This is for Binx23, who suggested: "Dick getting spotted and offered a modeling contract and get hit on, and the batfam trying to protect his non-existent virtue." I didn't exactly follow that, but I tried.

If you're looking for Shrunk, I've made it its own story! Check it out - it's called "Shrunken Shenanigans." Many thanks to firstar28 for the title!

And my apologies to anyone I did not personally thank for their review. I got distracted! I'll try to be better from now on.

For the purposes of this fic, no one has scars. Why? Magic? The power of money and technology? The universe dares not sully the beauty of the Bat-clan? You decide.

Also, pretend Dick never had a (however brief) modeling career.

It was a lovely day at the beach. Bruce, of course, was sitting under the umbrella trying not to get sunburned and fretting about how they were all going to get skin cancer. He had his iPhone alarm set to go off every half hour, at which point he would loudly yell for Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian to come put on more sunscreen. Although they all complained, they all did it.

In between half-hour interruptions, Jason was flirting with a couple of girls who were liberally tattooed and body-pierced. Tim was snorkeling with his underwater camera, trying to get a few nice shots. Dick and Damian were skimboarding – or, in Damian's case, attempting to skimboard.

"Oof." Damian landed, yet again, on his backside as the skimboard slipped out from underneath his feet. "Grayson!" he shouted indignantly.

Dick, whose perfect balance enabled him to skimboard with ease, turned around. "You fall again, Little D?" he grinned.

"I did not fall. The board rudely cast me overboard."

With a chuckle, Dick stepped off his own board and came over to assist Damian. "Well, I guess we'll just have to let this board know who's boss."

Picking the board up with one hand, Dick wagged his index finger at it with the other. "Now see here, skimboard: it's rude to keep dumping Damian off. Behave yourself or you'll get a time-out on shore." He handed the board back to Damian. "Better now?"

Damian snatched the board out of Dick's hand. "You're an idiot, Grayson."

"You're welcome," Dick replied cheerily as he watched Damian attempt – and promptly fail – to skimboard.

As Damian was dumped into the surf, he emerged to find a slim female handing being held out to him. "Can I help you, sweetie?"

"Tt. I don't need help," Damian sneered, picking himself up.

"Oh okay." The woman, tall, willowy, blonde, with a designer swimsuit and sunglasses, immaculately-manicured nails, and a full face of make-up, watched Damian as he stood and retrieved his skimboard.

"Can I help you, wench?" Damian finally barked at her.

Although she was taken aback, she had enough poise not to let it show. "Is that handsome man over there your daddy?" she cooed, pointing.

Damian followed her finger. "Grayson! God no. That's my brother."

"Oh, your brother. How delightful." The woman seemed even more pleased to realize Dick was not Damian's dad. "I have a question for him. Could you please introduce us?"

Damian was about to insult the woman and claim he wasn't her errand boy when he remembered that Father and Grayson were always on him to be more polite. "Fine," he huffed. "Follow me."

"Thank you," the woman purred.

Although Dick was not far away, Damian went a few feet before shouting, "Grayson, this harlot wants to speak with you!"

"Damian," Dick hissed, as everyone within a fifty-foot radius turned to stare at them, "that's not polite."

"I have more important things to tend to than social niceties," Damian remarked, before dashing away.

"Sorry about him," Dick apologized. "He's …."

"It's okay," the woman smiled. The she stuck out her hand. "Kelly McClintock, McClintock and Cole Modeling Agency."

Dick shook her hand. "Dick Grayson. Nice to meet you, Ms. McClintock."

Ms. McClintock grinned. "It's Miss, but you can call me Kelly."

"Kelly. And call me Dick. What can I do for you?"

"Have you ever considered modeling, Mr. Gray -. Dick?"

"Not really."

"You really should. You have the perfect look. Chiseled features, high cheekbones, and the body of a Greek god. I can see you on the Calvin Klein billboard in Times Square." She closed her eyes. "Yes, I can."

"Really?"

"Oh, god yes. Think of how much underwear you could sell."

Dick rubbed the back of his head. "Umm, does Calvin Klein really need help selling underwear?"

"Of course!" Kelly replied, a bit too quickly. "But really, honey, that's not the point."

"It isn't?"

"No. A body like that," she paused to run her finger up and down in the air, "needs to be celebrated."

"You think so?" Dick was somewhat interested. After all, modeling was easy money (right?), and it would keep him in Nightwing gear.

"Grayson, are you still talking to this Barbie?" Damian suddenly demanded.

"Damian, be nice," Dick insisted. "She wants me to model underwear for her agency. Isn't that cool?"

Damian reared back in shock. "No, that is not cool. That is a stain on the family honor."

"What?" Dick and Kelly said simultaneously.

"Todd! Drake! Get over here!" Damian shouted across the beach. Surprisingly, both came running.

"This w-"

"Damian," Dick interrupted in a warning tone.

"This female wants to make Grayson an underwear model," Damian sputtered.

"What?" Jason gasped. "Why him?"

Kelly gave Jason a "have-you-seen-him" look, but otherwise made no reply.

