Sincerest apologies for the time jump, my duckies. I've been caught up on an art project that had me up 'til two some nights. Finished now, though. I have up until chapter 33 written in prompts, so I'll try and be quicker with my updates. Seeing that it's a weekend, you may just get a bit luckier. Plans for Saturday, but sleep is for the weak. This one may be a bit shorter, but I'll make up for it with the next few chapters. Chin up.
Dick's POV:
I can't say that all of my memories are actually mine, or real for that matter, but there are some things that I remember from when I was little for sure. Some things are big, like the first time my dad let me up on the bars and the day they decided I was old enough to join them in the act. They're important, and I'll be damned if I don't find myself smiling every time, but I've always found a greater pleasure in the smaller things. Things like drinking hot chocolate in the winter and family game night every Wednesday night tide me through the worst of my nights.
My favorite memory, as little as it shames me to admit it, is one of those amazingly simple memories that has me balling my hands into faint fists and smiling down at my feet. I don't remember how old I was- couldn't have been much more than six- and I had a really bad cold. A fever taller than I was, coughs that left me groaning from the pain in my ribs, I was a mess. I was curled up in my bed, and my mom sat beside me the whole time. She held my hand and dabbed at my forehead with a cold washcloth, telling me stories that I couldn't retell for the life of me, until I got better.
When I woke up, that was the first thing to cross my mind. I was nearly certain that I was back home with a cold, until I took a deep breath and didn't have my sinuses blocking it. I got my eyes open after some effort, my hand coming up from underneath a blanket to confirm that it was indeed a washcloth on my forehead. My confusion didn't ease for a second as I pulled the washcloth away, looking down over the blanket to try and figure out who would've set it over me. The answer came as soon as I recognized the room I was in.
"Bruce?" I called weakly, voice clogged from my unwilling nap.
I didn't have to look very far to find him, hunched over some papers on his desk. When I spoke, he looked up in a bit of relief, a grin growing slow over his lips.
"Dick," he walked around the desk, abandoning whatever work it was that had occupied him, "You had me worried. Feeling alright?"
I tested my limbs before giving him a little smile, rubbing my temple, "What happened?"
He knelt beside me, taking my wrist from under the blanket and putting his fingers to my pulse.
"You had a little freak out and wound up on the floor," the man gave an assuring grin, squeezing my wrist once he seemed satisfied, "Head okay?"
It came back to me slightly, Megan's voice in my head, and I gave a little frown. "How'd I get here?"
Bruce's hand went to my face, thumb dipping my eye down enough to show the veins beneath, pulling a flashlight from his pocket and swiping it over my pupils.
"The nurses were taking you down to Solitary- that big iron door," my heart gave a little lurch, "but I told them they could keep you in my office instead. You needed to be supervised. Megan seemed convinced that you needed medical attention."
I couldn't help but crack a little smile. He didn't know it, but he had saved me. It was back to the old days. He pocketed the flashlight, giving my cheek a pat before pulling his hand back.
"Breathing alright?"
I sat up faintly, wincing as I brushed my hip against my sweatpants, and rubbed my eyes.
"Thanks, Bruce," I murmured weakly, hand sinking down my cheeks to where his hand had been a moment ago.
As I went to push the blanket off to get up, he caught my shoulder and we held eyes for a moment. That's when it hit me. This was Bruce Wayne, the man who had picked me up out of the shards of what could've been a life full of darkness and pain, who brought me to a home and gave me the hope that I needed to get on, and as he stared at me, tears welled to remember that he had no idea who I really was.
"I saw that," he scolded, his hand pulling back as a little notch dug into his forehead, "Let me see."
I couldn't hold his eyes any longer, so I drew them away and took a little breath.
"It's nothing," I assured him with a smaller smile.
I wanted nothing more than to see his eyes pick up that regular light and for him to become the Bruce Wayne that I missed so very much. For me, it had been seeing something from my past that refreshed my memory, but there wasn't a guarantee that it would have the same effect on Bruce. I had the utility belt on me. If I lost it though, I wasn't sure I'd be any assistance to the others anymore. With Wally, the first time, it had been a memory that had sparked the first 'break down' I had seen. He had mentioned the time I told him my real name in Happy Harbor, something I hadn't remembered at the time. That one wouldn't be too hard.
Mentioning the Wayne Manor would certainly be easiest. That place made up most of our life together, from the Bat Cave below to the series of... No. No, that wouldn't do. There's no way that they actually let him go back to the manor. Someone would see him and call the police. For that sense, they wouldn't let him leave at all. What if he remembered after watching the news and seeing his face on the news? They had to put him somewhere though. The first time I left the asylum, the only time for that matter, escaping from the nurse's room which was now locked tight, there had been a bunch of abandoned buildings. Maybe some of them had been decorated to look like actual apartments. That seemed like something that would make sense.
