Title: Accident. One Year On. Part two/conclusion

Author: Simon

Characters: Bruce/Alfred/ the Bat Family

Rating: PG, I guess. Some language.

Summary: Sequel to Accident. One year after Dick was killed in a car accident

Warnings: none, really, a little language but not much

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. to Char for the legal stuff—any mistakes are all mine, not hers. And much thanks to Scott for beta—any mistakes are all mine and ones he probably told me to fix.

Accident

One Year On. Conclusion

Alfred answered the knock on the kitchen door, surprised to see young Master Roy standing there holding a cardboard box. He'd apologized a dozen times, sometimes in tears, sometimes with anger after the accident, but Master Bruce had refused to speak to the boy or even remain in the same room after nominally forgiving him the night in the ER. Alfred's thoughts went back to that awful morning, after calling a funeral home, choosing the casket and making the other arrangements. He and Bruce sat in this same kitchen over tea. Bruce had been quiet, both of them deeply grieving and in the initial shock when Alfred had said almost to himself, "It could have happened to anyone, skidding on ice like that."

"Roy was driving. It was his fault and Dick would be sleeping upstairs in his bed if…" He didn't bother finishing the sentence.

"And that young man will live with this for the rest of his life." He sipped the tea he didn't really want.

"So will we all."

In the year since the accident, Bruce's attitude had hardened and it was now to the point that he had trouble working with Green Arrow on JLA business. Several JLA members tried to talk to both of the men over the last few months, but to no effect. Finally several of the JLA members had met with Alfred, explaining the problem and asking if there was anything he could do. Try though he had, nothing had worked to change anything involving the master's attitude. Everyone hoped time would help but if it didn't, sometime would have to be done. The impasse was still in effect.

"Alfred?" The boy's voice brought him back. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but may I…? I was going to call first, but I wasn't sure, I mean, I wasn't sure you'd let me in."

"Of course, Master Roy. As far as I'm concerned, you're always welcomed here. I promise you that." Looking in question at the large box, Alfred nodded and stepped aside to allow him entry.

"This is, it's, I mean…I cleaned out his room over at the Tower and I thought you'd maybe want this." He put it on the counter. "I kind of figured Bruce wouldn't be here now, that he'd probably be at work or something—is it okay? I'll help you with this if you want and then go. I know he doesn't want me around or anything."

In fact Bruce was down in the cave at the moment, having called Lucius to inform him he wouldn't be in for the rest of the week. Lucius had understood. Alfred hurt for the youngster, his awkwardness was painful.

"You've just now cleaned out his room? But I'd have thought it would have been done long before this." This despite Dick's room upstairs was still exactly the same, Bruce forbidding anything being removed or even the discarded clothing picked up off the floor and furniture. It had become frozen in time at the moment Dick had died, regardless of Alfred's efforts to convince the master to be reasonable.

"No one wanted to do it but I decided it was time." He hesitated a moment then, "It was getting too weird, y'know? Every time I walked past his door to get to my room I half expected him to walk out or that I'd hear music coming through the wall or something." He took a shaky breath. "It was time."

"Indeed it was; rather past it, I would think." It was awkward and for once even Alfred seemed unsure what to do next. "Should I open this here or would it be best to take it straight upstairs, do you think?" He was half afraid of what might be inside; knowing no matter what it was, it would be difficult to see.

"I don't think it matters. There isn't anything all that special in there—it's just stuff."

Dick's stuff.

Internally bracing himself, Alfred opened the box. There were a few familiar tee shirts, the sweater Leslie had made him two years ago, some sweat pants and socks, the normal toiletries. He saw some CD's, a few videos and DVD's, his laptop, a handful of paperbacks, mostly escapist science fiction and a few assigned for school he remembered Dick having to report on. Yes, just basic things. At the bottom was a large manila envelope, opened at the top and filled with something bulky. "What's in here?"

"Letters he'd saved. I didn't read them or anything, but I figured…you know, I thought you'd like to keep them." Roy was scratching his face; it was almost as he didn't realize he was doing it.