"Todd, don't be an imbecile," Damian insisted. "If Grayson is a model, his naked flesh will be seen by millions."

"Yes, it will," Kelly said dreamily.

"That is a disgrace. He will be tainted. Soiled."

"Whoa, kid, calm down," Jason insisted. "Nobody's whoring Goldie out here."

"He does have a point, though, Jason. Being a billboard model entails a lot of exposure. Exposure that we can't afford." Tim left "the whole Batman thing" unsaid.

"That's why it should be me! I don't wear my clothes nearly as tight as bro here."

Kelly leaned over to ask a question of Dick while his three brothers continued to argue over the merits of modeling.

"It's demeaning!"

"It's walking a fine line."

"It's easy money and you'll be rolling in ladies."

"I will not allow Grayson to pimp himself out like that."

"Guys, I'm right here," Dick finally cut in. Before anyone could reply, Bruce shouted at them. Apparently another half hour had passed.

Dick turned to Kelly. "Gotta go. Sunscreen time."

Although she was slightly confused, Kelly smiled and offered Dick her card. "Call me. Anytime."

"Sure, thanks."

"And let me get your number for my phone, if you don't mind."

"Sure, it's -."

"DICK," Bruce shouted. He turned to the other boys. "Why isn't he coming? Does he want to get melanoma?"

"That harlot is trying to whore Grayson out on a billboard, Father."

"It's called modeling, Demon Spawn."

"Modeling?" Bruce was not pleased. When Dick arrived back at the umbrella, he glared at him. "What took you so long?"

"This woman wants me to model for her agency. Cool, right?"

"No."

"No, what? No, it's not cool or no no."

"No no. Absolutely no modeling."

"But -."

"No, it's crass and potentially dangerous and … No. Just no." Bruce had no desire to see his son, naked save for a pair of CK briefs, in 150 by 200 feet of Times Square glory.

Dick pouted. "But she said I'd sell lots of underwear."

Bruce paled. "We're leaving."

"What?"

"Boys, get the umbrella, towels, and chairs. I'm calling Alfred."

The boys groaned as they gathered up their beach materials.

"Way to go, Goldie," Jason said.

"It's not my fault Bruce overreacts!"

"But he's right," Tim offered. "It's too much exposure."

"Yeah," Dick agreed. He was only a bit disappointed. He had never really believed Bruce would let him model anyway. A giant billboard was just asking for people to overanalyze your abs and start putting two and two together when it came to vigilantes.

"You're just jealous," Jason sneered, as they started trooping towards the car.

"Me?! You're the jealous one!" Tim spat back.

Dick leaned over and elbowed Jason. "Hey, she said she was also interested in doing a double spread with my brother."

"Oh, yeah?" Jason's curiosity was piqued.

"Hey! She might have meant me!" Tim insisted, narrowing his eyes at Jason.

Dick laughed and ruffled Tim's hair. "While you are handsome, Tim, she said she was interested in including a 'bad boy' in the spread."

"And that's me," Jason announced proudly.

"Well what am I?" Tim asked, a bit hurt the agent was more interested in Jason than him.

"I would say 'All-American,'" Dick pronounced.

"Then what are you?"

Dick gazed at the sky. "Classically handsome," he breathed.

"Pretty boy," Jason snorted.

"Call it whatever you like, Jason, but I believe I'm the one with, and I quote, 'chiseled features, high cheekbones, and the body of a Greek god.'"

"Stupid, Goldie, prettier than me," Jason groused under his breath.

"What am I then?" Damian suddenly asked, a bit annoyed he had been left out of the conversation.

"Ten," Bruce ground out.

The three older boys laughed as Bruce began stalking towards the car at a more rapid pace.

"That's not an answer!" Damian insisted.

"If you drink your milk and eat your Wheaties, Demon Spawn, maybe you can grow up to be as pretty as Goldie here," Jason suggested, poking Damian in the back with the beach umbrella.

"Tt. I am genetically perfect, Todd. I will outstrip you all."

Tim rolled his eyes. "So what's Bruce? Because that's what Damian has to look forward to."

"Tall, dark, and handsome?" Jason suggested.

"Smouldering," Dick said decisively.

Tim began to laugh as Bruce turned around and gave Dick a particularly baleful look. Dick just grinned cheekily back at Bruce.

As they were climbing into the back of the car, Dick glanced up at Bruce as he passed. "You know, we should send the agent your picture right now."

"Why?" Bruce grunted.

"Because you're beautiful when you're angry," Dick teased, slipping into the limo before Bruce could retaliate.

Of course, Bruce had already retaliated by blocking the modeling agency's phone number on the cellphones of all his sons (even Damian's, just for good measure). And within a month, all the boys had forgotten about the incident.

But Bruce hadn't forgotten. And when Kelly had called, he had met her at her New York office. After he made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she should stay away from his boys, he had her photographer take a few pictures of him (to prevent the enraged Mr. Wayne from suing the company for harassing his sons). Bruce had to admit his pictures looked good. He just hoped Selina would like them – the woman was terribly difficult to shop for.

Selina's probably not difficult to shop for (just buy her stuff with cats on it), but let's pretend!