I was cut off by his hand squeezing a lot tighter on my shoulder. Apparently, he'd been talking for a while. Long enough to look considerably concerned.
"I'm going to get the nurse," he murmured, clearly upset, when I shook my head.
"No, no, please don't," looking from his hand to his face with a hard swallow. "I'm sorry, I just..." I looked down to my hip, "hurt, a little."
It was complete bull, but it was the first thing I could think of. It was sore, yeah, but it was mostly healed. Bruce couldn't know that much. I wasn't even sure I wanted to show him. If it was his pity that was saving me, I'd have to keep playing it.
He settled back onto his knees, looking the same amount of concerned as before, lips pressed tight in what was either patience or thought. I wasn't sure which I'd prefer more. Either way, it looked like I was running out of time. Now that I was conscious, he'd have to send me on my way and I wasn't really fond of that idea. I needed to help him remember.
"Where do you live?"
It was a stupid question, but I was desperate at this point. I needed to get him really thinking about this. If I could bring in the slightest bit of doubt, I could pull out the utility belt and maybe... just... maybe... he'd remember me. He'd look up at me, get that little glint as he mocked one of my smirks, and then we'd be out of here. Find the Batmobile, climb in and be off. We'd come back and save the others eventually. I just..
"How fluent is your Latin?" he returned, leaning back to sit on the floor.
I stared.
"You heard me," he brought his knees up, hugging them loosely, "Latin. Can you fake your way through a conversation with it?"
I couldn't see what he was getting at it, so I humored him with a little shrug. "I know a phrase or two. Why?"
His smile became like his arms.
"See? It's not so hard, answering my questions. Let's try another one."
I cracked a smile. The snark in his tone... I knew it, and I knew it well.
"Are you familiar with the phrase 'quid-pro-quo'?" he went on, and I offered him the pillow I had been laying on.
I nodded. "This for that. I don't need to know Latin for that, though. That's your basic Silence of the Lambs knowledge there."
His smile grew and I looked away, getting comfortable on the cushions.
"Well then, 'Clarice', quid-pro-quo. You tell me something, I'll tell you something. You ignored all of my questions. I deserve some answers before you do. Play along and maybe I'll keep you out of solitary for another few days. Deal?"
I leaned forward onto my knees, suppressing a little wince, hiding my grin behind my hand.
"You've got a deal, old man," I promised.
I pushed back from my knees, moving the sweatpants down off of my hip, before looking back at him. He had the pillow on the floor under his arms, laying on his stomach with his chin against his forearms. It was almost too casual to look at.
"I'll show you 'old man'," he grumbled, giving a little laugh before sobering. "First off, how are you feeling? Be honest with me."
That was the last thing I wanted to do. He wanted answers though, and I had a few to spare.
"Homesick," I offered, rubbing my elbow, "betrayed. I've got a massive migraine and I haven't seen the sun in God knows how long. I'm not doing so well."
The smile he had before was now long ago, the crease returning to his brow with the faintest little ghost in his eye.
"Now, where do you live?" I asked before he could go on, "quid-pro-quo."
He turned onto his back with a little huff, watching the ceiling with dull eyes. "I rent a little apartment twenty minutes from here. One bedroom, one bath and a fantastic kitchen arrangement."
It didn't sound right. Twenty minutes is a hefty distance without supervision. Even for out in the middle of nowhere, if that's where we happened to be. And a little apartment? God, when he remembered the manor, he was going to cry.
"Show me what's up with your hip."
I looked down at him, curling my fingers in the blanket.
"That wasn't a question," I countered.
"This-for-that doesn't entitle a question. I'm asking to see what happened, to make sure you don't need to go to an actual hospital," he tossed back.
I know he meant it to explain, but the idea gave me some hope. If he could get me out of here and to a hospital, they'd recognize us and maybe... I could do this. Dramatizing the ache, I used the arm of the couch to get up and I lifted my shirt just enough that he'd be able to get a glance at the letters carved into my skin. The bruising was pretty ugly, the words were dark and I could only hope it looked a lot worse to someone who hadn't seen it when it had began.
I watched his face for a reaction, but he didn't seem to have one. He just sat up and stared, becoming all kinds of silent.
"Wally and I... had an... altercation in the locker room. He got a hold of one of the razors and snapped the blade out of it," I lied, looking as broken as I could about it with the hopes that he'd give in. "Cornered me and just... I tried to... get away. You've seen how fast he is, though. Some kind of... flash."
The Bruce I had known wouldn't have fallen for it in a second. This one took one look and I saw a kind of paternal instinct that was rare to my guardian's face.
"They took me to the nurse but she... she just yelled at me and..." I looked up at the sky and thought of Up until I found myself with tears in my eyes, "I just want to get out of here. For a little bit. Please, just... let me come home with you."
