Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
A/N: This was a specific request. In honor of Dick's bday on the first day of spring, I present a birthday fic. I meant to post this sooner, but I'm in the middle of the most intense part of my semester so I've been feeling kind of down. I won't be posting anything for the next two weeks in order to get everything I need for graduation done.
Though fair warning: this is very much a character study. Some of you may find this boring, but I found it fascinating to write.
March
-DG-
Wayne Manor
Gotham City
Dick had a great seventeenth birthday party. Spending time with his friends was the only thing he wanted, but he didn't want anything over the top. Of course, everyone else had different plans and rocked the house with unfamiliar music and rave lights. Everyone was winding down after a night of debauchery (Roy did sneak in some beer, though Alfred caught him), and Dick had already said goodbye to most of his friends. The Titans were staying in Wayne Manor again, so they helped clean up once the other party-goers left.
Despite everyone's protests, Dick helped clean up the mess as well. He found himself cleaning a room with Raven, who used her powers to clean up large sections of the floor.
"If Star tries to put that crown of meat on my head again I swear I'll go crazy," Dick said. "Can't believe that's an actual Tamaranean tradition."
Raven turned and took the broom from him, smiling slightly. "You shouldn't be cleaning up. It's your birthday."
"It's my party. My mess."
"I will make you stop, Dick Grayson." Raven handed him a present wrapped in blue paper. "Here. I'd rather give this to you now. I know you didn't ask for anything, but I got you something."
Dick opened the present.
"Sherlock Holmes," Dick said, turning over the book. "Well…."
"If you don't like it I can return it," Raven said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I didn't know what to get you and I thought—"
Dick stepped back as Raven reached for it. "Don't. I didn't get to finish reading it."
He flipped through the book, remembering how he had delighted in figuring out the clues before the end of the stories. Raven set a hand on his arm.
"Are you happy?"
"I had a great day. Of course I'm happy."
"I shouldn't have given that to you," Raven said. "Why does that remind you of Slade?"
"I read a lot of books on my downtime, and this was one of them," Dick replied. "Don't worry about it. You didn't know."
Now he felt uncomfortable. With so many people around to distract him today, he hadn't gotten the chance to think about his birthday last year. Not that he wanted to think much about it.
"I had a better birthday than I did last year," Dick said. "It was a pretty crappy sweet sixteen, but I made up for it this year."
"Oh. Wasn't a good day?"
"Actually no. Wasn't a bad day, but it wasn't a good day either."
"Can you talk about it?"
"Yeah… yeah I think I can."
-TT-
Haunt
Jump City, California
8:32am
There were only three distinct occasions Dick remembered when he was allowed to sleep in. Anything that deviated from his strict schedule he met with suspicion, as that usually meant Slade had bigger and better plans for him. So when he woke at precisely 8:32am he felt a little unnerved.
Maybe it's a test, Dick thought as he scrambled to put some clothes on.
Slade liked tests. He was one of those teachers who liked pop quizzes, who liked to constantly monitor his student's progress, and what with all this private tutoring there was really no escaping it. Constant quizzing was almost as stressful as thinking about the Titans.
He nearly ran into a Sladebot on his way to the kitchen. Dick stood still, eyeing the Sladebot warily. The thing watched him with blank eyes. Weird.
Dick walked into the kitchen and found Wintergreen, who was obviously waiting for him.
"Where is…uh…" Dick paused, glancing around once more. "Slade?"
For a solid month Dick had been calling Slade "Master." By now it was automatic, but Dick still wouldn't say it unless Slade was there. Wintergreen, to Dick's surprise, never enforced the rule. Sometimes Dick got the sense that Wintergreen didn't agree with it.
"Slade is out for the day," Wintergreen said, handing him a piece of paper. "But he left you a list of things to do."
Of course he did.
To be fair, the list didn't seem too bad. Though if Slade was out for the day, then why would he bother letting Dick sleep in? Slade didn't believe in wasting time.
So Dick went to the gym and worked out on his own, grateful for the time alone. He spent his time practicing his acrobatics, which he could usually do without Slade's permission. As he accidentally fell onto his back from an unfortunate twist he knew that he needed to practice more. That was pitiful.
Dick pushed himself to his elbows, breathing heavily from the fall, and found himself facing a Sladebot.
"What are you looking at?" he demanded of a watchful Sladebot. "Don't you have something better to do?"
Talking to it was stupid. It wasn't as if the Sladebots recognized him as their master anyway. Dick grabbed a towel, wiped his sweaty face, and threw it at the Sladebot's face. He was done here.
