Title: Teenagers

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce/Alfred…the usual

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: Dick is being a teenager. Yikes.

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Unbetaed, blame me.

Teenagers…

Part One

"Master Dick? Please make yourself presentable. Dinner is ready."

The CD player was on in the study and there was a schoolbook opened on the desk in obvious mid assignment, but the room was deserted. A quick glance showed the bathroom door opened and the room not in use.

"Master Dick?" No answer. Bother. That youngster could disappear in the bat of an eye. Well, there was nothing for it. Dinner was ready and there was some sort of school function this evening so the meal couldn't be put off.

The boy could be exasperating when he chose.

Alfred finally found him after a search. He had made his way through all the usual places one would normally find the young man—the pool, the gym, his room, the entertainment room, the kitchen and the garage. None of them had yielded results, so with some reluctance, he had put on his heavy black overcoat and started through the closer gardens, carrying Dick's ski jacket just in case.

The young man had been, well, brooding was the word that came to mind quite a lot lately and while it could have been simple teenaged melodramatics it seemed to have now gone beyond that into melancholy and Alfred was starting to become concerned. He hadn't said anything to the master, not yet, but if this continued he would have to.

This wasn't like the boy, not really. Normally he was such a joy to have around the cold and too big house—laughing, joking, playing music too loud and with the phone ringing for him far too often. He was usually so happy, so upbeat that when he was sometimes overcome with what Alfred had come to think of as his 'black moods', it was something of a jolt and reason enough to watch the lad. Come to think of it, they seemed to be coming more frequently lately and would likely bear closer watching should they not resolve themselves. Perhaps they might want to consult a professional should they continue. Leslie would likely have some thoughts on it.

He would have to speak to the master about it when he returned from London.

There had been an argument that morning at the breakfast table, something about Dick breaking curfew and not letting Bruce know where he'd been til almost two in the morning on a school night. Instead of answering or even arguing back, Dick had simply shut down and gone quiet. Alfred knew the pattern. Bruce had left for Europe and Dick hadn't said a word since, not even on the rides to and from school.

If this ran true to form, the mood would likely deepen for a few days; hit a low then, with no apparent rhyme nor reason, would just as suddenly lift. It had been happening since Dick had first come to them eight years ago. It would happen perhaps once a year around the anniversary of his parent's murders, then would be gone until next time. Though recently Alfred had noticed the moods coming perhaps every other month or so.

He passed through the rose garden to the perennial garden, finding no one.

It wasn't as though the boy had no reason to be depressed now and then. In fact he had more cause than most and it often amazed the older man just how well adjusted Dick actually was after all he'd been through. There had been so much sadness in his life; the deaths of his parents was the major trauma, of course, but there had been so many others as well.

He started down the path to the river. Sometimes Dick liked to walk along the water.

From what Alfred had gathered, the Grayson's, while a close and loving family, had little in the way of material comforts and when the boy had come to them his possessions had consisted of several pairs of well worn jeans, a half dozen or so tee shirts and sweat shirts and a pair of worn sneakers along with a clip on tie accompanied by a button down dress shirt. The cuffs of the shirt were high water on the boy's thin arms. There had been a couple of well-thumbed books, including his mother's bible and little else. His parent's plain wedding bands were being held in the master's safe for possible later use if Dick wanted them. There hadn't been much. A smallish bank account was turned over to Bruce's financial advisors for investment, but though growing, still wasn't very large.

From odd comments over the years, Alfred knew that sometimes the local kids in the towns they passed through had been cruel to the circus children but the performers had banded together and dealt with it, protecting the youngsters and forging strong bonds between them.

Living with the circus, the family had been part of a nomadic small town from which the boy had also been forced away with his parent's deaths, adding to the trauma. It was something he almost never spoke about. He had wanted to stay with the circus and there were several families there who had wanted to take him in, but the state had insisted that he be turned over to the authorities and by the time it could be straightened out, the show had moved on to another state and it had become impossibly complicated.

