A War Inside My Head
“What if I poke him?” someone murmurs.
“If you do that, he’s going to hit you,” someone else says.
“He wouldn’t hit me. It’s Dick.” The first voice pauses. “And besides, he’d totally poke me, too.”
“No, I’d do it to you. Or Damian, or Steph. But not Dick.”
“Yes, Todd,” a new voice chimes in, though it sounds reluctant. “Grayson would most likely dote on the sight of you drooling on your pillow.”
Someone snickers. “Oh my God. Now I can’t stop picturing it.”
“Shut it if you know what’s good for you, Damian. You, too, Tim.”
The voices are invading his dreams, Dick realizes. He can’t match voices to names or faces, but they sound familiar enough that Dick figures he’s not in any danger. And honestly, Dick’s tired enough to sleep for days.
He just wishes the voices would get the memo.
Someone tuts. “Like you could take me down.”
“I will shoot you.”
“Leave him alone, Jay.”
“And what’s up with that? Since when are you on the Demon Brat’s side?”
“Since he stopped Bruce from throwing out all of my coffee.”
“What—do I even want to know?”
“I thought it might be a fruitful investment. I turned out to be correct.”
Dick forces his eyes open, and he blinks blearily up at the trio standing in the middle of the living room, just inches away from the couch Dick had collapsed on when he’d gotten back to the Manor earlier. None of them are looking at him, and while they’re all being relatively quiet, it isn’t quiet enough for Dick. He’s tired, and as much as he’d normally love for his little brothers to be in the same room and talking and not killing each other, now is kind of a bad time.
He just wants to sleep, preferably without any little brothers interrupting his first rest in over 48 hours.