Birth of Robin
CHAPTER 4
Lee's Laundromat
...
|April 7th
|4:01 am
Dick's eyes were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to lay his head down and go to sleep. Suddenly he felt the lumpy mattress come up and hit him, and he jolted upright. Dick shook his head, correcting his thoughts. The mattress didn't hit him, he hit the mattress. But he absolutely refused to go to sleep, and it wasn't even because of the nightmares. At least, not entirely.
Last night Dick had woken up screaming and crying because of his nightmares, that sickening thud and crack echoing through his head. His cries had woken Dean, if the man had even been asleep, and it had earned Dick a short beating. Familiar with injuries because of minor accidents on the trapeze, the little acrobat knew his ribs were in rough shape, if the pain in his chest whenever he moved was any hint. Remembering the clinic, he had tried to leave the apartment and visit it later that morning, but Dean had yelled at him again. Much to Dick's dismay, the man had been smoking at the time, and now the boy had two fresh, perfectly circular burns on his collar bone. He hadn't tried to leave the room again.
Now, his second night in his new 'home', Dick refused to sleep in case he woke up screaming again, which would probably lead to more little burns or worsening his ribs. He pressed a hand to his side, lightly probing the bruised area. His abrupt action of sitting up had caused the pain to flare, and the gasp that had followed only made it worse. Dick let his hand drop back to the mattress, returning to the task of gently rubbing Zitka's right ear. The items he had grabbed from his parent's drawer were draped around the elephant's neck. A necklace, consisting of a simple black cord with an inexpensive but beautiful blue stone on it belonging to his mother, and an old, battered watch that had been his father's. It was by pure chance that the necklace also happened to have his parent's wedding rings on it. They always took them off before a show, and Dick had been lucky enough to grab them.
His eyes started drooping again, and Dick did the first thing he could think of to ensure he would stay awake. He sharply pressed his damaged ribs, a whimper seeping through his lips, but it did the trick and he firmly decided he wouldn't be able to sleep while in this much pain.
"Willing to worsen an injury for personal achievement. A very self-destructive tactic, but resourceful." Dick started at the voice, hand flying to his mouth to muffle the yelp. He scrambled back, and slipped off the mattress, his head knocking back against the floor. The room swayed a little as he stared at the shadowed figure looking down at him through the window he hadn't heard open.
For moment, Dick thought the figure may have been his Uncle Rick, having awoken from his coma and come to take him away from Dean.
"You have a lot of potential," the man, Dick assumed it was a man, said.
"Who are you?" Dick asked slowly, his small body shaking in fear now that he knew it was not Uncle Rick.
"It isn't really important yet, but I suppose you can call me Wilson. It's such a shame isn't it?"
"What?" Dick pulled Zitka close, pressing his back against the wall to get as far from Wilson as possible without jarring his ribs.
"How Zucco will go free."
"Police look."
"The police think it was an accident."
"Ack sident?" There was that word again. Dick had heard it a few times following the fall, but didn't know what it meant. He hadn't really cared either, as long as the police were going to catch Zucco. Then, once he was caught, Dick could confirm he was the one responsible for the deaths and hospitalization of his family.
"They don't think Zucco killed them," Wilson explained. Dick's eyes widened, and suddenly he felt his anger bubbling up again, just as it had when he was pulled away from his parents. But this time he wasn't mad at Zucco, but the police.
"Dar el le-a ucis!" [But he killed them] Dick protested loudly, lurching forwards. He ignored the expected pain, except for the small groan that signalled he felt it, and grasped the window sill. Closer now, Dick could vaguely see the man's face with the assistance of the moonlight. For some reason, he was smiling.
"They don't really care. That man owns this city, and they wouldn't do anything anyways."
If Dick were an animal, he would be growling. They would just let Zucco go, they couldn't let Zucco go! He couldn't let Zucco go.
Wilson seemed to know exactly what Dick was thinking when he leaned in the window and whispered into his ear. "But you could do something."
Dick stilled as he mulled this over. He could do something. The police weren't going to, so someone had to. Why not him? He didn't see anything wrong with a seven-year-old avenging his family's murder.
