Title: Teenagers Part Two
Author: Simon
Characters: Dick, Bruce, Alfred, OC
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Dick and the family chills out a bit on a ski trip
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, yesUnbetaed. It's a holiday weekend, I didn't want to bother anyone so blame me for mistakes.
Teenagers…
Part Two
After they decided and agreed to spend the February break skiing, Dick asked and received permission to invite his cousin, Peter along. A phone call, a little coaxing and Dick had a playmate for the slopes. Peter, the same age as Dick, was the oldest of three cousins Dick had discovered last year when his maternal grandfather unexpectedly made contact after years of silence. Though that part of the reunion had ended badly, Dick was grateful for his cousins and they were in frequent contact. Peter, in particular, had become a close friend and they spent as much time as they reasonably could together, talking on the phone or e-mailing when they couldn't actually get together. Though there were still things Dick knew he had to keep secret—like the entire 'Batman/Robin/Teen Titan' half of his life, he managed to deal with it, secretly hoping that one of these days Peter could know about his after school job. Not this week or this year, but someday. Maybe.
( This back-story is told in "Man on the Bench".)
A week and a half later they were in Colorado, Dick seemingly having shaken off whatever was bothering him at least for now and both of the kids having a good time on the slopes and in the town itself. The smaller Wayne jet was safely parked at Aspen Airport and there were enough really rich people around that they could pretty much blend in, thank God. Dick hated the social side of the place and steered clear as much as he could, but Bruce played the game well and often as part of his cover. Everyone who was anyone was in town and the restaurants were booked solid with names, Bruce Wayne's guaranteeing a good location anywhere without the usual two or three day's advance notice.
By the end of the second day in Aspen, a pattern had developed for how they all spent their days. Dick and Peter usually went off by themselves during the day. Dick insisting to Peter that it was fine to ditch him because Bruce wasn't wired to spend all day in recreation, anyway. He'd just take a couple of runs after breakfast or lunch, then spent the rest of his time conference calling back to Wayne Enterprises headquarters until he had to go out to play at being 'Bruce Wayne, Socialite extraordinaire'. The trip was going well, Dick seemed to have left his foul mood back east for the most part and, one day at breakfast, he'd even agreed that he had, perhaps, spoken in haste to his teacher, wrong though she may have been. An apology looked like it was in the offing when they got home and both Bruce and Alfred breathed collective sighs of relief. It gave Bruce genuine pleasure to see Dick having a good time and Peter was a good kid. The vacation was going well and with any luck, the peace would last—at least for a while.
Dick and Peter had both improved in their snow boarding abilities and Dick easily impressed the peasants and those in the know with his tricks on the hills. The two boys would spend their days either skiing or snow boarding, then would go out to maybe hit a pizza place for dinner after the needed après-ski showers and changes of clothing. They'd eat, hang out, and maybe catch a movie. Kid's stuff. If they were tired they'd just hang around Bruce's Starwood chalet, maybe swimming or lazing in the Jacuzzi out on the deck that looked out to the mountains. Dick had always loved seeing the mountains through the steam rising from the hot water, he always thought it made the place look like a fantasyland; not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.
"Hey, Dick, I'm tired of pizza—how's about burgers tonight?"
"…Okay, burgers."
"God, it's not gonna kill you, dude." They were walking around town their fourth evening there, looking for their dinner, deciding on a meal like they'd done every night since they'd been there. Peter, hardly living on welfare, tried not to stare at the celebrities and the incredible wealth at every turn—all understated and Rocky Mountain High chic, of course. Bruce's chalet was the showplace he'd come to expect when dealing with anything his host owned but… "Hey, does it ever bother you?"
"What?"
"I dunno, all the money, people sucking up all the time. I mean—no offense—but your Mom and Dad didn't have a lot of bucks. Isn't this weird for you?"
"Yeah, it's weird, but Bruce really does give a lot away to charities and he even set up his own foundation for that and it's not like it's mine or anything, y'know? It's Bruce's. It's just, I dunno, it's—I sort of tune it out a lot I'm just sort of along for the ride."
"'Hell of a ride, Dude."
