Sometimes a hero doesn’t have to dodge bullets or round up a gang of thugs. Sometimes a hero is just a good listener.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Drinking (alcohol, with minimal control)

Word Count: 800+

Note: I had the Lady Antebellum song stuck in my head, and this came out. It kinda inspired the fic, but it does not make an appearance. Please enjoy and let me know how you like it by commenting, liking, and/or reblogging. My requests and tag lists are open! 

Alcohol gif below the cut:

The shot glass clattered and rolled until you were able to catch it and flip it over. Your vision wasn’t blurry yet, but there were still two to go.

A loud voice cut through the din of the crowded bar. “If you weren’t alone, I’d say you were having a party.” A man that you had never seen before in your life sat on the stool next to you. Tall blonde, with a smile too big for his small face. Asshole. “What are we celebrating?”

“Nothing,” you said, shooting back the second glass. “I’m not interested, I’m not going home with you, and you’re not going home with me. Douchebags who hit on women who obviously want to be alone are not my type. So back off.” You swallowed the third glass with a shudder as the man left. He muttered a list of profane nicknames for you till he was distracted by a bachelorette party. You flipped the glasses back over for a refill and waved down the bar. “Hey, bartender. Another trio, please.”

He hesitated with a worried look. “Do you want to try a stiffer drink? Something you can take slow?”

“I don’t want slow. Slow is not the way of the world, so I’ve finally learned. Thanks anyway.”

“There’s a story there. Why don’t you tell me?” He looked about as tired as you felt. It seemed he had his own restless night. Often, by the darkness of the shadows under his eyes.

“Why should I tell you? You probably hear a hundred sob stories a shift.”

He chuckled. “I do. But that doesn’t make them any less real or painful to the storyteller. How about we make a deal? I get off in ten. You tell me your story, and I ask my replacement to whip you up the drink you need to lay you out quick. Sound good?” When you hesitated, he added the perfect stipulation to push the deal over. “And the drink will be on the house.”

“Sure. See you in ten.”

He nodded and turned to walk away, but came back in a second. “My name’s Richard by the way. But my friends call me Dick.”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you.”

You watched him work for this next ten minutes like he was a Nascar race. He moved quickly enough for it. He flirted his way up and down the bar with whomever he liked, and quickly served those he didn’t. If someone was being annoying about getting another round, he ignored them. One guy figured it out and waited patiently till Dick got to him. Other drunken deadbeats had to wait until his replacement showed up.

“Let’s sit in the corner booth,” he said after collecting his tips. “It’s quieter and we won’t be disturbed.” He grabbed a pitcher of water and two glasses, then led the way. He sat close enough to hear you, but far enough away to not intrude on your space.

“What about my drink?”

“You need to hydrate first,” he said, pouring you a glass. “Besides, I won’t know what you need till I hear your story.”

He was a good listener. He nodded and hummed in all the right places. His brow would furrow when he was supposed to be angry, and he would mirror your profanities. Other than that, he didn’t say a word as you poured out your life’s story. Maybe it was the booze or the late hour, but you told him things you never dared to say out loud. Even to yourself. Every dream shattered, every crack in your heart, every tearful fear for the future.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until he reached up and smoothed a tear away with his thumb. Next thing you knew, you were running your fingers over his lips, wondering what they would taste like. With a snap, you pulled them back.

“I’m sorry. The shots finally kicked in.”

“It’s alright, Y/N. Do you mind if I call you a cab?”

When it pulled up to the curb, Dick held the door open and waited for you to get in. The alcohol swirling in your blood gave you another kick of courage.

“Do you want to come with?”

Dick blushed. “Not this time. The next time you come in ready to drink away a rough time, we can skip the booze. Right now you need to sleep.”

“Thanks, Dick.” You moved to sit down, bur popped back up. “Hey, I didn’t get that special drink.”

“I’ll hold it on your tab as the Grayson special. I’ll make myself the next time you come in. Bad day or not. I promise.”

That man is a hero. And gorgeous to boot. As the cab pulled away, you saw him continue to watch the cab until it rounded a corner. Yeah. You would be back. After a bartender prescribed sleep.

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