Title: Teenagers Part Three

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, yes. It's a holiday weekend, I didn't want to bother anyone so blame me for mistakes.

Teenagers…

Part Three

Bruce and Alfred took turns keeping watch in Dick's hospital room that first night, and the Forests took watch over Peter, allowing him to stay on a cot in the girl's room over at Little Nell so he wouldn't be alone. They found out that Dick had a severe concussion, though the CT scan showed no skull fracture. His right shoulder, the one that took the brunt of the impact, was dislocated but has been repositioned and he'd fractured the clavicle, though not badly at all. His back and side were badly bruised, but it appeared to be superficial. He had an egg on his head and a black eye. There was no serious damage to either his neck or back. He had no apparent spinal cord damage.

He'd been lucky.

Bruce was furious.

Dick and his cousin had decided to board a hill without telling anyone where they were going to be. He'd been showing off and he'd been doing tricks without a helmet. In addition to that, he'd taken a last run at the end of the day when his legs were tired, knowing that the pipe was icy, in shade and closing down. Then he'd tried to pull a triple flip to impress a girl—for God's sake, he'd been performing since he was four years old, wasn't he beyond this sort of garbage yet? Hormones or not, he knew better.

Besides all that, Dick knew full well that when he was injured it affected not just him and Alfred who would end up dealing with his care, plus it affected the efficiency of Batman and the Titans as well.

He knew this. It had been drilled into him time and again over the years, Bruce thought he understood and now he goes and pulls a lame stunt like this…

He was acting like a spoiled brat lately, not the disciplined crime fighter and professional athlete he'd been trained to be—and this was coming on top of his moodiness over the last few months and his deplorable behavior at school a couple of weeks ago. This kind of defiance and flat out stupidity was unacceptable and it would stop. One way or another, it would stop.

Dick slept most of the night, being woken every hour to make sure he wasn't slipping into coma or deep unconsciousness from the hit on the head. If he checked out in the morning, he would be released, but would have to wear a sling to help his collarbone heal. And that was another thing; as soon as the Burton rep for the West coast found out how one of their up and coming stars had managed to distinguish himself while blowing off a request to please throw a couple of tricks while they were all in Snowmass—something else Bruce was unaware of—the man had brought flowers, asked how Dick was and politely said they would be reevaluating whether or not Dick was the kind of role model they were looking for.

Great. Not that Dick needed the job or anything, but to be let go? To be let go for blatant stupidity?

Bruce was furious.

By eight the next morning Dick was awake for good. He was also sore, hungry and anxious about the extent of his injuries, though suspected they weren't anything to really get too excited about—especially allowing for the stuff he'd been through in the last few years.

One glance at Bruce, staring at him from the hospital bed next to his and he also knew he was in serious trouble.

"How do you feel?"

"All right. How am I?"

Bruce sat up and swung his feet around so he could stand up. "You'll live." He walked out to the hallway where Dick could hear voices. A few minutes later a nurse came in, took his vitals, smiled at him and promised that the doctor would be in soon. "Where's Bruce?"

"Mr. Wayne asked me to tell you that he was going home to shower and change. Did you want anything?"

"…No, thanks." She smiled at him again and left, leaving the door open. Half an hour or so later Dr. Wilson came in, gave him another once over, asked if he had a headache—he did—or any double vision or dizziness—he lied and said he didn't, looked over his chart and pronounced him ready to be discharged. A few last minute instructions about taking it easy and to see his regular doctor when he got home, be careful till his collar bone healed, stay off the slopes for a few weeks and he should be as good as new—and be sure to remember his helmet next time. If he felt badly or noticed any symptoms, he should give them a call, but he looked pretty good, considering.

"All right, is your Dad here? I'll just release you to his care and you can go."

"He's busy right now so if you could just sign me out, I can get a cab back to the house." He saw the look the doctor gave him. "Really, I'll be fine, it's just a couple of miles from here, like a five minute drive."

"You mind if I call first to make sure someone is there?"

Shrugging a 'no', Dick gave him the number. Evidently Alfred answered and insisted he'd be right there to pick up the poor boy. Dick, hearing this, was annoyed. He wasn't a little kid and he was perfectly capable of dealing with a taxi but went along with it to simplify things. Then it occurred to him his clothes were shredded where they'd been cut off of him yesterday.

