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[Young Justice] Misunderstood
Title: Misunderstood
Fandom: Young Justice (the animated series)
Relationship: Dick+Babs, Dick+Bette (both platonic)
Summary: After a botched mission and 2.5 hours of sleep last night, Dick Grayson really doesn't feel like showing up to school the next morning. For one thing, he's kind of grumpy when he doesn't get enough sleep, and for another.... he sorta-kinda didn't do his homework. Being a high school freshman is suffering.
Staying up at odd hours was both the best and worst part about being a superhero. While Dick was used to nightly patrols with Bruce, he often underestimated just how long something would take, and when a routine patrol had unexpectedly turned into a mission that kept him up until 3:30 AM, he'd protested against attending school later in the morning.
Yet Bruce and Alfred had only smiled at him knowingly before patting him on the shoulder and insisting that it 'built character.' That was really codespeak for "you're going and you will like it, young man."
To make matters even worse, Dick hadn't gotten the chance to properly finish his packet for World History. They got packets about once a week, and it was relatively easy to copy down the answers since they were all definitions (with one page of multiple choice), but he'd lied to Alfred about finishing his homework. Alfred probably hadn't bought the lie. Bruce, on the other hand, had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker, and Dick wasn't willing to admit the truth just so he could get out of going to school.
If anything, they'd insist that he go, just so he could experience failure in civilian life as well as caped life. Normally, Dick wouldn't mind slinking into homeroom and dumping his books so that he could hastily finish his notes, but his classmates were louder than usual this morning. It took all of his energy to block them out as he casually propped open his textbook and started jotting down notes with his mechanical pencil.
Bette, being the embodiment of school spirit, was discussing some kind of food drive with another classmate Dick barely recognized. It might've been John from English, or maybe Rachel from Algebra, but he couldn't tell from his angle (and he was too sleepy to care).
"You think you could get the Holy Innocence kids to come?" Bette was asking them. "If we make it a huge event and then follow up on it, we could make t-shirts. I think we could get the price down to ten bucks too, and that'd be wicked cheap."
He grumbled, gripping his mechanical pencil tighter. Under normal circumstances, he would've rolled along with their suggestions - heck, he was volunteering at the food drive! He and Bette had planned to head there together, package meals, and then have lunch together with some other classmates who'd also been dragged along for the ride.
Their fellow classmate actually giggled at the suggestion! "Ooh, what if we get the t-shirts to have cute vegetables with faces on them? Like the ones we see on the internet sometimes?" By process of elimination, it was Rachel - John thought anything with a face (that wasn't human) was the stuff of living nightmares. Dick knew; he had the misfortune of sitting through The Little Toaster with John. Never, ever would he make that same mistake again.
How Bette's conversation had jumped from 'let's go volunteer at a food drive' to 'let's make t-shirts for the food drive' and now 'let's design said t-shirts we're never going to wear again after next week,' Dick didn't know, and quite frankly, he didn't really care. He turned his head to yell at them - he really didn't want this, not when he was operating on 2.5 hours of sleep and this packet on the Byzantine Empire was nowhere near being done - but a familiar face distracted him from his thoughts.
She giggled at his expression before lightly pinching his nose. "You really should get more sleep," she said matter-of-factly, now leaning forward and glancing down at his packet. Her red hair fell into his face - which would've been fine, had it not smelled of strawberries and peaches - before she quickly brushed it back. "Somehow, I doubt Mrs. Ives believes that the Byzantine Empire fell because its subjects wore hideous t-shirts with even more hideous vegetables."
Busted. Dick sheepishly smiled, erasing the part his subconscious had written, before setting his stuff down so that he could look at her better. "That obvious, huh?"
"Just a little bit."
At least he had someone who didn't mind his flaky habits too much. For someone who wasn't aware of his night life, Babs sure forgave him for a lot in life. He grinned widely, flipping the page of his textbook to something more relevant. "Better get working on the right answer then. Is it--"
"I'm not telling you that, Mr. Grayson, we've got an Honor Code." She giggled, flopping down on the nearest seat and folding her ankles.
