Chapter 12
The next morning, Dick lay in bed for a long time, thinking about what he'd done. Something inside him had broken, died. He wasn't fighting anymore and he couldn't justify it to himself. He didn't have a reason. Joining the gymnastics club… It didn't seem enough with the sun burning his curtains and birds singing outside. Good people didn't do what he had done, good people fought. Batman would have fought. He would never have submitted in order to get what he wanted.
But the funny thing was, he didn't even feel that guilty. He had what he wanted. And he'd gone through it so many times against his will, what difference did it make? At least this time, he'd escaped earning any unnecessary bruises or pains. It was just one more incident in a long line; in the grand scale of things, it probably wouldn't even be counted. And it wasn't like anyone was watching him, nobody knew what was going on, so they couldn't judge him.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? It was wrong that he didn't feel bad. He shouldn't be making these excuses, and justifying it to himself. What had happened was wrong, it was always wrong, no matter how many times, and he'd let it happen. Didn't that make him wrong too? Didn't that mean he was bad now too? How could he be good anymore? He hadn't been innocent in a long time, but that hadn't been his fault until now.
Now he shared the blame.
If you know someone is going to do a bad thing, something that is wrong, and you don't try to stop them, if you let it happen, doesn't that make you like them? Maybe even worse, since something is driving them to do what they did, but you're just lazy, scared. You don't have the integrity to stop them. That's why Gotham needs Batman, because most people aren't heroes.
Dick wanted to be. He wanted to be a hero, and have people look up to him, but that couldn't happen now. He'd sold it for the gymnastics club. His heart twisted.
He didn't want to get out of bed. What was there for him in another day? They were all the same, except when one managed to be worse somehow. But if he stayed in bed, he could pretend that the day hadn't started yet, would never start. He could stay, safe and alone, and he wouldn't have to face his decisions. He just lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
But then his eyes drifted over to where he and his guardian had stood last night. He wasn't safe here though, was he? Bruce had finally violated that one little part of him that was his, that stupid, childish belief that evil could be contained within four walls. He couldn't pretend now that he would have a warning when bad things were about to happen, that he could have his own life without Bruce intruding. Bruce could be anywhere, he had control of everything. He could come into Dick's room in the middle of the night and take what he wanted and go away again. That was how it was. There was no such thing as 'Dick' anymore, just an aspect of Bruce Wayne's existence. The time he spent at school, and by himself in the mansion, that was just killing time until Bruce used him.
Once again, he felt the incredible weight of Wayne Manor pressing down on him. The money, the influence, the domination of the man himself; they created a cage which he could never escape, a collar made of stone that made it hard to move.
He just wanted to stay in bed, and hoped no one ever found him.
There was a knock at the door. He recognised the knock, clear but not intruding, probably learned in some prestigious butler school in England. Alfred didn't wait to be invited in, opening the door as the boy turned his head to look.
"Time to get out of bed, Master Dick," said the butler in his crisp accent. The door stood open wide behind him, dispelling the feeling of safety like a smell, as if all it took to strip Dick of his security was a little airing. There was no point in staying in bed now.
Dick had to hand it to the man, he was a genius in subtly getting his orders obeyed. He wondered if Bruce had been raised with the same techniques.
He sat up, not even bothering to sigh, and he felt all his bad feelings settle into his gut as gravity's grip on him shifted. The butler strode briskly forward, picking up his scattered school uniform and slinging it over his arm. The boy watched him do it, wondering if he understood the significance, or if he just thought Dick was an average messy teen. Alfred dumped it all into a wicker laundry basket, which he then picked up to take with him.
"Breakfast is in twenty minutes," informed the butler.
"Alfred, it's Saturday," Dick complained, thinking he might be able to get the old man to see reason for once.
But he just tipped his nose in the air though and looked down it at Dick. "The sun bothered to get up today, so can you," he said, tolerating no argument, and swept out of the room, leaving the door open so Dick couldn't just lie back down and ignore him.
Looking down at his hands on the covers, Dick wondered if he could get away with claiming to be sick, but he doubted it. He just had to get up. Why did he keep thinking he had choice in his life, when he obviously didn't? These people were determined to keep grinding away at him until he was nothing but dust.
He dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the 'normal teenager' act tarnished by the designer labels. The jeans were still stiff from lack of use, the cuffs perfect.
He didn't expect to see Bruce at the table, and he wasn't disappointed. He pulled out his usual chair at the large oak table and tried to ignore the cheery sunlight in the room. Moments later, Alfred placed a rack of toast and a tea pot in front of him. Dick just watched as his breakfast selection was spread out around him, neither of the two feeling like talking.
He caught sight of a newspaper on the chair next to him, having obviously been missed by the neurotically tidy butler, and reached for it. Once Alfred was no longer at his shoulder, he opened it up, feeding himself a slice of toast as he read.
The front page was just another shock-horror article on some foreign war, so Dick turned the pages idly. Bruce's name was mentioned several times, with his company's latest product, latest charitable donation, and the latest protest against Wayne Enterprises' responsibility for a large loss of jobs all being discussed in varying degrees of depth. The Society pages also covered the event they had attended on Thursday night, with half a page dedicated to the story. Right in the middle was a picture of him and Bruce taken on the night, with his guardian looking flawlessly cool and charming, while he looked tense and alarmed. He tried to read the article, but he couldn't get past the first few lines before he felt physically sick, so he moved on.
He reached the sports pages and started again from the beginning, lowering his standards now that he'd established that nothing earth-shattering had happened recently. A few pages in, a small piece at the bottom of the page caught his eye.
Gotham Gossip Investigated by IRS
The Gotham tabloid magazine 'Gotham Gossip' is being investigated by the Internal Revenue Service, following suspicions of tax evasion and fraud. Pending a ruling on the case, publication of the magazine has been halted, and files have been seized from its head office on Wayne Plaza. The owner of the magazine has stated that the allegations are unfounded and untrue, but it will be difficult for the business to recover at the end of what is looking to be a lengthy and intrusive investigation.
Dick put the paper down and turned to his plate. No way. It couldn't be, could it? Bruce couldn't have gone that far.
He looked at the food in front of him and began selecting things to eat, pouring himself a cup of tea and spreading butter and jam on a slice of toast. It couldn't be denied that Bruce had the power to sick the IRS on the tabloid, and he was vindictive enough, Dick knew, but would he really do it? Did last Wednesday's article exposing his identity really tick the billionaire off that badly? The orphan thought back to his guardian's reaction. Yes, it had.
He read the article again. He felt pity for the people at Gotham Gossip. They'd just been doing their jobs, and Bruce Wayne was in the papers all the time, they'd probably thought nothing of it. They would never have guessed that they'd brought down their own destruction. And it was so clever of Bruce. His name never came up, it probably didn't exist in any official reports. He could never be suspected of being behind it. It was conniving, underhanded and ruthless, just like Dick had learned his guardian was.
But all he had was suspicion. It was probably all he'd ever have. It could be a coincidence, maybe the magazine really was lying about their taxes. He'd never know for sure, and no one would ever hear from Gotham Gossip ever again.
He was still thinking about it when Alfred came back to clear the table, which gave him an idea.
"Alfred, do you know if there are any newspapers from the past few days lying around?" he asked.
"They would hardly be 'lying around', Master Dick," replied the butler, seemingly offended that the boy would think so little of his work ethic.
Dick felt like rolling his eyes but he knew better. The old man's entire life was devoted to the Wayne family and their manor, keeping things clean on the surface, so no one thought to look underneath.
"You know what I mean," he said. "Are there any?"
The butler gave him a suspicious look, but assented in the end. "I think I may have kept one for the puzzles, yes," he said warily.
"Do you mind if I have a look at it?" Dick asked, trying to sound amenable.
"Certainly, Master Dick. I'll fetch it right away," said the old man stiffly, disappearing out of the room. Dick sat back in his chair. He wanted to get to the bottom of this. He wanted to play detective and find out the truth, because he wanted to know the real extent of the damage he'd done, of the hurt he'd caused innocent strangers, just by being in the object of a powerful man's obsession. His guilt was the main reason, but besides that, in a darker part of himself, he wanted to know something about his guardian that the man didn't want him to know - he wanted to take back a part of the power that he'd lost.
He heard the door click as the old man returned a minute later.
"Here you are," he said, proffering a neatly folded newspaper almost identical to the one Dick had just been looking at.
