"I don't need any of this stuff," the boy commented an hour later as they stood in one of the biggest toy and game retailers in Gotham.
"This isn't about need, kiddo. It's about want. And don't tell me you don't want some of the things you're seeing, because I know better." …Hell, I want to play with some of it, and I'm way over the intended age range. "We can get you anything. Everything." Whatever would make you stay if someone comes looking.
"I…I know." That's the problem, he didn't add.
Bruce sighed. "How about this," he suggested when the child at his side didn't make a move towards any of the waiting items. "What if we start out by buying something that we can use together? It wouldn't have to be kept in your bedroom, and it would technically be for both of us."
"…What is it?"
"I thought we'd get some video games." He'd planned on saving that particular surprise for the end of the shopping trip, but if making a shared purchase right off the bat would help him loosen up, then so be it. "Let's head upstairs to where they keep all the electronics, and we'll get a console and pick out a few games to start with. Then maybe we can come back downstairs and try this level again. Okay?"
"Video games?" He'd seen displays for such things before in stores, but he'd never actually picked up a controller. "…Do you really want one so you can play, too, or are you just saying that so I go along with it? Not to be rude or anything," he tacked on quickly.
"I have to admit, it's been a long time since I played anything resembling a video game. But…some of the ones they advertise on television look pretty interesting. And I do think we should play them together. Do you think you'd enjoy that?"
"I think it would depend on the game."
"Well, we're not finding out what kinds there are by standing around down here, are we?"
Dick smiled at his verbal prodding and shook his head. "No."
The billionaire had read the specs on the major available systems, but rather than choosing one based on the numbers he determined that it would be better to let the games decide. Now, standing in front of a huge wall of selections, he began to question his logic. "Okay. Let's…see what we like, I suppose."
"Which kind are we getting?" the boy asked, sorting out from the way everything was grouped that certain games belonged to the same family.
"Well…I had thought we could pick out games, and then whichever one you liked the most titles from would be the one we'd start with, but…" He trailed off.
"We'll be here all day if we do that."
…Yeah, I'm starting to gather that fact. "I did a fair bit of research on this before we came. There are three main console types, and each one has pros and cons, it seems. Without trying all three of them, we're really not going to know which one we would like best."
"So…what are you saying?" he gave him a cautious look.
"Hi, can I help you with…uh…hi," the sales associate who had come up behind them paled, recognizing Bruce as he turned. "Help…can…you?"
The billionaire gave the teen a look that only just evinced the weariness he felt with causing incoherency in strangers. "Yes. You can." We waved his arm at the wall. "We need one of each of the main systems, and at least a few games for each one." If we're going to do this, we might as well do it right, he concluded.
"Wait," the young man in a too-big uniform shirt shook himself, "you want…you want three systems? Like, today? N-now?"
"Yes. Is that a problem?" Dick, too, was gaping at him, no doubt thinking of the cost and simply so overwhelmed that he couldn't manage the words to object.
"N-no, we just…people just don't normally buy them quite like that. But," he added swiftly, "no problem. I'll just, uh…get those bagged up for you. You're going to need different cords and stuff, too…are you hooking them all up to the same TV?"
"Yes."
"Is it HD?"
"Is there another option?"
"Heh," he laughed nervously. "Not really these days, no. I'll…work on that while you pick out your games. Is that…is that okay?"
"…Is that okay, chum?"
Dick resigned himself to the fact that his guardian was obsessed with spending money today. So long as he plays with them too, though, it isn't so bad, he told himself. Now, looking warily back at the boxes stretching for dozens of feet in either direction, he gulped. "I don't know where to start," he confessed. "Do you play video games…Charlie?" he read his nametag. "Maybe you could make some suggestions to help us?"
"Ah…sure. I mean, that's pretty much what I do, is play games and work here, so…okay," he nodded, getting into the spirit now that his attention was focused on the boy rather than the billionaire. "So, what kind of games do you like? Are you into, like, RPGs, or FPS, or are you more interested in simulation, strategy, that kind of thing?"