He had gone back for a visit when the circus had been back in the area a year or so after he'd come to live at the manor but it hadn't gone well. Dick, though warmly welcomed was no longer part of the day-to-day life they lived and he felt like an outsider. The visit hadn't been repeated.

Likewise he never talked about his extended family; cousins, grandparents and the like. Bruce had located as many relatives as he could, but none had made an effort to attend the funerals and no one had expressed a willingness to give the orphan a home. The reasons had ranged from their having no room, to not being able to feed another mouth to being too old or too busy with careers.

Several of the boy's relatives had asked when the will would be read, though.

Even Bruce had shaken his head at the way the boy was abandoned. That had been eight years ago and Dick had virtually no contact with his family for at least five of those years.

That the boy could usually be so upbeat was a miracle.

There, on a stone bench overlooking the river, was where he found him.

"Master Richard, it's far too cold to be sitting here with no jacket and you're chilled through. You're past age to know such things. Return to the house at once, please."

The blackness was plain to see, the sadness was obvious.

"It was warm enough when the sun was out." The sky was clouding, there was a forecast of late season snow.

Putting the jacket over the boy's shoulders, Alfred sat beside him. "What is it that's troubling you?" The question was gently asked.

Alfred didn't think that the boy would answer, but finally, "Last month on my birthday, Donna told me she hoped I got what I wanted. I don't remember what I told her but I've been thinking about it ever since."

"What you wanted for your birthday?" That hardly seemed likely.

"Fuck the birthday." It wasn't like him to use language like that unless he was upset and Alfred restrained himself from clucking his disapproval "I've been thinking about what it is that I want—you know, in my life."

Of course. "And what would you like?"

The question made Dick turn his head to look at the older man. The debate inside his mind was written on his face—whether or not to tell Alfred what was really upsetting him. After a space of long seconds he made up his mind, shrugged and gave a half smile. "Nothing important, just the usual: True love, great job, fame and fortune. Come on, is dinner ready? I'm starving." End of discussion, he refused to be drawn out about what he had been thinking. Alfred knew it would be useless to pursue the subject until the boy was ready to unburden himself. There was nothing for it but to wait him out and hope the day would come—or that this was simply a phase he'd grow beyond sooner rather than later.

That was that, at least for now. They stood and went back to the house and the warmth. The snow was just starting as they walked up the path. Nothing more was said and Dick made a concerted effort to behave as though nothing of importance was on his mind, joking his way through dinner.

A week later Alfred was straightening up the main living room when he found Dick, again, sitting alone on the window seat of the large bay window and in another bout of depression. Bruce had returned from his business trip two days before and he and Dick had immediately been at loggerheads about every word and gesture. The dinner table had been thick with tension since.

Something had to give, neither man was willing to put up with these teenaged moods forever. Though hey were certainly a time honored tradition, enough was quickly becoming enough.

"Might I lend an ear?"

"I'm fine."

"Evidence to the contrary. Perhaps I might be of some help. Are you in some sort of trouble?"

He shrugged. It really was an appalling habit.

"Obviously something is bothering you. Sometimes an impartial sounding board is just what's needed."

Dick seemed to weigh whether or not to confide or not. "It sounds so lame."

"Evidently it's enough to upset you."

Unwilling to meet the older man's eyes, he looked out the window to the rolling lawns. "I wish I knew what's wrong with me." It was said so softly Alfred could barely hear him.

"In what sense?"

"It sounds so stupid, like a dumbass kid, but I wish I knew why no one wants me. What's wrong with me?"

Alfred thought he was prepared for almost anything Dick might have come up with to be upset about, from failing a class to a pregnant girlfriend, but he'd never thought of this. Certainly Master Bruce never had these thoughts when he was this age, thank God. He'd had other problems. Lord knew, but not this sort of thing.

He sat next to the youngster. "Come now, you know how wanted you are in this home, how large a difference you've made in our lives here. You're wanted and loved very much."

Dick shrugged again. He really must stop that habit. Alfred tried once more.