"Thank you, Alfred. I'll give it back to you," he said, taking the paper and leaving the table, retreating to his room.
He spread the newspaper out on his bare desk, sitting before it, determined to find what he was looking for. It wouldn't be on the front page, Bruce wouldn't be that obvious. Turning to the second page, he began analysing headlines. Eventually, he came to the one he was looking for, hidden in the middle of the paper.
News Ninja Unmasked
The notorious photographer of successful tabloid 'Gotham Gossip' has had his identity leaked to the press by an anonymous source. The man, whose name has been revealed to be Howard Jackson (34), had kept his identity a secret in order to avoid any possible consequences of his work. Renowned for taking scandalous pictures of the rich and famous, which often resulted in ruined personal lives or careers, he was nevertheless a hero to many paparazzi. Earning the nickname of the 'News Ninja' early in his career, his employers say of him; "He could always be counted on to deliver the impossible shot, the million-dollar mistake."
Since the leak, Jackson faces multiple lawsuits from angry celebrities.
Dick leaned back in his chair, listening to it creak faintly.
There it was. One of these events on its own would have been suspicious, but both together, within days of each other, could not be coincidence. Bruce had taken revenge on the magazine and the photographer that had invaded his privacy and unveiled Dick's presence in the Manor. He didn't know how he had done it, but Dick had learned by now that there was nothing Bruce couldn't do. Nothing was out of reach for the Playboy Prince of Gotham. He was everywhere and in everything. He could build the city up or tear it down as he desired. It was a terrifying thought.
And nobody even knew. Nobody but him and Alfred understood just what the man was capable of. To the world at large, Bruce Wayne was a spoiled airhead with too much money and no experience of the real world. And Bruce cultivated that opinion, he played up to it, exaggerated it; it was the perfect cover.
Dick shook his head. Was he really surprised? Did he expect Bruce to show compassion? He reminded himself that this wasn't the worst thing his guardian had done - that had been saved for him.
The boy gathered up the newspaper and went to return it to Alfred, finding the man in the kitchen, still cleaning up the breakfast things.
"Here's your paper back, Alfred," he said, putting it on the counter next to where the butler was working.
"Thank you, Master Dick," he replied congenially, always with such impenetrable manners. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Maybe it was something in the tone, or in the way he looked, or didn't look, at him, but paranoia spiked in Dick, and he felt that he needed to lie to protect himself from whatever the butler was thinking. It was likely that the old man knew what Bruce had done, but it was impossible that he suspected what Dick had been doing, wasn't it? He would have to have memorised both newspapers for that, and if he did, why supply the second one to confirm Dick's theory? But something was telling him it wasn't safe.
"I wasn't really looking for anything," Dick said, turning and picking an apple from the fruit bowl as something to do to give him an excuse not to look at the butler. "I'm just supposed to be up to date on current events for school."
And his parents had always said he was a terrible liar. Guess he never really learned until he came to Wayne Manor.
But Alfred nodded and dropped the subject. "Master Bruce will be entertaining tonight," he told Dick as he left. So stay out of sight, was implicit. Dick waved over his shoulder with a mouth full of apple, pushing through the swing doors.
It was an interesting dynamic, his relationship with Alfred. The man was a clear threat to him, sided with Bruce and therefore against him, and he always gave off the faint sense that he didn't appreciate Dick's presence, that he'd prefer it if it was just him and Bruce, like the good old days. He was an antagonist, but he was the only one Dick could act anything like himself around. He could mildly disrespect the butler, because he wasn't allowed to do anything about it. As long as he kept it subtle, nothing worth reporting to Bruce, Dick had a little weight to throw around in the house. On the other hand, whatever Alfred said, went. Dick would never be foolish enough to actually disobey him. Even the butler carried a mildly threatening air.
So Bruce was going to have another party, was he? That would mean Dick would be confined to his room through the unspoken rule of the house. But that wasn't any different from normal, he would probably have stayed in there all day anyway. He headed back up to his room now, hoping he had enough homework to last the weekend.
---
Dick was just about to go to bed, hoping he'd be asleep by the time Bruce's party started, when a burst of drunken giggling erupted from downstairs, signalling their arrival, his guardian's low smooth voice just discernible. They must have just returned from some party or club somewhere.
