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The Wasteland in my Mind
'You showed him all the best of you but I'm afraid your best wasn't good enough, and no he never wanted you, at least not the way you wanted yourself to be loved' -BoyceAvenue
Another evening. Another dinner. And always that feeling of being watched.
Dick took his spoon and twirled and twirled the contents of his soup. He wasn't hungry. He never was...How could he be, when he felt like a prisoner in this place? He didn't even feel safe to look up, because whenever his eyes met Bruce's it felt like the man was trying to read his thoughts. He stared at the soup once more before wondering if he was using the right spoon. There were way too many utensils.
"Richard, eat your food" Came the harsh 'request' that was common when Bruce was actually at the Manor for dinner. It was usually on Mondays and Sundays. The teenager stopped twirling the spoon, but didn't do much else. He didn't eat. He didn't raise his head to meet the man's eyes. He didn't want to exist anymore- not in the prison, anyway. He'd been thinking of running away for the past few days, but needed money.
Alfred and Bruce shared a look, one mixed with concern (mostly from Alfred) and frustration (mostly from Bruce). They had talked about letting the boy return to school, or perhaps let the titans (who had all been asking to see him...the ones that remained) take him out for a few hours, but the young man didn't really seem interested in any of that. They had thought having Barbara around might help, after all, the redheaded beauty had always mesmerized the boy wonder.
That hadn't gone as planned though, not when, after a walk around the manor, they'd returned, both with gloomy faces.
"...Please don't come back"Richard had told her softly, much to Alfred's horror, who had demanded the boy apologize immediately, and the raven haired boy had, he had apologized, but it was lacking all sincerely and conviction.
So, there they were. At dinner, and the boy knew for a fact that Alfred had shared the day's events with Bruce, because the man seemed more agitated and rigid than usual.
"I'm not hungry" The blue eyed boy finally braved to say, though he still wasn't looking up.
"Yes, well, quite frankly, Richard, I don't care. Eat. "
It wasn't a request; he knew it, and he knew that Bruce knew he knew it.
Fuck.
The teenager didn't really know how it happened, but his hand had curled up into a fist and he'd punched the bowl sideways and as gravity would have it, sent it flying to the floor.
Bruce had dragged him upstairs and shoved him in to his room, which was perfectly fine with the boy. He wasn't hungry.
This girl was gorgeous. Donna Troy. She looked at him like he was the ghost of a memory of someone that she used to know, sure, but at least it didn't seem to overshadow her own grief. She was clearly going through something, something bigger than him, and so he found himself actually talking to her.
They were 'friends'...that's what she said, but her lip had quivered, and so he didn't ask for more information. Until her eyes filled with tears.
"I really need a drink" She admitted, taking off her heels and feeling the cold grass. She had wanted to get away, and had found Richard Grayson also trying to escape the dinner party at Wayne Manor. He had been laying down sleeping, and for an instant she thought he was Dick. She'd sat with him for some time, pretending it was a different time and place, but eventually he had woken up and looked at her with the dead, confused eyes of a stranger.
"Oh, here" He gave her the tequila bottle he had stolen from the kitchen, and they shared it in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't an awkward silence though, it just was. It was simple.
"I was supposed to be with you guys" She told him, quietly, full of regret and sadness. He knew the story. He had been shot. He had been shot while he and a couple of his fellow 'teen heroes' or whatever had been driving to join the Justice league. And maybe that's why he didn't want to remember, because his 'best friends' had died that day.
"I guess it's lucky that you weren't" He said absent-minded, because in fact, he had no idea who she really was. The things she could prevent.
"No, it wasn't lucky at all." She whispered, pulling her knees up to her face. She couldn't help him, not when the boy she had loved had died that day.
Dick nodded, though he didn't know why he was nodding.
"Life's shit?" He finally said, trying to comfort her, but the way her face twisted and she let out a sob that she'd been holding in, made him realize that he really, really sucked at comforting people.
Part of his punishment for Monday's dinner was to help clean up after the dinner party, which interestingly enough, he didn't mind. It was tedious, repetitive work, clean this, throw that away. He could function just wonderfully like that, with repetitive motions and being on the move so much that he didn't have to think.
Thinking was not his friend.
Memories, or what people wanted him to remember, just made him ache and long to be alone. He glared as Bruce Wayne walked over to him.
"You can go upstairs now" The man always told him what to do with a grimace. The teenager wondered if the man had other facial expressions. Could he smile? Dick certainly hadn't seen it.
"I'm fine."
"It's late, Chum"
The teenager glared, and Bruce also had to wonder if he'd ever see his son smile again.
"Don't call me that" He growled out, venom dripping from his voice, as as he saw his "father's" face twist into something ugly, he briefly wondered if he should be afraid.
"Richard. Go. To. Bed."
"Stop telling me what to do!"
Bruce grabbed his chin harshly, lifting his head so that their eyes could meet.
"You're not the only one that's suffering. You're not the only one that's having a hard time. You are not this person."
The boy pulled back harshly at that, what the hell was that supposed to mean?
"What person? I don't know who I am!"
"You're not selfish, Dick. So stop acting like you're the only person in the world." Bruce told him, firmly but softly, turned and walked away.
The youth just glared. He didn't know whether he was selfish or not, and he didn't enjoy being told what he was supposed to act like, and so, with fury on the mind, he went upstairs to look for a backpack. He wasn't going to stay.
To Be Continued...
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