In Another Land

by Simon920

What might have happened if Dick hadn't been adopted by Bruce after the Graysons died. AU. The epilogue, is up.

13. In Another Land Part 13

Title: In Another Land/Part Thirteen of Fourteen

Author: Simon

Pairing: Dick

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An AU look at what might have happened if Bruce hadn't taken Dick in.

Warnings: None

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Thank you, Jim.

Note: I picked Stanford because my twin nephews graduated from there recently and went on athletic scholarships. I know a little about the place. Good school, good sports program and pretty campus—and yes, quite expensive. Oh, and they really are the current NCAA men's gymnastic champs with a team GPA of 3.5...no, not my nephews who were involved in other sports, the school.

In Another Land

Part Thirteen

"You're quiet today, everything alright, sweetie?" It was now Thursday; this had been going on all week.

Dick looked up from his book. "Fine."

"Things on your mind?"

"Not really. Just doing homework." He was reading 'Hamlet' for English.

Bonnie paused a second. "Would you like some help? I could quiz you."

"No, thanks. I'm good."

She seemed at a loss as to what to say next. Dear God, let him not be back on drugs, though she'd seen no real signs that he was. This quiet wasn't like him, though. It could be the start of one his old black moods, that depression that he seemed to be finally getting over the last couple of months.

Not that again, please not that. He'd been doing so well with his school grades back up and his friends taking him in again. The gymnastics were going so well and Mr. Wayne—Bruce—seemed happy with whatever he was doing over there. He should be so proud of himself now. He even had that nice Sarah calling him all the time.

She went back into the kitchen to get the pot roast on the stove.

She loved Dick—and Andy had practically worshipped the boy, but he'd never been an easy child to have around. Well, that wasn't a surprise, really—with what he'd been through when he was young, before he came to stay with them. Certainly his own parents loved the boy, but it couldn't have been a simple thing to raise a child in a circus, constantly moving, pulling up and going to the next town or city. Then when those poor people were killed—and right in front of Dick, Lord—no wonder he was as damaged as he was when they got him. And frankly, that week he spent with Wayne didn't seem to have helped, truth be known.

You can't take a traumatized child like that, throw him into an entirely new environment and basically tell him to sink or swim. It just wasn't right. Well, yes, they'd been kind to him and concerned about him, but those two men had no idea how to deal with a child, especially one with as many problems as Dick had then—and still had now, if you wanted to know the truth. You didn't have to scratch too far below the surface to see that.

And here he was about to finish his schooling and Bonnie was afraid that if he took that job with Wayne, he'd never go back. For a young man as bright as Dick to not go on to college was just wrong. It was a crime as far as she was concerned and she blamed it on that man who thought he could buy whatever—whomever he wanted.

She'd seen the letters Dick had gotten from the recruiters, the ones from Stanford and Michigan, UCLA, Penn State and Ohio. They had Dick's name on the envelopes, but she'd asked him what they wanted and he had reluctantly shown her; offers of full scholarships, half tuition, free room and board, a paid for account at the college book store, his choice of classes and a personal coach.

They all wanted him and were willing to throw almost anything they had at him to get his signature on an acceptance letter.

His answer? He wasn't sure he wanted to go to college but he did know he didn't want to spend twenty or thirty hours a week in some gym. If he were going to spend that much time on his gymnastics, he'd call Pop Haley and do stunts that he'd at least get paid for.

When she'd pointed out the obvious, that the gymnastics could be a means to a free education, he'd just shrugged and said he was tired of going to school and he didn't know what he'd want to study, anyway.

But surely he could start in a liberal arts program and specialize from there once he found something he was interested in?

That seemed like a waste of time to him—why study hoping something would click? He'd rather wait until—or if—he found something he was really interested in.

When she asked him just what, exactly, he was doing with Wayne, just what the job was, he was vague and told her that he was training to become a sort of assistant to help Bruce with some of his hobbies and outside interests—oh, and she shouldn't worry, there wasn't anything funny or illegal about it. Really.

That was, he admitted to himself, pretty much of a lie.

He honestly didn't know what he wanted to do with his life and rather theatrically thought of himself as standing at a crossroads—if he went one way he'd maybe become one of the costumed heroes and he liked that idea. He liked the thought of helping people and righting wrongs, catching bad guys and making a difference. He really liked that. And he'd been flattered when the Titans had introduced themselves, seemingly ready to accept him as one of their own. That had been a rush.

And to work right alongside Batman, damn. How many people in the world could say that? Like—none?

On the other hand—right, four fingers and a thumb. He knew the old joke, too.

On the other hand was the idea of maybe getting killed or badly injured, of giving up any chance for a normal life, of living with constant secrets and lies.

