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2021-05-20
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devil town

Summary:

for this prompt: “I have this idea for a dick!neal where there’s another agent in the white collar office from Gotham who fully knows what’s happening and is Absolutely Determined to Ignore It like a proper Gothamite
More like a third person narrative with dick and the oc sending each other deadpan looks and muttering ‘get lost metropolis’ under their breath while refusing to explain any sort of Gotham reference
the outsider knows that that is just dick grayson, hotshot son of billionaire bruce wayne, pretending to be a random criminal... but hey, that's none of their business. if he wants to roleplay the middle class, he can go right ahead.
Bonus points if the ‘Waynes where tights at night’ thing is like Gotham’s biggest open secret and the OC is just really trying to not get involved with that JLA shit.”

Work Text:

When Peter picked him up that morning, he had no clue he’d be confronted with such a horrific piece of forgery.



It’s no wonder it got flagged--it isn’t passable. Not even in the ballpark. If you asked Neal to choose between the ‘forgery’ in his hands or a proper forgery from ten miles away with one of his eyes missing, he’d still be able to pick the right one. 



Peter notices the look on his face and frowns. “Neal? What’s wrong?”



Neal glances at Peter, eyes wide. What’s wrong? Really? “Look at it. I mean, it is from Metropolis, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”



Peter takes the paper from Neal. He doesn’t have to examine it for very long before he sets it on the table and nods. “Yeah, so it’s bad. Why do you look like someone just handed you a bag of vomit?”



Neal scoffs. “I just told you. It’s from the Bank of Metropolis.”



Peter still looks lost. “And?”



“Ugh, Metropolis.”



Neal spins around, eyes wide and frantic. “Thank you! Someone gets it!”



Peter looks between Neal and the newcomer. He’s young but hardened. He’s got a hint of an accent that no one could ever place, but now that Peter thinks about it, the agent’s transfer application had said that he is from Gotham.



“What’s wrong with Metropolis?” he asks and immediately regrets it. For his question, he receives matching glares.



“What isn’t wrong with Metropolis?” The agent remarks.



Neal laughs. Peter is still lost, but Neal and the agent start up a conversation about Metropolis’ distinct lack of any redeeming features and Peter knows he won’t be able to get a word in if he tries.



Peter shoots a questioning look at Diana, curious to see if she has any insight. When she just shrugs, Peter gives up.





With spring comes two things: allergies and baseball season.



Peter walks into work with his Yankees mug that morning, passing by Neal. He’s sitting at his desk, looking suspiciously occupied. There’s a document of some kind in front of him and he is fully engrossed in whatever task has captured his attention.



Peter steps closer to get a look. “Neal.”



Neal lifts his head, realizing only a second later that Peter is standing there. “Hey, Peter.”



“What are you working on?” Peter asks, keeping his voice even.



Neal moves back, letting Peter see the paper. It’s an evidence release form. Immediately, alarm bells go off, but there has to be a reason Neal would take the time to fill out a form instead of just going to the evidence warehouse and taking whatever he wants.



Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s an agent’s responsibility. What are you doing filling out an evidence release form?”



Neal drops the pen and leans back. “Jones has tickets to go to a Knights game and he said that if I fill this out so he could take off early, he would try to get you to extend my radius so I can go see an upcoming exhibit at the Met.”



Peter hadn’t even noticed that Jones’ seat is empty, but now that he does, he makes a note to tell him to stop making deals with Neal. They rarely end well and Peter always has to do damage control.



“Okay, first of all, Jones is in no position to negotiate. Second, you’re not going to the Met.” Peter took a sip of his coffee.



“Why?”



“Because I--wait, did you say Knights? Like Gotham Knights?”



Neal nods. “He’s a fan.”



“Who’s a fan?”



“Jones,” Neal says, directing his attention at Eddie, the agent that Neal shares a mutual hatred of Metropolis with. 



Eddie is relatively new, only arriving six months ago. He and Neal hadn’t really spoken as far as Peter knew, but now there’s this Metropolis thing.



The Metropolis thing confuses him. The FBI doesn’t know anything about Neal before he turned eighteen, which generally means that the identity is fake. It wouldn’t surprise Peter to find out that Neal Caffrey isn’t his real name. In fact, he expects it to be an alias. The problem is, Neal has never left any hints that he might’ve been someone else. The FBI has never had anything substantial to work with, so they’ve never been able to find a tangible person behind the name.



Now, though, Peter has this. Neal’s hatred for Metropolis. It seems to be mostly frivolous, so Peter doesn’t think Neal has any underlying trauma related to the city. His taunts almost appear to be competitive, like there’s a rivalry there.



Peter had always been under the assumption that Neal had been born in DC, but now he has a sneaking suspicion that that isn’t entirely true.



The conversation has turned into Neal and Eddie making fun of Metropolis sports teams and throwing out stats that Peter is surprised Neal even knows. 



That’s another thing, Neal had never given any indication that he was a sports fan. The opposite, actually. Peter would listen to baseball games over the radio and Neal would complain and try to turn it. Peter would invite Neal to watch the game at his house, and Neal would have an excuse as to why he couldn’t come. 



Now, though, it seems like he either doesn’t want to watch it with Peter or doesn’t want to watch the Yankees.



Strange.





It only takes a few hours of research before he finds the answer, and when he finds it, it makes perfect sense.



Peter calls Neal into his office one day. Neal sits down across from him with a sarcastic remark on his tongue. Peter stops him. He slaps a file down onto the desk.



“What’s this?” 



Peter gestures toward it. “Open it.”



Neal gives him a curious look, but picks up the file and opens it. He flips through a few pages, glances over photos, and reads the newspaper clippings. When he’s done, he closes the file and puts it back on Peter’s desk. “Huh.”



