"Nah, Slade's cooking wasn't that bad." Dick smirked to himself as he talked to the com unit above him. "Bruce's attempts were much worse. And I learned how to cook a bit too- the basics that is. I'm nowhere near your level Alfie."
"Considering how many years I have on you, I would think not." Alfred's voice merrily bantered over the intercom as he worked on some treats. "And I studied with quite a few talented chefs in my youth."
"I thought you were obsessed with the secret service and acting back then." Dick looked up from the Rubik's Cube he was working on as they talked, a bit more curious than usual. He hadn't heard every story from the old man after all.
"It took quite some time to decide my career path, Master Richard. As a child, my father insisted I learn everything a butler would need to know and he sent me to some fine schools in England. I decided to explore my options once he was in full service to the Wayne family and out of my hair. I followed many paths, including Her Majesty's Secret Service and an acting troupe."
"Wait, you had hair?" Hearing the butler scoff, he laughed. It was still fun getting under the man's skin. "Wow, Alfie, didn't know you rebelled against your old man. I thought you were just born amazing and perfect."
"Far from it, Master Richard. Some of the things I did in my youth would put a few of your antics to shame."
"And just how many chandeliers did you break?" Knowing the man was rolling his eyes, Dick just laughed, enjoying the conversation.
The two of them were having quite a few of them now. Since the day the Titans visited, he found it easier to hear Alfred's voice. Tim wasn't always around and he could only read every book in his room so many times before he could recite them. At which point, they'd be useless to him. Talking to Alfred, about the past especially, made the long days go by faster. He forgot how witty the old man could be. He had really missed the man he thought of as a grandfather.
Dick had been liberated from Slade nearly two months ago.
Other than a few headaches and infrequent stomach problems, he was pretty much free of any chemicals forced into him by that slave driver. Alfred still snuck sleeping aids into his evening meal so he could come in and continue injections to remove the addictions, but it wasn't that bad. He could tell he was addicted to something now, and how badly he was drugged before; he just didn't know what with. And that was dangerous. Thank heavens for Bruce and his drug catalogue. The guy had a list for everything.
He still stayed in his room, not sure if he could handle all the memories that came with the rest of the house yet. Plus, Bruce could be out there. Even if he was able to take Alfred's voice, he wasn't ready in the slightest for the man who had taken him in.
Well, maybe that wasn't entirely the case. Dick had nightmares often, always about his 'training'. Sometimes he swore he woke up in the middle of them and Bruce would be there, holding him. He used to do that all the time when he first came to live at the manor when he was a kid. Just hold onto him, comfortingly rocking and murmuring in his ear. He had a lot of delusions of it happening again when he was with Slade. He thought it was just part of his dreams. There was no proof of it having happened in the morning. He just felt… Well, those dreams were about all he saw of the man those days, and it was fine by him. He wasn't ready to face the guilt of knowing how many of his rules he broke.
Talking to Alfred like this was a huge improvement as far as he was concerned. And he rather enjoyed it. Made the times Tim was busy elsewhere more bearable. Being Robin meant a lot of other things than just watching him or keeping Batman on the straight and narrow. He had to exercise and train some time. That was what the kid was doing right then, working out in the gym and doing what training he could do without help.
For a while now he'd been asking Dick to join him in the gym and show him how to do some of the tricks he was known for back in his Robin days. Personally, he would have been happy to show off his cool moves a few years back, but he hadn't worked out or done anything remotely like training since returning to Gotham. Other than walking around and tackling Starfire, he hardly even moved. He mostly just sat around deep in thought or talking to Tim or Alfred. He preferred talking.
"So what was the worst thing you did?" He quickly solved the puzzle he was working on, not quite happy that it took him thirty moves to do it. He used to be able to get it in twenty. He reshuffled the cube to try again. Slade had made his chess game much better, but other mind teasers had suffered a bit from the constant physical training. And this wasn't even going into how much the guy messed with his head. He really was trying to erase everything the Bat taught him. "Use the wrong cleaner?"
"Oh, I may have been involved with the redecorating of certain men's offices. I was never convicted of course." Dick fell into gales of laughter, never once thinking of the man as a devious trouble maker. Maybe Bruce got his sneaky tendencies from him. "It wouldn't do to be implicated in such events."
"So, were you the one who taught Bruce how to pull pranks on people?"
"Pranks? My dear boy, I would never dream of such a thing!" The chuckling young man waited for the next comment, knowing it would be coming. "Master Bruce has always had a mind of his own. Even before he was permanently in my care, he had a vindictive side. You should have seen what he did to his teacher after a picture of his parents was taken away."
"I can imagine." Young Bruce would only be a less violent Bat back then. He could only picture some surly teacher dyed several colors and covered in small cuts and bruises as revenge.
"It wasn't until your arrival here that he became playful again." That remark made Dick pause for a moment, looking down sadly. He had heard things like that a few times, that he had lit up the man's life considerably. Tim insisted he changed Batman for good, becoming his conscience and light as much as his partner. Until his return, he didn't really take it all to heart. He must have had a significant role under this roof all those years ago and hadn't realized it. Here, he was something important. And knowing this now helped calm his mind and heart a great deal.
"I believe you even preserved Mr. Kent's life," Alfred continued, not noting what was going through his charge's head. Dick looked up at the intercom curiously. Really? "They had met only once before your arrival and they liked each other very little. You being one of Superman's fans turned that general distaste into jealousy and Mr. Kent started seeing who Master Bruce really was, beyond the cape and cowl. I dare say they are good friends these days, though Master Bruce will never admit it. Last time he was frustrated with him, he merely called his mother and reported his foolish actions. She refused to feed him pie and lectured him in Master Bruce's stead."