"Has something happened?"

"It wasn't anything. I asked a girl at school to the movies and she turned me down. It doesn't matter."

"Perhaps the young lady will reconsider."

Dick turned and gave him an assessing look, making a decision. "It's not important but it got me thinking about all the people in my life who threw me out or wouldn't let me in or got tired of me. I realized that there's a pattern to it and I can't figure out why."

"Surely you don't believe…my goodness, you've more friends and are more highly thought of than just about anyone I know."

"When my parents died the circus people said they wanted me to stay there, that I was one of them, but they let me be taken by Child Services and never bothered to even check back on me. I wrote some of them, but I never got any answers, either."

"That was a confusing time for everyone, Master Dick, you know that. There was so much upset and the police were involved and…"

"They never even called to find out where I ended up. I checked. No one cared or maybe they were just too busy. And no one in my family would take me in, either. I mean, shit—I was this eight year old kid who'd just been orphaned and none of them would even let me stay with them until I had a decent permanent home."

Well, the boy had him there. That was true, however, "They asked about you, a number of your relatives did, you know that. They still send you things on your birthday and for Christmas. They do try to keep track of you."

Dick gave him a withering look. They both knew it was bullshit.

"And you have a number of friends who care very much about you. You know that to be true. Goodness, the Titans hold you in tremendously high regard…"

"Who? Roy? He's not speaking to me because I signed him into rehab. He's still pissed about that."

"You helped him, you likely saved his life. One day he'll understand that."

"When Ollie found out he cut Roy off. Roy blames me for that and he's right. I'm the one who let Ollie know."

"Surely you…"

"And Wally? He's busy. He never has time…Garth and Donna, are the same way. They're all busy."

"Now really. You know you have any number of friends at school."

Dick laughed. It wasn't pleasant. "You want to know what they think of me at school? They think Bruce took me in because he likes little boys. You know that, Alf. You've heard that one before. It's practically gospel now." He shifted his position on the soft cushion. "I get lots of offers in the locker room. Maybe I should start accepting some of them. And the only people who give me the time of day are the ones who want something—anything from money to a swim in the pool. No one wants to just be friends, they all have some agenda. The ones who don't want something or think I'm Bruce's entertainment just think I'm a boring grind."

Alfred had no idea that Dick felt this way, exaggerating and being overly dramatic, though he was.

"Master Bruce loves you as though you were his own son with nothing untoward in his feelings for you. Surely you've never had reason to doubt that."

"Bruce felt sorry for me." Period. "Besides, I reminded him of himself. It's just his ego that's trying to fix me since he's so screwed up by what happened to him—same story, different characters. He's hoping for a different ending."

The boy likely had some truth there, however, "He loves you for yourself, Master Dick. You know how genuinely fond of you he is. You've made all the difference in his life—as well as in my own."

The shrug again this time accompanied by a sidelong look at Alfred. For a moment he thought the boy would say something more, but he remained silent. Another nerve had been hit.

"Mast…Dick" Alfred dropped the formality as much as he could, "you know that I think of you as a grandson. I couldn't be more fond of you if you were blood."

"Maybe now, maybe, but you didn't want me, either. I heard you talking to Bruce the first few months I was here. You made it pretty clear that you had no interest in being a babysitter so I tried to stay out of your way."

If Dick had slapped him across the face he couldn't have been more shocked. It was true that in the beginning he'd had reservations about bringing a traumatized child into the house, but within a week or two Alfred had seen how extraordinary Dick was, how intelligent and gifted. The change in the old house was almost immediate—lightness where there had been shadows, laughter where they had gotten used to silence. He had come to love the boy deeply and he believed that the feelings were returned and he told the boy this as they sat there, Dick's face turned towards the floor, unwilling to accept what he was being told..

"You told me that there was something you wanted for your birthday. Would you tell me what it was?"

He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, tied up in a small ball. "I wish that there was someone who liked me for myself. I mean someone who doesn't want something from me or who wants me to be something I'm not. I wish there was someone who thought I was all right just the way I am."

