Misfit

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I own nothing except what I own.

Ha! I knew you'd ask about the glasses as soon as I mentioned 'em. Well, I put them in because--for one thing--it was very original and no one had ever done it before (I like being the first to do something). Also, it gave Dick something else to remember his parents by and another reason for him to be teased at school (I like being merciless, too.) As for where I got the idea... well, either "The Princess Diaries" has been having some really weird effects on my brain, or my muses need straight-jackets.

"But Mom, I have to go to school today!" Billy protested.

His mother sighed. "You really are sick," she said, shaking the thermometer and her head simultaneously. "Since when do you want to go to school?"

Billy didn't answer. How do you tell you own mother that you want to go to school for the express purpose of humiliating the new kid in front of the entire student body, anyhow?

"Well, for whatever reason, you aren't going today, and that is final," said Mrs. West. She got up and left the room with the thermometer.

Billy slouched in his bed. Stupid cold! Why did he have to get sick today of all days?

Just you wait, Grayson, Billy thought. I'll get you for making fools out of my friends yet!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

With Billy home sick and Dylan and Peter in detention, Dick had a pretty decent day at school. Sure, a couple of the other kids had teased him about being short, and having glasses, and wearing the necklace with the wedding rings on it, and then there was the old 'rich kid' routine that some idiot (probably Billy) had started a couple of days before, but at least the real trouble-makers weren't there.

There was just one downside: fractions and decimals. That was probably Dick's weakest point, especially since he had never had any formal education before leaving Haly's Circus.

"Matt Wilder from Miss Eugene's fifth-grade class will tutor you during the lunch hour," Ms. Whitman said. When she saw the look on Dick's face, she added, "You're not in trouble, Dick; you just need some help on those numbers."

So Matt Wilder—who, Dick didn't know, was the most popular guy in the school—stayed in during recess to help Dick get back on track with the fractions and decimals.

"I don't think I know your full name yet," Matt said once they were alone in the empty classroom. "I mean, I know your first name is Dick, but what goes with it?"

"Grayson."

"Okay. Now I can work with you."

For the first half-hour, Matt helped his charge finally get the knack of adding and subtracting fractions. He also helped him learn about converting fractions into decimals, which were much easier to operate on.

For the second half-hour, the boys mostly talked about anything under the sun except math.

"I heard you were living with Bruce Wayne," Matt said.

Dick sighed. "Yeah," was all he said. Matt didn't seem to notice Dick's lack of enthusiasm about living with one of the world's richest men.

"So, what's he like?"

"Well..." What did Dick know about his guardian anyway? All he had seemed to find out was that... okay, he didn't know anything. Period.

Finally, Dick said, "All I know is that he doesn't have to worry about laugh-lines anytime soon."

Matt snorted. "First of all, genius, it's mostly just women who worry about things like that. And what's that supposed to mean anyway?"

Dick hesitated. Should he confide in Matt or say "Never mind, let's move on with the math"?

Aw, what the heck? What harm could it possibly do?

"The guy never smiles—and please take 'never' literally," Dick told the boy. "He hardly even talks to me! I try to be nice and he just makes up excuses to leave the room. Why? Don't ask. I never did anything to him, and he's the one who offered to take me in the first place!"

Matt was silent. After a pause, he said, "I'm sorry."

Shrugging, Dick replied, "Let's just get back to the math."

The bell rang, signaling the end of recess and Dick's free math lesson.

Matt went back to his class, still thinking about all that Dick had said. He barely even noticed when more than half the kids in the halls waved and smiled and said 'hello' to him. His thoughts were still on Dick. Matt suddenly felt a little guilty. Maybe he shouldn't have started that 'rich kid' thing...

He'll get over it, thought Matt dismissively before returning to his books. What do I care? I have friends; is another new kid who everyone's picking on my fault?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dick was sitting in his usual spot by the school, waiting for Alfred to come pick him up. He still wished he could join the other kids on the playground. If only that anonymous creep hadn't started the 'rich kid' rumor, then he might stand a chance...

"Dick."

He turned and saw Grace Winslow standing timidly next to him. Dick quickly stood up and brushed off his pants. He didn't meet Grace's eye.

"Ummm... hi, Grace," Dick greeted awkwardly.

"Hi," said Grace. "Well... I... I guess..." She stammered.

"What is it?" Dick asked gently.

Something in his voice gave Grace the courage to say, "I just wanted to thank you—for stopping Dylan and Peter, I mean. That took a lot of guts, and you got into trouble on account of me."

Dick could feel his face turning red right through the bruises and his dad's glasses. Since when did girls talk to him, let alone thank him? Come to think of it, since when did anybody talk to him these days?

"You didn't do anything wrong. I had to do something," he told her modestly.

