This is for my oldest sister, Tammy. She gave me a place to run to when everything got crazy, thanks.
Dick walked into the kitchen of Wayne Manor and saw Tim sitting at the table, dejectedly slumped over a bowl of pudding. Dick made his entrance into the kitchen noisier than usual so that if Tim didn't feel like talking he would have enough time to leave. Dick walked over to the table, but Tim didn't even notice his entrance. It wasn't until Dick sat across from Tim and slammed his hands down on the table's surface that Tim looked up from the untouched bowl of pudding. "What's up with you?"
Tim tried to give him a weak smile, but even that was too much for him. "What makes you think something is wrong?"
Dick rolled his eyes. "Well, besides the fact that you look like you're two seconds away from breaking into tears, and you didn't notice my entrance into the kitchen, you have a bowl of pudding in front of you and you haven't touched it. So, I ask again. What's up?"
Tim stared down at the bowl of pudding. "It's nothing really."
Dick leaned across the table and grabbed the bowl. Tim didn't even so much as blink. "Yeah right. Now, speak Fido." Dick snapped his fingers in front of Tim's face.
Tim heaved a large sigh. "It's nothing; it's just why did I take this summer writing class?"
Dick gave him a small grin. "Because you suck at creative writing, and it might actually be useful to you at some point in your life. I don't know when, but it might. Also, the most important reason of them all, it will help you meet girls. Okay, that last one is the reason I took it when I was your age."
Tim smiled back. "Oh, aren't you old. Anyway, seriously, do I look like I have copious amounts of time to just sit around writing? And this new assignment is, well, daunting to say the least."
Dick chuckled a little. "It's creative writing. How daunting can it be? It's not like the teacher wants you to write a twelve page paper on a guy no one has ever heard of, or cares about for that matter. What's the assignment?"
Tim looked down and mumbled something. Dick leaned in closer. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
Tim glanced at him for a second and then continued to stare at the table. "She wants us to write a fanfiction."
Dick couldn't help himself. He just started laughing as hard as he could. "The teacher wants you to write a fanfiction and you're freaking out. This is great."
Tim leaned back into his chair. "Yeah, okay, laugh it up."
After a few moments, Dick calmed himself. "Sorry, but she wants you to write a fanfiction. Why don't you just write something about that show that you're obsessed about? It could be this fantastic story about how Robin jumps in, saves the day, and gets the hot babe. You know all the stuff that will never happen to you."
Tim glared at him. "Maybe I should write a story where Nightwing jumps in to try and save the day, but unfortunately and very clumsily dies a tragically pathetic death, all because he rushed in without thinking. Because you know you only do that every other day."
Dick put his hand to his chest in mock shock. "Hey, I get out alive, don't I?"
Tim gave him an evil grin. "Right. Before or after someone has to come and save your ass?"
Dick glared at him furiously. "Timmy's new writing class is making him forget which one of us is the damsel in distress."
Tim just continued with his evil smile. "I'm sorry--which one of us has the nickname short pants?"
Dick lost it. He jumped across the table and put Tim into a head lock. "Wrong move, Timmy, wrong move."
"You would know. You make them all the time." Tim spoke as loud as he could, but Dick wasn't really holding back.
Dick's arm pressed harder to Tim's throat in response and Tim started to black out. All of a sudden, Tim heard a strange noise coming from the kitchen doorway. He also noticed that Dick's grip had slackened just enough for Tim to breathe. They both moved their gazes to the doorway to see Alfred standing there. He had just cleared his throat and they both began to think he was going to yell at them, but Alfred wasn't that kind. He didn't yell, he lectured; and if he didn't lecture, he just gave you that disappointed glare, which was way worse than any glare Bruce could give anyone.
Alfred moved further into the room and Dick released Tim immediately. "Master Timothy, I think you have a writing assignment to do, and Master Dick, your help waxing all of the cars in the garage would be greatly appreciated." Alfred had a special way of making even a punishment sound like a request, but Dick knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. The three of them left the kitchen and went in their separate directions.