Disclaimer – I don't own Batman, Batman Beyond or Young Justice. This was written for Wattpad's Novella challenge, which I'm trying to still hit the 20k mark, but also have my fingers crossed that this will be under 40k. I picked the prompt about finding a love letter in the attic but not remembering where it came from. This works with my alternate origin for Terry McGennis
Bats in the Attic
Taking a deep breath, Dick Grayson wondered if he would ever make sense of the fog in his head, let alone the lack of purpose in his life. Sitting on top of his motorcycle, his bright blue eyes stared out at the city, attempting to take in the city he'd not seen in more than a year, as he attempted to make sense of his chaotic life.
Everything started a little over a year ago, maybe two, when Dick found himself waking up in a hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling bleary-eyed, his mind wondering where Bruce was. A slight turn of his head revealed Bruce Wayne nowhere in view, but Alfred Pennyworth, the faithful family butler sat in the chair next to him. He remembered taking a deep breath, and how people rushed in to see how he was doing.
Bruce didn't come, nor did Dick get any real answer regarding why he ended up in the hospital.
Alfred proved shut mouthed about the whole thing, particularly after Dick responded to something the butler said. Alfred's reaction clued the young man into the fact his own behavior was perceived as strange, but even Barbra acted in a cautious manner when she came to see him. She chose her words carefully, as if not to give something away.
Therapy proved painful.
For someone as active as a Flying Grayson, the thought of living with a permanent physical disability was terrifying. The coma also distorted Dick's sense of time. All throughout the therapy, the man who chased away Dick's childhood fears was nowhere to be seen. Bruce finally showed up when the hospital finally chose to release their patient.
The meeting between the two proved awkward. The man couldn't look his ward in the eye, but Dick couldn't ask the important question. "What did I do? What did I do to make you angry at me? To make it so you don't want to talk to me? Is it that I never, ever called you father, or something far worse?"
Dick didn't stick around to see if Bruce would offer an answer, as the manor proved at the time an uninviting place. However, the attempt to find some purpose away from Gotham proved fruitless. Almost as fruitless and painful as Jason's death felt. Dick's eyes squeezed shut, frustrated that for some reason he couldn't remember how his younger brother died, only that said death was met with Bruce's usual coldness.
Revving up the engine, Dick's bike roared to life, and he proceeded to the place he hoped never to come back to, and yet running from one's fear – that was the cowards way out, and Flying Grayson's weren't cowards. He arrived at Wayne Manor, parking his vehicle in a place he hoped wouldn't be noticed, and removed his helmet.
The manor contained memories, both good and bad.
Taking a deep breath, his bright blue eyes looked up at the towering buttresses of Wayne Manor, noting how nothing had changed since he left. The young man attempted to sort through his memories, both remembered and forgotten, only to find his mind hitting a mental wall he'd struggled to get past ever since coming out of the coma. His arm wrapped around his motorcycle helmet, his lips pushing together, unsure of how to approach the place.
He didn't want to see Bruce, yet…
"Master Richard." Alfred's voice drew Dick's bright eyes away from the buttresses to the front door. The Wayne family butler stood at the entrance, as if expecting him, but then again, motorcycles weren't known for being quiet. The man's next words weren't expected either. "Welcome home."
"Home." Dick looked up at the walls again, trying to fixate on the idea of home. The feeling made him wonder why he'd ever left, yet that particular memory remained missing, beyond the mental wall the coma constructed. Taking a deep breath, Dick allowed his bright blue eyes to drift down, looking straight at Alfred in what was likely a nervous manner. "I don't know how long I'm staying."
"Master Richard."
Dick opened his mouth, wanting to say something about how awkward the situation felt, yet there seemed no reason to do so. The idea of approaching Bruce, regarding what happened, simply didn't set well "How does one fix things when one can't remember?"
"Perhaps coming home will help you remember, and staying away was the problem?" Alfred turned to go inside the manor, glancing back as he did. "Will you be dining with the family tonight?"
"What?" Dick's eyes blinked, the cogs in his mind attempting to figure out why Alfred used the words he did. Outside of Jason and Alfred, there were no other family members. Alfred didn't eat meals with the family, and Jason was…
Jason was dead.
So, had Bruce married?
Doubtful, as Bruce was still Gotham's most eligible bachelor the last time Dick checked the news. Batman was in the news, as was his sidekick Robin. There were no announcements regarding impending nuptials. Still…
"I think I'll skip. Particularly since I'm just here to look through the things I asked you to save for me." A wave of panic set in, as Dick wondered if the things in question were indeed saved. "Wait. He didn't…"
"Master Bruce would never have me throw away your things. Why would you think that?"
Dick felt his jaw tense up as he entered the front entrance, taking in the cold greys of his childhood here. They reminded him of Jason's death, but of the fact, he and Bruce weren't talking. Even in here, things hadn't changed.
