Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
Continuation
___________________________________
It was rare to get the whole Bat-family together for dinner, but Alfred had insisted. The dining room at Wayne Manor was filled with a chaotic mix of voices, clattering silverware, and the occasional verbal jab. For once, Bruce allowed himself a moment to enjoy it—until Jason leaned back in his chair, grinning like the Joker had just handed him a free pass to Arkham.
“So, Dick,” Jason drawled, raising his voice to cut through the chatter. “You gonna tell everyone about your new best friend?”
Dick, who had been mid-sip of water, choked. “What are you talking about?”
Jason smirked. “Oh, you know. The assassin who broke into your place and decided to play Mom instead of killing you.”
The table fell silent. All eyes turned to Dick, whose face flushed under the scrutiny.
“Wait, what?” Tim blurted, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.
“Oh my god, you weren’t going to tell them, were you?” Jason cackled.
Bruce set his knife down with deliberate precision, fixing Dick with a sharp, unreadable look. “Explain. Now.”
Dick sighed, already regretting this entire evening. “It’s not a big deal—”
“Not a big deal?!” Tim interrupted. “An assassin broke into your home!”
“And didn’t kill me,” Dick pointed out, raising his hands defensively.
“That’s not the win you think it is,” Barbara said, though there was a twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.
Stephanie was leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with barely suppressed laughter. “Hold up. Back up. They didn’t kill you, and instead, they… what? Offered to split the rent?”
“They made me breakfast,” Dick admitted reluctantly.
That was it. Stephanie doubled over laughing, pounding the table with her fist. “Oh my god, you charmed an assassin into meal prepping for you!”
Cass, seated beside Barbara, tilted her head and smiled. “They liked you.”
“I wouldn’t say they liked me—”
“They liked you,” Cass repeated, firm but amused.
Damian scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Dick. “That’s pathetic, Grayson. Allowing an enemy into your home and—what—offering to feed them?” His lip curled, but there was a faint crease of worry in his brow that didn’t escape Dick’s notice.
“I was tired,” Dick said, exasperated. “And I thought it was one of you!”
“That makes it worse,” Bruce said sharply, his tone cold enough to silence everyone. “You assumed the intruder was family and let your guard down. That could’ve gotten you killed.”
“It didn’t,” Dick said, meeting Bruce’s gaze evenly. “They left a note, and they stocked my fridge. That’s it. I’m fine.”
Bruce’s expression darkened. “I’ll install surveillance in your building tomorrow.”
“Bruce, no—”
“Actually,” Tim interjected, “we should bug the entire block. If they come back, we need to be ready.”
“They bought me groceries, Tim!”
“They were in your apartment,” Tim countered.
“You didn’t even know they were there, did you?” Bruce asked, his voice clipped.
“I was half-asleep!”
Jason was practically crying with laughter at this point. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all year. You, the golden boy, the people’s champion, managed to turn a hired killer into your personal shopper.”
“Technically,” Stephanie added, smirking, “they’re more like a life coach. They stocked your fridge because they felt bad for you.”
“That’s even worse!” Damian snapped, glaring at Dick. “Your incompetence is so obvious that an assassin pitied you.”
“Okay, Damian, I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me about assassins,” Dick shot back, smirking.
Damian bristled but didn’t respond, his cheeks slightly red.
Barbara leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “Only you, Dick. Only you could make an assassin reconsider their target because of how pathetically you live.”
Cass giggled softly, nodding. “They care.”
“Exactly!” Dick pointed at Cass. “See? Someone gets it.”
“That’s not a compliment,” Barbara said flatly.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about irresponsibility and lapses in judgment.
“Honestly, you’re all overreacting,” Dick said, crossing his arms.
“Overreacting?” Tim repeated. “You didn’t even trace the receipt for the groceries they bought, did you?”
“Nope,” Jason said, answering for him. “Too busy enjoying the eggs, weren’t you, Dickie?”
“For the record,” Dick said loudly, ignoring Jason, “those eggs were excellent.”
Stephanie wheezed. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Dick Grayson: Assassins fear him, but also…kind of want to take care of him?”
Bruce sighed heavily. “We’re setting up surveillance.”
“You’re not—”
“We’re setting up surveillance,” Bruce repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Dick groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was going to haunt him forever.
