When your brother visits your Blüdhaven apartment…
Dick: How cheap do you think I am?
Jason: *grabs a box from the cupboard and shakes it* Well, your cereal box says, “Cereal”.
Dick: *grabs the box and returns it to the cupboard* Generic is how you get your savings.
Tag: dick grayson
Tim: Dick, we have a problem.
Dick: Guys, I am not your mother, so don’t come tattling to me every time one of you does something that the other one doesn’t like.
Tim: I’m telling you, he’s crazy. He keeps threatening me and talking in a scary voice.
Damian: No I didn’t.
Tim: Oh, so you’re saying you didn’t threaten to cut my hair off and give it to Ra’s as a birthday present?
Damian: You know, Drake, I think you’re taking my words a little out of context.
Tim: What?! What context?!
Paintball war at the Manor…
Dick: *whispering* Why did the Resurrected Robins stop firing?
Tim: *listening to every sound* I don’t know… They’re probably out of ammo.
Jason: *yelling from a makeshift fort in Damian’s room* Hey, Fake-Dead Robins, we are giving you a chance to surrender!
Dick: *aims his paintball marker at the draped Batman bedsheet* Yeah, they’re definitely out of ammo.
Dick: *leaning over the sofa in the Wayne Manor library* Wow, Little Wing, you were asleep for a long time. What were you dreaming about?
Jason: *yawning and stretching, swiftly catching the novel that falls from his chest as he gets up* Nothing. I don’t like to dream. I try not to think while I’m sleeping.
Damian: *not looking up from the novel he’s reading at the other side of the room* That’s pretty much how you function while you’re awake, too.
Trying to get your brother to make healthier choices be like…
Nightwing: *laying the blueprint for a warehouse across the street on the rooftop deck*
Red Robin: *setting up surveillance equipment*
Robin: *adjusting Goliath’s leash*
Red Hood: *coughs*
Red Robin: Wait a second, are you smoking inside of your helment again?
Red Hood: What? No.
Red Hood: *tries to stifle another cough as smoke comes out of the vents in his helmet* Oops.
Nightwing: *locating Alfred on his communicator* I knew this would happen. And how many snack cakes have you had today?
Red Hood: None.
Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin: *glare at him*
Red Hood: Okay, five… or more. Baker’s dozen at most.
Robin: Do you even know how many there are in a baker’s dozen, Todd?
Red Hood: By my count? Forty-eight.
Aqualad: Look, instead of just running straight into enemy gunfire like we usually do, why don’t we try some reconnaissance this time?
Kid Flash: You mean like spy stuff? That would be cool! I could wear a spy tuxedo –
Robin: *facepalms* No.
Kid Flash: With a hidden spy camera –
Speedy: Dude.
Kid Flash: Inside a tiny spy bowtie –
Miss Martian: Wally…
Kid Flash: Or, I could wear a flower on my lapel –
Superboy: We said no.
Kid Flash: That sprays water in people’s faces, oh man –
Artemis: Shut up, West.
Selina: *creeping behind a sculpture inside the Wayne Manor, eavesdropping*
Bruce: Now, Dick, what a woman wants, really wants, is for you to listen, truly hear what is troubling her –
Selina: Not half-bad advice –
Bruce: And then you can quickly solve that problem for her and move on to something more interesting –
Selina: *rolls her eyes* Back to normal.
Driving away from a monster attacking Gotham City be like…
Nightwing: *looking through the rear window of the Batmobile* Uh, guys –
Red Robin: *sitting next to Dick, desperately trying to gain remote control of the Batjet using his communicator*
Robin: *riding shotgun* -Tt- You were picked for a reason, Todd! You’re supposed to be our reckless driver!
Red Hood: *about to drive the Batmobile through a burning building* I’m driving as recklessly as I can!
Red Robin: *crouching behind the giant coin in the Batcave*
Nightwing: *walks in*
Red Robin: *to his walkie-talkie* The Hug Machine is here. I repeat, the Hug Machine is here. Smiling on all cylinders.
The rest of the Batfamily: *temporarily stop brooding to find hiding places*
~ • ~ • ~ • ~
Dick tends to get in the way of angst and sadness.
Batman: I have eight kids. I’ve been tired since 1940.
Happy birthday, Brucie.