-TT-
1:07pm
Dick organized his day by meals and sleep, never by activities. One day could be dedicated entirely to combat practice, and the next to computer programming. Today's subject: Russian.
Memorize and perfect these verb conjugations for the present tense, Dick read. Russian was difficult, but Dick couldn't really argue against learning a new language. Slade had a reason for it: many of Slade's international contacts were Russia. Maybe it was a lingering Cold War thing. Who knew? Slade was an old enough fart to be involved in the war against communism. Haha, Grayson, you are hilarious.
But learning a new language, while stressful at times under Slade's guidance, was something he preferred to do over other things like hacking or robbing a bank.
He turned the corner and jumped in surprise. The Sladebot was there yet again. Dick instinctively punched it. He hissed in pain and massaged his fist as the Sladebot stood still.
"You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days," Dick scolded. "Do that again and I'll rip your face off."
If Slade was listening in—as he probably was—then Dick didn't care.
"What are you supposed to be, a guardian angel or a babysitter?"
Talking to the Sladebot was pointless, but Dick didn't have anyone else to talk to these days. Whatever. He examined the damage to the robot's face, wondering if Slade would get mad at him. Aside from the impressive dent he had gouged into the side of its face, Dick realized that something else was wrong with the Sladebot. One of its arms twitched incessantly.
"Oh. You're defective."
Dick hadn't learned how to mess with the Sladebots yet. He was aware that, sometime in the near future, Slade was going to teach him how to fix them so the lazy butt wouldn't have to do it himself. Right now he still didn't trust Dick with them. Dick didn't blame him.
"I hope Slade puts you down like a dog," Dick said. "Stupid robot."
Say that in Russian, Grayson.
Maybe if he said it backwards it would happen.
-TT-
4:11pm.
Downtime.
Slade was a firm believer in intellectual hobbies. No TV, no movies, except maybe on special occasions, though Slade was deliberately vague on what constituted a "special occasion." When Dick wasn't busy feeling sorry for himself he was perpetually bored.
Reading books was a Slade-approved activity, though of course everything went through Slade-approved censorship. At least that's what Dick thought. Didn't matter, since he read the books anyway.
There were other rooms to hang out in, and Dick occasionally wandered through the Haunt when he was allowed to. Staying in his room when he wasn't out working was depressing. Not that the gears were good company, or the Sladebots, or the giant TV screens hanging out in the main room, but being in a bigger room made him feel less claustrophobic. Today he wandered to another room that acted as both some sort of office and library, the place where many of his non-combative lessons took place.
Most of the books Slade let him have weren't exactly light reading, or things that he wouldn't have picked. Infuriating, yeah, but Dick found some wonderful gems.
Take Ernest Hemingway for example. Reading The Old Man and the Sea in middle school had been one of the more infuriating parts of his public education. It was slow and incredibly boring, and a bit anti-climatic. But Hemingway, for some bizarre reason, was on Slade's list of approved authors, so Dick found himself reading The Sun Also Rises.
There was something about the story of Jake and his distant friends that Dick found oddly compelling. They were part of the Lost Generation, the emotionally damaged soldiers who returned from the trenches and could not find themselves again. Unlike reading about the old man fishing, Dick sometimes found himself more upset after reading this book. If he ever got out of this, would he be as damaged as these people were, unable to go back to a normal life?
Dick suspected that Slade had never read any Ernest Hemingway, but vaguely knew that Hemingway was some sort of famous American author, so obviously reading the classics wouldn't be a bad thing. Better than reading the crap published nowadays. Slade's reasoning was weird.
Maybe he shouldn't be a mercenary. Better to take up literary theory than kill people.
Dick slumped until he was lying on the couch and left the book open on his stomach. Right now he didn't feel like a prisoner. At times like these he could forget that he was here.
He sat up when he heard someone come in.
"If you're going to follow me, then I might as well give you a name."
Did the Sladebot go bonkers this morning? What if this was another test. Somehow Dick didn't think so, and if it was then he didn't care.
"I'm going to name you Jake," Dick said. "You're defective like he is. Though I suspect you didn't have any balls to lose in the first place."
He laughed to himself at the terrible joke, and laughed at the fact that he now talked to the stupid Sladebots.
-TT-
5:38pm
Slade still hadn't shown up. Maybe he was around, but didn't bother to talk to his apprentice. Not that that bothered Dick: the more time he spent away from Slade the better. But Slade had been gone all day, and Dick couldn't help but wonder what he was up to.
