Author's Note: Part of the new story series I am developing called Twelve. Essentially it will comprise of a series of one-shots centred around Dick Grayson at twelve, prior to events described in Robin Year One and my own continuation of that tome, Details. Set for an initial four chapter run, depending on feedback. See what you think.
THIS CHAPTER – Bruce arrives home to find Dick has a friend over unannounced. He finds he is surprisingly more accommodating of this guest than expected. Father-son bonding ensues.
Enjoy.
Fort Grayson
I drive myself home from the office today. Alfred has apparently been…unavailable. It used to mean trouble when I could not reach him at home. Fortunately, these days, it does not mean he has taken a fall down the stairs or off a ladder. If the old man is unavailable, he is entertaining the boy. I imagine It is almost as bad. I keep a car at the office for just such occasions, as a precaution only. Once I am home, I enter the house from the garage. As I walk down the corridor of the East Wing, I hear the unmistakable sound of laughter echoing from the ballroom. Dick is sliding around the floor in his socks again since it is Friday and Alfred has waxed it. At present, it is one of his favourite and most dangerous activities, a frightening thing when considering we take down criminals together on a nightly basis. Last week he skidded head-first into one of the walls and knocked himself unconscious for three minutes. The week before, he almost tumbled through one of the windows. Alfred and I are growing tired of telling him not to. I decide to tell him once and all that the ballroom is off-limits for 'sock-skating' as he calls it. However, when I arrive at the entrance, I find he is not alone.
Sliding across the floor with him is another boy. He is slightly shorter than Dick, but by no more than an inch. He has ginger hair, an abundance of freckles and, judging from his posture, is not athletically inclined. He is bent over at the waist as he skids across the floor, his hands spread and hovering just above the ground in anticipation of having to break his fall. A moment later, he does just that and collapses on his stomach, giggling. Dick circles him once and then jumps on top of him. They begin to wrestle, both in hysterics. I audibly clear my throat. The laughter dies abruptly. Dick and his companion scramble to their feet, and almost fall flat on their faces again, after finding me in the door. I manage to suppress an amused smile. The ginger-haired boy gawps at me whilst the one I regrettably own flashes me a sheepish grin.
"Hey Bruce. How was work?"
"What are you doing in here?"
"I was…uh…"
"This is a ballroom. It is for dancing and for dancing only. Were you and your friend dancing in here, Dick?"
"Well…we were kinda…"
"The answer is 'no'. You weren't dancing. You were sock skating. It stops. Now. The ballroom is off-limits for anybody under the age of sixteen. Understand?" I tell him sternly. His smile disappears, replaced by a stuck-out bottom lip and an obedient nod. It is enough. I nod in reply. "Good. Now," I say beckoning both of them over with a crooked finger, "introductions." They move out of the ballroom and into the hallway. The ginger-haired youth looked skittish as he gazes up at me, putting me in mind of a startled deer. It is oddly sweet. Children are not usually afraid of me, even when in costume. I smile at him. He nervously smiles back. His eyes are hazel-green. They are quite captivating and show clear intelligence. It is a positive sign. "And who might you be, young man?"
"I'm…I'm Howie, Sir. Howie Finke. Please to meet you." He says extending his hand before correcting himself, "pleased to meet you, I mean. I do speak English, Mr Wayne, honestly." He assures me whilst leaving his hand out. I nod in agreement.
"I believe you. However, children do not address me as 'Sir' or 'Mr Wayne'. If you really wish to prove you speak the language, please call me Bruce." I reply shaking his hand, "This means it's a deal, Howie. A good one." His smile relaxes to mirror the sudden lack of tension in his body language. He nods back.
"Okay…Bruce." They all find it strange, to address me by my first name. I think it is only fair. I do not care for such formal etiquette from children. They put up with enough as it is. I release his hand and pat him genially on the shoulder.
"Good boy. Now, I am certain you can find other things to do here. Dick, why don't you show Howie the swimming pool or the gymnasium?" Dick visibly considers these options before shrugging.
"Can I take him to the fort?" He asks. The boy wanted a fort in the woods at the rear of the manor grounds. As a reward for good grades at school, I helped him design and build such a structure only last month. Instead of the bare minimum he likely expected, we built a two-tier structure more akin to what is found in military observation post than a child's fort. It has four rooms, stands ten feet tall and is made of solid wood. It is covered in camouflage netting and even has a protected sniper's nest just under the roof. Admittedly, I got somewhat carried away with construction. Alfred labelled it a 'monstrosity'. Dick called it 'super badass'. Needless to say, I sided with the boy.
