This one-shot comes immediately after "A Little Help" and before "The Cowl" . . . Enjoy!
Warning: Language . . .
"You do realize that you cannot tell anyone, don't you?"
Dick looked up at the man who had taken him in when his world had been torn apart. A couple of months ago, when Dick's parents had died, he had only wanted to die with them. For the first time in his life, young Dick Grayson had known real fear . . . and loneliness, heartbreak and loss. It had consumed him.
His time in the detention center had passed in a blur of tears. Even now, Dick didn't remember much of it. His first day there and after that, nothing had mattered to him. Vaguely he remembered being shoved around, pushed into walls, knocked to the floor, and the cruel laughter that followed; once or twice he thought he had heard a woman's voice asking him questions. But everything had blended together into one long nightmare from which he couldn't seem to wake up.
Until . . . that one evening he had been cornered in the communal bathroom. In that moment, the world became crystal clear and Dick realized that he was alone with two much-older boys that stood menacingly between him and the door. After weeks of doing nothing but laying on his bed or walking lazily through the halls and wandering the green area inside the fence, Dick was slow. Slow and weak. Dick suddenly discovered that his reflexes were off by a mile.
When the punches came, it was all he could do just to dodge them. He had tried to flip away but one of the older boys had pushed him into the line of sinks along one wall. He had crashed into them, bruising his ribs but also managing to sprain his wrist. It was at that point his attackers had begun to finally land those sloppy punches. Dick thought briefly that if he had been in peak condition, like he had been while with the circus, not one of those punches would have touched him. As it was, he had been lucky he hadn't lost a tooth that day or broken one of his ribs.
They had attacked him because he had cried . . . a lot, apparently, and they were sick of it. Just telling them he wouldn't cry anymore didn't make them stop, however. When they had finally walked out, Dick had sat in the corner of the bathroom with his knees drawn up; his ribs aching, his lips split, and one of his eyes swelling up.
It had hurt, yeah, but he had been hurt before. You cannot be a gymnast and a trapeze artist and not get hurt on occasion so it wasn't the pain that had shocked him. No, it had been the violence of it . . . and it had dragged him bodily out of the daze he had been living in for weeks. He had discovered that crying was the mark of a victim in that place and tears were like blood in the water. If he wanted to survive, he needed to be tougher . . . He needed to shove all those weak feelings down deep inside and not let anyone see them again, ever, if he could manage it.
He thought about telling someone about what happened but who was he to tell? The people who thought it was alright to stick him in with a bunch older boys who would as soon stomp him into a puddle as to look at him? His roommate, Dick didn't even know his name even after three weeks, would likely pulverize him the next time. As hard as he tried, he couldn't think of anyone who could help him. So, as he sat there spitting blood onto the bathroom floor, Dick abruptly realized exactly how alone he really was for the first time.
The circus was gone! Haley's had a tour schedule to keep. Sure they had been near the end of the season, but there were at least three more stops along the way south before the circus retired to their annual winter campground in Florida. He knew that Uncle Jack would keep to that schedule . . . Dick didn't blame him for that. The man had a business to run and people depending on him. What Dick couldn't believe was that Mr. Haley, the owner and ringmaster of Haley's Circus, and his godfather, would leave him without saying goodbye. It turned out that Haley hadn't been allowed to see him before they left but Dick hadn't known that at the time.
That's when the anger came. Anger at everyone! Uncle Jack for leaving without a word, at the social worker for leaving him in that prison for kids, and even his parents for dying and leaving him behind that horrible night. But mostly . . . he was angry at Tony Zucco.
Dick hadn't been so out of it he didn't remember the man responsible for every bad thing to happen to him since that fateful day Zucco had strolled into the circus and threatened 'Pop' Haley. He had wanted money for protection, he had said. Dick hadn't understood all of it at the time. The circus didn't need protecting! Everyone was super careful and experts at their jobs. What accidents was the guy talking about?
Dick had learned the answer to that question the hard way the very next night.
