Author's Note: This story is from an original character's POV. His name is Luke and he has had a hard life in Gotham so far. Forgive him for being strange but certain events have warped his perceptions of the world. They have also made him aware of very unique things about those around him. This is the first chapter, one where he introduces himself and meets Dick for the first time. If it is liked, I may write more. If not, I will get rid of it. Enjoy.
Luke
There's a fight going on at lunch. Some jock is beating on one of the weird kids at our school. Unfortunately I'm the weird kid, not the jock. Unfortunately the jock doesn't know me. Obviously hasn't heard about my violent tendencies, the exclusions from school, the lack of remorse for my crimes. The jock can hit sure, but he can't hurt me. My step-dad used to torture me so a few digs in the ribs isn't up to scratch. My ribs can take the punishment and so can I. When he stops to admire his handiwork, it's suddenly my turn. I don't hesitate. It takes five guys to pull me off him. I'm still covered in his blood when the ambulance arrives to take him to ER. I think I actually managed to puncture his lung with a pencil, but I'm not sure. I hope so; it'd make a great story when they send me back to Juvie. My name's Luke Martin and I think I'm insane.
Everything goes wrong. They don't send me to Juvie again. They send me to doctors for evaluation. I hate doctors. My step-dad used to torture me and they turned a blind eye to it when they patched me. I'd kill all the doctors in the world if I could. Probably be a better place for it too. The doctors ask stupid questions like my age, my height, my favourite colour, TV show and all that other petty crap you write in a journal when you're eight. Stupid questions deserve lies. So I just lie my ass off. I'm a Martian. I like drowning monkeys. I met Jesus in MacDonald's. My mom eats live crickets. Honestly, I just want another stint in Juvie. The jock I beat half-to-death is fine physically. I've mellowed out a little. We should just do the bars and jumpsuit thing, let me get molested by the guards like in Sleepers and put me down like a sick puppy. Because that's what I am, a sick puppy. I'm all cute and pretty on the outside, but I bite and I maim. I'm black and evil on the inside. No doubt about it; I'm a really fucking sick puppy.
Because I'm so sick in the head, apparently that makes me not insane. Obviously psychiatry isn't what it used to be. They used to lobotomise you if you went to the pharmacy complaining of a headache; now they just give you drugs to take the edge off. I miss the Dark Ages. Never mind, at least I get to go to Juvie for a while. Except I don't get to go to Juvie. According to my child advocate - a guy I think would like to see me naked - all charges should be dismissed on account of my horrific upbringing. I thought he was clutching at some really thin straws with that angle, but the judge bought it. So I go into foster care while my step-dad gets arrested for abuse. They are going to hate me. I spend two months in one place, pretending to be perfectly happy and hoping it tricks them into a false sense of security. I think I'd like to kill their cat but I don't know how yet. We'll wait and see on that one.
Somehow, my wholesome act is good enough to let me back in mainstream schooling and they enroll me at Bristol Middle School in Gotham City. I don't know how this is going to play out as I sit in the principal's office getting a welcome chat. He says he is aware of my situation and condition. He tells me I'll have a helper to get me settled in and not feel so intimidated by the new surroundings. I'm not really listening though; His head is very round. I keep imagining if I decapitated him whether or not I could ten-pin bowl with it and get a 200+ scorecard. Nah, I don't think so; the blood would gutter it too many times. Eventually, he gets sick of his own voice and introduces my helper.
Apparently this kid's name is Richard Grayson, but everybody calls him Dick. I add another possible handle by not calling him anything. The guy is fourteen like me, but he's clearly a jock. His broad-shouldered physique and the way his clothes hang off it tell me he's highly athletic. I need a pencil. Then he speaks and I get creeped out by his sincerity.
"Hi, nice to meet you."
He offers me his hand, a perfectly tanned specimen that balances strength and approachability without much trouble. He's a nice guy, I can tell. So I take his hand. Amazingly our hands look exactly the same, like someone is just putting theirs together. When I don't reply he gestures at my hair.
"Are you a natural blond?"
"Sometimes. Are you a sadist?"
"No."
"But you know what one is, right?"
"Unfortunately."
"Cool."
I think I've succeeded in scaring him a little, but he's not very expressive anymore. He seems guarded, like he's hiding something. I suddenly find him very interesting. So I change tact. When we're in the corridor, out of earshot of Principal Bowling ball, I apologize.
"Sorry about that remark I made. My head's kind of fucked up, you know? It won't happen again, promise." Dick shakes his head.