I held his eyes, crocodile tears burning in mine, until he got to his feet and looked away from me.
"I want to see the sun again, Bruce. Feel the grass on my toes... have... real... disgusting fast food... sleep in a bed that's not a brick... please. Just... one night."
He walked back to his desk, one hand on his neck. I could see it in his posture. He was thinking about it.
"I'll be quiet! No one will hear about it. Just... please."
The man set his hands to his desk, looking over his papers with mock interest, his brow drawn in tight. I had him right where I needed him.
"You don't understand," I whispered, walking slowly towards him, never taking his eyes off of him.
Later, he would punch me for this. I was using the technique he'd taught me to use on the bad guys on him. I was manipulating him and I hated myself all the way for it. This wasn't Bruce, though. He had to understand.
"Wally attacks me any time we're out of the way of the cameras," I set my hands on the desk, mentally apologizing to Wally for all the shit I was about to make up, "Tells me... I belong here. No one... no one would want to adopt me if I had stayed at the orphanage. M'a freak."
A crocodile tear hit the desk and I exaggerated a breath, willing my jaw to tremble. His hands tightened into fists on the desk edge.
"And last night, every... one... seemed to join in. Just a little... circus freak... who doesn't... have a home. My parents... they wouldn't want me even if they hadn't..." I held my eyes open until another tear fell down on the desk. "I could've saved them, you know. They all... they... think I... that I... did it. But I...I wouldn't..."
In moments, I had his arms around me, maybe a little tighter than they needed to be.
"I'm going to sneak you out of here," he said quietly.
When I leaned into the hold, I was sure to keep my arms at my side. I knew that if I hugged him, I wouldn't be able to let him go. The tears grew to be a little less crocodile.
"I'm going to show you the sunshine... and we're... we're going to get some fast food and eat it outside on my balcony. I'm going to put on a movie and we're going to watch it from outside. You're going to see the stars and feel the grass in your toes. You can take my bed for the night."
I held my ear to his heart and focused on the beats until I could catch my breath, giving a little nod against his shirt. He held me for a little while longer, for his benefit more than anything it seemed, before he pulled back and gave a little nod of his own.
"Just ah, keep your head up... and act like you've got a purpose. My car's in the parking lot three lights over."
I swallowed back a smile, watching as he walked back around his desk and tossed me a coat. I put it on, flipping the hood up over my head and zipping it to my chin.
"Thank you," I smiled at him, watching him slip a coat on for himself.
I couldn't believe it. I was getting out of the asylum. When Bruce went to sleep, I'd take his phone and call for anyone who'd answer their phone.
"Just let me clock out real' quick and we'll be gone. You like hamburgers?"
Even the thought of eating something that wasn't made in the cafeterias here made me grin ear-to-ear.
"You could take me to eat raw sewage and I'd tell you I loved it," I admitted, earning a laugh from him.
It wasn't the same, but it was a start.
He drew a thin card from his desk and walked to a little box on the wall, something I had initially assumed was a cuckoo clock that had broken the clock half off a while ago and hadn't been taken down out of pride.
"Why do they need you to clock out? You can't stay overnight; all your patients are asleep," I thought aloud, earning his eyes for a moment.
He seemed to consider it, card resting in the slot before giving a little shrug.
"You don't question good pay," he pressed the card in, retracting it at a little beep.
No sooner had he put the card back in his desk did the door bar itself shut, the vents above kicking on with a distinct thud. I was torn between the two sounds, my brow drawn in.
"Is this normal?" I asked him, going over to the door and pulling on the bar that had slid across its width.
Bruce was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, there's always... always the gas... and then... then I wake up here..."
His voice had an edge to it, a slight panic, and then he was pulling on the bar with me. I looked up at him with wide eyes.
"The gas?"
As if on cue, the vents gave another kick and a purple haze slid itself out over the room. My body worked on its own. In a matter of seconds, I had my utility belt unfolded and hooked around my shoulders like a sash, retrieving a thin silver pipe of sorts from a pocket near the back. I pulled Bruce down my his coat and stuffed the pipe past his teeth, forcing it into place when he wouldn't do it for himself.
"Breathe through your..." the world was growing increasingly heavy I found as my head slammed back into the door and I began sinking down.
It was spinning now, to the point I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from puking.
"Mouth. Don't take it... out..."
My lungs grew thinner and I was fighting more and more for breath that I couldn't seem to get a hold on. I was faintly aware of being on the floor, but I could've sworn it had dropped from the speed of the world's rotation. Bruce's hands were urgent on my arm and I heard fearful grunts of sorts, bringing a little smile to my lips to the fact that he was listening to me and using the breather. I got my eyes open a crack and looked up into his face, holding his eyes for a second.
"Miss you," I murmured, trying to lift my head.
The weight increased and it slammed back to the floor where I was back to unconsciousness again.
-F.J. III
