Wicked – Chapter 9

By Christopher W. Blaine

DISCLAIMER: All of the characters and events portrayed in this work of fan fiction are ©2004 by DC Comics Inc. and are used without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2004 by Christopher W. Blaine.

Ted sipped up the coffee which Alfred had prepared for him and studied the sleeping figure on the monitor. The night-vision camera was something of a wonder and it still amazed him that Alfred had been able to secure it. Apparently the Wayne Fortune, or at least the butler's discretionary account, was vast because Ted knew that this was military grade stuff, not available for the average consumer. Yet he had asked for it and it had been delivered; a Christmas morning for any security specialist.

Bruce Wayne did not sleep like a normal child. Ted had dated enough single mothers in his life that he knew what the typical youngster looked like when they slept. He likened it to what he must look like without the unshaven face and beer bottles surrounding the head. But Bruce was different and every time he watched the boy slumber, he got chills.

The boy never moved, unless he was having nightmares, and he had nightmares all of the time. Sometimes his eyes would pop open, though he would still be asleep, and Ted would see pure rage in them. Not the melancholy sadness that one could find there during the waking hours, but instead a burning need for revenge. He had seen the look too many times, especially after Pearl Harbor.

He occasionally shouted out words like "mom" or "dad", but mostly he roared out "I'm sorry" and Ted could watch his neck muscles grow taut. There was a hurricane brewing in the soul of Bruce Wayne and nothing seemed to be able to stop it. He was full of remorse, anger and guilt; a deadly cocktail that would spell his doom if someone did not do something. But, he told himself, Alfred was oblivious to it all. He saw a young child he wanted to save, as if to absolve himself of some unseen guilt.

Leslie Thompkins was worse. She was a smart one, Ted knew, and actually wouldn't be half-bad looking if she maybe dropped the doctor's uniform and glasses and exchanged them for a six pack and a box of condoms. She was trying to be a mother to a child she really knew nothing about and she was failing. Some women just weren't the motherly type and she was instead trying to somehow suckle him with intelligence.

All of the brains in the world couldn't help a broken heart. Ted had considered calling Dr. Charles McNider who was his former teammate Dr. Mid-Nite. Charlie was not just a good egg, but he understood kids as well, but he had hesitated. Ted's mother had told him that all of the world's problems, no matter how big or small, could be solved with love. There was no doubting the love that both Leslie and Alfred had for Bruce, but neither were able to properly express it. Alfred was overbearing at times (though smart enough to hire proper security given Bruce's desire to run off into the city) and Leslie wanted to let him "express himself".

Ted had had enough of that hippie-crap back in the old days; what the boy needed was his mom and dad and he was never going to get them. And Ted wondered if somehow the entire world was going to pay for this boy's lack of real parenting. How would he turn out? Would he become a monster or a messiah?

"His fate is tied with the destiny of all of mankind," a cryptic voice said from behind him.

Ted gave a small shout and started to fall back. Only his Olympic-level reflexes saved him from falling on his butt. Instead he rolled out of the chair and down into a crouch, two fists at the ready to strike. His eyes took in the form in front of him and he relaxed. "Damn it, Spooky, why the hell did you do that?" he said as he stood up.

The Spectre, pale skinned and clad in the deep green cloak that would only look good on him, said nothing but continued to stare. "Yo, Corrigan, I'm talking to you," Ted said as he grabbed his chair and shoved it under the desk. "Best be using that magic of yours to clean my shorts out after that!"

The Spectre seemed to sigh. "Why is that you always tempt my wrath?" he asked.

"Oh, please, keep that damn high and mighty stuff to yourself. I'm working on something in the real world, Spooky..."

"The son of Thomas Wayne is standing at a crossroads, at a nexus of the Plan," the Spectre said, his voice having a chilling effect on the air in the room. Ted shoved his hands in his pockets and decided to keep his mouth shut for a few minutes. He had not seen the Spectre in years, but then the Justice Society hadn't been having regular meetings either.

The Spectre had claimed to be a representative of God, some sort of spirit of vengeance, but Ted didn't know if he believed it. When you could watch someone move mountains with a power ring, what was so special about the Almighty? "Still you allow your mind to wander," the spirit-being admonished him.

"Stop reading my mind, Spooky," Ted ordered. "I know I'm a sinner and a damn good one. So I don't give you my full attention? Big deal!" He turned back to the monitor and watched Bruce. "If you're so interested in bringing down the bad guys, why don't you get the bastard that killed his parents." Ted turned around and pointed a finger at the Spectre. "For that matter, where were you when they were murdered?"

"Where were you, Wildcat?"

"I can't be everywhere," Ted replied, knowing it was a pointless argument.

"Dinah is back in the city."

He nodded and grabbed his cup of coffee, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "That makes sense since she is from here."

"It is good to help your friends."

"You came all the way down here from the Big House in the Sky to tell me that? Why don't you do something like make that kid mind me?"

He thought he heard a chuckle coming from beneath the Spectre's hood. It was an unnatural sound, something that could not be described as human...ever. "Nobody, at least none that I can think of, will ever make Bruce Wayne do anything." Then his eyes began to glow and Ted felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He now realized that he had never been alone with the Spectre before and he secretly wished someone like Dr. Fate or Green Lantern would suddenly appear. "Time is of the essence, Theodore Grant. You have been given a most important task and your efforts must succeed."

"Is that your way of saying good luck, the kid is smarter than you?" he asked, hoping the joke would warm the air.