"Thanks anyway. I really appreciate it," Grace finished up in a whisper. She quickly ran away before anyone saw them and decided to start a 'Grace has a boyfriend' or 'Dick has a girlfriend' rumor.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The next day was pretty much like the previous one: morning lessons, Matt tutored Dick during the lunch hour, afternoon lessons, go home.

Then there was the weekend, which Dick spent mostly in his room. He didn't have any friends to go out with, there was no homework to be done, Bruce was off at some business meeting for the afternoon and Alfred was at the market. In other words, for the first time in his life, Dick was completely alone.

Dick swallowed hard. What had he done to deserve this? He had always trained hard and given good performances, not to mention studying during the off-season. So why, instead of dazzling people with his quadruple spin, was he sitting all alone on a Saturday afternoon in a room that was supposed to be his? It certainly didn't feel like his. It was so... cold.

Dick stood up. He decided he needed a nice, long walk outside. So what if he wasn't supposed to leave the house without telling anyone? He could worry about that later.

On his way to the bedroom door, Dick tripped over his own foot and had to steady himself by holding one of the walls.

The wall shifted.

Dick straightened up, adjusted his glasses and pushed it again. It creaked a little, and Dick could see a thin line which formed the shape of a door.

Finally, he pushed the door for all he was worth and it collapsed. Dick collapsed with it, caught off-guard when the door gave way.

Groaning a little, Dick dragged himself slowly to his feet. He was now looking at a long, dusty staircase that led up to... somewhere. But where?

There's only one way to find out!

Dick grabbed his flashlight from the dresser drawer and cautiously began to ascend the staircase.

First thing he noticed—a million spider webs with a million spiders to match. Dick shuddered a little. He knew he shouldn't be scared of spiders—they were so tiny!—but he couldn't help it. Not after he had found a tarantula on his bed while the circus was wintering in Florida last year.

Next thing he noticed—a lot of dust. Dick hated dust. It made his eyes red and his nose stuffy. But he was too curious about what might be at the end of the staircase to back down.

Finally, he reached the top. Dick was now in some sort of attic. It looked as if nobody had been up there in years. No, centuries. Everything was covered in a couple of layers of dust. As he made his way closer to the center of the old attic, something scuttled by his sneaker. Dick didn't even want to know what it was.

If Bruce is so rich, why doesn't he fix this place up? Dick thought in confusion. It could be a real nice room if he did... hmmm... and he might want to start the insulation. It's everywhere BUT in the ceiling!

The floorboards creaked ominously, and Dick was half scared that they would break and he would fall into the living room or something. Alfred would kill him if anything like that ever happened. As it was, he was still skating on thin ice after ruining his school uniform.

Dick was concentrating so hard on not falling through the floor that he tripped over a small trunk in the middle of the room. The flashlight fell from his hand as he unsuccessfully tried to break his fall.

Dick sneezed as his nose came into contact with the dust.

"Ouch," Dick muttered, rubbing his toe where it had hit the trunk. He immediately began feeling around for his glasses.

"Maybe Alfred was right," Dick muttered aloud as he searched for the missing glasses. "Maybe I should wear contacts... nah!"

Finally, Dick's fingers came into contact with the familiar roundness of his father's old glasses. Dick wiped them off on his shirt (which he wasn't really supposed to do) and put them back on, but it didn't improve his vision any because of the dim light in the attic. After another minute of blindly crawling around, he found his flashlight and gave that trunk the once-over. The green paint had seen better days; the lock was completely covered in rust. Dick touched the lock gingerly. It cracked and fell to the ground, startling him.

Now that the lock was gone, Dick carefully lifted the lid of the trunk. It was filled was several pairs of clothes, including a faded wedding dress. Although it was slightly yellowed, it was still beautiful.

On top of the clothes were several photo albums, a bunch of old newspaper clippings and a few other items, including a small leather bag and a framed painting of a man, a woman and a small boy who couldn't have been much older than Dick.

Dick took the portrait out and examined it carefully. That man looked suspiciously like Bruce, but the date in the bottom right-hand corner of the painting told him it wasn't possible.

But maybe...

Dick took a closer look at the boy. Black hair, gray eyes... hmmm... but he was smiling. No, it couldn't possibly be Bruce Wayne.

Setting the portrait aside, Dick took out the bag and emptied its contents into the palm of his hand. He sucked in his breath.

There was a diamond necklace and a cameo, along with a pair of emerald earrings and a sapphire bracelet. The thought that he was holding a fortune in one hand crossed the stunned boy's mind before he quickly replaced the jewelry and picked up the stack of newspaper clippings. He sincerely hoped there was nothing valuable in or about them. Holding a million dollars worth of rock was too much of a shock for a boy who had spent most of his life earning peanuts for flying seventy feet above the ground.

