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Here's chap two,, introducing my baes, Stucky.
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The best thing about living with Roy, Dick decides, is that he gets free reign when it comes to how he dresses, how he decorates, and how he trains. At Wayne Manor, Dick hadn't even realised quite how restricted he felt about being himself, but now here he is: his cousin's old circus unitard (a pretty mix of blue and black) on under ripped denim shorts with a million badges and patches sewn on to keep it together, his gold complexion completely washed of any Secret-Identity-Keeping-Required-Ethnicity-Hiding skin dye, black hair free of styling and fluffy and wavy, his old anklets stacked on his bare feet, and Roy's helping him pin up all his old posters and drawings and photographs that had been tucked away in his trunk for the past 4 years. His bedroom at Wayne Manor had been too big to put everything up, he'd been too aware of the empty extra space, but his new bedroom is about 3/4 the size of his old trailer - still big by his standards, but wonderfully average by non-nomads and so homely that Dick just can't seem to stop grinning.
It's almost a shock, to engulf his circus roots so strongly and all at once again, but Roy's encouragement is obvious and they really do need something to fill the time while they put off going grocery shopping. Dick can't cook to save his life, unfortunately, but Roy's pretty decent, though very reluctant to make anything with too much effort required. They're probably going to order pizza. They just want to pretend that they have another option that they're considering.
"Annnnnnnd..." Roy tacks the final corner of a Polaroid down to the wall, and then flops onto Dick's bed, stretching his arms over his head. "Done."
Dick grins around the pin in his mouth, taking it out and securing his last poster - one promoting Haly's Circus International Tour of 2006 - in place. He flops back onto the bed, too, landing right next to Roy. "Thanks for the help, tough guy."
Roy snorts. "Yeah, don't tell Wally I was useful in anyway. I need to keep my reputation in tact."
Though the mention of Wally made Dick feel the smallest pang of guilt, Dick sniggered. "What reputation? Roy, everyone knows you're a closet sap."
Roy props himself up on his elbows and glares at him. "This is how you thank me for slaving away for an hour? Unbelievable."
Dick props himself up as well. "I thought I was thanking you by not letting you walk out on Ollie by yourself, Speedy."
Roy squints at him. "You weren't doing me a favour, Dick, or you'd have gone back to B by now. You're just as tired of the sidekick shtick as I am."
Dick shrugs, but doesn't answer. He's not quite sure him and Roy are actually on the same level of anti-sidekick, but he really is tired of being the one to carry his and Bruce's relationship. The man is at his most functioning as Batman, which is really saying something, and Dick's tired of...that. It's less about Robin and Batman - at least then he can rely on Batman to be there. No, his problems with Bruce relies solely in how Dick is never not Robin to the man. How he's never just Dick Grayson. Robin will always come before Dick Grayson, and it's the sentiment and psychology behind that that makes him think a break from it is good - if not to make Bruce really think about things, then to give Dick a break from all the expectations piled upon his shoulders. He's just not sure how long that break is going to be...but he thinks it's probably going to be long enough to make himself comfy in Roy's apartment.
Roy's squint softens, but his mouth quirks frustratedly. "And don't call me Speedy. Speedy's Green Arrow's sidekick, I don't want to be Speedy anymore."
Dick hasn't even thought that much about how they're going to continue Vigilante-ing separate from their mentors, but suddenly he realises that he's got to leave Robin behind. The thought is almost overwhelming until he looks down, down at the blue bird stretched across the black material on his chest, and he realises that doing it over again isn't that much of a bad thing. He's got somewhere to start, at least.
"You can't change your name until you change your uniform, though." Dick points out. They probably won't be patrolling tonight, but a day isn't long enough to construct a new Kevlar suit. Kevlar is...kind of a bitch, to be honest. It takes very strong needles and a certain type of thread to sew, and even stronger fingers. Sometimes a welding torch is necessary. That's why Dick's stuff is usually only Kevlar in certain places - over his pecs, his stomach, his knees, shins and inner thighs, and the small of his back. But that's when he has more than a couple of Robin costumes, and he's pretty sure that making only two new uniforms from scratch is going to take a couple of weeks. Or maybe days, if he has nothing better to do.
"I'm ditching the hat, though."
"Thank god, even I thought the hat was stupid, and I used to wear a leotard and pixie boots for training."
"What? No! The pixie boots were adorable."
"I looked like Peter Pan, Roy."
"You were 9, it was completely acceptable. I was 14 and I looked like a squire from the Middle Ages. I still do! Almost 4 years and I never even ditched the hat!"
"True. That's just embarrassing."
They lie there, talking, for at least an hour until there's a knock at the door. Dick's on his feet immediately, but Roy's already making his way through the living before he can blink, and Dick's pretty certain that this is something to do with the 'high profile' neighbours.
He hears the door open, and takes a minute to tug on a sweatshirt - his Gotham Academy Gymnastics hoodie, to be precise - and contemplates tugging on a pair of socks when Roy's voice echoes back through the apartment. "Hey, Grayson! Come meet the neighbours!"
Dick rolls his eyes, abandons the Superman socks he was about to pull over his cold feet, and skulks through the very empty living room to the front door where Roy is partially obstructing two tall, buff figures. The redhead is casually leaning a little on the frame, chatting and smiling to the pair, and Dick frowns at his back as he walks up.