He wasn't sure he was ready for that.

So, what to do?

Aye, as old Hamlet said, there's the rub.

He tried to think what his parents, his real parents would have wanted him to do and he knew his mother would have wanted him safe. They would have wanted him happy, but no one wants to think of their child getting shot at and his parents would have probably tried to—no.

They would have wanted him to do what he thought was the best thing for him. These were people who had taught their four year old how to fly on a trapeze in front of a circus crowd without a net and to think it was no big deal.

They would want him safe, but they would want him to, well, 'follow his destiny' sounded like pretentious bullshit, but it was sort of how he felt about it.

If it was his destiny.

God, he didn't know what to do and it wasn't like he could talk it over with his friends or Bonnie. They couldn't know and that bothered him, too.

He could have called the Titans, but he didn't really know them. Maybe the girl, the pretty one would understand, or the brown haired guy. Garth seemed like someone he could be friends with but—they were busy. They were important and he didn't want to bother them with his crap.

"Dick? Honey? Phone. I think it's Sarah."

That was another thing. People were calling him all the time now. Sarah, gymnasts he'd met at that exhibition, coaches, his old and current friends, parents of kids in Sergei's gym wanting to make sure that Dick would be the one teaching their kid and could he give some extra, private lessons while he was at it? Even Vanessa was on his case about helping the cheerleaders learn some more moves. And he had school and work and the thing with Bruce and his chores at home...and there were still a few kids who offered him drugs at every turn; in the bathrooms at school, in the locker room, at parties, at the movies or just hanging out somewhere.

He hated it and resented their taunts and disbelief when he turned them down.

He felt like he was being pulled in about twenty different directions and it was starting to get to him. He mentally took a breath.

"Hey, Sarah. What's up?"

"Hey, Dick, you want to go to a movie tomorrow? Maybe we could get some dinner first if you want?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, sounds good. I have to work till around six, is that a problem?"

"No, no problem. Should I pick you up at the gym then?"

"Sounds like a plan. See you then."

Sarah was okay. In fact he liked her. He wasn't in love with her or any of that, but he liked her just fine. He suspected that she liked him more than he returned to her, but they had a good time together even though he got the impression her parents would prefer if she was seeing someone other than a former junkie.

In fact, he could see their point and so didn't push anything with either them or her. They didn't do much more than make out now and then, yeah, well maybe a little more than just now and then—not as much as Sarah would have liked, but that was about it. They were mainly just good friends, at least as far as Dick was concerned.

"Are you and Sarah getting together, honey? She's such a nice girl—I'm glad you're seeing her."

Oh, God. "She's okay. We're going to a movie tomorrow."

"I got a call from your guidance counselor this afternoon." She saw the look on his face. "No, nothing bad. The SAT results came into the office and she thought I'd like to know before they hand them out tomorrow. You scored just over fifteen hundred, fifteen-oh-seven—oh, sweetheart, I'm so proud of you!" She went around to hug him, which he allowed, though he pulled away after just a few seconds. "You've worked so hard and done so well this year, honey, you really have."

He gave her a grudging half smile and a nod.

Bonnie saw a piece of paper on the counter. "Oh, damn. I forgot to tell you, that man called you again from Stanford—that coach, Jim something? He said you could call him back this evening so he can arrange your trip out to California. Dick? What's that about?"

"They're recruiting me, that's all. It's a free trip to San Francisco. Next month, I think."

"You want to go to Stanford? That's wonderful, honey!"

"I don't know if I want to go there. I'll see what they have to say."

"What about the job with Mister Wayne?"

"I'm not sure about that, either. I'll see what looks best."

It was apparent he wasn't going to be questioned about this. "Are you going to the National's in June? Sergei was asking me the other day when I saw him and he said you hadn't committed yet. I think you should..."

"Make up my mind. I know, alright? This is like frigging twenty questions, for Christ's sake. Will you just leave me the fuck alone, please?" He brushed past her; a moment later she heard his room door slam.

God, this was like last year, this was like he was just before he OD'd. He couldn't, he wouldn't—not again. But he was under so much pressure right now; finishing school, his job, competing, working with Bruce—it was too much when he was still so fragile.

"Hey, is this Donna? This is Dick—we met a couple of weeks ago outside the Garden. Look, I'm really sorry to bother you, but I was sort of hoping that you, I don't know—that you might have a couple of minutes."

"Sure, absolutely. Would you like me to come over to your house? It's no trouble or anything."

"No, I mean, it's too far and you don't have to do that or anything, the phone is fine."

"Oh, don't be silly. I'll be right there." She hung up and Dick was left with the receiver in his hand a wondering if he'd just done something really stupid.