The young man laughed, picturing the scene. To think that the strongest person on Earth was so easily cowed by an elderly woman who made delicious pies! Then again, Alfred could intimidate Batman. He even managed to order Superman around once or twice. Who knew how much influence the man had over the League now? "Before then, I dare say the kryptonite would have come out whenever Master Bruce was mildly annoyed with him.
"Oh dear…"
Dick had to calm down his giggles when the man didn't say anything more on the other end. Even stopped messing with the cube in his hands to try and figure out why the butler had stopped talking. "Something wrong Alfred?"
"It seems Master Timothy has gotten himself into a bit of a pickle."
"What?!" Dick was immediately on high alert. He jumped to his feet, his heart leaping into his throat and lodging itself there in fear for his little brother. Tim was in trouble? Wasn't he supposed to be working out in the gym? What could have gotten past the manor's defenses? Was he okay?
"While attacking the punching bag, the chain broke and it fell on top of him."
Dick stared at the intercom for a moment before face-palming. Bit of a pickle indeed. He was fine. "Don't scare me like that Alf," he said, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"My apologies Master Richard, but he seems rather tired from exertion and is not lifting the sack off of himself quite yet. As this recipe requires my full attention at the stove, I cannot free him. Might you be available?"
He just looked at the intercom for a minute, silent. He knew this was one of their tricks to make him leave that room. Forcing him to deal with things he'd been avoiding. Tim possibly getting sick helped him come to his bedroom and leave the cave. Using a broken sack on him was supposed to make him go to the gym? On his own? "Is this a trick question?"
"I assure you," Alfred continued, keeping his voice calm, "I am quite tied up here. Master Bruce is taking care of a few legal matters at the office and gathering evidence for a case. I do not expect his return until late tonight, and then only to pick up Robin and a fresh uniform. There is an intercom unit inside the gym I can use to warn you with should he make an unexpected visit."
"And a camera that lets you keep an eye on people…"
"Well, yes. It was either a camera or locking the door and not permitting solo work outs. One should not perform dangerous acts without a spotter," the British man advised.
He looked away for a moment. A major rule when using weights or practicing acrobatics was to have someone nearby in case something went wrong. He and Bruce used to ignore it all the time so the camera was implanted.
"And I am the one responsible for the safety of both you and Master Timothy while Master Bruce is away."
Taking a deep breath, Dick stepped to the door he hadn't used since entering that room weeks ago. "Fine. But if Bruce comes back early, keep him in the study until I'm back in here, got it?"
"Indeed I shall."
Not wasting another moment, he flew out the door and down the hall towards where he remembered the gym was. Unless Bruce had moved everything in the past five years, it should be in the west wing, above the study. Darting down the hallways, he barely noted the subtle changes that had occurred in the manor. Some places had been patched up since he left all those years ago, places he didn't think needed repair before. There were a few changes in art and a new stain on a tapestry, but it was the same over all. Just a few signs to tell him another rowdy kid had lived there at one point.
'Jason must have been pretty active.' He just couldn't see Tim making holes in the wall like those, nor making messes so big there'd need to be new paint. He was unusually tidy in his visits. The only time he knew Tim had made a mess when he was trying to distract the Titans. On the other hand, he'd deduced from what little information he had of Jason that the second Robin had been an unruly kid. If they had lived together, he had no doubt they'd have a blast pranking Bruce and giving Alfred heart attacks. If only…
Dick stopped rushing just short of the gym, blinking in surprise. It… really wasn't hard going through the manor. Not this time at least. Those drugs must have wreaked some serious havoc on his mind the last time, when he had left the cave. This time around, he only could see how things had changed. He'd spent days in the gym as a kid, building his muscles and practicing his moves so he wouldn't screw up in the field. This hallway was a place full of memories, some alone and some with others. And yet none of them hit him. It was just a hallway.
Why was he so scared of a hallway earlier?
He looked around once then stopped at the gym door. He could remember opening and closing it several times, Alfred coming in to fetch him, seeing Bruce watching through it, but it was just a door. No strong memories kept him away from it. Why had he avoided it? He heard a grunt through it and remembered why he had left his bedroom in the first place.
Quietly, the young man opened the door and looked around to find Tim and the punching bag. Quite a few things had changed in there, mostly updating equipment and opening the place up a bit. All of his gymnastics equipment was exactly where he'd left it. The punching bags though, were on the other side of the room. He deftly moved between weights and cardio equipment to get over there, walking around the mats in the center of the room. The kid was working hard to shove the heavy sack off of him.
"Need a little help?" The older bird leaned over him, smirking slightly.
Tim blinked, probably not believing what he was seeing. "Dick? What are you…?"
"Alfred said you got squished." He inclined his head toward the door. "He's busy in the kitchen and can't come by to help out."
"Mind getting this bag off me then? It's getting hard to breathe!" Annoyance jerked out of his voice, making Dick laugh as he helped remove the bag. His muscles weren't as strong as before but between the two of them they managed to roll it off the new Robin and out of harm's way. Looking at the chain now, he could accept that this hadn't been planned. Wear and tear was the cause. When Bruce had grown careless with it, he couldn't tell, but it wasn't unheard of. He was easily distracted from things like this.
"Thanks." Dick helped Tim to his feet, noting how sweaty the kid had gotten. In just a wife-beater and gym shorts, he was reminded of how scrawny the thirteen year old was. Didn't Alfred say his birthday was coming up soon? Why was he so small?
"No problem."
Tim looked him up and down curiously as he took a towel from the bench against the wall to wipe sweat off his face and neck. "I thought you were staying in your room."
Dick shrugged. "Maybe I just needed a good enough reason to leave it." He moved over to one of the newer machines and smirked. "So, how does this one work?"