"Is he staying for dinner?" I ask him. Dick gifts me a encouraged smile.
"I was hoping so. Is that okay?"
"Certainly. By all means go play in your fort. Just remember to be at the table by seven."
"Okay. See you later, big man!" Dick takes Howie by the wrist and drags both of them off down the hallway as fast as his legs will go. I cup my hands around my mouth.
"Wear shoes!" I call before getting a faint affirmative reply as they vanish from view. Huh. For a brief moment, I was a parent, instead of a guardian. It was…a satisfying experience. I seek out Alfred and find him in the kitchen, already working on this evening's dinner. It smells like chicken. He does not look up from his pan as I approach.
"Good afternoon, Master Bruce. Apologies for not collecting you. I was…preoccupied."
"So, I saw. When did I agree for Dick to have a schoolfriend over?" I inquire leaning on the breakfast island behind him. The old man shrugs whilst continuing to stir.
"You did not, Sir. It was a spur of the moment decision from all parties present. Mr Finke's parents were more than happy for him to play over, Master Dick was enthused about the idea and I took the risk that you would also have no issue with another boy cavorting around the estate." He stops stirring, lowers the heat and turns his head. "Should I tell the Finkes to collect their son, Master Bruce?" I narrow my eyes at his suggestive tone.
"I am not the grouch you seem to think I am, Alfred. Besides, after all the times we have allowed other parents to care for the boy at their homes, it is only fair we cater for one here." The old man nods in a mixture of agreement and satisfaction before resuming his duties.
"Well said, Sir. Have they gone to 'Fort Grayson' for the foreseeable future?" He asks turning the heat back up. I smile and push off the countertop.
"Is that what he's calling it?"
"It is rather apt. I cannot think of a more stereotypical boy's fantasy than to be in charge of his own castle…or observation post."
"He likes it, especially the military aspect of it. They can pretend to be on manoeuvres or operations as much as they like. We did procure those replica firearms for him? The wooden models?"
"Yes, Sir, and the children's fatigues. They are all in the fort. I am certain they will have to be torn away for dinner." He does not sound pleased with my choices. It thinks it is encouraging violence instead of creativity in the boy. He believes there is enough war on Gotham's streets without fostering the warrior mentality at home. But military clothing and equipment is not all there is in the fort. I sigh.
"There are other toys, Alfred. Other costumes for them to wear if they choose. We left several boxes of goblin, wizard and whatever else qualifies as a Halloween outfit there, did we not? Plenty of paper and colouring pencils? Playing cards and the like?" The old man takes his turn and sighs.
"Boys will be boys, Master Bruce?"
"If they wish to play soldiers, we should let them. If they wish to be cops and robbers, we should let them. We foster no creativity by stifling them." I hear him scoff.
"Sometimes I think you genuinely believe you have more parenting experience than me, Sir." He says. I grin, knowing he cannot see it on my face.
"No, old friend. It is just I was a boy more recently than you were. Contrary to what you may believe, I was twelve years old once as well. Regardless of my attitudes at the time, I did relish the chance to play someone else other than myself." I tell him. He audibly smirks.
"A habit you have maintained into your adulthood. Will you be 'dressing-up' tonight, Sir?"
"Only for dinner. I do not need to go out into the city tonight. I would like to enjoy the company."
"You know, I do believe that boy is having an effect on you." Alfred remarks. I shove my hands into my pockets.
"In what sense?"
"I do not need to look to know you are smiling at present. It used to be a rarity in this house. Now you do it almost every time you see him. That is what we call progress, young man, excellent progress." Alfred answers with a perception of his surroundings and the people in it that never ceases to surprise me. He is, of course, absolutely right in what he says. The boy's presence is a delight, sock skating incidents excluded.
"Hnn. I will be in my father's study if you need me, Alfred." I say turning my back and beginning the long journey upstairs.
"Of course, Master Bruce. I will call you when dinner is ready."
Two hours later finds me at the head of the dinner table, flanked by two twelve-year-old boys. Dick has not stopped talking about what they have been doing in the fort since the starter, some twenty minutes ago. He speaks of playing soldiers, robots, astronauts and half-a-dozen other things that mean absolutely nothing to me. His breathless and energetic recounting of fictitious wars and battles for distant planets is entertaining and often very well told. However, it is quite obvious he is dominating the conversation and reducing his friend to a mute. One hand held up is enough of a visual cue to render him silent. He learns quickly.
"So, what do your parents do for a living, Howie?" I ask once I am sure Dick will not interrupt. The ginger-haired boy shrugs.
