( AmberSpirit: )
AN: Ok, I had great fun writing this chapter…does that make me a bad person? I could go on about how psychological it is but they only way to describe it is to post a response Alchemist's daughter wrote to me after I told her what I wanna write about:
[As for the next chapter, what you suggested sounds good. Such a mind fuck, how does Dick survive it man?]
That…is a GOOD FUCKING QUESTION.
PS: Also, I've been told you guys don't review much. :(
Chapter 20: The Boy's Paranoia
He couldn't look him in the eye but he knew he had to pretend that there was nothing wrong. He ended up concentrating on the space between the man's eyebrows, hoping he wouldn't notice.
"I made sure everything is ready for your school trip so you can tell your class teacher it's all taken care of."
"Yes…thank you." he responded, his voice polite as he continued avoiding his guardian's eyes, not really sure how to make his words more grateful to his master's ears.
The old Dick Grayson would probably have tried to physically harm the billionaire after what happened in the man's bedroom (he was so angry and so, so ashamed) and yet here he was, playing the part of the studious son eating dinner with his precious father. Thanking the man whose hands had positioned him on the grand bed, touched his wet skin, scratched his hips and… and… made him-
Dick forced himself to chew on the grilled fish, barely tasting the meat as it passed down his throat. He looked at Bruce and then meekly turned back towards his own plate when the gaze was unexpectedly returned. Why was he doing this again?
He didn't like it. He hated being like this, but it was as if Richard's friendship turned him into an obedient, tamed animal; his offer to visit his home putting a tight leash on his normally antisocial behaviour. He had to be not only responsive but… pleasant as well. He was willing to behave if he could have his friend.
"You've healed now?" Dick asked suddenly, the question awkward and inappropriate in the silence of the grand dining hall. Bruce raised his tired looking eyes and responded almost immediately.
"Yes. Don't worry about it."
'I was not worrying about it.' Dick thought bitterly, wanting to punch him. But all that came out was a quiet "That's good" and it was back to silence again. Dick wondered why Bruce looked so tired and then immediately decided it didn't matter. He should be focusing on his own problems.
"You had your debate class today, didn't you?"
The boy blinked at the question and put down the fork that was nearing his mouth. He didn't expect Bruce to continue with the conversation; he was hardly ever interested in his ward's daily achievements unless it involved exams, money or reports.
"Yeah... uh… it's every Friday." he added lamely, not used to talking about such matters with his guardian. 'Of course he knows it's every Friday, he picked it for you.' When there was no response, Dick forced himself to talk some more.
"The topic was carbon taxing. Is it a good idea? Is it possible to achieve it globally, is it fair on other countries? Et cetera. Not really that exciting. Last time it was much be-" He suddenly remember how weird about Batman his guardian was and decided to change the sentence completely. "-better. I mean, today's wasn't really that bad, but the arguments were weak because one of the boys that was supposed to do it was absent so Mr. Drew chose a random volunteer who obviously had done no research or preparation so there were a lot of random pauses and his arguments were obviously pretty soft. I mean, he did his best, but topics like this, you need to… to do your… your research…"
He tried to force himself to go on, keep talking, keep his eyes away from Bruce but the boy suddenly found himself tongue-tied and his heartbeat was getting steadily faster. Bruce was looking at him but he wasn't just looking.
He was staring.
Staring with that strange look in his eyes he sometimes wore, very unlike his cold expressions or the relaxed face he showed the media. Frozen on the spot, Dick could not look away, staring back like a small mammal ready to bolt any second from a far away predator. Feeling the same confusion as with the warm hand on his head or the soft voice, Dick could not understand the look the older man was sending him. Bruce's eyes were intensely dark, underlined by his exhausted features and for the first time that day, Dick thought about his tormentor. Really thought about him.
He turned to face him fully.
"How can you be alright? You went to the office today, didn't you?"
Bruce lowered his eyes and it was back to the cold façade and Dick knew he was onto something here.
"I saw all the blood Alfred had on him. It was… You had to be really injured and you were all bandaged up and that was a lot of blood, Bruce." He didn't leave him any time to respond and continued almost immediately. "Hurt like that... you would have to stay in a bed for at least a week to function normally. So how can you be well enough to go out? And how did you get injured in the first place? What were you doing at the police station?"
Only after he was done did Dick realize what a big mistake asking all those questions really was. It wasn't any of his business. Of course it wasn't. All he's supposed to do is obey and do as he's told; he's not meant to ask questions, especially when his guardian is so secretive about something. This was hardly going to put him in a nice mood and Dick needed that permission to go to Richard's; needed it like a drug addict desperate for his next fix, hopeless and without any choice.
