I have no clue what I'll end up doing with this, or how long it will be, but I love writing Bruce and Dick so I couldn't help myself. Enjoy this silly little story from the eyes of an eleven-year-old boy. I'm experimenting with Dick's character, and it isn't the Richard Grayson from the D.C. Universe as much as it is an orphan boy with the same name as that Richard. Hopefully with this story I can grow Dick into the Robin we know from D.C., but make him my own character as well. Enjoy!
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Bruce Wayne, the man behind Batman's mask, took me into his home about five and a half years ago. I was just six-years-old then, and had witnessed the death of my parents and five brothers in a fire that took out the entire circus. Yes, the circus. They were acrobats. I was a trainee. I never had the speed and agility that my brothers' had; yet I was the only one to escape the fire alive.
I must say that life at the circus was much different then life at Wayne Manor. I went from being the child of a traveling circus family of nine to being the only son of a billionaire living alone with his butler in a huge mansion and going out at nights to be Batman's, future assistant. I say future assistant because I am not technically his actual assistant. Hence, the fact I sit in the Batmobile while Batman does the fun stuff like take out bad guys and rescue victims. Again, I am not the most agile and speedy.
Most people would think that living with Batman was the greatest thing in the world, but for me, it is the worst. Bruce is an absolute tyrant. Well, maybe not a tyrant; but he is extremely strict and lets me get away with absolutely nothing. Growing up in the circus, I know tons of amazing words, but if I ever use them around Bruce, I end up with a bar of soap in my mouth. And when Bruce is gone, Alfred is no different. I'd heard that Alfred had been very strict with Bruce when he was growing up. Bruce's parents died when he was eight and Alfred raised him from then on, but I think it's worse for me because I have both of them ganging up on me.
For instance, a typical day at Wayne Manor goes something like this…
We'd gone down to the Batcave at exactly eleven o'clock and the next three hours were sheer torture. After we were done sparring, which we always did last, I just lay on the mat, covered in sweat and my lungs about to pop. Bruce carried me off and Alfred gave him an unhappy look.
"You really need to stop pushing him this hard," said Alfred. "You're going to hurt him."
I felt very, very sore, but I was also glad I'd done it. I was always happy after a workout. Not so much during, but always after. Pushups…chin-ups…pushups…sit-ups…pushups…martial arts training…pushups…so on and so forth.
Alfred pulled my sweat drenched shirt over my head and looked me over. "He's bruised," he said, touching my shoulder. I winced but said nothing, glancing longingly at my shirt. It was soaked and smelled something like a professional football team's locker room, but at least it covered my pathetic body. I had always been self conscious about my inability to gain muscle. I just wasn't destined to be rippled and toned, I guess.
Bruce looked and made a face, "I didn't do that."
"Yeah," I said. "Last night when your dumb girlfriend was here and I accidentally dropped my milk and you pinched me." Bruce's hand clamped on the back of my neck but Alfred grabbed his arm.
"Master Bruce, stop, just stop," he said. "Dick, upstairs. Come on." He helped me up and we got on the elevator to go up to the main part of the manor.
We went through the usual after training ordeal of Alfred drawing a bath and me soaking in it for awhile, then me getting dressed and us going downstairs and into the living room where Bruce is.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," I said, sitting beside him on the couch. Ah, the living room. The one place in the house that wasn't fancy and decked to the ceiling in sophisticated glamour. Bruce thought we needed at least one room that could really be our own, so he set aside one of the living rooms to be a low key, simple, hang out space. If it wasn't for that blessed room I would probably have ripped one of the manor's many chandeliers down by now.
"I have to go out tonight," said Bruce. I realized that he was rather dressed up, which he must have done while I was in the bath. He pulled his foot up onto the edge of the couch and started tying his polished dress shoes.
"With her?" I asked. Bruce glared at me (that seemed to be getting common) and nodded.
"Yes," he said. "Rules for when I'm gone." I raised an eyebrow at his hurried drop of the girlfriend subject. "One, if you bother Alfred in the slightest you will go straight to bed. Two, you will go to bed by ten and if Alfred says earlier then earlier. Three, you will do whatever he tells you. Four, obey all the rules."
"What if I choose to disregard rule four?" I asked cockily. Two seconds later I was face down over Bruce's lap and his hand swatted me hard. He sat me back up just as quickly and smiled.
"Then you'll get more of that when I get home; plus you'll be grounded for a month," he said. I frowned. Bruce sure had a way of making a point. And his hair hadn't even gotten messed up in the process. Leave it to Bruce.
Bruce left and I watched TV. The evening seemed to be passing slower then any other evening any other time in my entire career as a child, and I was about to go insane from boredom when I was showered with the most beautiful idea of all time.
I would become Spiderman.
Spiderman: my childhood obsession. What kid didn't love Spiderman? I grinned, remembering my old Halloween costume tucked somewhere far away in my bedroom closet.
"A few modifications," I grinned, "and viola."
It took me all of thirty seconds to race up the grand staircase and down the hall to my bedroom. Like the living room hang out space, my bedroom was a downscale of the manor's classy magnificence. Baseball stuff…laundry…school papers…it was my castle and my domain. And my closet was bigger then most kids' bedrooms.
Crawling underneath some tuxedos and dress pants, I found the storage container holding old Halloween costumes. Spiderman, the choice pick of two years ago, was near the top.
"Hello, old friend," I grinned.
...