The first thing that caught Dick's eye was the large, black letters on the top article. They shouted:

GOTHAM BILLIONAIRES MURDERED

Dick was beginning to have a strange feeling about all of this. Why would Bruce keep a trunk full of old newspaper articles, jewels, photos and other junk in an attic that he didn't come up to visit? And why did the males in the picture look suspiciously like Dick's guardian? Even the female reminded him of Bruce! Dick was starting think that he should have asked before coming up here, or forgotten about the shifting wall entirely.

Dick shivered slightly. He wasn't cold, but he was scared.

Quit acting like a coward! he scolded himself. Just read the article. What harm could it possibly do...?

Famous last words, Grayson. Famous last words.

Despite the warning signals he was receiving, Dick was too curious to heed them and read the article anyway. And once he was through, he almost wished he hadn't:

"Yesterday, the Gotham City's two wealthiest socialites—Dr. Thomas and Mrs. Martha Wayne—were murdered by an unknown assassin near their home at 9:30 PM.

While little is known about the attack due to the fact that the only party with them at the time is not available for comment, it is believed that the couple was murdered due to their refusal to give the assailant a specified amount of cash. A full-scale investigation and hunt for the murderer will commence tomorrow morning at ten.

Dr. and Mrs. Wayne will be missed dearly in Gotham City, and will be remembered best for their acts of philanthropy and the founding of their well-known organization, the Wayne Foundation.

They are survived by their only son, ten-year-old Bruce Wayne, who is now—"

Dick didn't have the heart, the stomach, or the courage to finish reading the article. In fact, if he had been eating something, he surely would have choked on whatever was in his mouth. Bruce's parents had been murdered, too?! How did life get so gruesome and depressing all of a sudden?

Dick dropped the articles back into their places and picked up the portrait again. This time, there was no doubt in his mind who the cheery little boy was.

Slowly, things began falling into place.

"No wonder he doesn't talk to me," Dick murmured. "I remind him too much... of him because my parents were murdered, too. And I'll bet that HE was the 'only party with them at the time'! I wonder what he thought when he saw my parents killed, too..."

Dick couldn't believe he had just said that. It hurt just to think about his parents' death, let alone admit it out loud.

He quickly replaced the articles, closed the trunk, dusted his hands off and hurried back to his room, sincerely wishing he had just minded his own business.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

That night at around eleven, Dick awoke, panicked, from another nightmare. He had been having a lot of those lately, mostly about how his parents had been murdered and how he himself could have prevented their deaths. Why hadn't Mom and Dad listened when Dick was trying to tell them about Zucco? Zucco had told Pop Haly that terrible things would happen! If only Dick had made them listen! But they had been so preoccupied with dressing for their performance that they had told Dick to wait until later.

Dick couldn't believe that, nearly two months later, he was still having nightmares about...

It suddenly struck him: The crook's laughing face in his dream hadn't been Zucco's; it had been someone else's, someone whose face had always remained in shadow. The man and woman hadn't been on the trapeze; they had been taking a walk near a large house that reminded Dick of his current home. And the little boy hadn't looked like Dick either; he had looked like the boy in the portrait.

Great! Just great! Dick thought, slamming a fist into the mattress. As if it isn't enough that I'm having nightmares about my own parents' murders—now I have to have nightmares about other people's murders!

Dick put his glasses back on, got out of bed and sat on the window seat. He fingered the chain with Mom and Dad's wedding rings on it. The chain was rusted and the rings had next to no monetary value, but all three pieces of jewelry had plenty of sentimental value. And he didn't care if the kids at school started calling him a sissy on top of anything else or not. He was just glad to have something—anything--to remember his parents by.

Another thought struck Dick: Bruce had so many things upstairs to remember his parents by. Why didn't he ever look at them? Dick knew how much it hurt to lose someone that you love, but wasn't it better to try and remember the happy times you shared with those people than to try and forget them altogether? Dick wasn't sure anymore. All he knew was that he needed to have a talk with Bruce about this, no matter what the punishment for wandering into rooms that were off-limits.

Reviewer Replies

I--Dick Grayson--am once again doing the reviewer replies for that lazy, worthless Panamint. ::Sigh::

Laurel-Anne Romm--Yes, I've always like that line, too. So insulting. :-) And don't worry: if Panamint dares to even THINK of chickening out, I'll ring her neck for you.

Bumpkin--Thanks, glad you liked it (although I didn't write it, so why I'm saying 'thanks' is beyond me). And your explanation has gone topside, as if you haven't already seen.

immortal squeaker--Oh, I think you'll like what happens next. And your explanation has also gone topside.

Jenn11--All I can say to that is thanks and :-)