"I was at the station because of a rather unfortunate incident with my car. Police got involved and I had to be escorted to the station."
Bruce replied and held his ward's frightened gaze as if daring him to contradict his master's statement. Dick grasped the fork again and turned back to his plate, not trusting his face to betray his real thoughts.
How ridiculous. Car accident. That was probably the bullshit Bruce wanted to feed the media if they ever found out about his injuries. Billionaire Bruce Wayne, returning from some random girlfriend's house after spending the night, drunk off his ass and caught by the police on the way. It fit his airhead playboy persona perfectly except both he and Bruce knew that he was not the type of a man to get into a car accident. EVER.
He blinked at his half empty plate and put the fork down again.
"You should be more careful. I was… I was really worried."
Bruce's eyes widened and he leaned slightly forward against the table. Dick wondered if he believed him, if he was so idiotic to ever believe that the boy he shamed on such a level could ever really care for him in any way. But the more he thought about it the more he realized he did care; he didn't want Bruce killed by some elaborate prank by a deranged man. He didn't want him to be a victim because Bruce didn't deserve such an honourable death. What he deserved Dick didn't know but he knew it was something much, much worse.
Bruce didn't respond, instead returning to that soft gaze that Dick began to recognize as something akin to a twisted sort of affection. It never really occurred to him that his guardian could be fond of him; after all you don't purposely hurt the people you love; he was taught to show his affection with smiles and soft touches and never any violence.
But was he even considered to be a real person in Bruce's world? He suddenly had a startling vision of a clown toy he used to own as a little boy, half puppet and half stuffed. He was named Dogger despite having nothing to do with dogs in general and Dick carried him around everywhere he went, even when he bathed. The poor toy was abused and torn apart on a daily basis but whenever one of his arms or legs came off he would immediately bring Dogger to his mum and she would sew him back together, as good as new, and Dick could go on dragging the clown through mud and tearing him apart all over again. This went on for many years until he began losing him piece by piece; first his arms , then his legs and finally when the head rolled off his parents brought him a different kind of toy and Dick forgot about Dogger completely.
Thinking back to his childish cruelty, the boy could not help but compare himself to the abused clown, silently wondering if Bruce looked at him with the same childish possessiveness of a boy wanting to play with his favourite toy. Was he simply a pet to satisfy a rich man's need for eccentric indulgence? The thought depressed him and he opened his mouth to change the subject completely.
"By the way, I had try-outs for the gymnastic team on Wednesday. It went very well."
He found himself at ease talking about the team and tried to focus on the subject and not on Bruce's intense eyes watching him from across the table. 'Stop looking at me like that. Please.'
"I would imagine it did. After a few months they would have trouble keeping up with your level." Bruce's voice was light but he looked like he meant it. Dick shifted uncomfortably at the praise; his guardian didn't compliment him very often and when he did the boy would often end up wishing he hadn't.
"I don't know about that…"
He replied with an unsure voice. It was obvious that both of them were done with their dinner but Dick could not leave before the master of the house. He decided to go ahead and ask him about Richard.
"But for now I need some more training on the equipment they use at school and the team captain offered to teach me. There's a gym at his place with all the stuff and I-"
"-What's this boy's name?"
Bruce asked sharply and Dick straightened up in his chair with alarm. He suddenly felt like he was betraying Richard by talking about him in front of Bruce; as if by giving up his name, he left him at the man's mercy. But that was of course ridiculous. He'd just said that Richard was the captain of the gymnastics team and that information alone could give Bruce the boy's name in a matter of minutes if he cared to find it out.
"Richard Rawn. He's a senior."
He wondered if the name rang any bells, if Bruce remembered Mrs. Rawn and felt ashamed of fooling around with the mother of Dick's friend. If he did, he didn't show it on his face and Dick continued talking, hoping to shift his guardian's attention away from Richard and towards the gymnastics team.
"I just… really want to get better. The team has won a lot of awards and I wanted to participate, but for that I need to get used to the rules and the equipment-"
"-Why do you need to train at his house?" Bruce cut in again and Dick was left speechless. Such a simple question. Why indeed? After all, they could have practiced at the school gym; if Richard explained the situation to their coach he would surely be allowed to borrow the keys for a extra evenings. And that way Dick would be even better prepared for the team's exercises since the equipment would be exactly the same.
Except Richard wanted to show him the stuff at his place, and it was such a friendly offer that Dick would be willing to say yes to a lot of things his master wanted of him if it just got him to agree to the visit. A lot of horrible things. "He… he offered I guess. He was being polite." Dick responded, trying to make Richard into a non-involved party in the whole issue. Bruce slowly leaned back in his chair and put his hands on the table. He looked displeased.