Damnit. If Alfred didn't think to bring anything—but of course he did. Alfred arrived in about fifteen minutes with clean jeans, sweater, underwear, socks and sneakers. Twenty minutes later the papers were signed, he was dressed and headed back to the chalet.

"Where's Peter?"

"Master Peter called this morning inquiring as to your health and then said he would be snowboarding with the two young ladies you were in the company of yesterday. They hope you'll feel up to joining them later for dinner."

"Bruce?"

A sigh, then, "Master Bruce is somewhat upset with you at the moment. I suspect he'll wish to discuss your misadventure shortly."

"Alfred? I'm sorry you were worried about me. I really am."

Alfred took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at Dick—that in itself told the boy how much he'd upset the old man. "I know that, and I know how difficult it is to maintain all of one's ducks in line at one time while having to keep several of them invisible. I just wish you fully believed how many people truly care deeply about you."

Whatever he'd expected, that wasn't it and Dick had no ready or glib answer. "…I do know, Alfred."

"No, my lad, I don't believe you do quite yet."

Alfred helped Dick into the living room—a much less formal place than the one at the Manor, and had him settled in front of the large TV, snacks and soda close at hand and was glad to see the boy asleep on the couch half an hour later. The shock of the accident and his injuries along with his sleep being interrupted every hour last night ensured his exhaustion. The Master was in the study involved with one of his endless conference calls back to Gotham and had a charity dinner at the Hotel Jerome to attend later. With any luck things would be calm today, Dick's inevitable chastisement being postponed for a day or two until everyone was feeling better and had gained some perspective on what had happened.

Dick slept through to about five and then only woke because Peter sat on the edge of the couch. "You okay?"

He stretched a little, wincing as he pulled something he shouldn't have. "Better, I'm good."

"'You up for dinner or would you rather stay here—you want to order in or something? The girls said they'd join us either way and they understand if you want to beg off."

Dick sat up, a little stiffly, yawning. "No, I'll go. Where are we going?" He swayed slightly and his head was killing him. "Maybe ordering in is an idea."

Peter smiled—he'd figured as much. "I'll call Erin and Lisa to cab over, okay?" He made the call, they'd be there as soon as they could." The two settled back on the couch to wait. "So, Bruce tear you a new one or something?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure he will." Dick tried for cocky, but didn't quite pull it off and knew it. "It's just…He expects me to be perfect all the time, y'know? Honor Roll, varsity letters, dragging me to society dinners, spending a couple of days every month at Wayne Headquarters and then if I do something wrong, if I screw up he's…" Dick didn't bother to keep going.

"If you screw up he's disappointed."

"Right. And I don't want that, I mean shit—he took me in and all of that, y'know? We're sitting in his ski chalet in Aspen, which we flew to on one of his private jets, for Christ's sake. Last year we were at his island in the Bahamas. Oh hell, that's not what I mean, the money, the things and the trips and all of that are great but it's a lot more than that. After my parents were killed it was, I didn't know how…I just…I owe him everything and when I disappoint him it makes me feel really crummy."

Peter knew Dick felt a lot of different things about Bruce, but they'd never really talked about it. Dick would deflect him with a joke or something, but it was always pretty clear that he didn't want to go there—until right now, anyway. "Well, sure, but he still really expects a lot from you—we've all seen it, Dick. He has you on a really short leash."

"I know that and it's something I kinda agreed to, but if it wasn't for him I'd have…there's a lot he's done for me, a lot he's taught me and let me try on my own, stuff that no one knows about. I know he trusts me…most of the time anyway, but sometimes I think I'm disappointing him or maybe I'm not the kid he should be working with."

Peter was watching Dick as he tried to explain. What an odd thing for Dick to say.

"It's like, I know he loves me and all of that, but sometimes he's so busy it's like I'm one of his employees, like I have to schedule an appointment with his secretary or something if I want to talk to him. Then I get mad at myself for whining because I know how busy he is. It's like the grades and all that stuff, even the thing with repping for Burton—I'm afraid of screwing up because it will reflect badly on Bruce and then I resent that I have all this pressure on me. I keep it to myself most of the time, but once in a while it all kind of builds up."

"Like…?"

"Like that thing with the teacher when I called her a cunt. I knew what I was doing and I knew Bruce and Alfred would be embarrassed and angry, but it was like they weren't there so I could say what I really thought for once."

"You lost me, Cuz. What are you talking about?"

Dick tried again; he really wanted Peter to understand. "It's as if he expects me to be perfect all the time, and then he can forget about me. If I'm perfect I'm invisible. Does that make any sense?"