The audio monitor picked up Bruce's scream. "Mom!" Ted saw the boy thrashing in his bed and he froze. It was a nightmare; the boy was not in real danger. Did he approach the boy or did he call Alfred? He turned to the Spectre, but he was gone. "Asshole," he grumbled, making his decision. He exited the small office and made his way through the manner. One of the guards he had hired on saw him and tried to ask a question. When he observed Ted's face, he let the question hang in the air and immediately fell in behind him.

The guard reached into his jacket and pulled out his automatic pistol. He said nothing but instead flipped the safety off and only slowed when Ted kicked open Bruce's door. The boy was still screaming for his mother, fighting off invisible demons. Ted jumped across the space between the door and the bed and reached out to the boy. "Kid! Kid! Wake up!"

Bruce's eyes flipped open and looked beyond Ted's shoulder. In the doorway the guard was silhouetted, his pistol in hand, held up slightly. A gut wrenching cry emitted from Bruce's throat and he threw all of his weight into a neck strike, a shudo. Caught off guard, Ted tumbled out of the bed.

The guard only saw what he thought to be an animal coming at him; disheveled and roaring like a wounded lion, Bruce slammed into him. "No! No! Get away from my mother! Get Away!" Bruce began pummeling the guard as they went down into the hallway. The gun tumbled away and Alfred scooped it up in one deft motion as he came to the rescue.

Ted cursed and got up, rubbing his neck. Part of him was impressed; Bruce had learned something in those martial arts classes and he had acted out of reflex. He was a natural fighter. He was also a sloppy one as he watched the guard easily block the blows coming at his head. Alfred was trying to pull Bruce off, but the boy was yelling at the top of his lungs for his mother to run.

Ted came up and gently pushed Alfred away. The butler wanted to protest, but the look in Ted's eyes told him that he had an idea. Alfred relented and Ted leaned in close. "She got away, son; you did good. She's safe."

Bruce stiffened and the fell into Ted's arms. "My word, is he hurt?" Alfred asked.

Ted Scooped up the limp form of the heir to the Wayne fortune and looked to his guard. "Hey, dumbass, I thought you were a professional! You let a kid knock your gun away?"

The helpless employee said nothing. It was one thing to get knocked down, it was another to be disarmed. "Better not happen again. You okay?"

The guard said he was and accepted the offered weapon from Alfred. "Mr. Grant, you still have not answered my question!"

Ted nodded and carried Bruce into the bedroom and placed him gingerly into the bed. He covered him up and then motioned for them to step outside. Once the door was closed he started to rub his neck. "Damn it, Pennyworth, that kid needs some real help! You keep fraggin' around and not take this crap seriously..."

"It is the anniversary of his parent's death, Mr. Grant," Alfred began, only the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. "It is a day I do not relish either. I have nightmares just as he does. I loved them as well, as if they were members of my own family." Alfred straightened slightly and put his hands behind his back. "You insist on providing me with your 'expert' advice concerning the well-being of Master Bruce, yet you fail to realize that we have gone down these roads already. Master Bruce refuses to speak with anyone about what happened that night. I have exhausted every avenue imaginable and every professional Ms. Thompkins and I have consulted have all said the same thing: commit the child to a special home."

Alfred paused and Ted suddenly felt very small. "I will not throw him away. I will not give up on him. If he is half the man his father was and has half the heart his mother had, he will come through this. I agree that he will not be the type of person who has dinner parties and sings songs around the piano next to the fireplace, Mr. Grant, but I do sincerely believe that the Creator has something special in mind for him."

Ted was suddenly reminded of his conversation with the Spectre. There had been mention of something like fate or destiny. "I...I just want to help..."

"Indeed and you are, Mr. Grant. I do not want Master Bruce to go back to that city, but as I explained, I do not believe the ability to stop him has yet to be created. Whatever it is he is looking for, whatever the path is that he must follow in life, unfortunately must begin there, at that spot. At that dreadful, awful spot."

Ted said nothing more, but instead watched as the butler shuffled off to his own room. He tried to understand the depth of anguish the other man was feeling, but he had no frame of reference. It was like being in a madhouse and at the same time it wasn't. Maybe Alfred and Bruce and Leslie were more normal than he had given them credit for. Maybe he had expected that because there was a lot of money involved, that somehow they would handle the problems differently.

But they didn't. They struggled through life the same way every one else did. Sometimes they did something right by design, sometimes they did something wrong by accident. He supposed that it had to do with his own background. As a kid growing up at the beginning of the twentieth century, he had been on the wrong side of the tracks, always looking across at the people who had, it seemed, everything. He had convinced himself a long time ago that if you had enough money, then you could fix anything.

Now that he was several decades older, but not too much wiser, he understood it was not that way. Bruce could have been anyone's son and all of his money could not help him. He needed closure, or at least a kick in the right direction. Alfred had hoped that love and attention would be enough, but instead Bruce needed to go back to that point and see if there was anything he could have done.

It all made sense now! It wasn't that he blamed himself, completely, he was trying to sort it out. Did he make a mistake? If he did, could he forgive himself? Could he really have saved his mother?

Were these the questions a young boy should be asking? Ted remembered his years at that age and his questions were more of "now that I know what its used for, who do I give it to? Sally? Suzy? Mary?"

But there was more to it. Once Bruce Wayne decided that he could have done nothing that night to stop his parent's murder, what would he do next? How does one cope with such a loss? What does it do to a man.

Ted turned and looked at the door, rubbed his neck, and made his way back to his little security office.