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Dick dropped from the beams above and slammed the heels of his feet into Killer Croc’s neck. The monster choked and hit the ground, claws flying to his scaly throat. Dick pulled out his tranq gun and shot the creature. With one last ‘oof’, Croc slumped on the ground. Red Robin took the opportunity to bound him, pulling a net over Croc’s unconscious form.
All things considered, it was a very successful operation. No damage at all to any infrastructure, no harm to any innocents, and no wasted resources. Dick smiled at his tranq gun and hefted it over one shoulder, and then tuned in to the comms.
“Killer Croc has been subdued. Requiring backup to move him to Arkham.”
“Good work. Report back to the cave.”
Dick paid no attention to what they were saying. He paused, looked thoughtfully at his gun, and then at Croc, and then back at his gun. “Wait!” He said.
“Nightwing, report.” Red Robin looked at him, confused.
A smile stretched slowly across Dick’s face. “What do you call,” he paused. “An alligator in a vest?”
“What?”
“An investigator.”
Silence fell in the comms. A moment passed, deadly quiet.
And then, like a chorus, the whole team began yelling, booing and jeering.
“That was horrific. Never joke again.”
“What are you, a fifty-year-old dad?”
“Croc is a crocodile you ignoramus.”
Dick was a bit affronted. “That was funny, you guys.”
Red Robin pinched his nose bridge. “Not even close, buddy.”
“No idle talk on the comms,” Bruce barked, and that was that.
The next evening, they were all sitting around the dinner table for the mandated family meal of the week.
It was easy enough to get everyone to the manor, except when someone had either been stabbed or shot or just too lazy to leave their base. The difficult part was trying to steer the conversation into one that wouldn’t divide the family into factions. They had already argued about almost every topic under the sun, and Duke, who was famous for loving to stir the pot, always tried to bring up controversy so that the illusion of cordiality would dissolve into a vicious argument.
But Bruce was happy that weekend. He was sitting with all his children, and all his reluctant half-children who were still acting weird about being parented. He was happy to be able to sit at the head of the table and just look at all of them, mostly unharmed. Nothing could make this evening sour.
Jason came in with Alfred balancing in a massive dish of lechona tolimense, a few bowls of papa chorreadas, and a platter of empanadas. Bruce watched as Damian looked apprehensively at the meat. Jason placed down a bowl of chorba in front of him, and a few slices of matlouh bread.
“You realize you can’t threaten to kill me for at least two weeks because of this, right?”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Sure, Todd,” he said, and tore the matlouh in two.
And then they were all sitting down and eating, exchanging small stories and just talking amongst themselves. Bruce wanted to cry over how beautifully calm they were. Tim nudged Steph and then began to talk very quickly in her ear. She lifted her glass of water to her lips as he spoke, but then his story neared its end, and her eyes bugged out, and she snorted water violently out her nose and all over her plate.
Tim reared back from her, his face contorted in a strange mix of humor and disgust. He tossed a napkin at her.
Bruce noticed that Jason decided to say nothing, and kept badgering his younger brother, who refused to look up from his bowl, far too busy with trying to down the soup as quickly as possible.
But it was foolish to expect the peace to stay. Because Dick had dumped a lot of aji on his plate and bravely downed way too much of it with his empanadas, and beads of sweat were beginning to form on his forehead. Bruce grimaced as his son fumbled for his glass of water, almost dropping on the table in the process. Dick downed the whole thing, and then stole Barbara’s glass too.
“Oh my God, what did you put in this?” Dick wheezed.
Jason flashed a smile at him. “Habanero pepper.”
“I need OJ,” he gasped, and ran into the kitchen.
Duke dipped his pinky in the sauce on Dick’s plate. He tried it, and then said, “It’s not even that bad.”
A few moments later, Dick was sitting back down, and scraping the sauce into Jason’s plate. Although his face was a flushed red, and his eyes were a little glassy, he managed out a few words.
“How do you spot a nosy pepper?”
The table looked at him, and Bruce braced for impact.
“It gets jalapeno business.” Dick stared back.
Barbara buried her face in her hands. “Oh Good God.”
Words didn’t do the extent of Cass’ disgust justice. She just stared at him, shaking her head slowly.
Dick dodged a napkin, a piece of bread, and disturbingly, a knife. “You guys aren't fair. That was hilarious.”