"What…what were the first two?"
"…Oh," his eyes widened as he realized just how new his customers were to the world he inhabited in his off-hours. "Okay. Let's back this up. RPGs, those are role-playing games. You get to run around as a specific character in the game, usually with special talents or weapons that only your type of player gets. FPS, that's a first-person shooter. It's like you're there, seeing whatever you're doing through your character's eyes. There's tons more types out there, too, but…well, maybe it's more important to know how you're looking to play. Do you guys want games you can use, like, together, or more alone, or both? Is there a, uh, rating limit you want to stay under?" he directed towards Bruce.
Having checked that out, too, the man was able to give a fairly intelligent answer. "Don't leave something good out just because it's got a mature rating." After all, what's he going to see in a video game worse than watching his own parents die? he mused darkly. And if something does seem a little too extreme for him, that doesn't mean that I might not be interested in playing it. "And we'd prefer games with multi-player options, but a few without are fine."
"Okay, let's see here…how many did you want to get for each system?"
"…Ten or so," Bruce pulled a number out of the air. "Is that not enough to get a good sampling?" he asked when the salesman stared at him, open-mouthed.
"It is, but…you know some of these games are fifty or sixty bucks a pop, right?"
The billionaire looked at him crossways. "I don't think that will be a problem. Do you?"
"No!" he held up his hands. "Just…letting you know, that's all. You really want ten of each?"
"I really do." He reached down to squeeze Dick's shoulder. "Help him pick them out. If it doesn't look interesting to you, don't get it. Okay?"
"…Bruce," he started helplessly. This is ridiculous. How are we ever going to have time to play all of these? Unless…well, I know he actually does want to play them with me, he wouldn't have lied about that, but maybe he's getting so many because it's part of the act. A rich guy wouldn't walk into a store to buy video games and only get one or two, right? So maybe we have to get a bunch, or it would look weird to people.
"Go on," he urged gently. "Anything you want. And if you see more than ten that you like, get them all."
Gulping, the boy turned to the deliriously grinning associate. "…Let's get started, I guess," he said good-naturedly.
Once Dick got over the sticker shock – hearing the price had been one thing, but actually seeing numbers behind a dollar sign made him more hesitant than ever despite his certainty that the size of their purchase was part facade – it went surprisingly quickly. Three stacks grew on the floor, fighting and racing titles falling in alongside those that focused on tactics and teamwork. The child showed little interest in games involving guns, much to Bruce's unspoken relief, choosing only a couple that relied on projectile weapons. Finally he fell back, exhausted by the panoply of options he'd been presented with. "…I think we have plenty," he expressed.
"Wait! There's one more." Searching the racks, the teen snatched out a final case. "You have to have this," he offered it to the youth.
"…'Beautiful Katamari Damacy,'" Dick sounded out the last two words slowly.
"Da-ma-cy," Bruce corrected him. "It's Japanese. Ma-cy, not May-cy." He frowned, trying to decipher the colorful image on the cover. "What's it about?"
"You roll everything into a giant ball of other stuff," the associate said solemnly.
"…What?" Is he playing with us because we're obviously new to all of this? he wondered, his eyes narrowing.
"No, really. You roll up bigger and bigger things in each level. You can't just roll up everything right from the start, though; you have to wait until your katamari gets big enough. You have time limits, and…trust me, it's way more fun than it probably sounds like."
The billionaire looked down to where the boy was studying the box. "Do you want that one, too?"
"Um…it actually does look pretty fun, so…could I?" he asked hopefully.
"You bet. All right," he nodded to their helper. "Let's get it all bagged up and paid for."
It took another twenty minutes for all of the various cords and boxes to be scanned, along with a few extra accessories that the teen suggested. Just as Bruce was handing over his credit card, a supervisor approached. "Marcus," he started to address him by his last name, then saw who was standing on the other side of the counter. His eyes fell to the computer screen, where the final total had just popped up, and his lips parted in amazement. "…Never mind. You're busy," he voiced, then turned away and practically sprinted for a door labeled 'employees only.'