"Master Richard?"
"Sorry. I just…" Dick took a deep breath. He couldn't look Alfred in the eye.
"Could you possibly not tell Bruce that I'm here. I mean, that I was here. I'm leaving before he gets back from the office, so I'll be no bother. I just want to try and figure out things, like what to do with my life. My own place that isn't here."
"While it may seem like it, Master Richard, you aren't alone." Alfred headed up the stairs in the foyer. "As requested, I saved your things, although Master Bruce was not happy."
"And you said he would never throw out any of my things." Dick followed, looking down into the foyer as he walked up the stairs. The family butler's words sounded hollow suddenly, an attempt to give false hope.
"You misunderstood."
Alfred didn't explain what this misunderstanding was. Instead, they journeyed down the long hallway to the attic. A quick glance at the study and Dick saw the familiar clock that for some reason Bruce never fixed. A memory of why simply refused to break through, as the glimpse was brief. Instead, they headed up the creaking stairs of the attic, the door creaking with the same gusto.
Darkness surrounded him until Alfred pulled the chain attached to the light. The entire area lit up, including the wardrobes containing the clothes of Bruce's dead parents, part of a forgotten era. Fitting it was, that his own things ended stored up here, part of what seemed like another forgotten era.
Alfred led him over to a corner, near where Dick remembered Jason's things being. Except, they were no longer there, worsening his fears regarding approaching Bruce.
"Would you like any help finding what you're looking for, Master Richard?"
"No. I think I can find it myself." Dick took a deep breath. "Whatever I'm looking for."
"Let me know when you're finished."
"Sure thing."
Dick opened up the top box – a box of books – when he thought Alfred was gone, giving him the privacy he wanted. Dick froze, seeing the yearbook on the very top. Cracking the book open, he saw notes from various people, including Barbra Gordon.
"Says Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, one of your favorite poets, 'every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.' I think you know without me saying what is meant by this, regarding you and Bruce."
Taking a deep breath, Dick lifted up the book, wondering if he should take his old friend's advice. Talking to Bruce, finding out what when wrong in their relationship, even though the thought terrified him. The fear of rejection, of not being good enough lingered, despite knowing where this stemmed from. One could though explain Bruce's cold actions, as they were closely tied to sadness. As a young child, the man lost his parents. As a father, he lost one of his sons.
Plus, so many other things, some that Dick didn't remember. "Including your relationship and what happened. You owe him that much, for taking you in."
Dick turned slightly, thinking seriously about staying and approaching Bruce despite wanting to avoid the family dinner, only to bump into another box, knocking it to the ground. Dick grimaced, noticing the letters spread out on the ground. Kneeling down, he set the yearbook to the side, picking up a stack. A smile spread across his face.
Alfred kept even the letters from high school. They ranged from love letters from girls with unrequited crushes to sweet nothings from his current girlfriend of the kind. Dick sat, going through each one, relishing the memories which came with each one. Once he moved into his own place, catching up with his classmates seemed like a nice idea.
Only, one letter caught his eye.
Dick's fingers lingered over the letter, the handwriting and everything about it something he didn't remember. The young man's lips pushed together, confused as to who sent it, let alone what the letter contained. There was no name on the front. Opening up the letter, the paper crinkled in his hand. His bright eyes blinked, reading the letter carefully, not just once, but a few times.
Hi,
I'm not sure how to begin my letter, beyond the fact you're likely surprised I, of all people, am writing you a letter to you. Particularly after I said that night meant nothing to me, and yet it meant a whole lot to you. There's something important I need to talk to you about. Something regarding that night that you need to know.
Huntress
Dick frowned, wondering how this letter happened to end up in the pile of high school love letters. Closing his eyes, the young man leaned back, wondering what important thing he wasn't remembering, let alone whether he ever found out. Looking up at the ceiling of the attic. Dick sat there, wondering what else he'd forgotten.
The letter…
…whatever Bruce and he argued about…
…the reason why the clock never got fixed…
… why and how Jason died…
… and who knew what else.
So many things lay forgotten in that mind of his, forgotten behind the mental wall in his head. One knee pulled up as Dick let out a sigh, his shirt streaked now with the dust covering the rest of the attic and everything else forgotten and pushed away from where nobody could see. Swallowing, Dick thought back to the quote Barbra left him. "We call a man cold when he is only sad."
Perhaps Bruce wasn't the only reason why things turned out the way they did between the two of them.
The door to the attic creaked open, and Dick heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Despite the fact these footsteps didn't sound like Alfred's, the young man didn't look away from the ceiling, the golden light cascading around as the depressed feeling wouldn't go away. Even when the steps came closer, he didn't move from the spot.