So… I got on the computer to type. (This be me, not F.J.) I found that F.J. left me five open documents, all for chaptered stories I haven't updated in a long while with lengthy letters on each of them! Most of the letters just told me what the fans might want or what she wanted, selfish bitch, but it gave me a chance to go back through my old stories and smile at how bad some of them were ^.^ So today should be a good update day. Don't hold me to that though. This one was written by me. F.J.'s got the next one. I'm not in a very good typing mood I suppose. Not until Family Guy's over.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even the ideas. Those are F.J.'s.
Alfred watched the footage one last time, frowning to himself. He felt like Bruce as he hunched over in the leather chair, interlacing his fingers and resting them against his chin. His eyes were squinted in the low light as he tried to keep his eyes on Dick's figure in the monitor.
"How Bruce does this is beyond me," Alfred remarked calmly to himself.
For what had to be the eighth time, the old butler saw the little ebony throw something into the bushes before dashing back into the secret entrance to the Batcave. He wasn't quite focused on what Dick was hiding in the bushes though. To focus on Dick's hands would mean to focus on the fact that we was wearing nothing more than his boxers and that wasn't quite at the top of Alfred's list of things to do today.
XxXxX
Bruce flipped through the final newspaper article in the folder, a faint smile over his lips. He was lost in old memories, way too far out at sea to be saved. He was just treading on old water, expecting to soon drown and be put to rest at the bottom of it all, never to be rescued. A small siren sliced the surprisingly peaceful air though, reminding Bruce that he wasn't alone in the memories.
This 'siren' wasn't near as loud as one might think though, which actually made Bruce freeze in place from surprise. It was barely above a whisper, if even that. His brown eyes darted up from the newspaper article in his hand, darting to the source of the near silent siren. It was Wally. The ginger had his elbows resting on his knees, bowing his head in an effort to hide his sobs. In his hand was a small cut-out picture of none other than Richard Grayson, the night he was adopted.
How close were they? I've never seen Kid Flash upset… let alone sobbing Bruce thought sadly to himself, wishing the knot in his stomach would leave.
He had half a mind to get up and awkwardly comfort the broken teen, but he wasn't sure of what he could possibly do to make the matter better. If he didn't have a reputation to uphold, he'd probably still be doing the same, or something close to it. Wally seemed to feel Bruce's stare, tensing greatly. He brought his left elbow up off his knee, scrubbing at his eyes madly. Even with his tears being muffled, gaspy breaths still spilled from his lips.
"I… S-Sorry M… Mr. Grayson," Wally apologized with a shaky sigh, scrubbing even harder at stay tears.
Bruce's heart skipped a sorrowful beat.
"It's uh… It's Mr. Wayne," Bruce half-heartedly corrected him, setting a free hand to his neck.
"E-… Excuse me? You… you are Dick's father… right?" Wally suspiciously peered over his jacket sleeve.
A frown passed over Bruce's lips and he cocked his head, not sure whether to not or shake his head.
"I am… Dick's… guardian," he explained slowly, "Mr. Grayson… he isn't with us anymore… so I am watching Dick until some other family member comes to properly adopt him."
Wally bound his arms around his stomach, a crystal tear hesitating on the tip of his nose. He rubbed it off onto his already stained jacket shoulder.
"H-He's… he's adopted?" Wally twisted Bruce's words around.
Bruce shook his head slowly, averting his eyes to the newspaper article.
"He is not adopted."
Wally's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"So… if you're not his dad but you didn't adopt him…" Wally began to think, probably one of the scariest things possible for him to do.
Lucky for Bruce, Alfred came tearing down the stairs, his face set in determination. Bruce's head snapped up, his eyes hopeful.
"Alfred!" he did his best to keep his voice calm as he greeted the man who might be able to change the spotlight on the scene at hand, "Any luck?"
Alfred smirked to himself.
"Bruce, my dear boy…" he began to scold, setting a hand to the banister as he carefully touched back down to the ground again, "I believe I may have… a 'break through'… if you would."
Bruce handed the newspaper article back to Wally before getting up and walking fast to Alfred's side. He had assumed that it'd be something about the Batcave, but Alfred simply pushed him back.
"What I can tell you, I have to tell Wallace. With how much Dick boasts and brags about him, you'd think that they were peas in a pod, seeds on a strawberry, and stitches on an old jacket. Besides, Wallace came to us. We owe him no less," Alfred muttered under his breath, watching carefully as Wally collected his stuff, heading for the door.
"Thank you for… for listening… I uh… call if you hear anything," Wally frowned shyly, feeling like the mother of all wimps.
Bruce almost let him leave, but Alfred roughly nudged him, shooting him a knowing glare. With a reluctant frown, Bruce reached out and caught Wally by the shoulder.
"Hey… kid… Do you want to… help us?"
Bruce had the bullet in his mouth, but he couldn't quite bite it through. His pride was making his tongue puff up so he couldn't swallow it either. A few feeble ounces crept down his throat, but that was all he could manage. Wally's eyes screamed and sobbed yes with all of their might, but a shaky, "No…" slipped past his lips.