"So you purposely mess up sometimes so he'll notice you're around."

"I guess—but then I feel like a jackass for doing something stupid."

"Like trying a triple on an icy pipe without a helmet when you're tired." They heard a car pulling up outside, the girls were probably here. "Have you ever said any of this to Bruce?"

The doorbell rang and they could hear Alfred opening the door. "Of course not."

"You should."

Then the girls were walking in, making a fuss over Dick and handing him flowers, balloons and candy while kissing his cheeks and demanding to know how he felt, should they leave and what did he want to eat—they'd order anything he wanted or even cook. One look from Alfred was enough to stop that idea cold, but the atmosphere lightened by at least twenty degrees while they exclaimed over the beauty of the house, the view and anything else they could think of to compliment.

Erin sat herself beside Dick on the couch; Lisa and Peter had a large chair by the fireplace.

Erin held Dick's good arm, "So are you okay, Dick? That fall was awful—I was scared to death and then when you were unconscious for so long, it was really awful. You're all right? And my parents, they thought you were dead or something—Dad kept talking about brain injuries and you ending up a quadriplegic or something and then he found out your Dad is Bruce Wayne and he thought his ass was going to be sooooo sued."

"I'm just a little sore, that's all, I'll get a good night's sleep and in the morning I'll be good to go. You'll see, I'll probably be back on the hill tomorrow. And Bruce would only sue if I were dead or something. Well, probably."

Erin leaned over and kissed his cheek, then moved over a bit to his mouth and may have moved on from there if they hadn't heard Alfred's discrete cough in the doorway. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I understand you may wish to order something from one of the local establishments? I have the collection of menus here for your perusal." He handed over a sheaf of vari-colored, stiff papers. "I shall be retiring to my room, but should the need arise, you are to call me immediately. Is that clear? I also assume you will have the sense not to over-extend yourself, Master Dick, and please remain at home this evening. Master Bruce is expected to return before ten. Any questions?" Everyone shook their heads 'no'. "Fine. I assume that you will deport yourselves like the young ladies and gentlemen you are and shall not do anything to embarrass either yourselves or the dignity of the household. Is that clear? Very well."

Alfred's exit to the far section of the house was cause for a collective sigh of relief. "How do you live like this, Cuz? God."

"Alfred is okay, he really is—you just have to understand where he's coming from, that's all. Alfred is…Alfred is great when you get to know him—and you did catch that he was almost busting a gut trying not to laugh, didn't you? He was getting a kick out of that whole thing just now."

" 'Dry English humor'?"

"Professional grade."

"Okay, who wants what to eat?"

They went through their options, which were pretty extensive with almost all the restaurants in Aspen to choose from, finally settling on Italian, which was called in and delivered within about forty-five minutes. It was, of course, incredibly good. Peter put a screener copy of the new Star Wars flick Bruce had for some reason in the DVD and they got comfortable while they ate, Dick and Erin still on the couch and Peter and Lisa on a pile of large pillows on the floor.

"Does your shoulder hurt? Are you okay?" Erin was snuggling against his uninjured side, Dick's arm around her and she was holding his hand where it was draped over her. "I could move if this is uncomfortable…" It was clear moving was the last thing on her mind and the smile he gave her made it clear he not only felt better, but had no immediate plans of going anywhere. "And you broke your collar bone, too—that must feel terrible."

"It was just a fracture, not a break." She gave him a look of horror. "A small hairline fracture. It's fine." And a lot less serious than he'd had before, though he wasn't about to tell her that. Erin held her face up in an obvious ploy to be kissed and Dick obliged. Neither of them paid too much attention to the rest of the film, but with Alfred home and the other two less than ten feet away, it didn't go beyond kissing—besides, precocious though Dick may have been in a lot of areas, he still was hurting and he was still at heart the good Catholic boy his mother had raised him to be.

The movie played along and was pretty good, if you liked Star Wars. When the closing credits rolled, Peter glanced at the clock, the first time he'd looked up since the film started, though Dick caught some serious action going on between him and Lisa when the lights were turned down. "Hey, Dick, do you think Bruce would mind of we used the pool?"

Dick looked at Peter as if he'd lost his mind. "Why would he care? Everyone up for it?"

Alfred chose this moment to flick the light back up to full brightness and wander through, obviously checking up on them and pretending he was just delivering fresh baked cookies.