Roy had probably read them but Alfred let it go. What possible difference could it make now? Alfred reached in and pulled out one or two, skimming the front pages and putting them back. "I can't say I'm all that surprised."

"I wasn't either. He never mentioned it, he never said anything at all about her, but, yeah—it made sense." Roy shrugged and wiped his nose.

Alfred picked up one of the letters again, reading more closely then gently putting it back with the rest. The Master probably knew about this; it would be like him to keep such things to himself.

"There wasn't much else in his room that was really his. I can bring over the bedding if you want it, but he didn't keep much stuff there, this was pretty much it."

"That won't be necessary, thank you. May I offer you anything? Tea? Perhaps you'd like some hot chocolate with it being so cold out this afternoon?"

"I'm good, thanks, and I need to get going." The boy seemed edgy, a little anxious to get away, and Alfred thought he could understand that after everything they'd been through the last year, though he remembered long past days when the Titans had dropped in, the laughter and splashing from one of the pools heard all over the house. In fact, his heart quite went out to the young man, much as it often had to Dick when one of his problems would weigh on him. About to leave, Roy flashed Alfred an unexpected smile.

"We were talking one night, me and Dick, and I asked him what the weirdest thing was that happened to him since he'd become Robin. You want to know what he told me?"

"Why, yes. I'd very much like to hear, if you please." This was out of the blue.

"He said he was in some restaurant in New York after some Titan thing a couple of years ago. He and Garth were just sitting at the table, waiting for Donna to get back from the bathroom and some girl, some fan came up to him and started gushing about how he was her favorite hero and all of that garbage." Roy smiled to himself. "He was always good with stuff like that. Anyway, she pulled up her skirt, right there at the table and pulls down her underwear—she wanted to show him a tattoo she had of him on her butt." He laughed; the mental picture was a bit odd, even for the hero business. "The she asked him to sign it in indelible ink so she could have his autograph traced over by a tattoo artist. He said Donna walked up about then and made him do it."

Alfred was smiling at the image. "I don't believe he ever mentioned that particular episode to me."

"Yeah, well, that was Dick, right?"

"Thank you, Master Roy. Truly; thank you." But the boy was already out the door.

Bruce had rejected the idea of a memorial service for Dick to mark the anniversary, seeing no point. What would it be—a celebration? Of what? A seventeen year old who didn't live to be eighteen? Of wasted potential? Of a young man who would never see manhood? A chance for his friends to share memories which would inevitably fade as they moved on, as they married, had families, developed careers, grew old?

The hell with it.

Bruce would remember Dick in his own way and in his own time. If the others wanted to do something they were free to go ahead, but he wouldn't be there. He had almost installed a memorial to Dick down in the cave but had thought better of it. His room was upstairs and if there was a section or case dedicated to him below the Manor—hell. How was he supposed to work with that staring him in the face? Better to keep things separate, contained. He shut down the computer. Trying to work tonight was a waste of time.

"Master Bruce, I was just about to call you. Dinner is going on the table, if you would be so good as to make yourself presentable."

The last think Bruce wanted was food, but it was easier to eat—or pretend to, than to argue with Alfred. He would not, however, go to his old place in the dining room. In the last year he'd gotten into the habit of sitting down with Alfred in the kitchen the way Dick often had. They would sit together, often not talking but each appreciating the companionship. Not tonight. Tonight he just wanted to be alone and if that was wallowing, then so what? Hell. It was just dinner.

Until he saw the two places already set in the kitchen, with a manila envelope beside his placemat. "What is this?"

"Master Roy was here a short while ago and brought this along with some of the contents of Master Dick's room at the Tower. I thought you would be interested in seeing the contents." Alfred placed his linen napkin in his lap, knowing full well that Bruce had likely monitored the boy's arrival and departure from below stairs. "I suspect he's having significant trouble adjusting."

"So are we all."

"I think we may be able to offer the young man some help, Master Bruce." Alfred ignored being ignored. "He was one of Master Dick's closest friends and he would wish us to do whatever we can to aid him."

Bruce knew Alfred wouldn't stop until he had his say. "What do you suggest?"