Dick gave him a look, half annoyance and half exasperation. "C'mon, you know it's not like that. Sure, Bruce has a lot of nice things, but it's not like he's some airhead jerk or anything. He works for what he has; okay, he inherited a lot, but he's built it up most of it himself. Besides, he usually let's me do pretty much my own thing; he's busy most of the time." Except for the non-stop Robin training, the insistence on honor roll grades and his being the perfect orphan kid to trot out whenever needed. No point in going into all that again. No point at all. Sometimes Dick thought it might have been easier in a lot of ways—if less pampered—to have just stayed in the Child Welfare system or moved in with Peter's family when he had the chance last year. But then he'd have to lose being Robin and he wouldn't do that—it was worth everything else.
Peter broke his darkening mood. "Yeah, whatever—he's been nice to me, that's for damn sure, anyway. Hey, I need a new pair of gloves—lost one on the ride back to the house this afternoon—left it in the cab or dropped it or something." They wandered into one of the town ski shops a block or so further on, Peter looking at the rack of gloves—none of which cost less than $50. The one he'd lost was from a decent Head pair his mother had picked up at Costco for $15 two years ago. Damn. He also noticed the two girls giving Dick the once over—something Dick seemed to completely miss, the bonehead.
Dick was looking over the goggles and wondering if there was any way he could pay for Peter's new gloves without embarrassing him when a salesclerk spoke to him. "Do I know you?"
"I don't think so, I've never been in here before."
"I do. I think I've seen you before—you hang around town a lot?"
Dick shrugged, shaking his head. "Not really. Maybe you saw us on a lift line or something." He went back to the goggles, the sales guy left to ring up a ski bunny buying a new ski jacket, the two girls now trying to strike up a conversation with Peter.
Ten minutes later, with help from the girls, Peter picked out his new gloves, Dick selected a new $200 pair of Smith goggles he didn't really need and took both things over to the register. The clerk was there as he handed over Bruce's credit card. He didn't bat an eye at the name.
It was when he reached behind him to get a bag that he made the connection. "That's where I know you from, I've been looking at you all season." He tapped a poster on the wall; Burton Snowboards promo team standing on a mountain in Chile last summer. Dick was on the junior team, standing on the far right of the line up. "You're one of the Burton Boarders, right?—damn, dude!—you gotta sign the poster, okay?"
(Also in Man on the Bench)
Peter and the two girls came over in time to see Dick, embarrassed and reluctantly scrawling his name with a sharpie across the corner of the Burton promo poster. "You gotta come back tomorrow, dude; the Burton rep—you know Eric? He's supposed to be here like eleven and he's gonna want to know you're around. He'll probably give you a new board or something, ask you to throw some tricks at the Winterskol, y'know?"
"Hey, look, I'm just on vacation, I'm not here for the company or anything so could you maybe keep it quiet? Please? He's a good guy, but I'm just here to chill, okay?"
"You're with one of the board companies? That is so totally cool!" The small blonde girl was looking at Dick with something approaching awe, her taller friend not far behind.
"Yeah, my cousin is awesome on a half-pipe. Burton had him touring South America last summer for them and everything—you should see him—maybe tomorrow? We could meet you on the hill?"
Dick looked daggers at Peter. "We have to get going, Cuz—dinner, remember?"
"We hadn't even decided where we wanted to go—maybe you'd like to join us?" The girls jumped at the chance, evidently having already decided that blonde would get Dick, while the one with the reddish hair staked a claim on Peter. "C'mon, Dick, we gotta eat. Ladies?"
Trapped, carrying the bag with the gloves and the goggles, Dick decided to make the best of it. What the hell—he was in Aspen with his cousin who doubled as one of his best friends. They had a couple of cute girls they'd impressed already and he was hungry. 'Go with the flow, Grayson', ran through his mind. "Does everyone like Elevation?" Everyone did. The restaurant, Elevation, was half a block down. It was supposed to be one of the best restaurants in town, bar none and that was saying something in this place.
It was crowded, of course, but the kids were seated at a table near a fireplace. They ordered their meals—steaks for the boys, salads for the girls with soda because of their ages. The girls started the conversation going.
"I'm Erin and this is my sister, Lisa." Erin was the blonde.
"I'm Peter and this is my cousin, Dick."
"So where are you guys from, anyway? East Coast?"
"I'm from Gotham, Peter is from Connecticut. What about you?"
