the newest Gotham rogue’s operation had gone to hell in a handbasket. Since apparently the Red Hood had figured out the trick of looking up, despite never having fought the bats before. And wouldn’t Tim like to know how this random guy had picked that up. Most seasoned goons never learned that lesson, Tim was going to file a complaint—somewhere.
“Say,” Nightwing slurred, hopefully playing up the head injury that came from falling out of the rafters, “what’s a guy with a nice ass like that doing in a dump like this?”
“Excuse me?” Their newest rogue choked, the voice modifier in his helmet cutting the words into sputtering. Tim could sympathize. No one was ever prepared for Dick’s combat flirting techniques.
“I asked what a handsome guy like you is doing in a place like this?” Nightwing chirped, “I definitely would have remembered seeing you around here before.”
“I’m new.” The Red Hood managed, sounding slightly disturbed. Then he drew one of his guns and pointed it at Robin. “And last I checked, Nightwing doesn’t belong in Gotham. So what are you doing here?”
“Heard reports of someone in need of an ass kicking, and figured I could offer my services.”
“I do appreciate the offer,” Hood drawled, “But I’m afraid I didn’t plan to deal with you just yet. Can I pencil you in for a beat down later?”
“Sorry, but the spontaneity is part of my charm,” Nightwing said, drawing his escrima. “I gave up my Friday night for this, at the very least you can make it worth my while, hmm Red?”
Tim was not alone in cringing at that. Hood came to a full stop, dropping the gun enough that it was pointing at the floor instead of Robin, and cocked his head. “Does that ever actually work? Or do you just get off on being an annoying little shit?”
“I get off on a lot of things,” Dick said, voice dropping to a purr as Tim resisted the urge to gag. Nightwing had also fallen out of a fighting stance, and Tim was forced to accept that Dick was enjoying himself.
“If you don’t shut up, I’m leaving you to fight him alone,” he hissed, swinging down from the rafters to stand in front of Nightwing, bo staff at the ready.
The Red Hood actually relaxed at his intervention, holstering his gun and drawing a bowie knife instead. “Oh, is the baby bat embarrassed by his big brother talking about doing the dirty?” Hood somehow managed to sound less than enthused about the idea, but he pushed on. “Cause it's definitely past your bedtime-”
“Eh, Robin’s a bit of a stalker,” Nightwing cut in, slipping closer to Hood. “I think he knows all about my thing for redheads by now.”
Hood shook his head, red helmet glinting in the light. “That was horrible, Wing.”
Nightwing probably said something in response, but Tim carefully wasn’t listening. Hood didn’t seem inclined to draw his guns again, and he had better things to do than listen to his brother try to flirt with Gotham’s new crime lord.
And a few hours later, when Dick messaged that he was spending the night at a safehouse, Tim really didn’t want to think about why.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tim had told her that Dick was acting weird, but all the blood tests had run clean, so Stephanie assumed it was the usual bats being allergic to emotions. Now, watching as Dick made his third lap of Alfred’s kitchen in search of a mixing bowl, she was inclined to think Tim had been right. Not that she was ever going to admit that to him.
“Watcha up to?” she asked, sliding into one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island. She didn’t want to get too close, not after the last time Dick tried to cook ended with burnt honey soaking into her favorite pair of shoes.
“Making brownies,” Dick said, lips pursed as he stared between a bag of all purpose flour and an unopened bag of bread flour.
“You. Baking. Is the world ending?” Stephanie asked, reaching across the island to snag the bag of chocolate chips and popping a few in her mouth.
“See if I give you any now,” Dick grumped, consulting what looked to be a handwritten recipe.
“Ooh, you’re going to eat them all yourself? That’s a dick move.” Stephanie couldn’t help checking over her shoulder for Alfred as she cursed. Consequently, she missed whatever face Dick made when he answered.
“Nah, these are for a friend of mine.”
Her head snapped back around. Dick didn’t have friends in Gotham, outside the bats themselves.
“Oh, a friend of yours?” Dick smiled softly, but refused to elaborate. And started from scratch when he burnt the first batch, brushing off her offers to help.
Have we heard anything about N’s new boo? Stephanie typed out, barely checking that it was to the group chat without Dick before she hit send. Dick was packing the brownies into Alfred’s good Pyrex, the ones for friends and family only.
So, like any good friend, she followed him, keeping an eye on the trackers until she spotted Nightwing’s bike show up in Crime Alley, skidding to a stop outside an old auto-shop. One of the Red Hood’s lieutenants was keeping guard by the door, and he didn’t so much as blink as Nightwing parked his bike next to a massive red Harley and sent a grappling line towards the roof.
A few seconds later, he slipped through the skylight and into the building proper. After a minute with no gunshots or other sounds of fighting, Stephanie dared slink closer, using the bikes to stay hidden as she fished in her pocket for a spare tracker.
And promptly stopped, as she caught sight of a bright blue chalk drawing, a little nightwing symbol, scratched onto the curb where Nightwing had parked his bike. Next to it was a more permanent one that looked professionally painted, featuring a styled red helmet and the word RESERVED in blocky letters.
Stephanie snapped a picture. Or how long N’s been dating a crime lord?
That got a response, a series of heart emojis from Cass, and a long message from Tim that it was his night off, and he didn’t want to think about what or who his brother was up to.
The shop door swung open while she was debating with Tim if brownies were more or less romantic than flowers, and she had to dart back a few paces to crouch behind a dumpster as she heard two pairs of footsteps approach.
“I told you, I’m not letting you come to any of my safehouses until you ditch the trackers, Dickwing,” a mechanical voiced said, dangerously close to where she was hiding.
“Keep your hood on, Ja-Red,” Dick said, “I’m just saying, B’s gonna start wondering why I’m disabling the cameras eventually, and when he does, I’m making you explain.”
"Do that, and I'm never letting you into my safehouses."
"See, you were planning on showing me. I knew you loved me!"