"I suspect Master Roy may be having a problem with some sort of substance. This afternoon he was displaying several of the classic symptoms. I further strongly suspect it may have either had its start after the accident or perhaps escalated at that time."

This was about the last thing Bruce wanted to deal with. In fact, it was the last thing. Ollie was Roy's guardian; let him handle it.

"Master Dick would have done whatever was needed to help a friend. He'd have involved himself if he were here. In his absence, it's the least we can do, both for Master Roy and for Dick."

Bruce let out a deep breath. He knew Alfred too well; if he thought this was important, he wouldn't drop it. If need be, he'd deal with it himself and then Bruce would feel guilty, have to face Ollie and the rest, and…oh, hell. "What do you think the problem is? Specifically."

Alfred sipped his water. "I'm not certain, of course, but I suspect heroin, judging from his behavior this afternoon. Possibly cocaine, maybe both, maybe some other things."

"Um-hmm." That was all Alfred needed, he know it would be addressed. Bruce tapped the large envelope. "What is this?"

"Some personal letters Master Dick was saving."

Bruce resignedly looked inside, pulling out the small pile, all tied with a ribbon, the dates spanning about eighteen months—the last letter dated the week before the accident. They were addressed in woman's handwriting; neat, precise, familiar and he recognized it immediately.

"Did you know about this, Alfred? Did he say anything to you about her?"

"No, he didn't confide in me about the young lady. I'm not surprised they were involved of course, but I didn't actually know. Did you?"

Bruce shook his head; he wasn't surprised, either. The two of them had been attracted to one another since they'd met, ages notwithstanding and it would have been like Dick to keep his personal life to himself, especially under the circumstances. Well, there was nothing to be done now, other than to maybe say something to her, express his sympathy for her loss or something along those lines. Though, frankly, he didn't see much point now. It was over and done with and he'd heard that she was seeing someone at her work so she'd evidently moved on.

The two of them finished eating in silence, Bruce skimming over the letters instead of eating, pleased for Dick he'd had this much, at least, before he'd been killed.

A couple hours later he fell out of the sky at Titans Tower, let himself in without triggering any of the alarms and thought that they really should bump up their security. This wouldn't have happened if Dick were here to oversee the place. Roy was sleeping or passed out on the unmade bed in his room when Batman found him. He kicked the boy's bare foot, getting a grunt for his trouble.

Another kick, another grunt. "Wake up."

"Fuck off."

He turned on the too bright over-head. "Get up."

The Bat voice penetrated enough to force a reaction, bleary though it was. "What do you want? I've already told you I'm sorry. I know it's my fault and you know it's my fault and I know you know. What, you want to lecture me again?"

Batman didn't bother answering, just started to methodically go through the various drawers and closets, the pockets of clothing and the spaces behind books and keepsakes. He found three stashes of what he assumed was heroin, a bag of coke along with a baggie half full of marijuana along with the different paraphernalia to get himself high. He flushed the drugs and papers, smashed the rest; Roy knowing better than to try to stop him. The boy sat up in his bed, watching what was happening with growing comprehension.

"I'm taking you to Hazleton. Get dressed."

"Fuck off."

Batman backhanded him hard enough to slap him back down. He rolled with the movement, landing awkwardly and unsteadily on his feet on the other side of the bed, a little confused, still a little high from earlier that evening. "You can't make me go anywhere I don't want to go. Ollie's my guardian, not you, and he's fine with me the way I am."

"Last I heard he'd thrown you out." Batman gave him the smile that always frightened criminals. "Shall we call him?" He threw a pair of jeans and a shirt across the bed; Roy pulled them on, his eyes on the man in front of him.

"Why the fuck…? Because Dick would have done this or some shit like that? What—did Alfred or someone ask you to come here? Dick's dead; he doesn't care about me. He doesn't care about anything."

He didn't bother answering, just took the boy's arm, half twisted behind his back, and walked him out through the lower entrance where the others wouldn't see until someone checked the tapes later. Alfred was waiting for them at the airport, the small Wayne jet fueled and waiting along with the pilot. Bruce was in civilian clothes by then and Roy was starting to hurt for a fix.

