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“I don’t know how B did it.” Dick whines, downing a shot of tequila.
You hum, pouring another for yourself. “cPTSD, insomnia, a sore lack of mental health care facilities,” you count off on your fingers, “oh, and whiskey. Whiskey was probably important.”
Dick scowls at you, squishing against the marble counter. “I’m talking about raising a kid. Not being Batman.”
“What about whiskey did not imply childcare?!” You protest before, downing your own shot of tequila. You wince and blanch then debate on whether you could add sugar.
Probably not.
“Concerning.”
“Indeed.”
“I meant your definition of childcare.”
“Guess why.”
“I know and don’t want to be infected.”
“Then shuddup.”
“… I didn’t know Slade drank whiskey.”
“He drinks anything. Look how well I turned out.” You say, sweeping your hand over yourself.
“Alcoholism is not the answer.” Dick says as he knocks back another shot.
You stare at him flatly, plucking the shot glass out of his hand. “Sure.” You think for a moment then fill his glass.
“I’m being serious.” Dick sighs. “The kid’s like a ninja assassin baby and how do you deal with that?”
With alcohol and Advil (if Dick was not a stick in the mud, ecstasy), you think. “You were an angry acrobat. He just has more knives.” You say instead. This response wasn’t any better but it was guaranteed to not have a glass of tequila thrown at your face and that sounds like a win at 5 in the morning.
“Hey! I knew knife throwing when I was 8.” Dick starts to slur.
You pinch your brow and stare at him. Really stare at him to try and telegraph your incredulity. “Whose side are you on?”
Dick turns his face over and flattens it against the island. “(Y/n)…”
“Dickenson,” you reply, holding his gaze. His eyes are slightly glassy and there are dark spots under his eyes that make him look more human than you’re used to. You let out a breath and the hard expression plastered on your face softens. You sip your tequila and immediately regret it. “He had Alfred and so do you. Besides–” you take his hand in yours, squeezing it once then twice then twice, once more “–you have me too.”
Dick’s heart flutters in his chest and he can’t help but smile. It might be the alcohol messing with his head but he feels like things will work out.