"…Do you get commission on all of this?" Bruce asked as he imprinted his signature on the receipt.
"No. But I think you just kept me from getting yelled at for something I probably didn't even do, so…that's all the tip I need," he joked. "I'll get one of the stock guys to help you carry all of this out. I'd do it myself, but they get ticked when the floor staff leaves their designated area," he rolled his eyes.
"Good."
"Thank you!" Dick chirped as the teen left them at the register. "…Maybe we should ask him to come over and set it all up. There are a lot of wires in that bag."
"We'll figure it out," the man assured him.
…Oh. Duh. Who do I think I'm talking to? Having seen some of the things that the person beside him had had a hand in designing down in the Batcave, he felt that he should have known hooking up a few video game systems would be a piece of cake. "…Right," he blushed. "Sorry."
"It's okay. You want to help me?"
"Can I?!"
"Sure. Then we'll try out one of these games, huh?"
"That would be cool."
The morning had been blessedly free of paparazzi, but as they entered the parking garage with two loaded-down stockmen on their heels they found that a few people had taken lessons from Anaxas' car-stalking and were waiting for them. Flashes went off as they emerged, and beside him Bruce heard a sigh. "…Okay?" he asked, low.
"…Yeah," he decided after a few steps. "These ones don't seem as mean as that other guy. Mr. Anaxas." At least none of them was leaning on your car, he thought as the small group spread out to let them through to the vehicle. A strong hand fell onto his shoulder, keeping him close by as they wove through the cameras. The trunk opened up at the push of a button on the billionaire's keys, but before he could see the uncomfortable-looking mall workers begin to place their purchases inside Dick was hustled to his seat, the tinted window blocking him from the hungry lenses.
After several minutes Bruce slipped into the driver's chair, slammed his door, and leaned back with an exasperated look. They're going to interview those employees, I just know it, he grimaced. And suddenly the story of the billionaire who doesn't know how to play video games will be plastered all over the internet. Probably go viral... "…We're going to have to come back another day to do the rest of it, I think, kiddo," he told him, shifting his attention to the back seat apologetically. "I wouldn't put it past a few of them to try and follow us around the store and get pictures of us shopping."
"It's really okay," he insisted. "You spent a ton of money today. Too much money," he muttered, shaking his head. The man had tried to hide the final sum from him, stepping in front of the display and then covering the number on the receipt with his arm while he signed, but even just the rough estimate that he'd worked out for himself made the child feel sick.
"…Dick," Bruce turned to face him, "it was not too much. I wanted to buy you those things, and I want to buy you more things. A lot more things," he disclosed gently.
"But why? I already like you, and I don't need any of it. I know you said it's about wanting it, but…it makes me feel strange, seeing you spend so much money on me. That was…that was almost more than mom…mom and dad made in three months of work," he whispered. "And we just blew it on video games. What if we don't even like them?"
"First off, we will like them." Something in those bags has to be interesting to both of us, he thought desperately, surely. "And second…I know this is awkward for you. It's got to be hard to go from…from pinching pennies to make ends meet to just pulling out a credit card every time you want to buy something. But…I really need you to let me buy you things, okay? It's…it's important to me." I don't know how else to show you that I care, chum, he bit back. I've never been good at saying how I feel. I have to…I have to show it, somehow. This is how I do that. I just wish monetary affection was a language you were more familiar with…
"…I don't understand, Bruce," he shook his head, confused. "I want to, but…I don't."
"I know," he nodded. "But you will someday, maybe. Just…just know that I'm not spending money on you because I'm under duress, or because I feel obligated. I'm doing it because I want to. Okay?" He met his gaze, trying to relay the importance of his words.
"…Okay. And I'll keep trying to understand," Dick promised.
"I know you will, kiddo," he stretched back to pat his knee. "Thank you."
"…I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be saying that right now. So…thank you. We got a lot of neat looking games. Which one do you think we should play first, once we get it all set up?" We spent all that money, so we've got to use it.
