A/N: So, immediately upon seeing Duke's costume for the first time, I came up with a nickname for him before I even realized he didn't have an actual hero name. As far as I know, he STILL doesn't have one. This is a story where the Robins remedy that.

As far as characterizations are concerned, I tried to stick with New 52!/Convergence/Rebirth timelines and characters (so no Steph), but while I read both, I am more accustomed to writing pre-52 personalities, so that's what came out.

Crack-ish. Maybe. Relieving finals stress. XP

Either way, enjoy! (Don't forget to check out my Spotify fandom playlists on my profile ;D)

In the few weeks Duke had spent under Batman's wing, there was one thing that was an absolute certainty: No three members of the Batclan were ever in the Cave at the same time unless someone was injured, or Gotham was in imminent danger.

At least, as of two hours ago, that had been an unshakeable truth. Which proved exactly how good Duke's deduction skills were. Because now that record was just on the edge of broken.

Which is to say, three of four of the former Robins were currently in the Cave with him, and the fourth (rather, first) was on the way, and yet absolutely nothing was amiss with either the city or one of its protectors.

Another thing he'd accepted as fact until a few moments ago: The Batcave was a relatively quiet place of work unless the same above exceptions applied.

Which was why the entire (rather distracting) scene playing out behind him was a bit…surreal.

"—thought I told you to bug out of my life, demon brat," Red Hood was snarling. "So what if chili dogs and takeout just happen to be my preferred meal options for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? It's not like I live close enough to pick up Alfred food every week like some prissy little—"

"I could care less about your lacking nutritional diet choices, Todd," Robin growled. "The only thing that matters in this scenario is the…" The boy's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Result."

The criminal stared. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's referring to the smell, Hood," Red Robin cut in from the main terminal a few feet to Duke's left, just a hint exasperated.

Jason blinked. Gaped, realization dawning. "I reserve the right to pass gas whenever the heck I please! Who are you to control my flatulence?!"

"Well, maybe if you actually cleaned the toilet once in awhile, we wouldn't care so much."

"The heck, Pretender?! You're practically begging for a batarang to dig into that cold heart of yours right now."

"Have you ever been in the bathroom after Taco Night, Jason? Because that reaches a whole new level of Gotham nasty."

Yeah, Duke decided. This was happening.

It's not like he hadn't heard the Robins poke at each other before. That's what comms were for, apparently. He'd just never had the…pleasure…to see it live. Let alone realized how…petty they could be.

Despite himself, Duke felt a twinge of jealousy at the playful banter between…well, brothers. That kind of comradeship came with years of dealing with one another; fighting against and alongside each other, and, in the long run, coming to at least tolerate one another despite their differences and former disputes.

(Maybe that's what happened after spending most of your life in an endless crusade under the same emotionally stunted leader. You just crack.

His role models. Arguing over gas. If that wasn't proof enough…)

Duke got it. He understood. He was perfectly all right with keeping his place on the sidelines and leaving the others to their (albeit strange) little reunion while he tried to distinguish the anatomical differences between a normal daisy and one of Poison Ivy's pets. He had become quite used to being ignored this past month or so; it came with the job.

Which was why he jumped a little higher than he would have liked at the sudden booming voice of the Red Hood in his ear: "Yo, Luke the Fluke," the man greeted, the computer chair leaning back alarmingly as the vigilante rested his crossed arms over the top, as if the nature of his farts wasn't being discussed just two minutes before. "You got a name yet?"

Duke frowned, ignoring the heat in his cheeks over just how easily he'd just been snuck up on, tilting his head awkwardly to meet the man's gaze. "Yeah, I've got a name," he said, managing to keep his voice flat. "It's Duke."

The former criminal rolled his eyes. "I meant a hero name. Duh. I hear you've donned the old yellow and black and are bouncing around a few rooftops now. Can't do that without something to call you by."

Duke opened his mouth.

"If you say 'Robin,' I will cut you," Damian growled.

"He will," Tim agreed, never pausing in his typing. "He's crazy."

Duke blinked; stared back and forth between the two Robins. "I don't think he's the only one," he muttered.

"It runs in the family," a new voice called. Duke (embarrassingly) jumped in his seat again, whirling around just in time to see Dick Grayson bouncing (yes; bouncing) toward them from the stairwell, grinning that ridiculous, trademarked smile of his.

"And let's face it," Jason interjected, "you knew that perfectly well when you decided to join up."