He wanted Zucco caught. Dick realized the man had gotten away because if he wasn't in jail, then why was Dick still here? Something about it being for his protection; at least, that was what he thought he remembered hearing on that first day he had arrived here.
Dick had wiped the blood off of his face with his sleeve and scoffed. Some protection . . . He was sick of it! He didn't want anyone protecting him anymore. He wanted out of there. He wanted a way to hurt Zucco the way the man had hurt him. He had spent that night, lying in his bunk across from one of the boys that had beaten him up and thought about his revenge, thought about pushing Zucco from fifty feet in the air and watching him fall down – SPLAT!
His thoughts, though, had made him sick to his stomach by morning. He waited quietly until his roommate left for breakfast, not wanting to incur another beating. It wasn't that he was all that hurt but he certainly hadn't enjoyed it. Then there was this small fear there that, the next time it occurred, his roommate wouldn't stop when his friend pulled him away. Once he was alone in the room, Dick had dozed and as he slept, he dreamed of Zucco falling from the trapeze as his parents had. Down, down, down he had fallen until the man hit with a wet dull thud. But when Dick had looked, it hadn't been Zucco lying in the bloody sawdust; it had been his parents . . . again. Dick knew in that moment that if he killed Zucco, he would become just like him, a murderer.
He had felt ashamed and all the grief and loneliness of the last few weeks swept over him once more. This time, however, there were no more tears left. With no one to turn to and nowhere to run, Dick had rolled over onto his good side and thought about the fact that Zucco was free somewhere while Dick was in jail, and he was suddenly afraid that he might never get out. What if they couldn't find Zucco? Would they just forget about him in here? What if . . . what if they did let Dick out one day? Where would he go?
False promises rang in his ears over the course of the next few days. Promises that his parents would never leave him or that Uncle Jack would always be there to take care of him. Promises of the police commissioner to find the man responsible and promises of the social worker that this was only a temporary arrangement – a week at most, she had said. The promises that he would be safe here . . . All lies. His trust in the world had taken a beating far worse than anything those two boys could have done to him.
"Dick? Are you listening to me?"
Dick blinked up at his guardian; the man who had rescued him from the detention center, from his grief, from the gang members that had wanted to deliver him to Zucco for a lot of money . . . And upon Dick's discovery that Bruce Wayne was Gotham City's very own Batman, he had rescued Dick from his anger and despair. Bruce Wayne had promised him he could stay with him forever but perhaps even more important in Dick's eyes was that Batman had promised Dick he would help him capture Anthony Zucco and put him away for the rest of his life.
Bruce Wayne had kept his promises so far. So, Dick would return the favor and keep his secrets. Of course, he would have kept those secrets anyway but he felt the urge to open up with Bruce in a way that hadn't been there since his parents had died and Dick had been taken from the only home he had ever known. It made him nervous but also hopeful.
"Yes sir," Dick answered with a small smile. "I promise . . . I won't tell a single soul that you are Batman. I swear it," he told him sincerely, holding out his pinkie finger.
"Good. I'm glad we understand each other," Bruce said. He frowned at Dick's extended finger, confused. "What is this?" he asked, gesturing.
"A pinkie swear," Dick said, surprised. "I swear to never tell anyone your secret."
When Bruce failed to move, Dick grabbed his guardian's little finger and wrapped his own pinkie around it. He held the fingers together, shaking them up and down.
"Like this," he told him. "You don't break pinkie swears or your finger will fall off," he explained solemnly. "And that's a fate worse than death for a trapeze artist."
"Hm, as long as we understand one another," Bruce repeated seriously. "Now, would you like to see where Batman works?"
Dick's eyes widened in awe. "Really? Can I?"
Bruce's lips quirked up on one side. Not really a smile, but Dick learned that real smiles from Bruce were like gold – very rare and hard to find. That made Bruce's smirk like a regular smile and he was okay with that.
