A/N: Thanks for the reviews Blas, Psyche Castle, Heathglen, Batman Dude and Theweirdpartyer!
Chapter 3:
One hour later:
"Walter Jackson, Bronte Miller and Dick Grayson – you boys will be in number seven," Mike called out as he gave the kids cabin assignments for the duration of their stay. The three boys grinned at each other, although Walter's was a tiny bit malicious. Oblivious to the fact that Bronte had decided to forgo their plan, the dark-haired teen was eager to start working on the young orphan from the circus.
Walter elbowed Bronte as they strolled toward their cabin. "He's ours for the whole six weeks!" he whispered excitedly.
Bronte glanced at him in astonishment, "Come on, Walter, give the kid a break. He's only thirteen and he's already lost both of his parents! I think he's been through enough and we should just let it go."
"Are you serious?!" Walter asked loudly and Dick, who was walking a few yards ahead of them, glanced back. Walter lowered his voice again, "The only reason he's here is because the richest man in Gotham City wanted some good publicity two years ago! You said it yourself on the bus: he's a charity case!"
"Yeah, well, I've changed my mind," Bronte mumbled and walked a little faster to catch up with Dick.
Walter narrowed his eyes when Bronte asked Dick a question and the kid began talking animatedly. The circus brat was trying to take his best friend away from him and he was not going to let that happen.
Cabins one and seven were at the front of the circle of small buildings that surrounded the larger structure. The big one, Dick realized as the boys approached the area, was the counselors' cabin – instead of a number, there were gold letters that spelled the words "Adults Only". Dick pushed open the log door of number seven but was suddenly shoved aside by Walter. Bronte glanced at Dick with a shrug and both boys followed the dark-haired teen inside. Dick was surprised at the sparseness of the small, square space. It looked to be about two hundred and fifty square feet, including the tiny bathroom. There were only three pieces of furniture in the place: a bunkbed, a single bed and a large, six-drawer dresser. Detailed pictures of tiny forest animals were carved into the sides of the oaken beds that were pushed up against the southern and northern walls, respectively. Flush with the western wall, the dresser was made of pine and it, too, had detailed carvings on its sides.
The single bed was only a few feet east of the now-open door and Walter had already claimed it. Dick, with a slight nod, deferred the choice of top or bottom bunk to Bronte, who grinned and climbed up and over the low headboards of the connected beds. Sometimes there were advantages to being short and Dick was grateful that he could sit on the soft mattress of the bottom bunk without hitting his head on the top. He automatically scanned the room for escape routes and found that the only exit, besides the door, was a small window on the eastern wall.
Walter glanced at his watch, "We've got a little while before dinner. What do you guys want to do?" His question was answered when they heard Mike's voice blast through the speakers placed in strategic places throughout the camp.
"Ahhh, outdoor recreation," Mike mused ponderously. "That age-old way to release energy and enjoy nature while having fun."
Walter and Bronte rolled their eyes – they had been hearing the same first-day-of-camp speech for five years now – and Dick grinned at the semi-serious tone exuding from the voice of the camp director. The older boys started to mouth along and the younger began shaking his head, laughter flying around in his blue eyes.
"We here at Vista Peak Camp would like to welcome you and invite you to begin your adventures with some delightful games. This afternoon there are two choices for your exercising pleasure: basketball and volleyball," Mike's voice was full of mirth as he mimicked a proper camp director welcoming his refined charges to his upscale camp. Changing to a less genteel tone, he continued, "So get out here and have some fun, kids. There's about an hour and a half until dinner and the chefs in our restaurant will only allow well-exercised teenagers to consume their delectable food!"
Walter, Bronte and Dick all chuckled and headed toward the door.
"Volleyball?" Bronte asked, although he already knew Walter's answer.
Dick grinned. "It's hard to play basketball when everyone is a foot taller than you," he exaggerated, "so I'm going with volleyball."
Bronte laughed again and Walter attempted to cover his snort of derision by coughing.
False Face was sitting at his desk in the counselors' cabin, re-reading the directions in the tattered brown "recipe" book that Scarecrow had given him while they were in Arkham together. The Master of Fear had given up on this particular drug but the Master of Disguise had tinkered with it and was ready to test it. Who should he try it on first? The villain knew that he couldn't just put the liquid formula into all of the food. It would be suspicious and, as the head chef, the blame would fall on him. Reaching to his right, he picked up the list of kids and ran his index finger down the names, pausing for a second on Dick Grayson but then moving on. Serina Jones? He tapped her name as he thought about it then frowned. The pro of having a test subject was outweighed by the two cons: she had a lot of close friends and, since he was a gentleman, he didn't want to start with a girl. His finger slid back up to Dick Grayson and paused for several seconds this time. It was tempting, but he shook his head and continued down the list. Dick would be the first one after he had perfected the formula. John's face brightened with a genuine smile as he thought of Bruce Wayne's extravagant mansion and pictured little Dick Grayson rifling through the safes.