Dick glanced at the list again and wondered if Slade forgot something. He had done remarkably little today. Maybe Slade wanted him rested for another mission tonight. Dick hadn't been on one lately, so it was entirely possible.
His stomach growled as he walked into the kitchen. It smelled like…pizza?
Okay, now this was weird.
One of the many things that annoyed Dick was Slade's control over his diet. Food Nazi. That was one of many Dick's secret nicknames for Slade. No junk food. Anytime Dick tried to break that rule while out on a mission he got lectured.
"Why do we have pizza, Wintergreen?" Dick asked.
"Sometimes I don't want to cook. I need days off too."
Living in the same household with the villains reminded Dick that they were human as well. Something Dick suspected he would never tell the Titans. Arguing about something as mundane as replenishing the toilet paper was hilarious in context of everything else that had happened to him.
There must be some sort of catch.
Dick ate the pizza, feeling very strange and very awkward all the while. He felt like he was breaking some sort of unspoken rule he would be punished for later. Anything could be a test. But Wintergreen wouldn't do that to him, would he?
Dick automatically stood up when Slade entered the room.
"You can sit down," Slade said coolly.
Dick slumped back into his chair. Great. Time for the daily talk-down. They were overdue for one today. What clever putdowns would Slade come up with today?
"Did you do everything I asked?"
"Yes, Master."
An awkward silence stretched between them. No matter how many times Dick said the word it still felt awkward and wrong. Dick got the sense that Slade still wanted to talk, though about what Dick hadn't the faintest idea. He had more success talking to the Sladebot.
"Did you have a good day?"
Dick looked up. "I suppose so. I don't know."
"Why is that?"
This was a trick. Slade wanted him to admit out loud that he hated it here. Then he would have more reason to lecture Dick.
"Why didn't you have a good day, Dick?"
Was Slade genuinely interested in his feelings? Had he been gone away all day in the hopes that Dick would feel better? Sometimes Slade did that, but it never worked.
"My friends aren't here, Sir," Dick replied in a tight voice. "Kind of depresses me when I just have Jake for company."
Dick jabbed a thumb towards the Sladebot.
"You named the robot Jake?" Slade paused. "Interesting."
Jake the Sladebot never asked for this life. Jake the Sladebot never asked to be slapped around. Jake the Sladebot was just a pawn programmed to do Slade's bidding. Jake the Sladebot was a better friend than Slade could ever be.
Dick got the sense that Slade knew something he didn't. He seemed… off today. How could Dick describe it? What was up with today?
"You have the night off," Slade said abruptly.
"Why?"
Slade grimaced. Oh, right. Sometimes Dick still forgot to address him correctly. It was hard to remember during casual conversation, though he remembered often enough when he was in trouble.
"I have other work. I'm sure you'll find something productive to do."
Whoa, Slade must be in a tolerable mood tonight if he was letting the whole "Master" thing go. Best to take advantage of it while he still could. Dick slid out of his seat and moved towards the kitchen door.
"Wait." Dick rolled his eyes and turned back around. Of course Slade wasn't done talking. "You can… uh… watch a movie if you want. I do have a box of movies in the back you can look through."
I am so confused. What the hell is going on?
"Right…" Dick shot Slade a strange look. "I'll… look into that."
"I have something for you," Slade said.
Slade shoved a box into Dick's arms. "It's a shaving kit. Thought it would be better than the disposable blades you use now."
Slade left quickly as though… as though he felt… awkward? Dick didn't know how else to describe it. Why was no one explaining anything to him? How could Dick explain that he didn't need a nice razor yet? The disposable razors worked just fine on the few scraggly strands that he managed to grow.
Still holding the box, Dick stared after Slade, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Hell, he couldn't even comprehend his entire day. Well, whatever. Slade was just in a generous mood today. Dick walked out of the kitchen, though Wintergreen stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
"By the way," Wintergreen said. "Happy birthday."
Dick remembered, and chastised himself for forgetting his own birthday. Sweet sixteen. His shoulders slumped sadly as he glanced down at the box Slade had shoved into his arms. At least someone else had remembered.
A/N: To be honest, I actually dislike The Sun Also Rises, but it's still a good book and Hemingway is a great writer. I was trying to think of an American classic aside from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that Dick could read. My other choice was Long Day's Journey Into Night, but even though it's one of my favorite plays I feel like Dick wouldn't read a play.
And I spent long hours on skype brainstorming and attempting to figure out the perfect awkward birthday present. This is what I came up with.
Review!