__________________________________________
Jason had planned to crash at Dick’s place for the night—not that he’d told Dick. He’d gotten in late, his safehouse compromised by some bad intel, and while he could’ve gone anywhere, he’d ended up here. Grayson’s door was always open, whether Jason deserved it or not.
He told himself it was just convenience, but when he walked into the quiet, dark apartment, something felt…off.
The place wasn’t trashed, but Jason’s sharp eyes picked up on the subtle signs of a break-in: the faint scuff marks near the door, the window latch reset just slightly differently than Dick usually left it. His gut twisted. Someone had been here.
“You'd better not be dead Dick,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the handgun he’d pulled from his jacket. He scanned the apartment quickly, checking corners and closets. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Finally, Jason found himself standing in the kitchen. The fridge was humming softly, and the countertops were clear—except for a piece of paper folded neatly and tucked into the gap between the toaster and the coffee maker.
Frowning, Jason holstered his gun and picked it up. The sharp, precise handwriting immediately made his stomach drop. Assassins always had a certain way about them. His gaze skimmed the words, and his initial worry was quickly replaced by incredulity.
> "I was here to deliver a message, but your hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"
Jason blinked. Then blinked again.
“What the hell?” he muttered, flipping the note over as if the back might offer some clarification.
He set the note down, opened the fridge, and stared. It was fully stocked—eggs, milk, fresh vegetables, yogurt. The yogurt was even the expensive kind. Jason let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Golden boy, you absolute idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head. The guy could charm just about anyone, but this? An assassin breaking in and deciding to do his grocery shopping instead of his dirty work? That was peak Dick Grayson.
But beneath the humor, Jason couldn’t quite shake his unease. An assassin breaking in to deliver a message was one thing. Leaving a note, making breakfast, and restocking the fridge was another. Who the hell was this person, and why hadn’t Dick called anyone about it?
When Dick finally walked in, fresh from patrol and looking like he’d spent the night dragging himself through a cement mixer, Jason was waiting for him. He sat on the counter, arms crossed, the note note in one hald and a bag of monster munch in the other.
“Hey, Dickie,” Jason called casually, but there was a sharp edge to his voice. “Anything you wanna share with the class?”
Dick froze mid-step. His eyes darted to the note in Jason’s hand, and he groaned. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Jason’s lips twitched, his smirk masking his concern. “Oh, don’t worry, I saw it. Read it. Even checked out the fridge. Wanna explain why a professional killer decided to play Gordon Ramsay in your kitchen instead of, you know, killing you?”
Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not what it looks like—”
“Not what it looks like?!” Jason barked, standing up and waving the note. “An assassin broke in here, Grayson. They were probably two seconds away from cutting your throat, and somehow, you convinced them to restock your pantry instead. What the hell, man?”
“They weren’t going to kill me,” Dick said defensively, though the way he avoided Jason’s gaze didn’t help his case.
“You don’t know that!” Jason shot back. “What if this is some weird psychological game? What if they poisoned your milk or something?”
“They didn’t poison my milk, Jay.”
Jason stared at him, jaw clenched, before running a hand through his hair and laughing—a sharp, disbelieving sound. “God, you’re lucky you’re so damn charming, or you’d be dead twenty times over by now.”
Dick tried to hide his sheepish smile. “That’s why you love me.”
Jason glared at him for a moment longer before the smirk broke through. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you alive. Speaking of, when were you planning on telling everyone else about this little incident?”
“Uh… I wasn't?"
Jason paused and then grinned, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “So you're saying Bruce doesn'tknow about this?”
“No.”
“Well, he’s gonna,” Jason said gleefully. “Because there’s no way I’m keeping this to myself.”
“Jason!”
“Relax,” Jason said, smirking. “Think of it as a bonding experience. Bruce will yell at you, Tim will freak out, Damian will call you pathetic, and I’ll be here to laugh through all of it.”
Dick groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re the worst.”
Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.
Someone was already here.
For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was Damien.
"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.
Silence.
"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."
The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"
The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.
---
When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.
He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.
Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.
Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:
> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"
He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.
Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.
He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.
Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.
“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”
It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.
It would be funny if there was a subreddit taking about the ghost of Jason Todd hunting the Wayne family. And a lot of badly taken photos of him around his father and siblings feeding the conspirators minds.
Headcanon that since Jason can’t go out with his family publicly, what he does instead is show up in random disguises.