"I… I don't want to get in the way," he explained himself, feeling uncomfortable under the confused glances.
Bruce's hand didn't move from Wally's shoulder.
"We could use the help," Bruce hinted strongly, hoping that just maybe Dick had taught his best friend the language of the eyes.
Wally saw the brown flash from the cops to the folder and he got the slightest of an idea.
"Oh… I-I guess... if you need the help…"
Bruce dropped his hand and followed Alfred out the door. Wally followed Bruce, turning to the cop by the door to stop him.
"I'll protect them," Wally said, the cop's gun suddenly in his hand.
The cop jumped out of his skin, his eyes quickly flying down to his empty gun holster. He felt a faint breeze, but he was too busy looking around for his gun, thinking he had misplaced it. When he looked up, wanting to examine the gun in the redhead's hand, he was shocked to see that Wally was at least twenty feet in front of both Bruce and Alfred, the gun in his hand. Bruce seemed very uncomfortable with it around, squirming and fidgeting, motioning with his hands in a pleading manner. Alfred put an arm around him though and he calmed a little.
When they turned around the bend of the house, Wally stopped in confusion. All he saw was a white wall and a few random bushes. For a moment, he glanced back at the two older men behind him, thinking that maybe he was going to be murdered here and now, but when they headed back towards the bushes, giving him a way to run if need be, that worry disappeared. As Alfred rummaged through the bushes, looking for whatever it was that he had seen, Bruce turned back to Wally. He casually strolled across the lawn, looking back and forth to make sure that no cops were around. When he was sure they were alone, he still dropped his voice to a whisper.
"Drop the act. I know you're Kid Flash. Now, you're going to help me find Robin," Bruce's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms over his chest, showing that he was dead serious.
Wally's eyes widened and he laughed in confusion.
"What?" he pretended to be oblivious.
Bruce rolled his eyes, "Come on, let's be practical. How many green eyed gingers are out there that would bawl their eyes out over Dick?"
Wally was silent, but only because he knew better than to make a wise crack at a man who had something to hold over him.
"… Okay… maybe I am… but I would've helped you with or without the spandex," he pointed out, running a hand over his hair weakly, "What could Kid Flash do that I can't?"
Bruce glanced around one last time, being as careful as he could to not be overheard by unwanted ears.
"You have the Justice League computers. I have just the house computers. Normally, I'd ask Batman for help," Bruce easily toyed with his alibi as if it really was a separate person because at times, it could be, "but I haven't heard from him in almost a week. I imagine he's trying to find Robin too but…"
Wally shakily nodded. "I… I'll try…"
"No," Bruce's eyes seethed with anger, "You either help me or you don't. Nowhere in there did I give you the option to try."
Wally felt his knees grow weak from fear. He fought himself in a battle to the death to reclaim his voice.
"I'll help," he said bravely, his arms trembling despite it.
Bruce nodded firmly, turning back to Alfred. The old man was hurrying across the lawn, a familiar green journal in hand. Bruce's eyes widened in recognition, but Wally stared on in confusion. They both hurried to meet him, but Wally forced himself to a normal pace as to not seem too eager. Bruce ran a bit faster, snatching the book rudely from his butler's hands. Alfred frowned heavily, but he made no protest. Wally jogged up, carefully watching as Bruce thumbed through the spidery handwritten pages. It wasn't until the last page in the book that he saw something that caught his attention.
On the last page in writing so untidy that even Wally scrunched up his nose in disapproval. It was 12 technical words, all so close together that it looked more like one long word. Rule 61: Just because you saw someone die doesn't mean they did.
Everyone blankly stared at it, looking for some explanation as to what it meant. That made no sense! Was this referring to ghosts? Doppelgangers? Clones? Criss Angels? Everyone knew that Dick was one of the most skeptical people on the planet, even doubting the concept of gravity, saying that everything on earth stayed because the winds and their own weight kept them from leaving. While watching ghost movies, he could always point out how it was faked. He was even worse than Wally on his beliefs. Then, Bruce seemed to get it.
"I… I think I know where he wanted us to head next," he started for one of the million cars in the driveway at a half-assed jog.
Alfred and Wally followed curiously.
"Where?" Alfred inquired, beating Wally to it.
Bruce said nothing though, not until he was buckled into the front seat of his 1981 Chrysler Imperial, the pale blue starting to rust from the rough year it had survived. Alfred headed in the direction of the house, possibly to ward off the cops. Wally just stood there awkwardly. Bruce's eyes narrowed at him.
"Wally, get your ass in this car or I swear, I will run you over until Dick has to attend two of his best friends' funerals!" Bruce thundered, murder threading through his voice.
Wally squeaked in fear, climbing into the car with the fastest flash he could manage. Before he could stop shaking enough to buckle his seatbelt, Bruce threw his foot against the accelerator and they propelled forward across the lawn.
"That's what we do when we see evil. We run like Hell." She's taking me over; making me a mini Batman. Soon, there'll be no more of me left! It'll be just fanfiction, and nothing else… But that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Review?
-F.J.