Dick was going to go to bed anyway, when he heard a woman's voice say loudly, "Where's that boy, Bruce? You know, the one you're looking after?"
"Oh, he's probably upstairs somewhere, you know teenagers," Bruce said, brushing her off easily without her even realising it. Obviously the women wouldn't be interested in Dick when they had the handsome billionaire with them.
"Oh I know, my Richard's just the same, always sulking about one thing or another. It's like living with my father again!" Dick couldn't tell if it was the same woman replying, or whether a new one had joined in, but her face appeared in his mind as he heard her voice. It was Richard's mother, the woman he had met at the event he had been dragged to last Thursday. That was odd; Dick would have thought she was a bit too old to be a member of Bruce's special party.
He also felt an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He knew why Bruce invited these woman over, of course he did. He knew how these parties inevitably ended. Normally he didn't care, the women were just faceless dolls. But he knew Mrs Rawn. He knew her son, and how much it would hurt him to know she was here. He scowled - didn't Bruce have any limits?
The voices faded as they left the hall and moved to the Midnight Room, shutting the door. Dick could have slept now if he'd wanted to, but he didn't feel like it anymore, he was too uneasy. He knew it wasn't his responsibility, but he felt he couldn't just leave Richard's mother to her fate, not if he was hoping to make her son his first real friend. He needed to at least know how it ended, since he knew there was no way in Hell that he'd get away with intervening. Bruce would skin him alive.
He changed back out of his pyjamas, still unsure what he was going to do. At least he knew that as long as they stayed in the Midnight Room, Mrs Rawn was fairly safe. It was the thought of when Bruce would lead one or more of them upstairs that made Dick worry. But it sounded like he'd brought quite a large group back with him that night, and he didn't think even Bruce would invite four women to spend the night. For the time being, he would just listen.
In the space of the next two hours, Dick just sat on his bed with his door ajar, flicking through a film magazine, his ears perking up at every new burst of laughter as the adults downstairs got increasingly drunk. He kept telling himself he was being stupid, that there was nothing he could do and he shouldn't even try, that it was none of his business.
Eventually however, the voices got abruptly louder as the door to the Midnight Room was opened. Dick heard giggling, and guessed that the time had come for Bruce and his guests to 'retire'.
"Alfred, see that Mrs Rawn gets home, will you?" Bruce said carelessly, stretching Dick's nerves. What was wrong with her? Was she not going to be one of Bruce's girls that night? Dick waited until the man and his entourage had climbed the stairs and gone past his room, before quietly slipping out to investigate.
Downstairs, Alfred wasn't around, presumably having gone off to carry out his master's orders. Dick snuck into the Midnight Room, closing the door behind him. The table was loaded with bottles and glasses and, looking around, he saw Richard's mother lying on her back along one of the couches, her arm over her face.
She didn't look well. Her skin was pale and clammy, her blonde hair flat and her dress was riding up and creased. It was obvious that she'd drunk too much. Dick wondered if she was even conscious. He moved closer.
"Are you alright, Mrs Rawn?" he asked nervously, trying not to disturb her if she was asleep.
The woman looked up at the sound of his voice, raising her arm away from her eyes to look at him.
"There you are," she murmured. "Don't worry about me, I - I've been drunk before. I can hold my liquor, won't ruin the uphol… sofa," she garbled rather dejectedly. Dick knelt down beside the couch.
"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" he asked.
She laughed bitterly. "Kid like you? Shouldn't be looking after a grown up woman like me," she said. "Though, you could go get my son and call my purse. I'd rather not, I'd rather not… I'd rather not be tossed out on my ass… by the butler … garbage."
Dick didn't say anything, just reached for the woman's bag which was lying forgotten on the floor. He snapped it open to look for her phone, feeling uncomfortable. It was stupid, but he'd never looked through a woman's handbag before, and he wasn't sure what he would find. The bag was so small though that it could only hold a few things, an expensive mobile being fairly prominent. It had a touch screen, and lit up as he picked it out, putting the bag down carefully by his knee. He began figuring out how to access her phone book and find Richard's number.
Mrs Rawn laughed again. "He's not going to like this," she said. "I always disappoint him…"
Deciding she must have been talking about her son, Dick tried to think of something to say in reply, but he it felt too personal for him to get involved.