He had been expecting Bruce to lead him to a door or a set of stairs or even outside. What he didn't expect was for Bruce to lead him to the other side of the study . . . Dick scowled in his confusion. What is he doing?
What he was doing was stopping in front of the broken Grandfather clock that sat across from his big heavy desk. Bruce opened the glass door that protected the clock's face and turned the hands of the clock around and around again until the time said ten . . . Dick scrunched his nose as he counted the minutes . . . forty-seven? Before he could ask why that time, there was a slight click and the clock slid silently to the side. A heavy metal door was behind it with an electronic panel built right into it. Bruce laid his thumb on it and the door swung open to darkness. Speechless, Dick moved forward as his guardian beckoned.
So, this was where he and Alfred disappeared to when Dick would come looking for them. How many times had he seen one or both men enter the room only to discover the room was empty minutes later? Was this where Bruce hid his Batman stuff? Was it a secret closet?
Dick gathered his courage and stepped through the dark portal. Immediately, lights came on above his head as the first few steps of a stone staircase were revealed.
"Stay close to the wall," Bruce instructed.
He headed down the stairs with one hand sliding along the wall. As he reached the end of one lighted area, another set of lights came on and illuminated even more steps, drawing him further down into the unknown.
"How does it know to do that?" Dick asked in quiet awe. Despite his soft tone, his voice echoed around him, making him think he was in a larger space than he imagined.
"Motion sensors," Bruce told him.
Curious, Dick continued moving, reassured by the sound of his guardian right behind him. Cold damp air rose up to meet him. This wasn't a basement, he decided. He was going too deep for it to be a part of the house above him.
When next he reached the edge of the darkness, dozens of lights flickered on abruptly, revealing an immense cavern in front of him. He gasped, gaping in wonder at the huge expanse. Dick couldn't even see where the ceiling was beyond the drop-down lights.
"It's okay, Dick," Bruce assured him. He stepped around the boy and led him the rest of the way down the stairs and in to the cave proper. "I found this place many years ago as a child. When I decided to take up vigilantism and fight crime at night anonymously, I remembered it being here. You see, as Bruce Wayne I am expected to host a party or two every year. I couldn't risk a guest stumbling upon my secret now, could I? I knew at once that here my secret would be safe."
He watched the boy's reaction with a touch of hidden pride. Eight year old Dick Grayson was the first person to enter the cave other than him and Alfred. Batman had only joined with what was being tentatively called the Justice League less than a year ago. Although he had shared his identity with those among the other founders who would be able to deduce it for themselves, he had never invited any of the members back here. His trust was as fragile as the new team was. He wasn't exactly comfortable with so many super-powered beings and there being nothing available to keep them in check should they go rogue.
He supposed that sounded bad. He knew that several of those members had begun to think of him as their friend but as 'honorable' as they might consider themselves to be, what might happen to the world if one of these powerhouses turned on them? What would happen if one or more of them somehow come under the mental domination of another not-so altruistic being? Bruce knew that, if the worst-case scenario ever happened, he would need a place to retreat to; a place that would hold in its depths certain contingency plans. He didn't want the cave to be compromised by giving out the knowledge of its existence to those he might one day have to battle.
But that didn't stop him from wanting to see the amazement in Dick's eyes. The boy had already proven himself to be a promising young detective by deducing the Batman's identity with only a handful of clues. He was also a natural athlete with impressive acrobatic skills and real-world experience already under his belt. Dick Grayson was a regular boy wonder.
Bruce had made the decision long ago that the Wayne legacy would die with him. He could never, in good conscience, burden a wife and children with his life-and-death choices . . . But he worried about the day when Batman would fail to return to the cave after patrol, a day when his injuries would be so severe that Batman would have no choice but to hang up his cape forever. What would happen to Gotham then?