Dear Lord. It was a time-honored plea for a teenager, to be sure, but this was taken beyond the usual search for a young man's sense of identity and perhaps with cause, given his background. "How long have you felt this way?"

Yet another shrug. "Since I got here."

Alfred had no answer beyond clichés for that. Had they made such a botch of it? Had they really missed all signs of the boy's feelings? It was true that from the beginning Dick had been tremendously self sufficient, rarely asking for anything, doing his own laundry, cleaning his own room, never needing to be reminded of the usual childhood things like brushing his teeth or bathing. He had always assumed that was how the boy had been raised, to be independent. Was it really so that Alfred wouldn't feel put upon by the lad?

Did he honestly believe that Bruce had kept him here just out of a sense of obligation or pity?

Dear God, had he endured his schoolmates taunts and insults in silence all this time and they'd had no idea of what he was going through?

"Dick, I…surely your friends, Donna and Roy and the others, surely you know that they accept you, good and bad?"

"They listen to me because I'm the leader, but they don't like me. I mean we go to movies and for pizza and stuff but I don't know. They're different when I'm around. They sort of watch what they saw because they think I might talk to their guardians or their parents if they screw up or get drunk or something. The thing with Roy just reinforced that." A pause of maybe two breathes. "Except Garth. He's not like the others. He just does his thing, we talk sometimes. He's okay."

"You two talk to one another?"

He nodded. "Garth and I tell each other stuff that it's, you know, the stuff that's hard to talk about."

This was news but at least there was someone he was comfortable with.

"You do realize that your life has hardly been what one would call an average one, now, has it? Certainly being raised for so long in a traveling show, then losing your parents, coming here combined with your—extracurricular activities with Bruce, surely you understand that these things do set you apart from your peers."

"Yeah, I know." He seemed to gather himself a bit, stretching his legs out in front of him and flexing his arms. Perhaps he was just tired of talking about it. With luck his mood might be lifting for a while. "I'm being a pain in the ass, aren't I, Alf? Let's just drop it, okay?" He stood up "I've got some research to do for school. I'll be back later, maybe around eight?"

"I'll keep your dinner for you, then, Master Dick." The balance was restored for now.

"No, it's all right. I'm going to the library. I'll get something to eat in town." And he was gone. Alfred heard the front door open and close and a minute later heard the roar of one of the motorcycles. Bruce would be angry. Dick was underage and unlicensed.

Nor was he headed to the library, unless Alfred missed his guess. Though he didn't want to think it possible, he wondered if Dick was going in search of something to brighten his mood a bit and drugs were common enough in the area—a lot of money available to a lot of bored youngsters was always fertile ground. And the young master had been under some strain lately, more than usual. It was possible that he might turn to…no. He wouldn't. He was too sensible, too intelligent. He'd seen the consequences of drug use with his friends. He wouldn't…

They weren't out of the woods quite yet. Perhaps Dick had simply decided on some form of pain management, which didn't include an old man or his guardian. With luck, he'd do himself no harm. Perhaps he was just joy riding, burning off stress and tension that way.

Of course, that must be it.

Going down to the cave Alfred turned on the tracking devices installed on all of the master's vehicles. One blip showed up in Gotham, still parked at the headquarters of Wayne Corp. The other blip was moving north toward New York.

What was Dick going there for? The Titans? Possibly.

Keeping an eye on the sensor, Alfred saw that the motorcycle kept moving, making what was basically a large loop through the surrounding extended area and finally returned to the Manor around eleven that night. Dick came in through the garage entrance and went straight up to his room, closing the door. There was no way to prevent the Master from finding out. Robin stayed home that night and the Bat flew alone.

When Alfred checked a few minutes later, the light was off and Dick was already in bed, feigning sleep.

The next morning the young master went directly to school without bothering to stop for either breakfast or conversation, taking his moped—a vehicle he could legally drive. This would all be addressed when the young man got home, and make no mistake about it. This wasn't the sort of thing that could be tolerated.