"Okay if we go swimming?"

"I assume the young ladies know how to swim and you'll show them where we keep the guest bathing suits?"

Lisa and Erin looked like this was the something their mother had warned them about. Dick talked fast. "There are a bunch in the changing room, I'm sure there'll be something there that will fit you—you want to?"

"You're sure?"

"Well, I'm not up for laps, but I could get into the Jacuzzi." Truth be told, Dick's collarbone and shoulder were killing him and his head hurt like a bitch. Maybe he could pop one of those pain pills the doctor had given him when he was discharged.

"Let's do it!" Peter was pulling Lisa to her feet and Erin was helping Dick up. "I have my suit up in my room—Peter, could you show them where to go? I'll be down in a minute, okay?"

Alfred started picking up the used glasses and plates, Peter immediately helping him, the girls joining in. Dick was spared because of his injuries.

About an hour later soft music was playing with only the underwater lights on to cast moving liquid shadows around the room. Peter and Lisa were in the pool playing around with a pool toy you could sort of play toss with underwater and Dick was kissing Erin in the whirlpool when Bruce walked in, looking daggers.

"I see you're feeling better." The cold water was effectively thrown on the evening. The four kids stopped what they were doing and after embarrassed 'Hello Mr. Wayne's', the girls went to change back into their own clothes, Peter slunk off to change and help them get back to their hotel—Alfred volunteering to drive them and Dick was left alone with Bruce, wrapped in a large towel and being careful of his right side.

"We weren't doing anything, Bruce."

Bruce deigned not to offer a retort to that, however—"Get dried off and meet me upstairs. I want to talk with you." He was gone before Dick could say anything and, knowing there was no point in arguing, he did what Bruce asked.

Walking into the living room, still set up for the movie they'd watched, Dick sat across from Bruce in one of the big leather armchairs, Bruce was in the companion chair and a low table separated them. Dick's arm was in the sling and he was back in his jeans and sweater, the one Alfred gave him for Christmas.

"So I take it you are, in fact, feeling better?"

"I'm fine." His shoulder throbbed and his head was killing him.

"Good, so you're well enough to hear what I have to say to you."

Dick made a conscious effort not to roll his eyes at the melodrama even though he realized he was talking to the Bat and not Bruce right now. It was something about the set of the eyes and the mouth—unmistakable. "Just say whatever's on your mind, Bruce."

"All right. I know you've been going through a rough patch the last few months and I know there are things you're not happy about, but, frankly, I've had enough of it and I want it to stop. Talk to me or Alfred or whomever about what's troubling you, deal with it and stop the tantrums. You're too old for them and they're starting to get in the way of business. That stunt you pulled yesterday over at Snowmass was just the latest in a series and it's stopping now. Do hear what I'm saying?"

"Clear as a bell." Angry at the flippant answer, Bruce's mouth compressed into a thin line. Something about the expression struck a chord in Dick; he'd seen that same look on his real father's face once when he was about five and someone, some townie had made a suggestive and crude comment to his mother. It wasn't just anger, the look was hurt and something like defeat, as if he'd done everything he could think of and it wasn't enough to protect someone he loved. Dick knew the hurt was his fault and that twinged at his conscience. The truth was that he loved Bruce, much as they'd been clashing lately and Bruce saw Dick's face soften as he dropped the hard veneer he'd come into the room with.

Bruce's voice softened in response, the Bat was gone for now. "I've been thinking and maybe it would be a good idea if Robin backed off with the crime busting for a while." He held up his hand to stop the protest. "I just think it may be unfair to ask this much from you—your grades, helping me, leading the Titans, trying to maintain some kind of life as yourself and then the travel with Burton. Maybe we should think about letting some of it go for now and give you time to settle down a bit."

Dick went cold and it was as if he was in a space warp or something. Bruce was talking and he could hear what he was saying but it didn't make sense. He was being fired. Bruce was saying he didn't think he could cut it, couldn't handle everything. Bruce thought he was screwing up or it was too much for him or something.

Shit, he'd been right all along. Bruce thought that his being Robin was a mistake and if he thought that then he had to think his leading the Titans was a mistake too. A sidekick, he'd been the first and most people though he was the best, but if Bruce thought it was too much for him, then…And the thing with school, with his being suspended and getting hurt yesterday showing off—those things had just confirmed it.

"…Well, if you think that would be best, sure Bruce. You may be right."

TBC

7/3/05