Oh, right, he wouldn't want to go around breaking that, especially since Gotham Academy loved its Honor Council a little too much for its own good. Of all the weird and wacky traditions that their school sponsored since its inception sometime in the 19th century (1850? 1827? He didn't remember, and honestly, it didn't matter when he still didn't have the answers for his homework due 4th period)... well, their Honor Council was among their saner ideas. Homecoming was kind of cool, and he liked Festival Friday (an excuse to buy cake) well enough, but the Honor Council was mysterious. Coming from a Bat, that said a lot.
Dick stuck his tongue at her playfully. "It's not cheating if we work on it together."
She exasperatedly smiled at him before she pulled her chair closer and gestured towards the more relevant paragraphs. "Here."
"Thanks," he said, remembering to smile at her gratefully before he got to work and copied down the proper information. It was easier to concentrate on this, now that everyone else had quieted down and homeroom was about to start, but he still wished he had Wally's superspeed. It would've made his homework just a little bit more bearable! "What'd you do last night?"
"Same old," she shrugged. "Programmed some code for the Robotics team, caught up on TV, finished homework..."
Dick glanced up from his homework briefly in surprise. "Wait, you're on the Robotics team? How'd I miss that memo?"
"Like you miss the others, with your ability to miss days of class because your guardian dragged you down to Hong Kong or Beijing or Delhi for some Wayne Enterprises thing?" Babs looked slightly bemused. "I even put it on Facebook this time."
He'd seen the status update - he wasn't oblivious by any means of the imagination - but he just never pictured Babs as the kind of person who'd willingly sit in front of a computer all day and fiddle around with code. When she said she joined the team, Dick always figured she was the publicity chair or the one keeping them organized, not an actual programmer. But they'd lost Tamara Fox last year, and she was pretty much the star programmer, so he supposed GA was trying to keep things focused by teaching the rookies as soon as possible.
Plus, he wasn't going to get into the whole excuse thing Bruce came up with to explain his constant absences. He could only get away with so many sick days before socialites questioned their relationship with each other.
"Right," he said lamely, moving onto the next question and barely keeping his hand steady as he continued to copy down notes. "I saw that."
There was a brief moment of silence before Babs awkwardly broke it to ask, "Should I talk to Mr. Wayne?"
He blinked back surprise, actually looking up from his notes long enough to really look at her. "About what?"
"About the fact that you're not getting enough sleep and it could affect your schoolwork?"
Some days, Dick really hated the fact that his secret identity was a secret. It was true that no other superhero really had his identity out in the open and willingly fought criminals on his own terms, because heroes with open identities just didn't feasibly work out. If everyone knew he was Robin, surely someone would attack Gotham Academy again. They already did it once - the gym took months to re-open - and who's to say it wouldn't happen again? He knew the look on his face wasn't pretty; Babs actually shrunk away from him.
She rubbed her arms, not willing to look him in the eye. (He noticed, even if he was still dutifully copying down answers.) "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."
"I know you're just concerned about me." He reached for her hand and lightly squeezed it. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, 'cause it's actually kinda sweet. I just..." He sighed. "I just think I'll be fine. One missed homework assignment won't kill my grade too badly."
Babs looked thoughtful for a moment, staring down at all the answers he had left and then his book before she whispered in his ear, "I've already had class today. She won't notice if you don't have answers beyond page 2, since we don't get time to go over anything after it."
"We don't have to turn it in today?"
Oh thank god. He could easily work on it today in the Cave - or better yet, here after school, since he still had some Mathletes stuff he had to finish. He didn't mind being behind, as long as it wouldn't hurt his grade.
"Nope." She smiled. "I should've told you from the beginning, I know, but..."
"I know, sleep is important for a growing boy like me." Dick rolled his eyes, though he couldn't quite wipe the smile off his face. Squeezing her hand again, he let go of it. "I think I could still do most of this in Choir today. It's not like we're actually learning any new songs, right?"