“Hey Dick? My absentee bio dad called. He wants his big book of shitty puns back.”
Jason stood up at the table. “Okay, objectively. Bruce.” He looked at Bruce, who absolutely did not want to be part of this. He mourned the peace of a few moments ago. “Dick is the least funny of all of us.”
Just like a melodrama actor, Dick clutched at his chest and gasped. “Lies and slander!”
Heavily, as though it caused him much pain, Bruce decided to speak. He looked at all his children. He loved them all very much. He would die for them. He nodded solemnly.
“Dick, your jokes are awful.”
Tim gestured wildly with his knife and fork, and both Stephanie and Jason leaned away from him. “Okay, so Dick is the absolute least funniest. Then, it’s Damian.” The child in question scowled into his soup. “And then you, Bruce, and Barbara, and Jason, Steph, Cass, Duke and then me.”
“Hey now,” Barbara said. “Why the hell are you first?”
“Because, Barbara, I’m witty and I’m a philosopher. My jokes operate on so many layers.”
“Bitch you laughed at an edit of a spinning rat.”
“Well, I don't know about you guys, but clearly I have the best sense of humor.”
“Jason, if you make one more ‘I-was-dead-once’ joke, I’m going to off myself.”
Damian wiped the bottom of his bowl with the last piece of bread and cleared his throat. “I have observed all you nuisances for the past few years. Grayson’s humor is childish and kind of gross. It is evident to me that while both Brown and Todd are occasionally funny, it is based far too much in past traumatic events that speak louder of insecurity than anything else. Drake’s jokes sour strongly of incoherency to elicit any serious pondering on the depth of his humor. Saying, ‘that’s what she said,’ after every sentence doesn’t qualify. Barbara is much too niche in her interests to make any sense to anyone else. I have yet to note any evidence as to father’s affinity for jokes. Cass is excellent for her extremely out of place comments, but they’re often more jarring than funny. Regrettably, Thomas is the only one here capable of being consistently and intelligibly funny.”
The table fell silent again.
Then, it was Damian’s turn to dodge cutlery.
“Damian my man!” Duke cried and reached across the table to slap him in the back. Damian’s face scrunched up and he stared at him from the corner of his eye.
“Okay okay.” Dick thought hard. He looked vaguely constipated. “Did you know diarrhea is genetic?”
“Don’t,” everyone else warned.
“It runs in your jeans.”
Bruce watched as all his children tried to throttle each other, and wondered when it all went wrong.
“Kids, come on,” he said, helplessly. “No, Tim, don't pull Damian’s hair. Cass please stop narrating, you’re not helping.”
“Stephanie, you cow, don’t throw my empanadas,” Jason threatened.
Duke had climbed onto his chair and was busy flexing his muscles.
“You may not all be equally funny but-” Bruce said, loudly. “You all have your individual qualities. Dick, your puns are frankly dogshit, but you have a heart bigger than anyone else I know. Jason and Steph, even if I wish you guys would stop talking about being tortured, I’m proud of how far you’ve both come. Cass, you always know the right things to say and I will forever respect that. Barbara, you constantly prove how sharp and smart you are, and how much I could learn from you. There’s no one on earth who I’d trust more to ensure my safety than you Tim, and to take care of the things I can’t. Duke, you are an absolute joy. And Damian, you’re so strong and talented.”
Dick became subdued. Damian flushed a dark red and stared down at his hands. Jason opened his big mouth. “Awh, father dearest, I knew you always loved us.”
“Once again, vulnerability and sincerity fails to make Jason into a better person,” Duke said.
“Shut up. Finish my food, you ungrateful cretins.”
Cass resumed shoving papa chorreadas into her mouth.
Bruce leaned back in his chair and watched them all. It wasn’t peace, exactly, but at least they were all together. He mentally patted himself on the back for his masterful speech. Say what you will about his parenting style, but when it mattered the most, he could unite and bring together.
Hubris? No, just years of experience.
He dipped an empanada in aji, bit into it, and choked. His throat burned, his eyes welled up with tears, and his nose began to run.
“It’s so spicy,” he wheezed.
Dick jumped up and pointed, vindicated. “What did I say?”
“It’s really not that bad,” Duke said.
“Actually, that made me think of another one. What do you call a pepper that tells jokes?”
Everyone groaned.