False Face had his back to the door but he heard the creak of wood and then the heavy footsteps of one of the other counselors. The delightful images in his mind faded quickly. Quietly, he shut the book and carefully put it in the only drawer in his desk, hastily locking it and pocketing the key. He rolled his eyes and grimaced in irritation. The person who had chased away his thoughts was probably going to talk to him.
"Hey, John, how's it going?" Donovan, who had been trying to be nice to the still slightly standoffish man, smiled when John stood up and turned around to look at him.
False Face subtly studied the tall, muscular man and knew that he needed to continue to try to be pleasant in order to avoid suspicion later. He smiled back, as best as he could, and replied, "I'm doing well, yourself?"
Donovan was a little surprised by the sort-of smile on John's usually passive face but he tried not to show it. "I'm great. Hey, the kids are going to have some free time for about an hour and we're slated for supervision. Most of them are going to the basketball court but there are seven or eight already teamed up for volleyball. Which one do you want to take?"
False Face rolled his eyes again, although this time it was in his head, and decided to take the slightly smaller group. "Volleyball is one of my favorite sports so it would be entertaining to watch the kids play, if you don't mind." He was proud of himself for thinking to add that last part. Sometimes it was a struggle to be nice to the other annoying adults who really were here to make sure the kids were safe and having fun.
"Alright, I'll take basketball, then. Have fun out there!" Donovan grinned as he pivoted and walked out the open door.
Volleyball? I don't even know what that is! False Face shook his head, put on his best smile and left the cabin to watch some bratty rich kids play some kind of stupid game.
Eight hours earlier:
"How do you think he's doing right now, Alfred?" Bruce asked as they exited the long, black limousine upon arriving at stately Wayne Manor. "Do you think he has friends yet?"
Alfred outwardly smiled but chuckled in his head. The bus had left less than two hours ago and it was a six hour drive to the camp up in the mountains. "I'm sure he is doing fine, Master Bruce," he replied. "Master Dick is an engaging and likeable young man."
"I know," Bruce replied but his words were surrounded by a tint of concern. "I can't help feeling like something is going to go wrong." He shook his head, "Am I being paranoid?"
"Perhaps, sir, but you have the right to be worried," Alfred continued to smile at his older charge. "It is the first time he is away from us since he arrived here and you know that he is not allowed to protect himself like Master Robin can."
"That doesn't really help, Alfred," Bruce grumbled. "So, I'm not being paranoid?"
"Master Bruce," Alfred remarked gently, "I am merely voicing the thoughts that are written all over your face. Remember that Master Dick can defend himself, although not as easily as Master Robin, and there are ten adults to supervise twenty young kids."
"You're right, of course. He's going to be fine, he is fine, everything is fine…" Bruce trailed off as he walked toward his study.
Alfred smiled again as he watched Bruce walk away. "Everything is fine," he echoed quietly, dismissing the small tingle of worry in the back of his brain.
Present time:
False Face was leaning against the cold metal of the shorter flagpole, bored out of his mind. The kids on the volleyball court had already chosen teams and were ready to start playing. False Face heard Walter explain the game to a very un-athletic looking boy with gangly limbs and almost rolled his eyes when he discovered the rules. Why these idiotic rich kids enjoyed hitting a ball across a net over and over he would never know.
Dick loved the sport of volleyball. He was very athletic and his favorite part of the game was diving after balls that everybody else was too slow to get to or too scared to touch. Bruce had told him not to show off but was it really showing off if he was quick enough to save a ball for his team? He shrugged and took his spot in the back row, hoping something interesting would happen that would allow him to be competitive without "showing off".
Walter was captain on the other side of the net and his first choice had, of course, been Bronte. The circus brat wasn't going to take away his best friend and he stoically avoided looking at the kid the entire time they were choosing teams. Dick was so small that he had been chosen last and Walter secretly smiled at that. The boy didn't seem to mind, though, and that surprised him. He's probably used to it; nobody in their right mind would ever choose someone whose head just barely reaches over the bottom of the net. He can't even see what's going on! Walter shook his head and grinned as a plan formed in his mind. He was serving and knew exactly where he was going to aim.