It had been nearly three years since the vigilante had swooped into Gotham City but since then crime had gone down. Statistically, there was improvement. People seemed to feel safer; criminals were looking over their shoulders in fear . . . Some he hoped had turned to honest ways to earn a buck rather than having to deal with an angry Bat. Then again, perhaps he gave himself too much credit. In a perfect world Batman could erase crime city-wide but Gotham was anything but perfect. Once word got out that the Batman was gone, crime would begin to escalate astronomically.
Bruce Wayne was human. Bruce Wayne must die one day but the Batman . . . It occurred to him then that the Batman could live beyond Bruce Wayne if his legacy were passed on to another.
Dick spun around in delight, trying to look at everything at once. Bruce was pleased to see that the dark shadows of the cave did not frighten him at all. In fact, from what he observed yesterday, the boy was practically fearless, willing and able to challenge even a half a dozen men three times his size and actually win the day. Imagine what the boy could be capable of if all that raw potential could be gotten early and molded and shaped! Why, with a little discipline and hard work, Dick could one day even be able enough to take on the mantle of . . .
Bruce blinked.
What the hell am I doing?
"This is ama-azing," Dick crowed, grinning from ear to ear. "How'd you get all this stuff down here?"
Bruce allowed Dick to pull him away from his disturbing thoughts.
"It wasn't easy," he admitted, tousling the rumpled hair. The corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. One might never know the boy owned a comb from the looks of him. "Took some elbow grease, some careful planning, and the help and ingenuity of one British butler."
He watched Dick wander over to the huge Cray supercomputer that Bruce had bought down in parts and assembled here himself. The boy stared at its massive screens, obviously wanting to touch them but not daring. There were three. The center one was the largest ever built. He had commissioned it from his own R&D department with the other two slightly smaller screens, telling them that he had wanted the best home theater system in the world.
The techs had smiled at him with understanding. He was 'fucking' Bruce Wayne, he had heard one of them say as he had turned to walk away, he was bigger than life so, of course, his home theater needed to be the same way. Bruce had only lifted an eyebrow as he returned to his office several floor above the department. He knew that word would get around of his massive ego and materialism before the elevator managed spew him out on the floor to his office.
Dick tilted his head. "Is this how you knew I had opened my window last week?"
Bruce obligingly joined him and brought up the manor's security. A display of manor's four stories and the attic appeared on the giant screen, each window and each point of entry was marked in blue. He pointed at one of the rooms at the end of the second story wing.
"That is your room. This will note the date and time every time your window opens and closes. That's how I knew you were opening the windows. And on the night you used the window to slip out of the manor, I had an alarm set to inform me when the window opened," he explained.
Dick frowned, chewed his bottom lip. "Do you do this all the time?"
Bruce slipped a hand onto the boy's shoulder. "It is a habit of mine to check the house after I come back from patrol but before I retire upstairs. Normally, it wouldn't be an issue, but it is winter, and you are young and new here."
Dick wrinkled his nose as a blush rose up over his cheeks. "And I did get sick from climbing out of it."
"Yes, you did. So, forgive me if I worry a little over you," he told him with a soft smile. "This is all new to me as well." Bruce turned around and leaned back against the edge of the computer, facing the boy. "I don't want to screw this up," he admitted with a shrug.
The boy's face lightened and he nodded, happy with that reply. Dick's hand hovered near the colored displays, although not touching. Bruce could practically see the gears working in his head.
"What do you do with it? It seems so big to just watch over the house."
This time Bruce's eyes lit up. "Are you really interested?"
"Well, yeah," Dick said, incredulously. "You're Batman! I'd think that everything down here must be something cool to help you catch the bad guys. Right?"
Bruce glanced around but found there were no other chairs down here but for the one he used. In another section he used as a crime lab there would be another but that was a little far to go just for the sake of a demonstration. Usually he was the only one down here. Alfred didn't linger when Bruce was working and when Batman was out, Alfred had the sole use of the chair. He had the feeling that Dick would find a way down here on a regular basis now that he was in the know. Bruce decided that he would have to see what he could do to accommodate the boy.