...
|6:48 am
As soon as the sun started shining through the grey clouds that covered Gotham, Dick got to work. He already knew he wouldn't be able to leave the shoddy apartment through the front door if Dean had anything to say about it, which only left the conveniently placed fire escape outside his window. He hadn't considered it before because of his ribs, but Dick couldn't wait for them to properly heal, or at least heal enough so he wouldn't be in pain. Zucco was out there now.
Dick carefully tucked his meager belongings away inside the closet, keeping only the necklace (and weddings rings by default) and watch with him, hoping that everything else would be safe, before shuffling over to the window. It was, thankfully, a decently sized window so that he could climb out with minimal struggle just by standing on top of the mattress. He opened it, almost successfully ignoring the wave of pain that came as he stretched, and looked outside. The stairs hardly looked safe, and the ladder leading down to the street would complicate things a little, but Dick was determined and stubborn. As he leaned out, he knocked something off the sill and onto his mattress. He contemplated just leaving it there until later, but decided not to and instead picked it up. A little orange bottle with a white cap, and a hand written note taped to the side. It was, thankfully, not in English but in Spanish instead.
Para el dolor [For the pain]
A little blurb on the bottom instructed him on how to take it. There was one little complication with the lack of water, so Dick just went without it and swallowed the single pill as instructed, face tightening at the disgusting taste as it passed over his tongue. He waited a few moments until his chest felt satisfactorily numb, and continued with his plan. He crawled out the window, hopped down the fire escape, and carefully climbed down the ladder. Dick couldn't help but smile at the small victory. He had managed to escape the apartment, now he just had to find Zucco.
...
|8:03 am
Dick had absolutely no idea how to find Zucco. He knew Gotham was a large city, and had taken to exploring the area around Park Row a little, but only ventured a street or two over on either side. He had approached the few approachable people he could find, but the moment Zucco's name came up in Dick's choppy English, they would find an excuse to leave. Dick was getting frustrated, but he wasn't going to give up. He was just considering altering his methods when an intimidating pair of teenagers stepped onto his path.
Dick had always been small for his age, so the two boys seemed especially tall to him. Even though the taller of the two looked a little wiry, he had a mean face and a wicked sneer. The shorter one was a little beefier and glared down at Dick.
"The hell are you doing, kid?" The beefy one asked, leaning down to get a better look at the small boy.
"Runnin' away from home, I bet," the other one said. Dick toyed with the idea of not answering, and just fleeing before they could do something to him. His hesitation just made the two boys annoyed.
"Kid, he asked you a question," the wiry boy snapped, and Dick's response was immediate.
"Zucco!" He blurted out, then clapped both his hands over his mouth. The teenagers shared a look with his friend before they each grabbed one of Dick's shoulders, lifted him up, and brought him into an alley.
"What about Zucco?" The wiry boy asked when they had set Dick back down, well out of sight.
"I find," Dick said, crossing his arms and meeting the boy's narrow eyed gaze.
"Why?"
"He hurt my family."
"He hurts lots of families, kid. Just give up," the beefy boy interjected, waving Dick off.
"No!" Dick shouted, surprising both boys. "El le-a ucis și el nu va primi departe cu ea! I not let him!" [He killed them, and he won't get away with it]
"Kid, we only speak English."
"Zucco. Will. Pay." Dick growled, glaring up at the two boys. He looked about ready to punch them if they dared try and contradict him, and the teenagers didn't doubt that he would. It might not hurt, but it would certainly be a gutsy move. They both straightened up, and their demeanors immediately changed.
"I like him," the wiry boy said, his sneer melting into a smirk.
"You want to help him?" His companion asked, sounding as if he too was considering it.
"Why not? It's not like the kid will actually accomplish anything now, but when he's older? Could be useful." The teenagers just stared at each other for a few moments, holding a silent conversation, until the wiry one looked back to Dick.
"I'm Jack, and this is Howell. We've decided that we're going to help ya, kid," the wiry boy said, sticking out his fist. Dick looked at it skeptically. "Bump it."
He looked down at his own hand, made a fist, and knocked his knuckles against Jack's.