Dick was ready to receive the serve, hoping it would come his way. It did, but it was much faster than he had anticipated and he didn't back up enough in time to hit the ball correctly. It bounced off the insides of his elbows and smacked him in the face. Some of the other kids started laughing and Dick was embarrassed again. He attempted to grin through the pain but knew it probably looked more like a grimace. After tossing the ball back over the net, he ran a hand over his already-swelling left eye and backed up a little bit.
Walter was one of the ones laughing. The kid obviously hadn't expected to receive a line-drive serve aimed at his face and had made a fool of himself. The dark-haired fourteen-year-old grabbed the ball and pretended to be serving away from Dick but instead slammed it toward him again. The poor little circus brat would have a broken nose by the time he was done.
The hit to the face that Dick had received amused False Face – the kid was going to have a black eye from that. He wondered if he was supposed to do something but the teens were laughing and returning to their places on the court so he shrugged and returned to his state of boredom.
Dick was relieved when Walter turned to serve to the other side of the court; it was a little difficult to see out of his slightly puffy left eye. He was startled, however, when the ball came flying at him again. Quickly taking another step back, he allowed it to correctly hit his forearms and aimed the ball toward a girl in the middle. Serina received it and set it to another kid who was able to spike it down hard right in front of Bronte. Dick cheered with his teammates and grabbed the ball to serve.
Walter frowned in disappointment – somehow Grayson had received the ball and was even able to direct it to Serina. He shrugged and looked forward to seeing the small boy fail to serve the ball over the net.
Dick had been embarrassed when the game began but the way he could serve overruled everyone's memory of the hit to his face. He was short but he was also strong; his overhand serve flew past the front row and suddenly dropped to the ground just inside the white line. Some of the kids glanced at him in surprise – he briefly wondered if he had shown off – and the game continued with no further issues. Half an hour later the whistle sounded and the kids headed toward the cafeteria for dinner.
False Face had been studying Dick carefully throughout the entire game. The kid's movements were smooth and slightly familiar. Where had he seen that kind of fluidity before? Grayson was an acrobat, though, so the villain dismissed the feeling of recognition. He would have been surprised if the boy wasn't agile.
Bronte grabbed Walter's arm as they walked toward the cafeteria, slowing them down until they were at the back of the group of young teenagers. "What was that all about?" he whispered angrily.
Walter attempted to look innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied. "I tried to hit it away from Grayson the second time but my sore rotator cuff didn't allow me to aim very well." He carefully rolled his serving shoulder to prove his point and Bronte rolled his eyes.
"Right," Bronte retorted sarcastically. "The best server on our volleyball team at school couldn't aim his line-drive serve because of a sudden "ache" in his shoulder. The Walter Jackson I know is too competitive to let a small injury affect his game."
Walter grinned and ran to catch up with the rest of the group. Bronte was upset with his best friend. Dick didn't deserve a black eye, nobody did, and Walter was obviously going to continue with the idiotic plan that Bronte had already dismissed from his mind.
False Face was in the kitchen with most of the other counselors when Mike stormed in, his face furious and his fists clenched.
"John, weren't you supposed to be watching the kids who were playing volleyball?" he demanded.
False Face was surprised at the look and tone. "Yes, and I did and everything was fine," he replied, trying to keep the defensive anger out of his voice.
"You call the beginning of a black eye on the face of the ward of Bruce Wayne 'fine'?!" Mike shouted incredulously. "Why didn't you stop the game and get some ice?!"
Thinking quickly, False Face replied, "He kept playing, he didn't look like he was hurt too badly and the kids would have been unsupervised if I had left." The villain was annoyed now and accidentally allowed a slight trace of irritation to enter his voice.
"Serina told me his eye was turning purple and swelling before Walter even had a chance to serve the ball again!" Mike was now red in the face and everyone in the kitchen was watching the exchange. "If anything like this happens again I will have no choice but to relieve you of your position at this camp." Mike stomped out of the room and False Face quietly growled at the threat. He kept his face calm, however, and turned to the rest of the staff.
"Alright, it's over, let's get some dinner on the table for those starving kids out there," he attempted to grin but didn't quite make it.
"Forget about it, John, it could have happened to anyone. That kid is so small that you probably couldn't even see the eye on his tiny face," one of the other counselors laughed and that lightened the mood.