"Those other women just made me feel so old," she said suddenly, quite loudly, as if answering a question Dick hadn't asked. She sighed, laying her arm back over her eyes. "I never thought it would happen to me, you know, Dicky?"
The woman was obviously very unhappy in her life, drinking so much and participating in Bruce's little private parties, but Dick didn't know what to say to make her feel better. He was out of his depths with her, and he didn't think he could make a difference anyway. Why would she listen to a kid like him, who she'd only met once before? And besides, Bruce wouldn't like the idea of his ward interacting with his social circle.
He'd found Richard's number, but was holding back from calling him. It felt impolite to do it right in front of his drunk mother, and what would he say anyway? He hardly knew him well enough to call him and tell him his mother was at Bruce Wayne's house and was so drunk that she needed to be picked up so late at night.
It was then that the door opened again, and Alfred entered carrying a tray with a glass of water, some pills, and a plate of artfully arranged crackers. He stopped short when he saw Dick kneeling by the woman.
"Sh-She wanted me to call her son," Dick stuttered, hoping it would be enough to explain his presence there, well aware that it didn't.
Alfred's expression changed to subtly display his displeasure, but not to a degree that it would count as disrespecting his employers. He crossed the room and laid the tray on the table beside the couch.
Then he turned to Dick and held out his hand. "Very well then," he said stonily, demanding the phone. Dick gave it up, and the butler went back to virtually ignoring him, speaking instead to Richard's mother with a polite smile.
"Mrs Rawn, would you care for some water?" he asked congenially.
She groaned, "I think I've drunk enough for one night, don't you?" she said, before glancing out from under her arm. "But pills look good."
"Of course, Madame," Alfred replied, transferring the pills to her open hand, and she smacked them into her mouth. "And perhaps some crackers? You really should eat something as well," the butler continued, but the woman waved her hand to dismiss him.
He nodded, and after shooting Dick a warning glance, left the room to phone Richard. There was silence for a moment, and Dick wondered if he should leave, but then the woman started speaking again.
"You're a good kid, Dick." she said. "Son's mentioned you… I think. Nothing like Bruce. I hope you stay that way. S'not a good life, take it from me. The money might look good from the outside, but on the inside…" she trailed off, and Dick thought he didn't need her to tell him, he already knew what went on behind the money. "My son needs a friend like you, someone from the real world. You'll be good for him."
Dick hoped Richard would be good for him too.
Alfred came back in. "Your son is coming for you, Mrs Rawn," he said, completely non-judgementally, the way a good butler would. He tried to give her phone back to her, but she didn't notice as her eyes were still closed, so he was left holding it awkwardly. Dick unsnapped her bag and held it out, and the butler reluctantly dropped it inside since there didn't seem to be an alternative.
"I think it's time you were in bed, Master Dick," the old man said pointedly.
"Ah, let the little tyke stay, Alf, he's not doing any harm," objected Mrs Rawn from the couch. "I like having him around," she said, and her hand came down heavily on Dick's head, though her fingers worked through a lock of his hair with surprising gentleness.
Alfred couldn't disagree without seeming rude, so he had no choice but to let Dick stay. However, he was obviously not in favour of leaving the boy alone with the woman, so he hovered awkwardly. Richard's mother, however, seemed oblivious to his presence.
"Remind me of a few years ago, when oldest was your age. Things were different back then. Better. I wasn't like this, and my son didn't hate me. But now Richard will barely spend any time with me, I just embarrass him," she whined. She was clearly not a happy drunk.
"I'm sure that's not true. I'm sure he doesn't hate you," Dick comforted her awkwardly. He had no experience in helping people feel better, especially not with everything that was wrong in his own life. He hardly knew this woman, and it felt wrong to know so much about one of his schoolmates' personal lives, and it didn't help that Alfred was listening for anything he said that was out of place.
The woman smiled. "It's nice of you to say that, but… I'm pretty sure I blown it. And I can't blame him…" She trailed off and Dick thought she'd fallen asleep. It wouldn't be surprising considering how drunk she was. He shifted his position to something more comfortable, his legs bent in front of him and his back leaning on the table. He didn't know why he felt the need to watch over this woman - it was ridiculous really, given how much older than him she was. She just seemed like a good person, in the wrong situation. That air of goodness was something she shared with her son. Dick tilted his head, examining the woman's face and comparing it to the boy he knew. They really did look a lot alike, the same blonde hair, the same fine features and pale skin. Maybe that was all it was, her angelic good looks. She'd probably had people trying to protect her her whole life. Didn't look like any of them had succeeded.