About ten-thirty in the morning, with Master Bruce at Wayne Corp headquarters, Alfred received a call from the vice principal of the high school.

"Is Mr. Wayne there, please?"

"Mr. Wayne is at work, sir, may I take a message?"

"Is Mr. Pennyworth available, then?

"This is he, how may I help you?"

"Mr. Pennyworth, you're listed as the emergency contact for Richard Grayson, could I ask you to come to the school, please?"

"Has the young master been injured? Is there some sort of problem?" Oh dear.

"He's fine, but he's sitting here in my office and it seems he had an argument with one of his teachers this morning, resulting in her ending up in tears."

"Master Richard? That hardly sounds like him, I'll be there as soon as possible."

When he walked into the school office, Alfred saw Dick sitting on the bench. His face was completely neutral and he'd been waiting for the butler to arrive, standing when he saw the older man. "Wilkins is waiting for you. He's in his office." Dick indicated a closed door across the room. The secretary smiled at Alfred, nodded and knocked on the door, opening it.

"Mr. Pennyworth is here, Mr. Wilkins. Dick? You, too."

The two of them went in, sitting down in the two empty chairs. There was a middle-aged woman there as well. The vice principal spoke first.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Pennyworth. This is Mrs. Sullivan, Dick's guidance counselor. Betsy? Would you like to start?"

"Mr. Pennyworth, first of all, Dick is a fine young man. He's intelligent, his grades are generally excellent and he's one of his class leaders; that's why we're concerned about him right now. This morning there was an argument in his History class that evidently escalated and, from what I've been told, became rather heated. Dick made some comments to his teacher, which were out of character for him—they were vulgar and extremely offensive. And she ended up leaving the room in tears."

Alfred looked at Dick. That wasn't like him at all, he was almost always polite. "Could you give your side of this, please?"

Dick had been listening without expression, his attention directly on the woman, almost as if he were studying her.

"That's not what happened. She—the teacher, Ms Adams, started going on about the Holocaust, saying how the Jews suffered—they did, obviously. I know that. I just said that they weren't the only ones who were victimized and facing genocide and she told me that the other groups weren't as statistically important."

Wilkins interrupted. "I'm sure she didn't say that, Dick."

"She based her rationale on the numbers of people killed, and yes, as a matter of fact she did."

"From what she told me, you became angry and said some things that were inappropriate, though, Dick."

"I told her that there were other groups, including the Gypsies who were also systematically murdered and she said that, relatively speaking, they were minor."

"Well, if she was basing her comments on sheer numbers of victims, I'm afraid that she did have a point and…"

Dick interrupted quietly but forcefully. It was the voice he used when he was leading the Titans. "Most of my family was killed in the camps because they were Gypsies. Ms Adams made statements that not only were inaccurate but were stupid and insensitive to members of the other groups who were murdered. I took offense to it, and to her."

Wilkins wasn't about to let him get away with mouthing off to a teacher, no matter how provoked he might have been. "Be that as it may, you used language to her that is inappropriate under any circumstances and you'll need to apologize to her for that before you're allowed to go back to class."

"I'll apologize if she will."

Alfred spoke up. "Mr. Wilkins, might I inquire as to what he said to the woman?"

The principal looked at Dick. "Would you care to tell him yourself?"

Dick stared the man down. "I told her that she was an insensitive cunt."

For perhaps the only time since he'd known the man, Dick saw Alfred lose his cool, flushed with anger. "Master Richard! Good Lord—I've never heard such language from you and I hope to never hear it again. Am I making myself clear? There is no excuse for such vulgarities. None. Two wrongs don't make a right, you know that quite well. If you've said such things to your teacher I expect that you will be the one to offer an olive branch."

"I'll apologize if she will."

The principal spoke directly to Dick. "You're a student here and there are standards you will adhere to, including those of common courtesy. I must ask for an apology from you to Ms. Adams this afternoon. Do you understand me, young man?"

"And she'll apologize to me as well?"