Inside of a minute he heard the front doorbell and voices down in the front hall.

"...I'm a friend of Dick's and we were going to work on a project together, is it alright if I go up to his room?"

"It's okay, I'm here, c'mon up. Mom? This is..."

"I'm Donna. And you're Mrs. Porter? It's really nice to meet you." She gave Bonnie this amazing smile and exuded this wholesome vibe that you could practically cut with a knife. "Dick? Did you bring home the book?"

"Yeah, it's upstairs, c'mon."

With the door closed and the two of them sitting on opposite ends of the bed, Donna started. "So you're having second thoughts?"

A small nod. "And other offers—college scholarships and a job. I could work for the people, the company my parents and I used to work for instead of Br—Batman."

She half smiled. "I know who he is. Well, you have to make your own decision, you know that. But what are your doubts based on? Money? The fear of getting hurt? The whole life style you'd pretty much have to adopt?"

"All of the above, I guess. I, there's a part of me who just wants to have a nice normal life—go to school, get a job, meet some nice girl, get married, have kids—all of that. But there's this other part of me who wants to do something bigger than that, make a difference, not live in the box. And I have a feeling that the decision I make now will determine a lot of things about my life."

She was watching him as he spoke, really listening. "I think everyone—well, almost everyone, feels like that. We do what we do, but it would be nice to be able to come home to a nice dinner and a picket fence or something normal. Instead you end up going home to an empty apartment and have your dinner either nuked from Stouffer's or delivered from the local pizza place. It wears thin after a few years. And to be honest, I don't know too many people who've managed to make any kind of relationship work for long—it's just really difficult and that can get pretty frustrating."

"So that's it, that's what it would be like? That sounds like it sucks."

She smiled. "It's not all like that, you know. There's the good stuff, too. You really do make a difference. You really do help people and a lot of time there's a feeling of belonging and of being part of something bigger than your own little problems that is incredible. You'll see things you can't imagine and you meet people you've read about—and they want to meet you and hear what you have to say. That's pretty cool."

Dick looked doubtful. Sure, part of it sounded good, but...

"If you're just doing this because you don't have anything better to do or because you're flattered by Bruce's offer, then you shouldn't." She paused a second. "You know, if you're this undecided, you might want to just postpone everything a year or so. You have those scholarship offers, right? So take one and see how you feel later. I mean, it's not like you actually have to make up your mind today or anything."

Dick nodded and absently thought again what a really pretty—no, a really beautiful girl she was. Garth was right; it was easy to see why they were all a little in love with her. He could see that happening with no problem at all. Not that she'd give him the time of day in that way, or anything.

"Yeah, I think, maybe."

She stood up, probably had a hundred places to go and people to talk to about more interesting things than his dithering.

"Thanks, Donna. You made a lot of sense."

"Any time, sweetie." She leaned over, kissed his cheek, smiled enough to knock his socks off and let herself out.

After a few minutes Dick picked up his phone, dialed the long distance number. "Hi, Jim? This is Dick Porter. I heard you wanted to set up the visit? Great. The weekend of the second is fine. Yes, I'm looking forward to seeing Stanford, too. I've heard it's a really beautiful campus."

So, Stanford would arrange and pay for him to fly into San Francisco, about an hour from the school in Palo Alto. The head coach would meet him at the airport and let him stay in his guest room. He'd get a full tour of the campus and the Burnham Pavilion where the gymnastics were housed. Any questions he had would be answered. He should bring at least one and preferably two videos of him in competition—yes, the exhibition tape would be fine and they'd see him in a couple of weeks. Oh, and sorry, but they couldn't pay for his mother though she was welcomed to come if she could swing a ticket. Their budget was limited, but he could certainly call her and if she had any questions or concerns, she was more than welcomed to get in direct touch with the coaches.

That weekend when Dick was supposed to work with Bruce he called instead. "Alfred? Could you tell Bruce that I'm going to, you know, take a little time to think about this? I haven't decided to quit or anything like that, I just have a lot of things going on right now and I need some time to sort everything out. I'll call in a—I mean, I'll call when I know more about things, okay?"

"I shall inform him, young man. I'm sure he'll look forward to your decision."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"And remember, decisions can always be changed."

Three weeks later Dick got off the plane, was duly met and had a quick tour and explanation of things on the ride to Palo Alto. Mr. Babera was head coach and he was the one Dick was staying with. Later, during a workout with the Stanford team, he found out that not only was James Babera the head coach for the Stanford men's gymnastics team, but he only ever allowed kids to actually stay in his guestroom and stay with his family who he believed would eventually make the US World team—it was a sort of snob thing the man had.