"Your little brother?" A slightly out-of-use Brooklyn accent drawls, half warm and half not. Dick leans around Roy as he gets close enough to look at a man with short, messy brown hair, a clean shaven face, dog tags dangling nonplussed over a grey t-shirt, and-...holy shit...
...a metal arm.
Roy's devious expression filters through Dick's brain suddenly, and Dick's fingers twitch as he refrains from jumping on the redhead's back and straight-out strangling him, because moving into the apartment across from Captain America and the (allegedly, apparently) reformed Winter Soldier is nothing short of clinically insanely bitter and resentful.
And okay, Dick maybe thinks it's hilarious.
"Kind of," Roy answers vaguely, blasé, and Dick inserts himself underneath one of Roy's arms, leaning against the taller's side. He smiles politely at the two 20-something looking 90-somethings, and keeps his mischievous cackle internal as both's eyes immediately crack with newborn fondness, though one pair more obvious than the other.
"I'm Dick, it's very nice to meet you," And boy, it's oddly refreshing that there's absolutely no new-age fumble over his nickname. Of all things, the two Avengers seem to emit the smallest air of warm nostalgia at an old-fashioned nickname.
"Steve, and it's very nice to meet you too, Dick," Captain America, dressed in very civilian blue jeans and red t-shirt, introduces himself with an amused grin. Next to him, the Winter Soldier does the same, bar the grin. His eyes aren't hostile, at least. "Bucky." And boy, he really does look just like the man in Dick's history books and class documentaries, if not a little bit colder and slower to smile. And he probably had like three guns and a couple of knives on him at all times, but still. Not quite as intimidating as he used to be. Dick had seen the footage.
"So it's just you two living here?" Steve asked, all nice and polite and gentlemanly, but also far from intrusive.
Roy responds before Dick can get a word in otherwise. "Just us." It sounds slightly defensive, like a lot of things about Roy tends to be, and Dick can practically see the Captain jot down a little mental reminder of the topic to avoid in polite bump-into-each-other-on-the-elevator situations. Barnes, however, just squints thoughtfully.
"How old are you both?" He asks, and Dick smirks a little at the deadpan side-eye that Captain America - the apparent epitome of wholesomeness - directs at his companion. Proof that despite America's collective imaginations, the consensus that Steve Rogers is the epitome of pure isn't quite as spot on as most people think. Dick recognises a Bitch Face when he sees one, okay?
Roy tenses slightly, but doesn't seem too offended. It's a miracle. "I'm 18." Slight lie - he's got another couple months until the big one-eight, but it's better not to risk it. "Dick's 13, but he acts like an 8 year old-"
"C'mon, Roy, that's like the same thing-"
Roy silences him by pinching the end of his nose, which is always surprisingly affective. The two Avengers trade bemused looks, and Barnes even cracks half a smile. Roy smiles smoothly, as though he didn't just indulge in a petty argument.
"We'd invite you in, but we don't have any food, cutlery, plates or a TV. So." Roy, ever the conversationalist, manages to make that sentence sound charming.
"We've been out of town for a while, actually, so our apartment's kinda bare. But we wanted to welcome you to the neighbourhood, so maybe we can show you around the area tomorrow?" Captain America suggests, to which Roy of course agrees with, because you don't turn down Captain America when he's offering...anything. (Unless it's sex. Then it's all about consent, but whatever, that's kind of irrelevant to this topic of conversation.)
Before they shut the door, Dick really can't help himself from blurting out one question. He's been holding it in since he met them.
"So if I can't open a jar can I just come over and ask one of you guys to do it? Or is that insensitive?"
There's a short, confused silence, immediately followed by two chuckles and an exasperated sigh from Roy - who's probably regretting letting Dick crash at his apartment, but whatever, Roy would forget to look after himself completely if it weren't for Dick - and then Captain America is ruffling his hair and there's a very giddy little bit of Superman-worthy hero-awe that bursts in his chest.
"Definitely. Anyway," Rogers withdraws his hand, and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder a little bit awkwardly, bless, "See you boys around."
Barnes grunts a goodbye, and seems to think that's the end of their interaction, so just walks back into the adjacent apartment. The Captain just rolls his eyes a little bit, glances at his watch like marking the time of the end of the conversation is important. It probably is, who knows, maybe this is a record for inane conversation and niceties with a reforming Bucky Barnes. Dick won't judge. It's a good idea. He should start timing Bruce, too.
"Thanks!" Roy says - a little dryly, because that's the kind of douche he is - as he shuts the door, and in about a split second after the door shuts, Dick has him flipped on his back, kneeling on his chest, and two hands at his throat.
"You're playing a very petty and dangerous game, Harper. Captain America and the Winter Soldier? You know the JL is gonna see this as treason."
Despite the very real threat that looms above him, Roy just smirks. "But it's kinda funny, though."
Dick glares fearsomely for a few seconds, but can't quite keep up his anger. He rolls off Roy, pouting. "You could have told me sooner."
"Nah," Roy grins. He's such an asshole, Dick wonders why anyone thought introducing them as kids would ever possibly be a good idea.
"Where's the fun in that?"
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