"It's cool. I get that things haven't been all that easy for you getting here, so we'll just forget about it. Okay?" The kid offers me his hand again and flashes me another one of his sincere smiles. I know he's hiding something and it's not just from me. I know a good acting job when I see one and Dick has it down cold. I take his hand and shake it firmly before letting go.
"Okay."
Dick and I have all the same classes at the same times on the same days. I shadow him round the whole day, watching him more than any teacher and fine tune my read on his character. He's hiding an injury, but it's not from the football field or the basketball court. The way he's wincing when trying to write with his right hand and keeps gingerly moving his right shoulder says fracture from something hard and heavy, probably a baseball bat. He's had it before too; he hides it too well for this to be his first time. I've had my arm broken twice that way. Another domestic nightmare is always just round the corner in this place. I bet it's his daddy doing the heavy lifting here. At least it's only physical abuse; my stepfather tried to rape me three times last year. He was too drunk to get anywhere though. When he winces again, I put my hand on top of his. He looks startled and I like it.
"You just rest your shoulder, Dick. I got this." I tell him before beginning to take notes on whatever lecture we've been listening to for thirty minutes. Dick doesn't say anything until we're heading home. He walks with me to the edge of the street.
"How'd you know it was my shoulder killing me, not my hand?" He asks a little too seriously for my liking. I don't want a pencil anymore. I think I love Dick. I don't like that either. I shrug my shoulders.
"Lucky guess. You want to copy up my notes tonight on your computer or something?" I say holding my notebook out for him to take. Dick pushes my arm down with his left hand whilst pulling himself closer. He stares at me intently.
"Whatever you think is going on at my house, it's not like that. You understand, Luke?" He's too smart to be a real jock. No real jock would make the connection behind one kind gesture and assume the charity case thought he was getting abused too. That's detective-grade reasoning, the kind that only certain-minded people ever develop to such impressive levels. I shrug my shoulders.
"Whatever. I just want to be friends." I reply glancing down at my notebook, "But if you'd rather not be, I understand." Dick sighs.
"I didn't say that, did I? Thanks for noticing I needed help. Most people just assume I'm dyslexic or something and leave me to it. If the offer still stands, I'd like to borrow your notebook." I bring my head back up and offer him a smile, a real one I think. He sounds tired and a little relieved by what he just said to me. It suggests that he doesn't share his shortcomings with many people and isn't threatened by sharing the information with me. It means he does have REAL secrets to uncover and that I have a REAL chance of doing it. I'm kind of glad they didn't send me to Juvie after all. I just found a new hobby to explore; Richard Grayson's private life. I wonder how many girls can help me. I pass the notebook to him and watch briefly flick through the pages. "Jeez you've got neat handwriting."
"Thanks. So I'll see you tomorrow for first period?"
"You know where to go?"
"English, Room twenty-four, top corridor, East Side, Mr. Brunswick, right?" I have an eidetic memory but rarely use it for anything useful. Usually it just serves as a contents page for a catalogue of traumas and injuries I've sustained in my life since the age of four. Dick looks impressed though and nods in approval.
"That's pretty cool. Thanks again for the loan Luke. I'll give it back to you tomorrow." As he speaks, a very black and very discreet town car pulls up on the corner behind him. When a thin gray man in a thin gray tunic and hat gets out and opens the rear door and Dick goes inside waving at me I start to realize how big my new hobby could potentially be. The old guy gives me a frown, the sort that few people give me if they don't know me at all. Because I look so blond and cute, most people assume I'm as sunny as I appear, but not this man. This man sees something in my eye that doesn't agree with him. He acts as though he understands I'm a threat to his passenger even if he doesn't know why yet. I'd like to gut him slowly and see him frown at me like that afterwards. He offers a polite smile which I don't return. He gets in the car and they drive off.
As I walk down the street to get picked up by my foster father from his garage job, I take the time to study my hands. Normally when I come under pressure or stress, my hands don't shake. It's not a good sign because according to experts it means my body is not venting my anxieties in a normal way and is instead storing them for a violent resolution, something that has happened four times in my life and resulted in surgeries for my victims and a stint in Juvie for me. But they're trembling this time and it weirdly feels good. Meeting Dick made them do this. I guess somewhere inside I want to feel human again and less like a psychopath. This must be my body's way of telling me it wants that too. My name's Luke Martin and I think I might be getting better. We'll just have to see…