"Cool. Come on, we'll show you our secret hideout." Jack waved the little acrobat forward, and they set off down the alley.
Their 'secret hideout' turned out to be very close by. Dick couldn't read the sign hanging above the boarded up window, but he recognized the picture of a washing machine, and assumed that the building had once been one of those things Americans called 'laundromats'. Jack and Howell shouldered the door open, and ushered their new friend inside. Dick blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden dim lighting. There were still a few washing machines and dryers inside, but they all appeared to have been repurposed. The lids on the washing machines had been ripped off, and what looked like blankets and sleeping bags were spilling out of them. Clothes and food had been tossed into the dryers, and knickknacks were stacked on top of them. In the corner of the room was a counter, and a rather dishevelled looking girl sat on top of it with a computer in her lap. The soft blue glow illuminated her face, and she just nodded her head slowly as a sign of acknowledging the boys in the doorway.
"Who's the kid?" The girl asked, not even looking over at them. Howell strode across the room and disappeared through a door in the back.
"No clue. Kid, what's your name?" Jack looked down at Dick. For some reason, he didn't want to give his name. He didn't know if he could really trust these kids, so he decided to lie.
"Gray." Sort of.
"This is Gray. Say hi, Chase."
"Hi, Chase," the girl grunted, her fingers skipping across the keyboard.
"Come over here," Jack waved his hand, even though Chase couldn't see the action. Or at least Dick didn't think she could see it.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"What if he bites?"
"He doesn't bite."
"How do you know that?"
"Do you bite?"
Dick shook his head.
"He said he doesn't bite."
"… If he bites me, I'm blaming you." Chase shut the lid of her laptop and slid off the counter, sauntering over towards them. She wasn't particularly pretty. Not like she was ugly, just average. Her hair obviously hadn't been properly brushed in a few days, and there were smudges of dark makeup around her eyes.
"So, kid, what brings you to Lee's?" Chase asked. Dick just raised an eyebrow, looking around the room. He thoughts this was called the secret hideout, whatever that was.
"Lee's Laundromat, that's the name of the place," Chase explained, and Dick nodded, wondering if every laundromat was a secret hideout.
"We're going to help him find Zucco," Jack said, answering Chase's earlier question.
"Do that, and he's going to die," Chase scoffed.
"That's why we're doing it your way," Jack smiled, looking over Chase's shoulder. Dick followed his gaze to the laptop that was left sitting on the countertop. While in the circus, he had used his parents' phones a few times when they came to America, but their functions were limited to calling and texting. Computers he had never bothered with, since he couldn't read English.
"So I'm doing everything?" Chase asked, shifting her hands to her hips.
"No way, you just gotta teach the kid." Jack chuckled at Chase's confused face.
"He's, like, five, there's no way he'll learn."
"Seven," Dick interrupted. Chase looked down at him in surprise.
"What?"
"I am seven." Dick was expecting the typical chuckle and comment on how he was small for his age, but certainly didn't expect what Chase did next.
"You sound so cute!" She squealed, suddenly pulling Dick into her arms. "That's a cool accent, where are you from? When did you move here? How long have you been here?"
Dick squirmed a little in her arms, but found that he was actually okay with her hugging him. He hadn't been hugged since he said goodbye to the others at the circus, and even though it had only been just over a day, he had missed it. He decided to answer Chase's questions as best as he could, hoping she would hug him longer.
"I am from România, we move three years," Dick explained, his accent thick.
"Where's your family?" Chase asked. The boy in her arms stiffened, and she set him down.
"Zucco." Apparently that was explanation enough.
"Fine, I'll teach you. But you're English might be a problem. Chase practically dragged dick over to the counter, setting him down on top, before sitting next to him. "You better be a damn fast learner."
...
|8:07 pm
It turned out that Dick was a very fast learner. His lack of English skills did prove to be a hindrance, and so for the first little while Chase had to read everything out to him, explaining the meanings of words he didn't understand, or the pronunciations of the ones spelt a little strange. They only did that for about an hour or two while Chase gave him a basic run down of computers before starting to teach him an entirely different language. Computer code. They worked for nearly eight hours, taking two breaks in between.