She giggled. "I wouldn't know, I opted for Band."
"Nerd."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Hey, at least my section doesn't sound like a dying cat."
"Correction: it sounds like a dying mongoose."
"Do you even know what a dying mongoose sounds like?"
Dick shrugged helplessly. "Well no, but if it did, I figure it'd sound like the saxes." (To be fair, the high school band was slightly better than the middle school band. The middle school band didn't really care about the music.)
"Did you just say, you figure it'd sound like sex?" Bette asked awkwardly, actually halting her conversation with Rachel to look over at them from across the room. Great. Now the entire classroom thought they were talking about... not very appropriate things (when Dick really just meant mongeese). Under normal circumstances, Dick would've teased her about it, but Babs was blushing way too furiously for a proper response. They exchanged awkward glances before furiously shaking their heads.
"Unless you think our band sounds like it, then no," he said awkwardly. Gripping his pencil tighter, he managed to keep his voice light, "Bette, where'd you get that from?"
Bette raised an eyebrow at him. "This coming from the guy who regularly mangles the English language."
Dick smirked, rising to his feet and slowly placing his books back in his bag. The more they got away from the initial misunderstanding, the easier it was to just be himself. "It's not my fault it's not socially acceptable to say you're feeling the aster."
"You're feeling the stars? Really?" Bette folded her arms and gave him her best deathglare. It wasn't anything that bothered him, but it still made him laugh pretty hard.
"Yes, really."
Babs rolled her eyes before she scooped up her books and slyly started to head out the door. "See you in History."
She may not be a Bat, in any sense of the word, but she sure had their disappearing mechanisms down to a science. By the time Dick opened his mouth to wish her well, she'd already slipped into the (thin) crowd of students. He laughed softly, before falling in line with Bette as they headed down to Choir together.
So maybe school wasn't that bad on 2.5 hours of sleep - or at least, homeroom wasn't - but he promised himself he wouldn't do this song and dance routine again. Sometimes, it just wasn't worth being misunderstood.
Fandom: Young Justice (the animated series)
Relationship: Dick+Babs, Dick+Bette (both platonic)
Summary: After a botched mission and 2.5 hours of sleep last night, Dick Grayson really doesn't feel like showing up to school the next morning. For one thing, he's kind of grumpy when he doesn't get enough sleep, and for another.... he sorta-kinda didn't do his homework. Being a high school freshman is suffering.
Staying up at odd hours was both the best and worst part about being a superhero. While Dick was used to nightly patrols with Bruce, he often underestimated just how long something would take, and when a routine patrol had unexpectedly turned into a mission that kept him up until 3:30 AM, he'd protested against attending school later in the morning.
Yet Bruce and Alfred had only smiled at him knowingly before patting him on the shoulder and insisting that it 'built character.' That was really codespeak for "you're going and you will like it, young man."
To make matters even worse, Dick hadn't gotten the chance to properly finish his packet for World History. They got packets about once a week, and it was relatively easy to copy down the answers since they were all definitions (with one page of multiple choice), but he'd lied to Alfred about finishing his homework. Alfred probably hadn't bought the lie. Bruce, on the other hand, had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker, and Dick wasn't willing to admit the truth just so he could get out of going to school.
If anything, they'd insist that he go, just so he could experience failure in civilian life as well as caped life. Normally, Dick wouldn't mind slinking into homeroom and dumping his books so that he could hastily finish his notes, but his classmates were louder than usual this morning. It took all of his energy to block them out as he casually propped open his textbook and started jotting down notes with his mechanical pencil.
Bette, being the embodiment of school spirit, was discussing some kind of food drive with another classmate Dick barely recognized. It might've been John from English, or maybe Rachel from Algebra, but he couldn't tell from his angle (and he was too sleepy to care).
"You think you could get the Holy Innocence kids to come?" Bette was asking them. "If we make it a huge event and then follow up on it, we could make t-shirts. I think we could get the price down to ten bucks too, and that'd be wicked cheap."
