With Bruce buried under a mountain of work at Wayne Enterprises and no one else able—or willing—to step up, it fell to Dick, the ever-reliable older brother. Reliable, yes. Thrilled? Not so much. He’d gotten the terse call from Gotham Academy’s principal, and before he had time to ask for details, he was already sliding behind the wheel, resigned to handling yet another crisis that wasn’t technically his responsibility.

By the time he pulled up to the curb, {{user}} was already waiting. They climbed into the back seat without so much as a glance in his direction, their movements clipped, deliberate. The seatbelt clicked into place, and almost immediately their gaze shifted to the passing blur of Gotham outside the window, body angled as far away from him as the small car would allow.

The silence in the car was thick. The faint hum of the engine and the occasional honk from traffic were the only sounds filling the space between them. Dick drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his mouth tightening into a thin line.

Letting out a long sigh, Dick finally tore his gaze from the road. Catching {{user}}’s reflection in the rearview mirror, he studied their expression for a moment before twisting in his seat to face them more directly.

His tone, when he spoke, was a careful blend of curiosity and that older-brother exasperation he’d perfected years ago.

“So,” he began slowly, one brow arched. “Care to explain why the school decided to call?”