In the meantime, Bruce sat down in his very comfortable, custom-handcrafted, leather computer chair and patted his knee in an unusual invitation. Dick hesitated only a second and then the boy bounded over with a skip in his step, certain that something wondrous was about to occur. Bruce picked the child up, sitting him on his knee.
"Now, this button here will allow me to access all of Gotham City's traffic cams," Bruce began. "Go ahead," he offered. "Push it."
Dick's eyes sparkled as he carefully pushed the button indicated. All three screens lit up in a grid with more than a dozen different locations displayed.
"Oh, wow," he breathed in awe.
Bruce touched the controls and the display changed to yet more locations. Each picture had a location as well as the date and time listed across the bottom. He flipped through them all as they watched people coming and going on the sidewalks and crossing the streets of the city amidst the seemingly endless array of cars, trucks, and vans; somehow avoiding getting hit.
Another touch of a button changed the displays again. This time the angle came from the sidewalks. Several people had their faces almost directly in the camera while people moved around behind them and cars could be seen passing by beyond them.
"These are views from the various ATM machines scattered throughout the city," Bruce informed the boy.
Dick stared, trying to see everything at once. He suddenly sat up straight and pointed as one person moved away from the ATM, his business done.
"Look! We were there yesterday," Dick cried with excitement, "Alfred and me."
"Alfred and I," Bruce corrected absentmindedly as he looked at the camera Dick indicated.
"Alfred and I," Dick repeated automatically, but he was too excited to care.
He bounced on Bruce's knee, prompting the man to place a hand on the boy's back. Not that he had actually needed to because it was a fact that Dick's sense of balance was a marvel to behold.
"How do you know that?" Bruce asked. He hadn't expected that a child Dick's age would pay that close of attention to the names of streets while he was riding around in the back of the Bentley.
"I recognize the parking lot across the street and the dry cleaners Alfred said he wanted to go to," Dick told him.
"You remembered it was that dry cleaners right there as opposed to this one?" Bruce pointed at another view from a different camera in another part of the city.
Dick glanced at the second location. Bruce had pulled this one up because the dry cleaners in both pictures had the same name. It was a family run business with several stores throughout the city: Snyder's Dry Cleaning.
But Dick was shaking his head almost immediately. "No," he said. "That's not the same one. The one where we were at had the parking lot next to it," Dick pointed to where one could just make out several cars parked next to the building. "And there is a florist next to the dry cleaners where Alfred parked in this one, but over there is a hardware in that spot. And, see that trashcan? That picture doesn't have one like this one does."
Bruce stared at the boy in surprise. "You noticed a trashcan?" The florist, he could see where the boy might have noticed that, but a trashcan?
"Sure," Dick gave him a funny look. "Didn't you? Or maybe you've never noticed it before now?"
Bruce was stunned. The boy's observational skills were uncanny. The pictures displayed from ATM cameras weren't especially high quality and the images from a distance were generally indistinct, and yet, Dick managed to pull out details enough discover a location he had been to only once. True, it had been just yesterday, but it was still impressive for an eight year old nonetheless.
"Dick, look at me," he commanded.
The boy looked at him obediently.
"What is the address of the ATM from where you were?" It was a long shot.
Dick blinked and tilted his head in confusion. He scrunched his nose up as his eyes took on a far off look for a moment and then he answered. "2448 Wilmont Avenue," he recited. "It's the First National Trust bank."
"How did you know that?" Bruce asked.
Dick shrugged. "It was listed on the camera's picture."
"And you read that and remembered it without my prompting you?"
"Well . . . yeah," Dick answered, still obviously confused by this sudden interrogation.
"And you saw the name of the bank on there as well," Bruce inferred. He hadn't asked for the name of the bank. Dick had volunteered that information.
The boy shrugged again. "Sure, but I knew the name of the bank already because I read it on the front of the building when Alfred parked there."
Impressed, Bruce shut down the screen and set Dick back on his feet.
"Why did you ask me that? Was it some kind of test?"