"California—San Francisco. Do you come here a lot or is this your first trip? We've never been here before, we usually just go to Big Bear but this year Dad decided to splurge and—where are you staying?"
"Dick's guardian has a place here."
"He owns a condo? Omigod, you are so lucky—we're staying at Little Nell. It's okay, but it's a hotel, y'know? So you come here all the time, right?"
Dick wasn't about to let on Bruce's place wasn't some cheesy condo, but an Architectural Digest special and a local showplace. Forget that. "We try to get here once a year, but last year we didn't make it at all and the year before we ended up doing other stuff." They'd skied Gastaad—"And hotels have room service going for them—and laundry and everything. We have to do our own." When Alfred didn't do it for them.
Erin looked worried. "How much does this place cost? We only have like thirty dollars between us—we can go back to the room and get more, but we thought we'd just end up at KFC or someplace…"
"We invited you, it's our treat." Dick usually didn't throw money around, but once in a while…
"How did you get so good on a snowboard? I've been trying to learn some tricks for a couple of years and I'm okay on the basic moves, but the doubles and stuff are just really hard to nail."
"Dick is a gymnast and he transferred it to snow."
"Thank you, Peter and now shut up, please." Dick seemed really annoyed, something Peter had almost never seen with him. Modest? Embarrassed? He should be used to compliments by now but he'd been snarky since lunch—what crawled up his butt today?
The girls tried to diffuse it. "Maybe you could give me some pointers tomorrow? I mean, if you guys don't have any real plans or anything?"
Dick seemed to make an effort. "Sure. 'Sounds like fun."
The dinner went smoothly after that, they were nice girls and all four kids were having a good time after the brief hiccup. Finishing their meals, they decided to find a place for dancing. The Lava Lounge was a couple pf blocks away—live bands, lot's of people and the kids spent a couple hours dancing there before agreeing to meet the next day while on the walk back to Nell's.
"How are you two for boarding Ajax?" The girls looked dubious; it's a very big mountain geared mainly to experts. Dick had a quick solution, "Look, tell you what. We'll pick you up in your lobby at ten and take the bus over to Snowmass. Okay?" A couple of semi-chase kisses by the elevator up to their rooms and the two boys hailed a cab to take them back to Starwood, quick showers, questions from Alfred as to whether or not they'd had a good time and bed. Bruce was still out at some party.
The next morning they were back when the said they'd be and walked in to find Lisa and Erin waiting with their father.
"Dad wanted to meet you guys, okay?" Erin looked like she wanted to fall through the floor.
Dick, used to meeting adults and social trappings, walked over and shook hands. "Hello, I'm Dick Grayson and this is my cousin, Peter Simpson."
"I'm Mark Forest, good to meet you both." The father, a lawyer or accountant from the look of him, smiled; at least the kids knew the social basics. "You're planning on going over to Snowmass? How were you planning on getting there, cab?"
"There's a bus that runs, if that's all right with you."
"Well, Blair—Mrs. Forest, and I were going to try those slopes ourselves, so we'd be happy to give you a ride, if that's all right with you."
Dick and Peter exchanged a glance. Parents keeping a close eye on their daughters, fine, whatever. "That would be great, thanks. We have our stuff right outside, if you're all ready, we can load up."
Less than half an hour later they were riding first of the lifts that would take them up to the Burn. That's one of the beauties of skiing the Rockies—the mountains are so big that two or three runs fills a morning and another three or so takes care of the afternoon. Great trails, great snow and the sky the color called 'Aspen blue'—it was why they'd flown two thousand miles for this. The four teenagers split off from the girl's parents after the first run, opting for the more difficult slopes and agreeing to either meet up later or call for more details. The kids, the two couples were getting along well, despite Dick being a little bored at having to hold back so much so the others could keep up. He was used to that, but it still irritated him, especially when he was trying to let loose and have fun. Luckily Erin could board fairly well, was pretty and seemed like someone he could stand to be around for more than ten minutes and Peter seemed ready to practically propose to Lisa…talk about stars in his eyes. They broke for lunch up on the hill at Sam's Knob, eating their food out on the deck, enjoying the incredible view and good company and planning dinner together.
Alfred, taking advantage of everyone eating almost every meal out, allowed himself the time to actually relax, while keeping a close eye on three his charges while seeming to be merely either reading or gallery hopping, indulging being able to treat himself to his own pleasures.