Dick sat in silence, watching the woman who was lying statue-still, only her stomach rising and falling slightly as she breathed. Alfred stayed standing, invisible behind him. Time passed, until the door bell rang through the house, signalling Richard's arrival and sending Alfred off to answer it. Dick was suddenly nervous, maybe he should go upstairs, and not let the older boy know that'd he'd been privy to his mother's alcohol-induced stupor.
But then Alfred came back and leaned over the woman on the couch. "Mrs Rawn, your son is here to take you home," he said gently, though with a flintiness that gave away how little he cared for having the drunk woman in the house. He was eager to see her gone.
The woman moaned and moved slightly, her arm lifting from her face as if she was trying to push something away. "Hmm, what? Oh, Richard's here already?" It was taking her a moment to get her bearings. "Okay, help me up," she said, clearly talking to Dick, rolling off the couch and almost on to him, as he rushed to catch her with her arm around his shoulder. He could smell the alcohol as he supported her back and side as best he could. The woman was quite a bit taller than him.
She swayed and clapped her hand to her mouth, but then took it away again and said, "No, no, I'm fine."
He helped her navigate the coffee table and get her into the hall, where Richard was standing. Dick glanced at him then looked away, not quite brave enough to meet his eye. Richard's expression did not improve upon seeing Dick propping his mother up. He was angry before at having to come and get her, but now he looked ashamed as well, and even more angry at his mother for making him feel that way.
Dick noticed that Richard was soaking wet, and he glanced out of the windows to notice the heavy rain for the first time. His pale blue shirt was soaked through and sticking to him, and he wasn't wearing a jacket. His blonde hair was made darker by the rain, and drips were running from wet locks onto his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He didn't look like he did at school; he looked a lot less happy. It made Dick really feel the age difference between them. Richard was almost an adult, almost free and independent, whereas Dick was still trapped.
The older boy rushed forward to take his mother off Dick, awkwardly saying, "Here, let me…" He trailed off, unsure.
"I'm sorry, Richard," his mother murmured as her head rolled onto his shoulder. Her son just pulled a face as he looked at her, then looked away without replying.
"I'm sorry about this," the boy told Alfred, who nodded and replied politely.
"Not at all," he said.
Richard turned to Dick, looking at him properly so that the younger boy couldn't look away. "I'm sorry about her," he repeated.
"No, it's okay," Dick replied awkwardly, finding himself following the older boy and his mother to the door as Alfred held it open, the rain coming down noisily on the other side. Dick saw what was presumably Richard's car on the other side, surprised that it wasn't a Rolls or a Bentley or something like that, with a chauffeur, like most of the kids at school had. Richard had clearly driven himself, and it must have been his own car because it wasn't fancy enough to belong to his father.
A card fell out of Richard's shirt pocket as he readjusted his mother's weight and Dick quickly swooped down to pick it up, feeling compelled to be helpful by the uncomfortable situation. He saw that it was some kind of security pass, with a barcode and Richard's picture on it, but he didn't see any more detail than that as the older boy hastily took it off him and stuffed it back in his pocket.
"Thanks," he said, looking down, and Dick had the impression that he had managed to see something else that Richard hadn't wanted him to. "I'll see you at school," he said, turning into the rain, his mother making a whine of displeasure as the water hit her.
"Um, wait a second," Dick called. Richard turned to look at him curiously.
"Bruce says I can join the team, if you still want," he told him.
Briefly, they blonde's face lit up. "Really? That's great. We'll have to have tryouts for you some time. I'll set something up and tell you about it on Monday, okay?" He was clearly anxious to get going, edging backwards towards his car. Dick couldn't blame him, given the situation, and if Dick had a way out of Wayne Manor, he would take it without a moment's hesitation.
"Yeah, I'll see you then," Dick replied, growing cold as the boy sat his mother in the car and drove away, leaving him behind with the butler in the open door.
Dick turned to go inside, not missing the look the butler gave him.