"Utter insanity," said Alfred.
"Mmhmm," I nodded, "I know. I am a bullheaded, stubborn boy that will grow into a vandalizing hoodlum if I don't begin to think through my actions and use wisdom and forethought."
"Hearing my words but not listening, I see," said Alfred, his hands grasping my shoulders, as they had been for the past five minutes of his lecture. After finding me perched atop the grand entryway's chandelier, he had had more then a few choice words. "You can quote the lecture but don't live the advice."
I groaned and shuffled my feet, "Gosh, Alfred, I was just playing around."
"Playing around and endangering not only your life, but a $700,450 chandelier!" exclaimed Alfred. "Richard Grayson, I ought to paddle you until you're brains are rattled."
"Ah, Alfred," I sighed, then I remembered Bruce; jolly, understanding, good ole Bruce. "You won't tell Bruce will you!"
Alfred nodded, "I have to. You cannot disobey Master Bruce like that. He has told you countless times to think before you act and not put your life in unnecessary danger."
"I forgot!" I insisted.
Alfred finally let go of me. "You disobeyed," he said again.
Let me tell you, wearing a Spiderman costume (even if I was minus the mask Alfred had pulled off) really does something to a guy's head. I don't know where I was getting my courage this evening, but I really nodded to kick all my bravery out the door. I swore at Alfred.
It wasn't a really bad word; just a lower scale, acceptable-if-said-by-unhappy-grownups word. Unfortunately that description didn't apply to me.
Alfred did something he had never done before and cuffed my ear. I yelped and ducked his other hand, but he managed to grab my opposite ear and yank me down to the kitchen. He pulled me over to the sink and picked up the bar of soap.
"Open," he said. Gosh, could he and Bruce be anymore alike? I opened my mouth and closed my eyes as the awful thing filled my mouth with awful tastes. "Bite it."
I obeyed and squinted at him. "Twenty seconds," said Alfred. Yep, just like Bruce. Finally, he let me spit it out and rinse my mouth with water. The cool, refreshing liquid had never tasted better.
When I was done, Alfred was standing at the window, looking across the back field. He came over and took me by the ear again, leading me back down the hall and into Bruce's office, a beautiful room I was generally forbidden from entering as Bruce needed it clean and tidy for business transactions.
"What are you doing?" I asked, though I had this awful feeling that I knew exactly what he was doing. Unfortunately, I was right. Alfred picked up a ruler off of Bruce's desk and sat in the chair in front of it. The next second I was across his lap, my pants around my knees.
"No!" I yelled, trying to wiggle free, but I found, almost unbelievingly, that Alfred had a tighter grip then Bruce. Then he was taking aim…just like Bruce. It dawned on me that Bruce must treat me the same way Alfred treated him when he was my age. That's why they were so similar.
Then, the ruler lifted and came down. The smack was literally harder then any whack Bruce had ever given me, and I jolted. I also yelped, but that was from the surprise. The noise that thing made against my backside, even over my boxers, was loud, and mixed with the sting it shocked me.
"Don't!" I cried, but Alfred, of course, ignored me and kept paddling his target, holding back nothing.
"Your strength and endurance are higher then Bruce's were," he said as he continued spanking.
I stopped crying for a brief second to wonder what on earth he meant, but the next smack brought the tears flowing again.
"It is taking longer then it did with Bruce to get you to stop fighting," said Alfred. Oh, that's what he meant. My mind briefly entertained the wonder of how I could possibly be tougher then Bruce was at my age, but the next whack of the ruler chased that question from my brain.
"Please, no more," I begged, but my voice was shaky and I was practically sobbing as I said it. Alfred just kept paddling away, and I was dramatically sure he was going to beat me into unconsciousness. I kept pleading with him through my tears. I was sure I was way too old to be spanked over someone's lap - especially Alfred's - but he wasn't letting me up until he was good and done.
Finally, he stopped and set the ruler on the desk, still keeping me secured across his lap. I didn't really care what happened, though, because I was crying so hard I thought I'd throw up my liver. I felt Alfred get my pants back on me, but he still held me across his knees.
I finally started taking some breaths, and then, after a few minutes, I was barely crying at all. Alfred pulled me up and sat me on his knee just like Bruce did at times. It was really awful with my stinging backside against the man's thigh, but I ignored it as Alfred held me against his chest. I started crying all over again, mostly from the pain of my seat on his knee, but he just held me close and said nothing. When I finally stopped crying he stood me up and held my chin, "Richard, if you ever speak with such disrespect again I will take you over my knee and wallop you with a strap, is that understood?"
I nodded, brushing the tears from my cheeks. "Alfred, I'm sorry," I whimpered, "I don't think you're a…that word. I really don't. I love you, Alfred. I'm sorry!" I started crying again and he held me close.
When I finally stopped sobbing like a baby, Alfred let go of me and sighed, "I still have to tell Bruce of your disobedience."
I groaned and fought back the oncoming tears of fear.
"Bedtime," said Alfred, putting his arm around me and leading me to the door of the office.
"But it's only seven-thirty," I whimpered.
"Bed," Alfred said, firmly, and led me upstairs to my room. For some reason I started crying again and Alfred helped me get into my pajamas and under my blankets. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair off my forehead and I sheepishly will have to admit that I cried myself to sleep.
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Currently wondering why my name is Smittenbymarvel but I write stories in the D.C. Universe. Ah, the irony. Review and let me know what you thought!