Bruce is chatting up some socialites at a gala, talking about the joys of fatherhood and how rewarding it is. Meanwhile he made eye contact with Jason disguised as a waiter twenty minutes ago, and is currently trying to stop his eye from twitching.
Dick is speaking to a third grade class as a part of the Bludhaven Police department outreach program, except when he walks in Jason is sitting behind the teachers desk, playing the role of substitute.
Babs can’t help but stare when Jason hands her a coffee from behind the counter of her favorite coffee shop. (His name tag reads Peter, and for a second she thinks she’s actually lost it).
Tim walks into Wayne Towers one day and on his way in, he waves to his secretary- lo and behold Marjorie has been replaced by Jason. It takes him three hours to notice.
Cass walks into ballet class to discover her teacher had to take a sick day- his replacement is Jason in a beret who talks in a terrible French accent the entire class, only to drop it at the very end to talk in a thick New Jersey accent. Her entire class talks about it for weeks.
Stephanie hails a cab on her way home one night, only to find Jason driving. She’s not sure how he pulled it off or how he got a cab, but her mind is effectively blown.
Duke is on a school trip to the natural history museum, and when the tour guide introduces himself, Duke can’t help but role his eyes. Jason gives a surprisingly good tour, even throwing in some tidbits about a robbery that went down just last week that the Signal stopped.
Damian’s encounter happens when he’s with Jon in metropolis. He’s watching Jon play baseball, and when Jon steps up to bat, he can’t help but notice a the umpire looks a little familiar.
Part four of Jon and the Wayne’s: poker night.
“Alright,” Jason said, grinning. “Place your bets, demon.”
Damian glared at him, hands tightening on his cards. “I am not losing to you again, you human scratching post.”
Tim hummed absentmindedly sitting next to Jason, more focused on his book then on the game.
“Wow. You guys are really mean at this game.”
Damian looked to Dick, taking a sip of his water while assessing his cards.
“Grayson, are you in?”
Rick smiled, putting his cards down with a hum. “Oh I fold harder than if my own weapon shatters my skull, Dami.”
“Wow.” Jason rolled his eyes, looking over his hand at Dick.
“Dramatic much?”
“Okay.” Damian said with a sigh after assessing his cards. “I’m in. Duke?”
“I thought I mentioned I’m not very good at this game.” Duke mumbled. It didn’t help that his eyes lit up every time he got a really good hand. He tried sunglasses but they reflected his hand to everyone else.
“Ok.” Tim said, still not putting down his book. “I’m all in.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, looking over at the other. “You don’t have any money left.”
Tim shrugged. “Oh, I know. I just didn’t want to leave the circle yet.”
“And I call it,” Jason said, turning his head to Damian. “What do you got?”
Damian smirked and looked up, putting his cards down. “Watch out disappointments, because I am straight.”
Tim snarked under his breath.
“Not what Jon thinks.”
Before Damian could kill him Jason cleared his throat.
“Well hope back in that closet because I have a full house, bitch.”
“God damn it!” Damian said, throwing his cards down in a huff.
“There there Dami it’s alright.” Dick smiled, rubbing his back.
Damian hugged at him and looked through his lashes scathingly.
“That was my budget for more animals.”
Dick gasped and turned to Jason with a frown.
“You barsterd.”
“Go cry to Wally about it.” Jason monotoned at dick.
“Can I please be done now?” Duke asked, sitting back.
“Yeah, I’m done too.” Damian scoffed.
“I’ll keep playing.” Tim said absently.
“You don’t have any money.” Jason scoffed.
Tim thought for a minute.
“I could beg my suit-“
Jon walked in to find the other sitting on the floor of the batcave. He went over to dick and sat down next to him. “Hey, what are you guys doing?”
“Getting robbed.” Damian snarked.
“Hey kid,” Jason asked, turning to his new victim. “You know how to play?”
Jon stared at him blankly, pausing before saying airily.
“I don’t remember.”
“You got money on you?”
“Yeah.”
“Sit down I’ll deal you in.”
Dick turned incredulously to Jason.
“Wha- hello? What do you think you’re doing?”
Tim looked up, folding his books page.
“I don’t think he knows how to play Jay.”
Jason turned to face Tim, raising an annoyed eyebrow.
“So? You don’t know how to play this game either-“
Dick cut Jason off with a scoff.