Computer code is a complex thing, and while Dick was always excellent at math despite his young age, it can take months to learn computer code with a good teacher. Chase was good, but eight hours can only get you so far. Neither of them had even realized so much time had passed until Jack leaned next to them, chin in his hands.
"Kid, don't you have someplace to be?" He asked, nudging Dick.
Dick looked up from the computer, where he had slowly been typing out a sequence of numbers under Chase's instruction, then glanced outside. Through the door window he could see the darkening sky. Dick's eyes widened. He hadn't intended to be gone so long. Dean could have gone into his room at any moment and seen he was gone. Flying like the bird he claimed to be, Dick jumped from the counter and dashed towards the door.
"I return?" Dick asked, spinning around briefly.
"Yeah, Gray. Come back tomorrow, you still have lots to learn," Chase answered, brown eyes briefly turning up to meet blue. It wasn't exactly a smile that crossed Dick's face, and it wasn't exactly a kind one, but it was the closest thing he had come to since his family fell. It would be a slow start, but he was going to find Zucco. Dick ran back to the apartment, thankful that the route between there and Lee's was a fairly straightforward one, and he was slipping back into his bedroom window in under twenty minutes.
It was obvious that Dean had noticed Dick was gone. While the room couldn't exactly look ransacked, considering there were so few things inside of it, everything that was in it had been scattered about and ruined in some way. Which meant Dick's things had been ruined. His suitcase was turned upside down, everything scattered across the floor, but that wasn't really what he cared about. The only thing in there was clothes. The drawstring bag he had used was nearly torn in two, Zitka lying on top of it near the centre of the room, and one of Zitka's ears flung halfway to the wall. The books in German and Italian were lying face down, a few pages scattered around them. Then there were the photos. Not all of them had been damaged, but many were creased, a few torn and one or two even had boot prints on them. Then there was the last photo that Dick and his family had taken together. It had been torn into three separate pieces.
Dick slid to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes, and gathered up the items, sobs escaping him. He held the torn photo pieces together as if they would magically meld together, then did the same with Zitka's ear, but it didn't work. He was in the middle of the room, the discarded items swept into his arms, when Dean entered with an enraged scowl.
"Where the fuck did you go?" Dean yelled, charging into the room. Dick jumped in fear and pushed himself back against the wall, trying to keep everything in his arms.
"The street, just around!" Dick cried out, fearing what Dean was going to do.
"Did I say that you could go?"
"N-no," Dick shook his head vigorously, and Dean sneered.
"No, I didn't. Which means you disobeyed me."
"No!" Dick repeated.
"Shut the fuck up, kid!" Dean roared, and Dick clamped his mouth shut, tears pouring from his eyes. "You want to go anywhere, you have to tell me first. You don't, and this is what happens!"
Dean reached out and grabbed Dick's shirt, then slammed him against the wall. Dick couldn't hold back his cry as Dean drove his fist into the young boy's ribs.
"I said shut up!" Dean's hand was suddenly around Dick's throat, held tight and blocking of his air. Dick's eyes widened and he scrambled at the large hand, his feet kicking against the wall, but he couldn't do anything. The edge of his vision was turning red, and black spots were blocking out most of the room. The next thing he knew, Dick was lying on the floor, gasping for air with Dean's foot pressed against his stomach.
"No food tomorrow, kid." Dick didn't like how he said kid. It wasn't at all like Chase and the others, who sounded nice when they said it. Dean said it like it was a swear.
"Ms. Kincaid called today, your family's funeral is tomorrow. You're going, but only so no one asks questions. Say anything to anyone about this arrangement, and pretty soon someone will be planning your funeral, go it?"
Dick nodded slowly, and the pressure on his stomach disappeared. The door slammed as Dean left as Dick, with silent tears streaming down his face, put all his things into his suitcase, gently tucking the photographs back inside the books pages. He brought the suitcase onto the bed and placed it between him and the wall.
The third night spent in Dean's apartment, Dick slept, but only because exhaustion seemed to ambush him when the tears he had thought dried up days ago finally finished pouring from his eyes.
...
'See' you next time!