…Until late Thursday afternoon when he got the call from the ski patrol letting him know Dick was being brought down the mountain on a sled and would be ambulanced to Aspen Valley Hospital. He was unconscious after a fall and, while the details were still sketchy, it seemed to have involved a wipeout on a half pipe. But Ajax didn't have a half pipe. No, the boy had been injured over at Snowmass, a good fifteen or twenty minute ride from Aspen proper. Going to the study immediately, Alfred informed the Master. The kids had probably hitched or taken a bus or cab over to the other mountain. Good Lord. They were supposed to check in and report any changes in plans. They both knew this and Dick certainly knew better than to just take off. Enough—this side of things would be dealt with after they knew the real situation.
Bruce and Alfred arrived at the ER entrance inside of five minutes, running in to find Dick was still in transit.
Pacing, outwardly maintaining calm and control, both men were beside themselves with worry. Dick had been injured any number of times before, but not knowing the extent of the problem, not even being completely sure he was still alive was every parent's worse nightmare. The head of ER tried to help, telling them what little he could from initial radio reports—the accident happened at the Pipeline Park lower on the mountain, on the expert pipe called Velvet falls and the ski patrol would be taking it slow, being as careful as they could. It was normal for things to take a little while, this wasn't unusual. They'd be here soon.
Bruce saw one of the nurses look up in some surprise when the doctor mentioned the name of the pipe—then glance at her watch, looking a question at another nurse beside her.
Bruce shook his head, after everything Dick dealt with on a day-to-day basis, all the things he did that were dangerous, for him to have an accident on a slope was almost in the realm of impossible to believe. Yes, of course he could make a mistake, lose his balance, catch an edge, but Dick could ski or board anything, anywhere under any circumstances. He really was that good. Dick was an expert skier—he'd learned from his parents when he was still a toddler and he'd been boarding since he was eleven. He could handle anything, and had—the Rockies, the Alps. He was good, better than Bruce. Just last winter he'd been offered that sponsorship deal from Burton snowboards. Bruce had been furious at the time, thinking his secret identity could have been compromised, but he'd relented and allowed Dick to travel with them for five weeks last summer, proud of the boy's talent.
Finally after twenty minutes which could have been days and with radio reports coming in giving vital signs (thank God he was still alive, at least), they saw the flashing lights pull up to the entrance, doctors and nurses going out to meet the stretcher that was wheeled directly into one of the treatment cubicles. All Bruce could see was a figure wrapped in blankets, an IV drip of some kind going and blood on both the blanket and the pillow. Dick's head was wrapped in some kind of heavy bandages and his neck was in a standard collar. His hair, what they could see of it, was matted down, his skin white despite his usual tan.
His eyes were closed and he seemed unresponsive.
Peter, frightened to death, silently sat on one of the hard plastic chairs, still wearing his snowboarding boots and there were other people, strangers around him who had come in at the same time the ambulance had pulled in. He was close to tears as Alfred managed to sit next to him, speaking quietly.
Delivered into the trauma room, Bruce could do nothing but wait while the medical people did what they could to determine the extent of Dick's injuries and decide what they would do. Seeing one of the paramedics leaving, Bruce took his arm. "What can you tell me?"
"Is he a relative, sir?"
"My son."
"What's his name?"
"Dick. Dick Grayson." One of the nurses heard his answer and started talking behind the curtain. "Dick? Dick, can you hear me? If you can hear me I need you to squeeze my hand. Dick…"
The paramedic—his nametag said 'Tim', spoke to Bruce again, pulling his attention partially away from what was going on a few feet away. "The ski patrol told me that he was coming down the big half-pipe, picking up speed for a triple of some kind—do you know the run?" Bruce shook his head; Dick did a lot of things on slopes he stayed away from. "It's over on it's own section of the hill, expert only kinda pipe. It can be a tough stretch and I heard it was pretty icy today. Anyway, he was up there and probably caught an edge or got distracted or something, I dunno, I wasn't there or anything. It looks like he was probably going pretty fast and kinda lost control then slid into a tree or support over on the side."
Jesus. "How bad?"