"My mom's a dental receptionist and my dad's…between jobs. He used to be an electrician." He tells me. His father is unemployed at present. I imagine his home situation is tough. There is no need to pry further though. I nod.
"I see. Any siblings at home?"
"I've got an older brother. He's twenty-three and lives in Oregon."
"Oh? Why so far away?"
"He's married. Got a kid. He likes it there. I'd like to go visit him sometime in the summer."
I learn a lot about this new boy very quickly. Once he has recognised I am just a man and not some celebrity, Howie talks almost as much as Dick. Instead of sentences, there are paragraphs of speech. It makes me wonder how either of them have an actual conversation with the other when both are on constant send. Nevertheless, it is nice to learn more of Dick's social circle. Howie and Dick met on the boy's first day at Bristol Middle School and have been friends ever since. Howie is not an athlete or much of a scholar by his own admission, his GPA resting at 2.5 throughout his school career. I tell him some of the best and most creative minds in history did not perform particularly well in education. I also tell him there is little wrong with being average. It does not curtail opportunities or make life any less special. He asks how I can say that when I am a billionaire and Dick is a world-class circus performer. It is a fair point. I tell him either of us would trade our wealth and talents in an instant if it meant another day with our parents, a deal he does not have to make. I ensure I do not dwell on this point for too long and immediately change the subject to hobbies, which carries us through dessert.
"When do your parents expect you home this evening, Howie?" I ask when Alfred is clearing away the last of the plates and cutlery.
"Can Howie and me have a sleepover tonight? Please?" Dick asks in reply. I shoot him a hard stare, but not for the request. The boy rolls his eyes and corrects himself. "Sorry. Can Howie and I have a sleepover tonight?" Good grammar is important. Alfred prides himself on it, as do I. I consider.
"Would that be alright with your parents, Howie?" I inquire turning to our freckled guest. He nods.
"Yeah. They'd like a bit of peace and quiet."
"Yeah, and he can borrow some spare jammies, toothbrush, clean underwear, whatever he needs. Right?" Dick chimes in, his voice and his eyes clearly desperate and excited for this arrangement to happen. Again, Alfred and I have farmed the boy off to other houses for sleepovers before. It allows me to get work done without interruption, either in the cave or on the streets. We should extend the courtesy in return. I nod.
"Alright, he can stay the night, as long as I can call his parents and check this is acceptable for them. Understand?" I jump when Dick suddenly lunges over the table top to hug me in what I assume is a spontaneous display of gratitude. I look at Howie. "Do you act this way with your parents?" I ask him. The freckled boy smirks.
"Only if they gave me a pony or something. You know he almost did the exactly same thing to me when I gave him my pudding cup at lunch today?" He explains as Dick persists in crushing my ribcage as best he can. I raise an eyebrow.
"Really? Dick, get off. Now." The boy lets me go immediately and holds his hands up in apology. The grin on his face is so wide it threatens to fall off the sides of his head.
"Thank you so much. I love you forever. Can we be excused from the table now, please?" I will not detain them any longer. I nod.
"Yes. Come back down in half-an-hour. By then I will have spoken with Howie's parents."
"We're not going upstairs: we're going back to the fort!" He exclaims whilst ushering for Howie to stand up with him. I hold a hand out to stop anyone leaving prematurely. They sit.
"No, you are not. It is too late to play outside. Both the gardens and the ballroom are off limits. Everything else is fine." The boy's shoulders sag. He rolls his eyes and sighs.
"Aw, come on..."
"Don't push your luck here. You have engineered a very good deal. I have agreed. Negotiations are over. He stays over, provided his parents consent and you behave yourself. That means obeying my rules. Why do you obey my rules, Dick?" I ask with more authority than I would like to project to our guest. I do not wish to play spoiler here, but there are limits to my generosity he must learn. We may not be in the cave or on the streets, but I have still standards he must meet. He sighs again, but gives the right response.
"Because...this is your house, Bruce."
"Good boy. Now, off you go."
The phone call to the Finkes proves to be a courtesy rather than anything else. They are more than happy to have their son stay over tonight. They ask if he is enjoying himself or causing me trouble. I glibly answer the only one who ever causes me trouble is Dick. They laugh at that and I find myself smiling in return. I am keenly aware of settling into a parent role and relishing the prospect in a way I once thought an impossibility. It is a welcome surprise. We arrange to drop Howie off around lunchtime tomorrow and part on very amicable terms. The boys return to the living room some ten minutes later. Both are wet and huddled inside towels. Evidently they have been making good use of the swimming pool.