"You were the one who was out of line here and I'm not about to negotiate with you."

"Then, no." Dick's voice was quiet but firm.

"If you refuse you'll be suspended."

"Fine."

It was a standoff and Alfred knew Dick well enough to realize he wouldn't back down when he was this angry. If it meant he'd end up in a different school, then that was what it would mean. "If I might make a suggestion, sir. Perhaps we could have the young man remove himself from the situation for a few days, have him think about what has happened until Monday morning. I'm sure that with the passage of time and the chance to think things through, we'll be able to reach an acceptable resolution."

Wilkins seemed glad for the possibility of a compromise; he didn't want to offend Bruce Wayne—the man had paid for the new science classrooms last year. "Dick, does that sound reasonable to you? Think about it for a few days and then see how you feel?"

"I'm not going to change my mind, but if Ms Adams decides she was wrong, I'll be happy to listen to what she has to say."

Great. He'd dung in his heels, but at least it would still give them all some breathing room. "All right. You're suspended until Monday. Please get your books out of your locker if you want to study, but you know that you'll receive a failing grade for any missed work, which you will not be allowed to make up. That's standard school policy."

Dick stood up, every line his body registering a cross between fury and stubbornness. "Fine"

Alfred went with Dick as he got his jacket and a couple of books, then walked the boy out to the car. The older man said nothing, though Dick did catch a couple of irritated and probably frustrated shakes of his head on the drive back to the manor. Alfred finally spoke as they pulled up to the house.

"Master Bruce will have to be informed of this, you realize."

"I know."

That was all he said before he got out of the car, closed his door and went up to his room. Dick declined dinner.

Around eight-thirty Bruce knocked, letting himself in when he heard Dick's voice. He found the boy lying on his bed, reading Hamlet and making notes.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"I assume Alfred already has."

Bruce sat in the desk chair about six feet from the bed. "I'd like to hear it from you." It was obviously not a request.

He gave Bruce a long look; it was clear he'd rather eat glass. "I took offense to something a teacher said in class and it got a little heated. That's all."

"Except that Alfred was called into the school and you're suspended through Monday. That seems more than a disagreement to me."

Dick gave him a bored look. "It wasn't that big a deal. It's not going to hurt my grades or anything. It's…whatever." He really didn't want to talk about this.

Bruce wasn't about to let it go this easily. "I understand that if you don't apologize to your teacher, you may be expelled. Is that right?"

Dick just shrugged. Yes, it was true. "It's not the only school around."

"No, but that's hardly the point, is it?" Clearly this was getting them nowhere other than circles and the episode this afternoon wasn't the real problem, anyway. He tried to soften his approach. "I'd like to know what's really bothering you, Dick. Something has been on your mind for months now and both Alfred and I are concerned about you."

Dick lowered his eyes, not meeting Bruce's and not saying anything, either

"I know that you're under a lot of pressure between school and being Robin—you work with me and lead the Titans, that's like working three jobs at once and you're still sixteen years old. I doubt if I could do what you are when I was your age. Maybe it's too much…"

"No." It was said quickly, as though he was afraid of what the next sentence out of Bruce's mouth would be. "It isn't, I can handle it."

Bruce gave him what Dick had mentally nicknamed his 'appraising look' for a full minute before he spoke, abruptly changing the subject. "I think it might be a good idea to take off the end of next week. You have mid winter break coming up anyway—what do you say about going to the place in Aspen? You know how much you love to ski."

Dick looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

"We've both been so busy we haven't really spent any time together when we weren't working in months—this seems like a good time for that."

Dick's expression changed subtly to where it was apparent that he was now completely sure Bruce had taken leave of his senses. "Yeah, sure. That would be great." It was said in a guarded monotone, Dick's attention already back on Shakespeare—or so it appeared. Knowing when he was beaten, or at least temporarily stymied, Bruce got up and left. Down in the kitchen, Alfred looked a question at him to which he just shook his head and asked that arrangements be made to prepare the ski condo for next week.

TBC

6/30/05

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