Tim shrugged and had this look of pity in his eyes. That, more than anything, scared the hell out of Bruce. "He looks like he dislocated his shoulder, maybe broke it." That wasn't so big deal. "And he hit his head, I don't know how hard. They'll find that out as soon as they can." Tim put his hand on Bruce's shoulder, neither knowing nor likely caring who he was beyond being a terrified parent, like the ones he saw almost every day. "They're good here, your son's in good hands, okay?" His radio made crackling sound. "I have to go, but they'll do whatever has to be done for him—you can count on it."
If it wasn't too late. If anything could be done.
He walked over to the admitting nurse. "Do they have diagnostic equipment for head injuries here? CAT's? MRI?"
She'd seen this controlled panic before, she was as used to it as the others, and she was used to dealing with people who could get whatever they wanted or needed with a phone call or a look. Whoever this guy was, he was one of those—rich, powerful and going to move heaven and hell to get what he wanted. "Yes, sir, we have state of the art facilities and the people to run them. Forgive me, but do you have your son's insurance card with you? And I need you to sign some release forms, if you could."
"Uh, Alfred?" He looked over at the old man, stoically sitting next to Peter near the examining room, trying to see past the crowd working around Dick.
"It should be in his wallet, I would think." The admitting nurse made her way in, gathered Dick's clothing and went back to the desk. Going through the zipped pockets of his jacket, she found an obviously expensive wallet along with a tube of chapstick.
"Would you prefer to get the card out for me, sir?" Bruce did so, handing over the piece of plastic for the woman to Xerox, idly going through the other contents while he waited: a hundred dollars, two credit cards, a few candid pictures of the Titans in street clothes, his student ID card, his learner's permit and not much else. This could be the wallet of any rich kid in a place like Aspen, there was nothing to set him apart from he usual crowd you'd find in this sort of resort town in season. 'Just another spoiled rich kid having a good time.
Then they had to wait.
"Mr. Grayson?" The man who'd come in with Dick was next to him.
"Wayne. My name is Bruce Wayne. Dick is my son."
Whatever. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it that moment. T would come to him eventually. "I'm Mark Forest, this is my wife and daughters, Dick was with us today on the hill. Well, he was really with my girls and his cousin here."
"Do you know what happened?"
"The kids went off on their own, we weren't at the half pipe when he got hurt. We were in the village waiting for the kids to meet us…"
Bruce dismissed him as soon as he heard he didn't really now anything. "Peter?" The boy looked up at Dick's whatever he was; guardian, Dad, whatever—his Bruce. "Was Dick wearing his helmet on the pipe?"
He hesitated and that told Bruce what he'd feared. "Um, we weren't going to do tricks—honest. We were just going to board Snowmass—we were up on the Burn and it was getting late so we were going for one last run. We got down and were in the Village—we were going to get some hot chocolate and then the Forest's were going to give us a ride back, but then Dick saw the half pipes and, um, you know—he just wanted to try them."
"So he didn't have his helmet with him?"
"We weren't going to do tricks—I swear. We were just going cruising, but he saw the pipes and we were just going to make like one run, but then he wanted to go again and the pipe was in shade by then and it was kind of icy and they were starting to close down but he wanted one more run so he was going really fast 'cause I think he wanted to throw a triple but his board seemed to catch on something and it spun him around, but he was at the top of the pipe and he fell."
"How did he land, Peter? Dick knows how to fall—how did he land, what happened?"
Peter was closer to tears. "He landed on his shoulder and he just kinda went limp and then he skidded on the ice and slid into a tree. I got there as fast as I could and the ski patrol was right there, but…" He had tears on his face, unnoticed. "He was bleeding and he was unconscious. They got the board for him and a doctor and they called the ambulance. I gave them your number ad I guess they called you, too, right?" Bruce nodded. "They let me ride with them and he didn't wake up the whole trip here."
"Excuse me, are you Dick's father?" One of the doctors came out of the examining cubicle. "I'm Brad Wilson, head of emergency medicine."
"Bruce Wayne. Yes, he's my son. Is he…?"
"He's starting to regain consciousness, but he's pretty groggy. We're going to take him up for an MRI, see what we can about his skull and vertebra and we need to get a picture of his shoulder and clavicle as well."
"Can you tell me anything yet?"
"Mr.…Wayne? I know you're anxious, but I can give you an educated guess now or I can give you an informed opinion in fifteen or twenty minutes."
TBC
7/1/05
11