Did I? Duke wondered morosely. Probably because I was under the impression Batman worked, y'know, ALONE. Decided it would probably be best to keep that thought to himself.

He settled for shrugging, noncommittal. "Guess I haven't gotten around to choosing one yet."

"Hey, hey, hey, hold up," Jason cried, forming his hands in a timeout over Duke's shoulders. "I didn't say you were the one who got to pick. Only one around here who got to pick his first alias was that dumbo over there." He jerked a thumb back at Dick. "Everyone else got stuck with the castoffs. Who says your special?"

Duke...didn't like where this was going.

If he was being honest, Jason Todd…well…kind of scared him. This was the Robin who had died in the line of duty, and had come back. The one who'd spent years building a name for himself in the criminal underworld, and had only recently started toeing his way back into the family again. The Robin whose sarcasm was only matched by his temper; in both lives.

Also, the Bat who seemed most prone to pulling borderline cruel practical jokes on just about everyone (including THE Bat).

The 'brother' who always came up with the best nicknames (and insults) even at the worst of times.

…Oh well. Might as well bite.

"And I assume you've picked one for me already?" Duke grumbled, feigning disinterest.

Jason quirked an eyebrow. "What ever gave you that idea? But as a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I have. But I don't want to monopolize the newbie. This is a once in a decade opportunity! Everyone should get a shot at the name game."

"Gee. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Jason said cheerfully. "Hey, demon! You first."

"Unnecessary Replacement Number Three," Damian said flatly.

"Number Four," Tim corrected.

"Three," Damian repeated, sneering. "I was the only necessary replacement in the partner arena, Drake. You and Todd were simply placeholders."

Tim rolled his eyes. "So you keep saying. Might I remind you that I remain the only one of us who hasn't died?"

"Sad, but true," Jason agreed, nodding sagely. "Only, Dick doesn't count."

"Are we really going to do this again?" Dick cried, exasperated.

"Yes. Definitely. But not now, it's Timmy's turn to pick a name."

Everyone turned expectant eyes on Tim, who had managed somehow to continue typing throughout this entire encounter.

"Oh, I'm not getting into this," Tim said, not even sparing a backward glance. "Last thing we need is another territorial explosion over the current Robin name holder."

Jason frowned; on anyone else, Duke would have called it a pout. But this was the Red Hood, and the Red Hood did not pout.

…Right?

"Spoilsport," Jason observed. "Dick?"

Dick shrugged. "I've…got nothing. Both of my names were…personal, I guess. The ideas came from someone important to me. Contrary to popular belief, I'm really not that creative in the name arena." At Jason's look, he tacked on: "Shocker, right?"

Jason threw his hands up in (mock?) exasperation. "You guys suck all the fun out of everything." Sighing long sufferingly, he sank against the computer chair, bringing it just past parallel to the ground so Duke had to resist the overwhelming urge to clutch the armrests for balance. "I guess that means Mr. Duke of Weaseltown'll be stuck with what I've got. So sad."

The mischievous glitter in his green-tinged blue eyes spoke otherwise.

After a long moment of silence, Dick (predictably) was the one to take the bait: "And what's yours, Jay?"

The shark-like grin that appeared on the crook's features was not in any way reassuring to Duke's pale hopes. "Bumblebat."

There was a beat of silence. Two.

Simultaneous with Damian Wayne's amused snort, Dick Grayson cracked up, throwing his head back and guffawing so loud the bats in the ceiling squeaked in alarm as the first Robin's shoulders shook from the force of his own laughter. Duke even caught Tim smirking out of the corner of his eye.

Heat crept up Duke's cheeks, because if Red Robin was smirking…. "Haha. Very funny."

He was ignored.

"Stinger," Dick gasped between giggles, doubled over and clutching his sides. "Costume. You need…add a stinger."

Jason barked a laugh. "YES."

"I shall instruct Pennyworth accordingly," the demon brat announced, already striding toward the Manor entrance.

Duke jerked. "No, wait—"

The boy turned the corner of the stairwell and disappeared.

Jason snickered. Tim's smirk quirked higher into a half-smile.

Duke opened his mouth to protest, to defend his honor, something. All that came out was: "This job is so overrated."

Jason clapped him over the shoulder, that stupid grin that accompanied his oh-so special announcement still stuck in place. "Couldn't have said it any better myself. Bumblebat."

With a sigh, Duke sagged against the chair back as the brothers' laughter echoed all around him.

Yup. So overrated.