"Why don't you invite him here instead?"
Dick blinked in shock.
"We… We don't have any of the equipment-"
"-You know that's not a problem, Dick." Bruce assured him and that soft look was back in his eyes, making Dick feel like he was slowly slipping under the surface no matter how hard he tried to keep his head above water.
"W-well we have the trip next Wednesday-"
"I could get all the equipment installed here tomorrow, you don't need to worry about that. After all, if the gymnastics team is so important to you, you'll need a gym eventually."
Dick wondered just how much a completely equipped gym like that cost, especially at such short notice, but could not come up with a number. He looked at his guardian helplessly and Bruce seemed to find this amusing, because his mouth curved into a small smile and he linked his hands at the table.
"Very well. Everything should be arranged by tomorrow afternoon so just tell me when Richard arrives and I'll make sure to say hello."
Dick froze and looked away from his guardian in horror. 'Make sure to say hello'? Bruce planned on meeting Richard? The thought sent a violent shiver through his whole body and a feeling of something being terribly terribly wrong hit him head-on. It was a bad idea to bring Richard to Wayne Manor, of course it was, but what other choice did he have now? He couldn't simply not invite him, Bruce was getting a whole fucking gym just for this thing!
With something akin to hysteria, Dick looked back at Bruce (not into his eyes but at the small space in between).
"Thanks a lot. That would really help me out with the training."
"You know that whenever you want something all you have to do is ask." Bruce replied smoothly, and Dick smiled at him mechanically, not really registering the words. 'He's going to meet Richard. No, he did all of this just so he COULD meet him. He's going somewhere with this I just don't know where…' Dick thought with despair, too caught up to hear his guardian's next words.
"-late. Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven? Hurry up and send Alfred in here on the way, please."
Dick nodded and stood up, quickly making his way out of the dining room. He could already hear Bruce making phone calls in the background, no doubt arranging all the movers and the gym equipment necessary for a gymnast.
Dick still couldn't believe it.
He couldn't sleep.
Dick lay underneath the covers like a spider caught in his own web. He could not stop his mind from moving in circles, going over his conversation with Bruce again and again. He felt like something bad was going to happen to Richard if he met Bruce, that perhaps his guardian would see how important the blonde is to his ward by just one look and then… then what? He couldn't really kill him, could he? Dick laughed at his own imagination and then stopped as the thought etched itself into his brain.
No, he couldn't kill him… but he could very well keep him out of Dick's reach. Or worse, he could financially ruin him, his whole family and, oh God, Mrs. Rawn… Richard was so talented in everything he did; sports, studies, politics… he probably had a bright future in front of him, graduating from such a prestigious school. But all of it meant nothing when faced with the merciless mind of Bruce Wayne. He could not only ruin his family, he could make sure that none of them would ever find a job anywhere in Gotham ever again. Dick remembered the articles in the newspaper about how the 'News Ninja' journalist was uncovered and virtually ruined.
"…just tell me when Richard arrives and I'll make sure to say hello."
Dick turned onto his other side and kicked his covers off in frustration. He should go to sleep, he's not going to figure anything out by lying around awake, he needs to be alert tomorrow after all. He desperately hoped that Richard would be busy the whole day or that the number he gave him was false or simply wrong…
"You know that whenever you want something all you have to do is ask."
Bruce's voice was going non-stop in his head, one sentence after another and all of it on loop. Feeling incredibly claustrophobic despite the size of the bed, Dick kicked off the rest of the covers and buried his face into the pillow. Its coldness was soothing on the boy's hot forehead and he gradually relaxed, ignoring the dark voice in his head.
"Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"
The billionaire was right, he did go to sleep at eleven, forever a creature of habit. His parents had drilled an internal clock into him that refused to be shaken by anything; sleep at eleven, wake up at nine. The thought only made him more sleepy and Dick snuggled deeper into the pillow, grabbing the nearest one and clutching it to his chest.
"Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"
Dick opened his eyes. How did Bruce know that? Dick couldn't remember a single conversation between them that had anything to do with sleeping hours. He was pretty sure he never mentioned it to Bruce. How strange.
'Oh well… lucky guess then? The man DOES think he knows everything after all.'
Dick leaned on his elbows and turned the pillow around, putting his head on the cold side and going back to sleep. He remembered his father teaching him that trick. They both liked cold pillows under their heads, something his mum never understood. Dick smiled at the memory.
"Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"
But the sentence refused to let him go. Yes, he always goes to sleep at eleven, but Bruce could not know that. Maybe Alfred told him? Yes, Dick decided that was possible. Most likely. Alfred knew everything about the mansion and he woke him up every morning, even during the weekend.