Perceptive as well . . . "Of a sort," Bruce murmured. "Come on. There is a lot more to show you."
He reached out to take Dick's hand. The cavern that made up this part of the cave was expansive but also full of dangers to the unwary. There was a river that ran beneath this level and parts of the ground had dropped at one time or another. Some spots one could simply step off of one level onto the next, but elsewhere Bruce had found it necessary to put in grated metal stairs to reach another.
He led Dick down to the next level where he stored the vehicles. He had several so far but the most recent model sat proudly on display on a large metal turnstile that would enable him to turn the car in the limited space. It was a fairly masterful feat of engineering and had been ridiculously difficult to accomplish secretly.
"You saw this yesterday, I believe," Bruce teased him. Dick had managed to stay awake while in the car for all of five minutes after his big adventure before he succumbed to his exhaustion.
"I don't remember much about it," Dick ducked his head, embarrassed.
"Let me enter you into the car's security system," Bruce offered. He opened the car door and slid into the seat, one hand holding the child at a safe distance. "Until I get you in here, the car's system might register you as an intruder and give you a little shock."
Dick's eyes widened and he stepped back away from the corner of the door.
"Oh, it's okay now. I've turned the security system off. You're safe here with me," Bruce assured him a second later. "Come around on the other side of the car and climb into the passenger seat."
As Dick obeyed, Bruce punched in a separate security code and verified his own identity once more in order to enable him to add another user into the system. As of now, only he and Alfred had the freedom and safety to work in and around the car with abandon. Dick clambered in on the other side. He was definitely awake this time around.
"What are you doing now?" the boy asked.
"I am preparing to add you to the car's security system," Bruce explained. "It is going to ask you to do a couple of things. Just follow the instructions." At the boy's sudden nervousness, Bruce added. "Don't worry. I'll be here to guide you through it."
"Will I be able to drive it one day?" The idea excited him.
It was perhaps telling that Bruce hesitated, but the child didn't notice.
"That is unlikely to happen any time soon," he stated diplomatically. "You would need to grow enough to be able to touch the pedals and see over the steering wheel at the same time first, I think."
'Welcome, Batman,' said a computerized woman's voice from the dash. Dick startled a little, clearly not expecting the vehicle to speak to them. 'Enter data.'
"Say your name for it," Bruce instructed.
"My whole name?"
"Your nickname will do." He winked at the boy.
Dick leaned forward until he was but an inch away from the screen in the center of the dash. "Dick Grayson," he said loudly and with careful enunciation.
'Please place hand onto the screen and hold,' the car intoned.
Bruce demonstrated by miming the action. Dick spread his fingers and laid his hand onto the screen. It looked small on a screen large enough to accommodate Bruce's hand. The computer scanned the hand slowly. After a moment the car spoke to them again.
'Please remove hand.'
Dick obeyed and sat back. While they waited, Bruce told him a little about the car's abilities and what all it was capable of doing; everything from releasing smoke from the rear of the car to dropping tacks to blow out tires, from its bulletproof glass and side panels to its infrared display and short-range missiles. It was another feature that caught and held the boy's attention.
"The car can really drive itself?" Dick asked, surprised.
"I programmed its GPS with a map of, not only Gotham City but all of the surrounding towns and municipalities up to fifty miles. Every side road. Every dirt path," he assured him. "It has sensors that can register oncoming vehicles as well as those directly in front and behind and even on either side. It knows the speed limits and can adjust its course automatically."
"Why?"
"Being Batman means I occasionally am faced with many criminals simultaneously, and there are times when I've been injured," Bruce downplayed this. He didn't want Dick to worry that he might end up losing his guardian so soon after losing his family. "It just makes it easier for me to get back to the cave so that Alfred can patch me up good as new."
'Data received. Dick Grayson is now an authorized user . . . Have a nice day.'
Dick giggled at the car's politeness.
"So, what do you think of it all so far?" Bruce relaxed into the seat. They had been designed for comfort . . . for those long overnight stake-outs.