He grumbled, gripping his mechanical pencil tighter. Under normal circumstances, he would've rolled along with their suggestions - heck, he was volunteering at the food drive! He and Bette had planned to head there together, package meals, and then have lunch together with some other classmates who'd also been dragged along for the ride.
Their fellow classmate actually giggled at the suggestion! "Ooh, what if we get the t-shirts to have cute vegetables with faces on them? Like the ones we see on the internet sometimes?" By process of elimination, it was Rachel - John thought anything with a face (that wasn't human) was the stuff of living nightmares. Dick knew; he had the misfortune of sitting through The Little Toaster with John. Never, ever would he make that same mistake again.
How Bette's conversation had jumped from 'let's go volunteer at a food drive' to 'let's make t-shirts for the food drive' and now 'let's design said t-shirts we're never going to wear again after next week,' Dick didn't know, and quite frankly, he didn't really care. He turned his head to yell at them - he really didn't want this, not when he was operating on 2.5 hours of sleep and this packet on the Byzantine Empire was nowhere near being done - but a familiar face distracted him from his thoughts.
She giggled at his expression before lightly pinching his nose. "You really should get more sleep," she said matter-of-factly, now leaning forward and glancing down at his packet. Her red hair fell into his face - which would've been fine, had it not smelled of strawberries and peaches - before she quickly brushed it back. "Somehow, I doubt Mrs. Ives believes that the Byzantine Empire fell because its subjects wore hideous t-shirts with even more hideous vegetables."
Busted. Dick sheepishly smiled, erasing the part his subconscious had written, before setting his stuff down so that he could look at her better. "That obvious, huh?"
"Just a little bit."
At least he had someone who didn't mind his flaky habits too much. For someone who wasn't aware of his night life, Babs sure forgave him for a lot in life. He grinned widely, flipping the page of his textbook to something more relevant. "Better get working on the right answer then. Is it--"
"I'm not telling you that, Mr. Grayson, we've got an Honor Code." She giggled, flopping down on the nearest seat and folding her ankles.
Oh, right, he wouldn't want to go around breaking that, especially since Gotham Academy loved its Honor Council a little too much for its own good. Of all the weird and wacky traditions that their school sponsored since its inception sometime in the 19th century (1850? 1827? He didn't remember, and honestly, it didn't matter when he still didn't have the answers for his homework due 4th period)... well, their Honor Council was among their saner ideas. Homecoming was kind of cool, and he liked Festival Friday (an excuse to buy cake) well enough, but the Honor Council was mysterious. Coming from a Bat, that said a lot.
Dick stuck his tongue at her playfully. "It's not cheating if we work on it together."
She exasperatedly smiled at him before she pulled her chair closer and gestured towards the more relevant paragraphs. "Here."
"Thanks," he said, remembering to smile at her gratefully before he got to work and copied down the proper information. It was easier to concentrate on this, now that everyone else had quieted down and homeroom was about to start, but he still wished he had Wally's superspeed. It would've made his homework just a little bit more bearable! "What'd you do last night?"
"Same old," she shrugged. "Programmed some code for the Robotics team, caught up on TV, finished homework..."
Dick glanced up from his homework briefly in surprise. "Wait, you're on the Robotics team? How'd I miss that memo?"
"Like you miss the others, with your ability to miss days of class because your guardian dragged you down to Hong Kong or Beijing or Delhi for some Wayne Enterprises thing?" Babs looked slightly bemused. "I even put it on Facebook this time."
He'd seen the status update - he wasn't oblivious by any means of the imagination - but he just never pictured Babs as the kind of person who'd willingly sit in front of a computer all day and fiddle around with code. When she said she joined the team, Dick always figured she was the publicity chair or the one keeping them organized, not an actual programmer. But they'd lost Tamara Fox last year, and she was pretty much the star programmer, so he supposed GA was trying to keep things focused by teaching the rookies as soon as possible.