Dick was impressed by the campus, over eight thousand acres, most of it open space, beautiful buildings, and a state of the art gymnastics facility which was undergoing a renovation to make it even better. The Stanford team had won the NCAA championships last June and was favored to win again. The team members had a cumulative GPA of 3.5 with special tutoring available if needed, though it rarely was. Athletes were guaranteed campus housing for four years. The team currently had two all-Americans on it—both seniors and scheduled to graduate next spring.

Dick asked about his standing—he had thought that he was ineligible since because he'd worked with his parents circus act, he was a professional. Well, that would have to go to the NCAA, but they weren't too worried. It was so long ago, that it would probably be ruled alright. What about his getting paid to coach at Sergei's gym? That should be fine—as long as he wasn't actually paid to do routines or perform, he should be okay with that.

Well—he hesitated—was there any repercussions about his being in rehab or busted?

The bust was when he was a minor and it was expunged. He had no record and as for the rehab—he was clean, wasn't he? Well, then, that shouldn't be a problem, either, though they reserved the right to test him should they suspect anything. For that matter, they reserved the right to test any of their athletes if they suspected anything. There was a lot of money and the reputation of the school on the line. They couldn't allow that to be jeopardized.

Dick understood.

"Dick? How are you doing out there, are they being nice to you?"

"Everyone is being nice, Mom. The campus is amazing and everyone is being great. You'll love it when you come see it, you really will."

"You like it, then?"

"God, it's like what you imagine a campus to be like. It's incredible and everyone here is smart—you know how there's a cross section in most places with smart and average and dumb? Everyone here is really smart."

"And Mr. Babera is nice? His family is treating you well?"

"They're fine and his house is incredible—not like Bruce Wayne incredible, but like real people live in it incredible."

"Honey, you just be careful, alright? Just—you know, look out for yourself."

"I'll be back Monday night, Mom, I'll see you then, okay? I'll tell you all about it."

Monday morning he had a complete private tour of the campus, sitting in on a freshman English class and pleased that it wasn't any harder than his AP high school classes were—or so it seemed to him at this point.

On Monday afternoon, he went through a regular training session and workout with the Stanford squad. There were a couple of guys he'd met at the exhibition in New York and they took him under their wings, extolling his abilities to the others and making him show off his quad which brought the place to a stand still. They'd all heard about some kid out East throwing the quad and sticking the thing, but to actually see it—damn. This kid was good and it wasn't just on the one piece of apparatus, he wasn't a one hit wonder. He could throw amazing tricks in every rotation, original moves and creative combinations that upped the difficulty factor to a ridiculous level—and then he stuck every frigging move and combo and made them look easy. There was a nonchalance and elegance about his moves, almost a feeling that he was born to do this naturally while the others had simply busted their butts for years to never become as good as this kid. He had real talent and they were impressed.

Barbera was right. Dick had 'World Champion' written all over him. Next year he'd start down that road with a probable win at National's and they'd be chasing silver instead of gold as long as he was on the floor.

It was obvious to everyone in the room. If he didn't self-destruct.

Dick was welcomed with opened arms and maybe a little jealousy, almost like a little brother, and he loved everything about the place.

The three days went by fast and by the end, before he was even on his way back to the airport, he'd made his decision. Stanford was what he was looking for, at least for now.

He could be with people who were focused and had the same interests. They were all smart or they wouldn't be at Stanford to begin with. It was far enough from home that he could finally make his own way and he could do the gymnastics just for himself without having to think about a bunch of klutzy ten year olds.

Bonnie would be able to move into a new place without feeling like she was living off of one of Wayne's handouts and she could get on with her life without having the daily worry about whether or not he was going to walk in the door stoned or high or which phone call would be from the police or the ER.

And something else struck him. Back East, at home, things seemed, well—things seemed dark even on a sunny day. He had the stuff with Bruce hanging over his head and he had the reputation in town and in the school for being a druggie—reformed, maybe, but he still carried the stigma. He had constant reminders of all the crap he'd had in his life. Every time he went over to Bruce's place he had to pass the spot Andy was turned into road salad and the trees still had the scars where he'd hit. Whenever he went to Gotham he'd pass the field Haley's had been the night his parents had been murdered. There was no escaping any of it.

Stanford seemed like a place where he could start over without anyone knowing about his baggage. It seemed like such a good idea—starting fresh, making his own way and doing things on his own without his mother or Sergei or Bruce to hold his hand.

And besides, like Alfred had said, he could always change his mind and even if he did stay the whole four years, he'd just have that much more to bring to Bruce if they worked together then.

This was a good idea.

He'd do it.

TBC

10/26/04

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