The billionaire smiled at him in the rearview mirror as he checked for photographers and then let the car roll slowly backwards. "…Whichever one you want, chum." Whatever makes you happy. "Wait until you see the game room," he went on.
"…The game room? I thought we were just going to put all of this in the den," the boy looked surprised. "Where is the game room?"
"It's the door after the library. I haven't been in there in…well, a while, but that's the best place to set up. The television in there is probably a bit small; I'll have to have Alfred order a bigger one."
Dick opened his mouth to rebut that it wasn't necessary, then remembered what his guardian had just said and closed his lips again. "Okay," he voiced instead. I don't get why buying me stuff makes you happy, Bruce, but…whatever it takes, I guess.
"Goodness!" Alfred exclaimed when they stumbled through the front door with bag-laden arms. "I see you found plenty, young sir," he commented as he took the child's load.
He blushed. "I…uh…yeah," he mumbled. It's not like that! I…I'm not trying to steal, or take advantage of the fact that he likes to buy me things. Deep down he knew that the butler didn't think of him as such, but the idea of what people who didn't know him would say still hurt. "I'm going to go get…more." With that, he vanished back outside.
"Did I say something wrong, Master Wayne?" the butler queried as he moved to watch his younger charge through the window.
"…He's still sketchy about spending money. That's all. I practically had to convince him to pick out games, and we didn't even get to any other floors because of the photographers that swarmed when we went down to put all of this in the car."
"So my comment was untimely, to say the least."
"Ah…yeah."
"Hmm…" Well, at any rate I've at least got good news to cheer him up with. "Is that everything, Master Dick?" he queried when the youth reappeared.
"Almost."
"Well, why don't you leave the rest to me, and head back to the gym with Master Wayne. Something came for you today that I think you'll quite enjoy. Take your time," he added as he surveyed the boxes and bags that had been brought in thus far. "It may take me a bit of time to get everything set up for you in the game room. I assume, sir, that that is where you want all of this?"
"Yes. The game room's fine. Also, let's see about getting a bigger TV for in there." …The bars must have come in, he nearly grinned. He's going to love those…I should have had Alfred put them down in the cave, though, so that he can play on them while I'm doing my workouts. We'll just have to get a second set.
"Of course."
"Come on, kiddo," the billionaire beckoned.
"…The gym?" he looked confused.
"Yup."
"But what…?"
Bruce couldn't keep it inside. "We ordered some uneven bars. Are they all set up and ready to go?" he asked the Englishman.
"Naturally, sir. There are plenty of good mats beneath them, and the bars themselves are admirably sturdy. It took a few iterations of the room to make everything fit, but I believe there's plenty of space."
"You…you really got me bars?" Dick breathed. As much as part of him hated the fact that so much money had been spent today, first on the games and now on gymnastics equipment, a much larger part was simply elated at the thought of being back in the air. "Honest?"
"Honest. Let's go see them, I'll prove it to you. Maybe you can show me some of your moves. What do you think?"
The boy paled with excitement. "Really?!"
"You bet." That somersault was mind-blowing. I want to know what else you can do.
Yes. We need to know so we have an idea of where to start training him, Batman threw in.
We aren't training him to do anything, Bruce retorted. …But maybe, if he's as advanced of an acrobat as I think he is, he can teach us a few things.
…Agreed, on the latter point only.
The argument was cut off by a little squeal of delight. Dick beamed happily at him, his discomfort about the amount that must have been spent vanishing completely for the moment in the face of an opportunity to do what he did best. Unable to wait another moment, he took off down the hall. "Race you!" he called over his shoulder.
Bruce sent a look at the butler, whom he found chuckling slightly at the boy's delight. "…Alfred?"
"Oh, go on with you, sir," he waved him away. "Don't run, obviously – you ought to let him win the race, in my opinion – but do catch up with him, at least." He smiled slightly, eyes twinkling. "After all, you have a show to attend."