Plus, he wasn't going to get into the whole excuse thing Bruce came up with to explain his constant absences. He could only get away with so many sick days before socialites questioned their relationship with each other.
"Right," he said lamely, moving onto the next question and barely keeping his hand steady as he continued to copy down notes. "I saw that."
There was a brief moment of silence before Babs awkwardly broke it to ask, "Should I talk to Mr. Wayne?"
He blinked back surprise, actually looking up from his notes long enough to really look at her. "About what?"
"About the fact that you're not getting enough sleep and it could affect your schoolwork?"
Some days, Dick really hated the fact that his secret identity was a secret. It was true that no other superhero really had his identity out in the open and willingly fought criminals on his own terms, because heroes with open identities just didn't feasibly work out. If everyone knew he was Robin, surely someone would attack Gotham Academy again. They already did it once - the gym took months to re-open - and who's to say it wouldn't happen again? He knew the look on his face wasn't pretty; Babs actually shrunk away from him.
She rubbed her arms, not willing to look him in the eye. (He noticed, even if he was still dutifully copying down answers.) "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."
"I know you're just concerned about me." He reached for her hand and lightly squeezed it. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, 'cause it's actually kinda sweet. I just..." He sighed. "I just think I'll be fine. One missed homework assignment won't kill my grade too badly."
Babs looked thoughtful for a moment, staring down at all the answers he had left and then his book before she whispered in his ear, "I've already had class today. She won't notice if you don't have answers beyond page 2, since we don't get time to go over anything after it."
"We don't have to turn it in today?"
Oh thank god. He could easily work on it today in the Cave - or better yet, here after school, since he still had some Mathletes stuff he had to finish. He didn't mind being behind, as long as it wouldn't hurt his grade.
"Nope." She smiled. "I should've told you from the beginning, I know, but..."
"I know, sleep is important for a growing boy like me." Dick rolled his eyes, though he couldn't quite wipe the smile off his face. Squeezing her hand again, he let go of it. "I think I could still do most of this in Choir today. It's not like we're actually learning any new songs, right?"
She giggled. "I wouldn't know, I opted for Band."
"Nerd."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Hey, at least my section doesn't sound like a dying cat."
"Correction: it sounds like a dying mongoose."
"Do you even know what a dying mongoose sounds like?"
Dick shrugged helplessly. "Well no, but if it did, I figure it'd sound like the saxes." (To be fair, the high school band was slightly better than the middle school band. The middle school band didn't really care about the music.)
"Did you just say, you figure it'd sound like sex?" Bette asked awkwardly, actually halting her conversation with Rachel to look over at them from across the room. Great. Now the entire classroom thought they were talking about... not very appropriate things (when Dick really just meant mongeese). Under normal circumstances, Dick would've teased her about it, but Babs was blushing way too furiously for a proper response. They exchanged awkward glances before furiously shaking their heads.
"Unless you think our band sounds like it, then no," he said awkwardly. Gripping his pencil tighter, he managed to keep his voice light, "Bette, where'd you get that from?"
Bette raised an eyebrow at him. "This coming from the guy who regularly mangles the English language."
Dick smirked, rising to his feet and slowly placing his books back in his bag. The more they got away from the initial misunderstanding, the easier it was to just be himself. "It's not my fault it's not socially acceptable to say you're feeling the aster."
"You're feeling the stars? Really?" Bette folded her arms and gave him her best deathglare. It wasn't anything that bothered him, but it still made him laugh pretty hard.
"Yes, really."
Babs rolled her eyes before she scooped up her books and slyly started to head out the door. "See you in History."
She may not be a Bat, in any sense of the word, but she sure had their disappearing mechanisms down to a science. By the time Dick opened his mouth to wish her well, she'd already slipped into the (thin) crowd of students. He laughed softly, before falling in line with Bette as they headed down to Choir together.
So maybe school wasn't that bad on 2.5 hours of sleep - or at least, homeroom wasn't - but he promised himself he wouldn't do this song and dance routine again. Sometimes, it just wasn't worth being misunderstood.