Dick closed his eyes again and went to sleep.
"Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"
Except that Alfred only woke him up. He never really knew when he went to sleep. Perhaps he could tell by the light? But often Dick lay on the bed in the dark, sometimes for hours before eleven and besides, the butler would have to see his window from the outside of the mansion to be able to tell if the light was on or off. Maybe Bruce had some method of knowing when he goes to sleep. Like some kind of a crazy sensor, or he had a chip inside him or maybe there were some super fancy night vision cameras in his room.
Dick grimaced at his ridiculous thoughts and turned back to his cold pillow. He was slipping in and out of the dream world but something always prevented him from falling asleep. He could not get that sentence out of his head. Bruce didn't say it in a particularly strange way and he didn't put any stress on any of the words but…
'Hah. Well maybe he DOES have night vision cameras in here somewhere,' Dick thought jokingly.
And then opened his eyes with terror.
'Does he?'
Impossible. What a ridiculous thought... But he could not shake it off. Why would he put cameras in Dick's bedroom? It was stupid, not to mention very much illegal. Bruce wasn't crazy enough to spy on him 24 hours a day. Besides he had stuff to do with his time, he was a fricking billionaire and even his playboy persona was hard to maintain sometimes. So it's not like he watched the boy on a screen somewhere whenever they were apart.
But then again that's the beauty of cameras, isn't it? He didn't have to watch everything, he could just fast forward the events however he pleased. A whole afternoon shortened to a single minute…
'I'm going too far with this. There are no cameras in my room.'
Dick cursed his paranoid mind and turned back to his pillow but he could not will himself to sleep. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. Bruce could certainly afford it. Alfred could have installed it. No, them. There were probably several cameras in the room and perhaps even in the bathroom-
'...!'
"Urgh!" Dick sat up angrily and looked around the dark room. It was clear to him now that he would not get any rest until he searched the whole bedroom properly. So much for a good night's sleep, but what could he do? His mind was crazy like that; whenever he had a suspicion he had to follow through with it and find the truth behind the incident. His mum often made fun of him for it and called him her little detective. Dick lowered his eyes at the thought. She would never call him that again.
He turned on the lights and began his search. It was a long and tedious job but he made sure to double check everything. Since the room was quite big there was a lot of ground to cover and he didn't really know what to look for. Bruce could afford all kinds of equipment and he probably made sure that Dick wouldn't find it by accident. However, the thought made him try even harder and he channelled his frustration with Richard's visit tomorrow into the desperate search. He made sure to focus on the higher points since those were strategically the ideal place for a camera but even after going through the bedroom for a good forty minutes, Dick couldn't find a single thing out of place.
'They could be embedded into the walls. The ceiling maybe.' The boy thought absentmindedly, but there was no crack, no imperfection in the paint. He looked at the big TV to his left but knew that no device was hiding behind its brand new exterior; he proved that by tearing its counterpart down just three nights ago. Looking around, Dick could hardly tell whether his midnight rampage was a dream or not, everything looked the same when he returned from school that day; the walls, the shelves, the electronics. Alfred and Bruce didn't mention it either, and Dick was overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of futility. None of his actions mattered, he was forever under Bruce's control.
He crawled back into the bed with the lights still on and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know why but he found himself convinced that if there were cameras in the room they would be positioned at the top. But the more he thought about it the more tired he felt and he had to admit that thinking his guardian set cameras up in his room just so he could spy on Dick was a little bit too paranoid.
The boy sighed and rolled over, about to turn off the lights-
-and stopped, frozen on the spot.
The lights. The lamps. Of course.
He immediately jumped on the bed and then got back down when he realized he was too short to reach the ceiling. Looking around the room, his eyes fell on the armchair and he made straight for it, grabbing the expensive piece of furniture and struggled it up onto the bed. He balanced the chair for a bit and then stood up on its top, holding onto the lamp for support with shaky hands. He felt like he was back at the circus, balancing on ropes and balls as a little kid, putting on a show for his proud parents.
He fumbled with the device for quite some time. It seemed that the lamp had two parts; the sealed light bulbs in a half circle and a sealed box in the middle. The safety glass was in his way and after a bit of thought, Dick got back on the floor and grabbed the unopened set of expensive pens, forcing one of the smaller ones out of the fancy packaging. Balancing on the top of the chair again, he got back to work.
The glass was tough but the layer was thin and it took him around two minutes to break through it with the metal part of the pen. He brushed off the glass that fell down on his shoulders and reached for the centre of the lamp, realizing there was a small hole in the middle. He immediately stuck the pen into it repeatedly, and felt machinery being destroyed on the inside of it. He returned to the box itself after that, trying to move it or tug it off with his hands.