“Yeah! And now he has no money.”
“It’s ok.” Tim said. “I don’t need to buy… food.” He trails off, thinking.
“It seems you maaay be trying to take advantage of him.” Duke mused.
“That’s not very honourable, Todd.” Damian said.
“Yeah, yeah. Ok kid, I bet 100.” Jason said, turning back to Jon who was inspecting his cards.
Jim looked up blankly, before responding.
“Hmm. I guess also a hundred.”
Dicks head snapped to Jon.
“Woah- hey kid no-!”
“No interrupting.” Jason shot at dick.
“What do you got?”
Jon looked at his cards, before looking back up. He turned them. “Is this anything?”
“Oh.” Tim said. “Hey he won.”
“No he didn’t.” Jason sighed.
“Oh.” Tim said, picking up his coffee. “Hmm. I don’t know how to play.
“And I have two pairs. So I’ll be taking that.” Jason said, leaning into the middle and scooping up the money. He grabbed the deck.
“Jason! This is disgraceful.” Damian said, glaring at him.
“I don’t think you’re being very fair.” Tim shrugged.
Jason rolled his eyes and dropped a fifty in Tim’s lap. “Shut up, go buy yourself something pretty.”
Tim nodded, pocketing it. “Ah. Hey thanks.”
“Can we play again?” Jon asked.
“Kid,” Jason smirked. “If you’ve got money we can play all day if you want.”
“No! No. Ok? I am putting a stop to this.” Dick said, standing up.
“You back up,” Jason started. “Or I’ll tell Wally how much money you lost.”
“…sitting dooooown. Carry on.” Dick smiled, strained.
“Exactly.” Jason turned to Jon. “You bet first kid.”
Jon looked at his cards, merely a glance.
“Ummmm. Can I bet 500?”
“Woah.” Tim said, eyes widening as he finally put down his book and picked up his mug, ready to watch this tv shit.
“Kid, why?!” Dick asked, exasperated and concerned.
“Mmm.” Jon said, unfazed. “500s my favourite number.”
“Okay,” Jason said nodding. He was getting into this. “I raise you, 200.” He said, thinking that was a high bet.
Without pausing or faltering Jon just said.
“I raise you 500.”
“Uggh.” Damian huffed, knowing his best friend was loosing all his money.
“Oh my god!” Dick groaned, massaging his temples.
“And I call it,” Jason said, smirking at the newbie. “You ready for this?”
Dick on the side sighed.
“Please god tell me you have nothing.”
“Four of a kind.”
There was audible groaned around the room as Jason leaned forward to collect his money.
“How do you even look yourself in the mirror Jason.” Damian snarked.
“Like this.” Jason said, then flipped them off with a smile.
“That’s true actually.” Tim said, “I’ve seen him doing that.”
“Nice try kid?” Jason smirked, putting his hand on the pile. “We can try again if you want-“
Jon placed his hand on Jason’s, eyes glinting and that blank expressing staying the same, but with a new aura.
“I have a royal flush.”
The room went dead silent.
“Huh?” Dick finally broke the silence. Damian just gaped at his friend.
Jason stared at the cards in front of Jon, fuming.
“What”.
“Pretty sure that’s the highest.” Jon said, letting himself a smile. “Four of a kind is only the third highest.”
“Uhmm.” Dick said, unsure what to do.
Tim looked quizzical and questioned.
“I thought you said you didn’t know how to play?”
“Did I?” Jon asked, folding his money and counting the bet.
“I can’t remember.”
“Did you just hustle me.” Jason growled, glaring.
Jon looked at him, and smiled.
“I don’t know Jason.” He quipped. “Did I?”
“He hustled you!” Dick whisper yelled happily.
“This games more fun then I thought.” Duke said offhandedly.
“You sneakily little punk ass.” Jason said, stareing at him.
“Oh, and Jason.” Don said friendly.
“You might want to check the mirror you’ve got some egg on your face.”
“Ohhh! He’s dead!” Dick celebrated.
“Well done Jonathan.” Damian said, offering him a quickly masked smile.
“He hustled you! You idiot!” Dick cackled.
“Shut up!” Jason spat, embarrassed.
“Haaaah.” Dick wheezed.
“I can’t breath-“
part before this: Jon sets Jason up.
part after this: Bruce is an accident or slut
Tagged:
@klance-one-standing