"They said 'yes'. I want you both upstairs by nine. You can stay up until midnight. No later. There has to be some actual sleep for this to qualify as a 'sleepover'. If you want any snacks, ask Alfred within the hour. He is not a twenty-four kitchen service. Understand?" Both children nod excitedly. I glance at my wristwatch; it is close to eight-thirty already. I consider. "If you both go upstairs, shower and get into pyjamas now, there will still be time for ice-cream. I believe Alfred has the cookie dough variety freshly stocked. Hot fudge too." Dick again grabs his companion by the wrist and pulls him up the grand staircase with startling speed. I will have to hope he does not accidentally yank the poor boy's arm off in his excitement. Once they have disappeared from view, I wander through to the kitchen where the old man is just putting away the last of the dried crockery.
"Ice cream, old friend?" I inquire. Alfred closes the cupboard. When he turns, he does not look warm to the idea.
"More sugar? Sir, they just had trifle barely forty minutes ago." He says rolling down his shirt sleeves. I smirk.
"And you accuse me of being a grouch?" I retort. The old man rolls his eyes as he re-cuffs one sleeve with consummate ease.
"I would rather they were not up all night." He counters. Suddenly his other sleeve is fastened again and he is taking off his apron. He is remarkably fast. I am not willing to concede just yet though.
"Neither of them are hyperactive..." I say before reconsidering my statement, "Dick is very energetic, but it is not the product of an overly sugary diet. You have ensured that admirably. They will be fine. This is his first sleepover in his new home. It deserves to be special." This gambit strikes a chord with him. He adopts an understanding smile whilst slipping on his tailcoat.
"Of course, Master Bruce. I presume they expect hot fudge?" He asks buttoning it. I incline my head.
"If you would be so kind."
"Would you care for some ice cream as well, Sir?"
"No. I am watching my figure." I say patting my stomach. The old man narrows his eyes.
"You are aware your bodyfat is barely four percent most days, aren't you, Master Bruce? You may indulge your sweet tooth if you wish."
"I had some trifle, didn't I? Consider my sweet tooth indulged. Please see to the boys. I am going to the library." I say whilst turning my back to leave.
It is almost two a.m. I have been working in the cave since shortly after ten. I am currently stocktaking utility belt ancillaries for a bulk resupply sometime in the spring. The task is monotonous in nature, but is something I am loathe to have Alfred do in addition to his other duties. He has enough to deal with, especially now the boy is a constant fixture in our lives. Anything below ground is my responsibility to contend with. It is an arrangement that suits us both. As I finish counting the smoke grenades, fifteen cartons totalling one-hundred-and-eighty canisters, I become aware of another presence in the cave.
"I trust Howie is asleep?" I ask my unexpected visitor.
"He sleeps like the dead. Must be nice." Dick responds from close behind me. This is not an encouraging note to begin our conversation. I turn slowly. His pyjamas are visibly damp. His face has an unsettling sheen to it in the artificial lights. He has been having nightmares again. At present, they are far and few between. However, the timing could be better. I nod in agreement.
"Yes, I imagine so. Why did you not simply shower and change? Were you afraid of waking Howie?" I ask. He shrugs.
"I don't want him knowing. He'd only feel bad. You know, we've had an awesome time tonight. I didn't want to ruin that good feeling by showing him..." He indicates no part of himself in particular, "this."
"I see. Shall we go upstairs and resolve this situation?" I inquire moving over to where he's currently leaning on the command chair arm. He shakes his head.
"I'm not ready to sleep yet."
"Well, being perfectly frank, Dick, you cannot remain down here. Your absence will be somewhat suspicious if your friend should awake prematurely. But, I'm done with my inventory for the time being. Let's both go upstairs to the house and sit awhile." I say putting a hand on his shoulder in a manner I hope is comforting. He gifts me an appreciative smile.
"Yeah, sure."
Dick takes a brief shower in the bathroom adjacent from my own room. Since he is unwilling to back into his bedroom to retrieve fresh pyjamas in case he wakes Howie, despite his earlier claim the boy is a sound sleeper, I lend him my dressing gown to wear for the time being. The sash goes almost twice around his waist, such is its svelte shape and condition. I would judge it to barely be over twenty inches in size. We sit in the chairs next to the window of my bedroom. I have prepared him a mug of warm milk which he is happy to sip at as we stare at the view.
"Thanks for letting Howie sleep over, Bruce. I wasn't sure you'd go for it." The boy tells me taking another sip of his drink. He cups the mug with both hands and seems to be using it primarily to warm his hands. I return to the window's vista.
"I would not be acting in your best interests if I said 'no'. He seems like a nice boy."
"He is. I know he's not the smartest guy or whatever, but I really like him."