Dick bounced on his knees on the passenger seat lightly. "I think it's really cool," he exclaimed. "But I have a question."
"And what would that be," he asked.
"What do you call it?" Dick asked curiously.
Bruce frowned and glanced over at the boy. "What do you mean by 'what do I call it'? What's 'it'?"
"The car, silly," he grinned.
Bruce shook his head confused. "I call it the car, of course. Why would you ask that?"
Dick kind of shrugged and glanced around him at the cave through the windshield and at the few trophies Bruce had place strategically to remind him of his progress.
"Well, you're Batman, right?" Dick restated and looked to him for confirmation.
"I thought we had established that yesterday, chum" Bruce smirked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, yeah, but your hideout is in a cave like where a bat would really live," Dick told him. "There are there bats in here, aren't there?" He peeked up at the ceiling through the tinted windshield.
"There are bats that live here, yes, but the constant humming of the computer tends to bother them. They generally keep to the deeper recesses of the cave where my activities don't bother them," he explained.
"Right, so your hideout . . ."
"My base of operations," Bruce corrected.
Dick nodded. "Okay, your base then . . . It is in a cave with bats."
"I get it," Bruce smiled. "Batman hangs out in a cave of bats."
Dick grinned. "Yeah, a bat cave," he said.
Bruce rolled his eyes comically. "Your point, little man?"
"You just call this place a cave, but it really should be called the Batcave," Dick said sensibly.
Bruce snorted, amused.
"And the car isn't an ordinary car," Dick continued. "It can do all kinds of things that other cars can't do." When Bruce just stared at him, Dick went on. "It shouldn't be just a car."
"The Batcar?" Bruce guessed, wincing.
"That doesn't sound quite right," the boy said, tapping a finger to his chin a moment. "I know! Why don't we call it the Batmobile?!"
Bruce grinned. "The Batmobile, is it? I guess it does have a better ring to it than the batcar, doesn't it?"
Dick bounced with a little more enthusiasm. "And the computer should be called the Batcomputer! It makes sense – Right?"
"Come on," he said laughingly, placing his hand between the child's head and the roof of the car. "Let's go before you hit your head and knock yourself out."
Dick rolled his eyes this time but obeyed. They climbed out and Bruce rebooted the security system as Dick ran around the car . . . The Batmobile, Bruce corrected himself with a grin.
"But it makes sense, doesn't it?" the boy asked again. "It's not just any computer, after all. It's Batman's computer so it should be called the Batcomputer! I mean, otherwise people will think it's just a laptop on a table in your mother's basement."
The comment surprised another laugh at him as he glanced down at the grinning boy. "You may have a point, there," he agreed. "Okay, you'll probably have to remind me every now and again, but the Batcomputer it is."
Dick did a backflip with no hands. "Yay! So, what else do you got here?"
"What else do I have here," Bruce corrected lightly, ruffling the boy's hair again. He swore it looked neater every time he did it. "Lots more stuff," he assured him. "I don't know about you, chum, but it's been a while since breakfast. How about we check with the Bat-butler and see about getting something for lunch?"
"Sounds like a plan! Are we going back up the Bat-stairs?" Dick asked enthusiastically.
Bruce choked. "I think we can just stick to calling them stairs, don't you think?"
"Okay," the boy smiled as he ran ahead.
"After lunch I want to show you the gym," Bruce called after him.
The boy looked back with renewed interest. "You mean, the one upstairs? I've seen it. You showed me that weeks ago."
Bruce's mouth quirked up on one side. "Not that one," he said, "the one down here; the one that Batman uses to train."
Dick stopped in his tracks and turning around, leaping from a dozen steps up. The boy tucked himself as he landed, rolling and coming onto his feet directly in front of Bruce.
"Can we go now? Can we?" the boy asked with big eyes. "Please?"
Bruce turned him to face the stairs once more. "Later," he promised. "After lunch. I have a feeling once we get in there, it's going to be a while before we come back out."