“Yeah. Huh.” Peter says.



“I mean, I’m not going to deny it.” Neal shrugs.



Peter nods. “So you’re telling me that you are Richard Grayson?”



When Neal grins, Peter knows he had been spot on. “I prefer Dick.”



“I’m not calling you that.”



Neal has the audacity to look offended. “That’s my name!”



Peter hums. He picks up the file and pulls out a photo. “There’s plenty of blackmail material in here.”



Neal sobers. “What did you find? I didn’t see anything incriminating.”



Peter laughs and holds up a glossy 8 by 10 of him. It’s blurry, probably a paparazzi shot, but definitely him. There’s no denying his horrible choices now. “Remember when you made fun of me for having a mustache?”



Neal groans. “You’re going to show everyone, aren’t you?”



Peter’s smile turns sinister. “Oh, no. No, I’m going to get it blown up and frame it. Then I’m going to hang it in the conference room. I want everyone that passes through here to know that you had a mullet.”



Neal puts his face in his hands. He’s going to have to track the photographer down and make them regret it. Maybe he’ll send Damian. For a teenager, the kid can be terrifying.





Things don’t really change all that much after finding out. The office has a few days of adjustment, and then it’s business as usual. The agents start calling him Dick and the world moves on.

 

It’s only when everyone finds out he’s Nightwing that things really implode.





Peter stands with Diana and Jones in the bullpen. Diana had stumbled across some information and had immediately called Peter and Jones over, eager to share what she found. Both Jones and Peter were receptive, but the information she’d just shared is a little… out there.



“I don’t know,” Jones says. “Dick? As Nightwing? I can’t see it.”



Peter nods. “Yeah, he definitely has borderline vigilante moments, but actually being a vigilante? I don’t know.”



Diana sighs. “He sent me a photo. Hang on.” Diana pulls out her phone and scrolls through her photo album. When she finds the one she needs, she turns the phone toward them. Any skepticism is washed away upon seeing it. 



It’s taken from a high rise window, as shown by both the angle and the window sill taking up most of the frame. On a neighboring rooftop, Nightwing stands with Robin. He’s leaning against a chimney and holding his ribs, his mask off as Robin tends to his wounds 



It was supposed to be a sneaky photo, but it does the job. It’s undoubtedly Dick. 



“Woah,” Jones says. Peter has to agree.



“And to think you doubted me.” Diana smiles at them, big and proud.



“What’s going on?” Eddie appears from around the corner. 



Peter turns around, moving out of Eddie’s line of sight so he can see the phone. Eddie studies it for a moment before shrugging.



“Okay. What’s the big deal?” 



Diana rolls her eyes. “That’s Dick.” She zooms in on Nightwing.



Eddie looks increasingly confused. “Yeah… I know it is.”



Peter’s expression turns to one of shock. Diana and Jones’ eyes widen. 



“What do you mean you know?” Jones asks.



Eddie scoffs. “Dude, I’m from Gotham. It’s not exactly a secret that the Waynes are the ones running around in tights every night. There’s even a website.”



“A website?”



“Yeah. Let me show you.” 



He leads them to his desk, sitting down and booting up his computer. He types something quickly and turns his screen towards them.



The website is crudely designed, with a black background and painfully vivid red letters. It looks like one of those websites that hasn’t been updated since the late nineties. 



The content, on the other hand, is much more detailed. There’s a picture of each of the Wayne sons along with one of the patriarch himself. They scroll down a bit and notice that each of the sons have a section dedicated to them. They click on Dick’s.



When the page loads, there’s a few paragraphs of text, along with more blurry photos. The author of the site seems to be trying to prove that Dick is Nightwing, and had once been the first child to hold the Robin mantel. 



Dick strolls in, returning from lunch early. The group of agents catch his attention and he slows as he passes them. He notices the large photo of himself at age twelve in his Robin uniform and grins. “Oh, what’s that?”



“Eddie showed us,” Peter explains. “They’re trying to say that you used to be Robin.”



Dick hums. If this had been the Dick from a few months ago, he’d deny it. Now, though, he leans in close to examine the photos on the screen for a moment, then straightens. “They’d be right.”



Peter does a double take. After a few seconds pass, he sighs. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course a parent who let their kid have a mullet would also be okay with juvenile crimefighting.”



Dick shakes his head. “Please stop talking about the mullet. I was nineteen and stupid. It’s bad enough that I have to see it every time we have a meeting.” 



“You didn’t let go of the mustache. I need to humble you.”



Dick shakes his head. “How did you find out about this anyway?”



“Diana found a photo of you in the Nightwing uniform and it snowballed from there,” Jones tells him. It’s old news, though, and there are more pressing matters. He points to a bold section on the screen. ”Is Bruce Wayne really Batman?”



Dick nods. “Yeah. That website is pretty accurate, actually.”



Peter takes a closer look. One of the names on the list catches his eye and he turns to Dick. “Red Hood is on the FBI’s most wanted list. It would be really helpful if that section is accurate too.”



Dick is the picture of innocence. “He’s rehabilitated.”



Peter shrugs. “Still on the list.”



“Eddie says he knew who you were the whole time,” Jones cuts in.



Dick freezes. He turns back to Eddie. “ How? ”



Eddie snorts. He holds his hands out, like the answer is obvious. “Dude, everyone in Gotham knows who you guys are.”



Dick’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”



“‘Cause no one else did. I thought everyone knew who you were. I only realized they didn’t when I came in today and they were talking about it like it was news.” Eddie tilts his head, looking pensive. “Plus, seeing a Wayne roleplay as a criminal isn’t all that weird.”



Dick ignores the snickers. “Rolepl--” He sighs. “I have to call Bruce.”



The agents watch as he rushes out the door and pulls his phone out of his pocket.