"You may tell him he is welcome anytime."
"Thanks. Hey, can I sit in your lap?"
"If you wish. So long as you don't make a habit out of such actions. You are almost thirteen." The boy almost gleefully gets to his feet, sets his mug down on the small table between us, and then takes up residence in my lap. I cup my hands together just below his midriff, mindful they do not drop any further in his current state of undress. He reacts to this by slouching back against my chest. When he is comfortable, we resume looking out the window.
"What did he think of Fort Grayson?" I ask. He grins.
"Oh, he freaking loved it. He was really impressed when I said you and me...you and I built it together. He thought for sure you've have workmen in for that kind of thing, not get down and dirty. If only he knew how much work you do with your hands every night, huh?"
"Let us keep that a private matter. If you like, you may have other friends over to stay the night. Despite the size of the house however, we will cap that number at four. This is a home, not a funhouse."
"I got ya. Hey, can we build other stuff together?"
"What did you have in mind?" I ask firming my grip on him slightly as he shifts in place. The boy shrugs.
"I don't know yet. It doesn't matter really, so long as we can do it together." I did not expect to incite these sort of affections in a child, even one as emotional as Dick. Regardless of his dedication to training and my crusade on Gotham's streets, I still find myself surprised by his love for me as Bruce Wayne and not simply as Batman. I believed my job as his guardian was adequate and nothing more. Clearly he does not feel the same. Perhaps I give myself too little credit. Perhaps he gives me too much. Either way, the threat of this relationship evolving past that of friends into that of family no longer scares me. In fact, I feel I would welcome it. I smile.
"I enjoy spending time with you as well. Think about it and get back to me. We'll see what can be done." We fall into another comfortable silence. Dick no longer feels the need to talk incessantly to fill the void. It is a sign of relaxation from him, a good one. Five minutes pass.
"You like your trifle?" He asks me. So, he noticed.
"I did, thank you."
"First time eating it in what, like ten years for you?"
"Almost fourteen. I last had it at boarding school in Berne."
"Do you not miss eating desserts? I mean, you watch me stuff my face with brownies and ice cream every time we have dinner. Do you never feel like giving yourself a little leeway with the whole diet plan thing?"
"I am almost forced to eat desserts at every gala and function I attend as a socialite, businessman and philanthropist. Believe me, not having to eat one is my idea of a treat." I tell him honestly. He shifts his weight again so he is essentially riding side-saddle. From this position, he can look me in the eye in posing his next question.
"So why'd you break it tonight?"
"Because I wished to appear normal in front of our guest."
"So, you took a sugary bullet...to make a good impression on Howie?" He checks with an obvious sense of pride at my sacrifice. I pat him sparingly on the back.
"Of course. I would not want to discourage your schoolfriends from visiting during appropriate hours. Peer interaction is good for you. I see that."
"You know I never expected to be treated like this by you?"
"Like what?"
"I thought, after all the training and discipline and all, we'd be all professional and junk. Say 'hello' in the morning, you know, do our own thing during the day and then get together at night, for patrol and crimefighting stuff, but nothing else. I really thought Alfie would do all the dad stuff. I thought he'd do all the bonding. Just because...you're not exactly the warmest guy I've ever met. But, after the fort building and the letting Howie sleep over without any notice and, I mean, sitting in your lap? And this is after lending me your big-ass robe to spare my blushes after a trip to nightmare city?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I found someone like you. I thought after my parents, I thought they couldn't be substituted without it making me all sad. But I was wrong." He says with large and surprisingly fragile-looking eyes. This is a big admission for him it seems. I rub his back supportively.
"You don't need to say more, Dick. I am...very grateful for such kind words. I do believe it is about time for you to go to bed. You can return my dressing gown in the morning, alright?" I say whilst stealthily pushing him off my lap. He accepts it and slides off of his own accord. He nods.
"Kay. Are you going to come to breakfast tomorrow?" He asks as I stand and guide him towards the bedroom door. I nod.
"Yes, of course. I look forward to it." We reach the doorway and Dick steps through it and pauses. He looks back at me.
"Look, what I meant earlier was that, I didn't think I'd have a dad again, not this soon after. So, thank you. Thanks for being my dad." He tells me with a satisfied nod at his abridged version of our conversation. I nod in reply, knowing any grander gesture on my part will only seem awkward by comparison. We have taken big steps towards being parent and child in recent months, but we would both be kidding ourselves if entertaining any thoughts we had fully mastered the dynamic. Time will tell. I squeeze his shoulder gently.
"Thank you for having me as your dad. It means...a great deal to me. Goodnight Dick."
"Night Bruce."