Dick started back up the steps at a run. "Hurry up! The faster we eat, the sooner we can come back down!"
Bruce shook his head at the child's enthusiasm. "I have some equipment down here I think you're going to enjoy," he told him. Much more suited for someone with Dick's expert skillset.
Memories of the day before popped back into his head and his smirk dimmed somewhat. Yesterday could have ended so badly. What the boy had managed to accomplish had startled and impressed him but Dick hadn't been prepared for the last three gang members that had come after him. Had Batman not arrived when he did, Dick might very well have been gunned down in that park.
If the paperwork Bruce had filled out for permanent custody went through, that situation might even happen again once the public learned that the boy's guardian was a billionaire. If there was a next time, Dick's kidnappers might be professionals and his chances of escaping and eluding his captors would be greatly reduced.
He looked up to see Dick waiting for him at the door leading to the study. Bruce would need to reprogram that as well for the boy. As he had discovered on their way in, Dick wasn't bothered at all by the darkness surrounding the landing or the distance between it and the ground below should he fall. At the moment, the boy was performing a handstand as he waited. He flipped back to his feet easily in the limited space available as Bruce moved in to punch in the code to open the door.
"Hey, Dick," Bruce said, holding the door ajar so the boy could slip inside. "Have you ever seen a Jack Chan movie? Or maybe Jet Li?" he asked casually. "I have something else I want to show you once we get down there." It might be good if he showed the boy a few moves to help him in a pinch.
"Nope! Who are they?" Dick chirped happily as he skipped toward the hallway and the dining room.
"They are going to be your new best friends," Bruce answered cryptically. "At least their moves will be."
Bruce shoved down the fluttering of his own excitement. He had to admit, it had been a long time since he had so looked forward to a workout. He also did his best to push those earlier ideas of a Batman legacy out of his mind with a bit more ruthlessness.
That isn't what this was about, he told himself firmly. It's about making sure that the boy is safe at all times.
The world was filled with violence and predators. As Dick's guardian, it was his duty to make certain Dick could handle any situation that life might present him. And if, in the process, Bruce got the opportunity to assess the boy's potential, it didn't mean anything.
At least that is what he told himself. Sighing, he moved to catch up to his energetic ward before he broke something.
And maybe, if I can keep telling myself this, eventually I'll even believe it.
REACTIONS?
I got this idea from a comic panel I saw once (I don't even know to what story it was for) in which Superman and Batman were investigating an area that had been exposed to some kind of radiation or contagion of some sort. Batman was wearing a full hazmat suit with a bat symbol mixed with the biohazard symbol on the chest. He was commenting on something and called the suit the "Hazbat Suit". {;D I know - right?} Superman gave him a look like he was nuts and Batman ducked his head and mumbled something about Nightwing coming up with the name for it.
Anyway, it was stuck in my head that this was the point that "Bat" became affixed to everything affiliated with Batman . . . When a certain impish, imaginative, creative, 8 year old boy came into his life. Think about it - Batman and Bruce are both practical men. In either persona, it probably wouldn't have occurred to Bruce to tag the term "bat" to any of the Batman's belongings. The cave was just the cave, the car was just the car, and the computer . . . Well, you get my drift.
I'm anxious to see what you think of it, so please consider leaving me a review. Unfortunately, I'm not psychic, so unless you tell me, I won't know.
*I did NOT abandon "Derailment". I just needed to clear my mind a bit with something else and come at it again refreshed. I'll be back working on Chapter 28 now . . .* Promise!
Any Batman/YJ writers (or readers) interested, there is a new group on Facebook called "Batman Writers Unite". It is just a fun place to share Batman (and anything related to him) stories, pics, and videos. Writers can post links to their stories in an area with people interested in your subject matter, get advice, share ideas, share stories of some of your favorite authors, and just have fun with others who share your same interests. Readers are welcome as well. Come join . . . See how truly warped my sense of humor really is! ;D