After some time he realized it was the wrong approach and turned the pen around, using the thin part on the screws around the box. It was a painstakingly long process, Dick didn't know how long he was balancing on the armchair and unscrewing the box with the wrong equipment. All the blood left his up-stretched hands and arms, making his fingers tingle and become clumsy. He wasn't tired anymore, just anxious, and he channelled these feeling into his task, and after what felt like eternity, he managed to get rid of all the screws. With a beating heart he carefully lifted the box and realized that it was connected to the ceiling with a bundle of wires. Ignoring them, the boy forced open the front part of the box and peeked inside. What he saw in it was his own paranoia peeking back.
A camera.
There was a camera in his room. On top of his bed. A camera.
Bruce set up cameras in Dick's bedroom. God.
Dick nearly fell off the chair in his silent horror. He quickly let go of the broken machine and left it hanging from the ceiling by its wires. He jumped down on the bed and pushed the armchair off with a loud bang. He could feel he had trouble breathing and forced himself to calm down. How could this be even possible? Why was he doing this? Why?
But the answer came soon enough; because he was Bruce Wayne and because he could do it. Wasn't it already clear that he wanted to control every aspect of Dick's life? What was this if not another chain around his pet's neck, another string for his abused puppet? 'No wonder he knows about my sleeping patterns', Dick thought with hysterical laughter bubbling under the surface, 'he knows about everything! The times I cried in my bed, the times I spent awake the whole night, whenever I studied, dressed, slept… EVERYTHING. Oh my God.'
Jumping out of the bed, Dick grabbed the armchair and looked around the room frantically. There were exactly five identical lamps in his room and he needed to know if all of them had cameras set up inside. One by one he peeked at the machinery from behind the safety glass and one box after another confirmed the boy's fears. With a heart beating wildly in his chest he made his last stop in the bathroom; but after two checks he realized that it was the same. He could not believe it. Bruce had access to his privacy, perhaps even now. He kicked the wall in anger and returned to the bedroom.
His first reaction was rage. Destroy all the lamps along with the hidden cameras inside. Tear them down and bring them to Alfred or Bruce and demand to know what the fuck was going on. But after a while he realized that would not achieve anything.
If he took it to Bruce, he knew what would happen. The man would just watch him rave about invasion of privacy and at the end of it, he would take the evidence away from Dick and tell him to go back to bed, without giving a single answer. And if he took it to Alfred, the butler would act surprised, pretend he had no idea how the cameras got in his light-fittings, maybe promise to get rid of them, but not a damn thing would change.
But this was no safety measure, this was deliberate. He had the right to his privacy. It was not like the moment Bruce adopted him Dick became his property; he wasn't bought like some sort of an object or a slave.
But then again, wasn't he? This sort of reasoning would make sense a year ago but at this point in his life, Dick knew that his guardian could do whatever, whenever and he could not say anything about it. In Wayne Manor, Bruce was Judge, Jury and Executioner and with each passing second Dick realized that there really wasn't anything he could do about it.
He couldn't go storming into Bruce's bedroom and demand an explanation because there was none. He could not put the camera back into the box and insist that he accidentally smashed the lamp… because all of it was already recorded. Dick cried out in frustration and sat himself on the floor, focusing on the situation at hand. There really was nothing else to do but go on with his life and pretend nothing had happened. Bruce would know, from the recording no doubt. Alfred would know because he would have to fix it. And Dick would know. But no one would mention it, just like they never mentioned anything else.
He grieved over his own uselessness. How could he just act like nothing had happened when he'd discovered that the remains of his dignity were taken away from him behind his back? He didn't want to know how long the cameras were in use although he would imagine they were there for quite some time if not from the very beginning. No wonder his guardian never asked him about anything; he had already acquired any information he needed without Dick's knowledge. Forcefully taken away just like everything else.
The boy stood up, facing the nearest camera as his eyes locked itself onto the box in the centre. His lips didn't move and he never made a sound but the hatred in his eyes was as clear as day.
'One day, you will be punished.'
He didn't know how. He didn't know when. He didn't even know by whom. It may be done by his own hand or perhaps by somebody else's. But either way, he would be there to see Bruce Wayne fall.
And he would enjoy it.
(TheAlchemist'sDaughter)
Author's Note: How GOOD was that chapter? Anyway, yah, you guys didn't like the last chapter so much, huh? Guess you just prefer the angsty torture to the gymnastic-y respite. Either that, or you just don't like Richard as much as Bruce. Why not tell us who your favourite is in your reviews? ;)