Author's Note: This story just came to me whilst out running. Upon returning home, I felt compelled to put it down in writing and publish it. Dick comes home drunk for the first time.

Drunk

It is just after two a.m. in Gotham. After seven hours on a continuous patrol of the city's key districts, I am ready to return home. Tonight was uneventful. In total, only seven crimes required my involvement; the remainder could be handled by the GCPD. I noted their response times to emergency calls is almost twenty percent improved, while their patrol cars no longer avoid more poverty-stricken areas. These new considerations have led to a greater public support for the police force and of course Jim Gordon. My confidence in the GCPD is why I have allowed the boy to attend a social party at a friend's house. I am certain, should these improvements stick, that Dick will find himself granted an even greater degree of freedom than he currently enjoys. He deserves it. I enter the car and begin the drive home.

I arrive back at the cave shortly before two-thirty. As expected, Alfred has retired to bed; it would seem the old man shares my faith in the police force, not believing I would suffer significant injuries to warrant insomnia. He is correct. Tonight I have experienced no injuries of any sort. The fact my body has not been subjected to intense trauma or stresses in recent weeks means it has healed. I feel stronger and fresher than I have in months or perhaps...even years. In any case, I no longer ache after a long night. I replace my suit in the armoury alongside my utility belt and change into my pyjamas. I will not be working late tonight. Such a liberty is of great satisfaction to me as I climb the stairs back to the library.

It is strange. As I walk through the library, the darkness does not seem so black and unending as once it did; everything appears lighter, somehow less dreary or morose than I am accustomed to. This too is satisfying. I am about to climb the grand staircase when I hear a thump coming from the kitchen. There is no burglar in this city or any other foolish enough to try and breach the manor's security system. Aside from the array of sensors blanketing the grounds, the closed-circuit camera system within the house and the standard alarm network, this house has me to defend it. Anyone who knows me, either from business or the media is aware of my superior physical attributes; even Bruce Wayne would not be considered a 'soft' target for thieves. Because of this logical reasoning, I am left with limited options as I venture closer to the noise's source. Of those options, only one is immediately credible; the boy has returned from his party and has misplaced his keys. When I turn on the lights, I am proven correct.

Dick's clothes are dishevelled. His pant legs and shoes are covered in mud. He has a slightly glazed look in his eyes. He is rummaging through the medicine drawer. His first reaction to my presence is to freeze. After a brief time, he then turns round to face me, shielding his right hand behind his back. He is swaying ever so slightly. I already know why he is acting this way; however, he feels the need to confirm it with the first words out of his mouth.

"I'm not drunk." His speech is not laboured, but it has hints of slur. It is obvious to me that he is inebriated. It is not severe, his constitution cannot process a significant amount of alcohol, but it is something else. For some reason, I find his current state very funny. Dick has little experience with alcohol, as most fifteen-year-olds should, so he is not aware of how absurd he appears at present. I allow a small smile to cross my lips.

"I see."

"I'm really not. I just...lost...just lost my keys." He explains, patting down his jean pockets to prove their absence.

"Have you cut yourself, Dick?" I inquire drawing nearer to him. The boy shakes his head.

"It's just a scratch. I think I caught it climbing the gate or something." He has yet to show me his injury. When I attempt to force his hand into view by grabbing his wrist, Dick manages to free himself and slide between my legs. He leaves a significant trail of blood in his wake, not to mention dirt. My smile is gone. The boy is remarkably quick to notice this change.

"Sit down. Put your hand on the table."

Dick does not object. He does as instructed, displaying a deep laceration to his right palm that has yet to stop bleeding. I sit down next to him and inspect the wound; he will not be requiring stitches. I settle my gaze on the boy. "Why did you not simply phone me or Alfred to come pick you up? How did you even get here?" I ask whilst applying disinfectant to the cut causing him to wince.

"I ran here."

"Gotham is ten miles from here."

"I know. I just...didn't want to bother you or Alfie."

"I thought we had agreed you would stay at your friend's house overnight. What happened?"

"I dunno. I just wanted to see you." I know he is looking at me even though I am concentrating on bandaging his hand. "I'm honestly not drunk. I was just a little careless getting over the gate; it has those spike things, y'know?" I finish my work. I watch the boy flex his hand for a short while before gesturing to his pants.

"And how do you explain the dirt?"

"I think I took a detour through some woods."

"You think?"

"It was dark."

"Well, it's alright with me. As long as you're not drunk in the slightest." I say with deliberate sarcasm. I do not believe Dick is capable of reading subtlety as he is. The boy shakes his head. He begins making expansive hand gestures.

"Nope. I'm totally fine, big guy." He smiles at me, but his grin is slightly more lop-sided than usual. I have the distinct impression he is hiding something from me. I say nothing. My hard, unconvinced stare talks for me. Dick attempts to stare me out for a few moments before faltering. He sighs; I can smell the combination of vodka and lemonade on his breath.

"At the party, there was this girl..." He begins, pausing to take a deep breath, "and she was really into me. So we...went upstairs to somewhere quiet. And, when she tried to stick her hand down my pants, I freaked out." The boy does not add any further details; he knows I can piece together his journey back here and his current emotions. He was clearly too embarrassed by his behaviour to sleep over or face that girl again so he fled back home. I admit, the situation is far less humorous now I know how it came about.

"It's okay, Dick. These things happen."

"People are gonna think I'm fruity or something."

"I'm sure they won't."

"Yeah they will. I'm gonna get a real stupid nickname and lose all my friends."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Bruce, you don't know what it's like. You just don't know."

"Dick, you're not thinking clearly at the moment. I think it might be best if you go to bed and sleep right now." The boy's reaction to this suggestion is to try and stand up. I stop him by clamping a hand down on the back of his neck. Dick shakes his head.

"I'm not drunk."

"Yes, you are. You just ran ten miles in the dark to get home because you got scared of a girl touching you. I'm fairly certain if you were sober, you wouldn't have done anything nearly as drastic."

"She was hot. I mean, I had a boner and everything..." He trails off seeming to have realized to whom he was speaking. I am stunned he would ever admit anything of the sort to me, drunk or otherwise; teenage boys do not discuss such matters with their fathers, however intimate their relationship. We stare at each other in awkward silence. "Yeah, maybe I should go to bed."

"Please do."

I release my hand from his neck and watch him stand up. He considers leaving without any further conversation. Then he leans down and wraps his arms round me, resting his chin on my shoulder. It is now my turn to sigh in something between pity and frustration. I return his drink-fuelled affections by embracing him too. He is still damp from his impromptu run and smells of cologne, dirt, alcohol and the coppery aroma of blood. It is quite an unpleasant experience hugging him as he is. When he squeezes me tighter, I do not do the same. "I love you." He whispers in my ear, his hot breath not really appreciated. "I love you more than anything else in the whole world, even girls." I decide at that point I have had just about enough of his attentions and prise him off me with little effort.

"Go to bed. You can clean up in the morning."

"You're not gonna let me out again for a while, are you?" He asks leaning on the table.

"No. Go to bed. We'll discuss this in the morning."