Bruce ignored the shakes and the pleading during the flight. When they landed, they were met by a hired ambulance. Bruce handed over the already completed paperwork to check him into the clinic with Oliver Queen's signature in place.

Bruce spoke to him for a minute before turning him over to the attendants and going back to Gotham for his usual morning meetings at Waynecorp. "You will stay here and you will listen to what they have to say to you. You will get clean and you will stay that way."

"Go screw yourself."

"You owe that much to Dick and if that's a problem for you, I'd be happy to see you busted for selling with a possible added charge of Involuntary Manslaughter thrown in for good measure, along with an announcement to the press about your current misadventures, 'Speedy'. Your choice."

"How long?" Batman knew his identity. Of course he knew; he and Ollie were in the League together and he was the Bat. Great, something else to know.

"That's up to you, isn't it?" He was half across the room before turning back. "Tonight would have been the start of Dick's Christmas break. Last year we had plans to leave for Innsbruck two days after the accident; he didn't get a chance to do that or to do a lot of things you're throwing away. I'm giving you a second chance because—you're right, you were his friend and he would have done it for you if he were here. You want to kill yourself, that's your business, I've thrown you a rope, either use it to help yourself or I'll hang you with it. Your choice."

The usual large Christmas tree, which always decorated the main entranceway, was forgotten this year along with the wreaths on the doors and the evergreen swags on the stair railings and balconies. There would be no Christmas parties this year and people would just have to understand and go somewhere else for their free dinners. Alfred had insisted on putting up the small family tree in the study, the one Dick always helped with, laughing, enjoying being part of a family again after the loss of his parents. This year Alfred set it up by himself while some of the Christmas CD's played in the background. Bruce refused to even look at the thing when it was finished. There were the Wayne family ornaments, the ones Bruce's grandparents and parents had collected in their travels around the world along with the significantly less expensive ones they'd inherited from the Grayson's. Dick's family had managed to collect a number of glass and papier-mâché acrobats and circus performers over the years along with clowns and a ringmaster in top hat and tails. Dick had always placed them himself.

Tomorrow was Christmas morning and it would be bad for both men. Alfred sat by the fire, sipping his second brandy and wondering what, if anything, he could do to mitigate the next morning.

Two hours later he was ready with his idea and waiting for Batman to return to the cave so that he could tell him what was going on. He wouldn't ask. This time he would return to being the Master's father figure and he could jolly well listen.

He sat in the leather chair by the fire and in full view of the tree, waiting with his third glass of brandy for the evening. That was something else that would change, after tonight the brandy and the wine would go back in the cellar where they belonged.

It was well after midnight when the clock was pushed aside from the other side; Bruce was back. Alfred had been half dozing but was alert a second later when the Master was in the room. It wasn't uncommon to have Alfred waiting up for him to make sure everything was all right. Normally he'd ask if there were any problems, he'd be assured everything was fine and no, he wasn't needed and would go on to bed.

"You're still up? Get some rest, Alfred—I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, no."

"Excuse me?"

"This has gone on quite long enough and you're to sit and listen to me, if you don't mind; and if you do mind you shall sit and listen to me anyway."

Bruce knew what was coming: a lecture about how this wasn't the way Dick would want things to be and if Bruce really wanted to honor his memory he'd move on and accept what happened as the accident it was. Furthermore, Dick would tell him to get his act together, believe that, being orphaned aside, he'd had a good life, was happy with the things he'd accomplished both personally and professionally. Okay, yes, being killed at seventeen really sucked, but at least he'd had friends who cared about him and whom he loved right back Plus, he had some amazing things to his credit, had been places most people dreamed about and he'd even been in love—so it could have been a lot worse.

Bruce had heard it all from too many people to listen to it again. Leslie, Clark, the entire JLA, Lucius—they'd all given him the same talk. He wasn't interested in it again, but with Alfred he didn't have a choice. The bitch of the thing was that he knew it was all true and that his friends were right. It didn't matter; he had to do this in his own time or not at all.

Alfred saw most of this go flicker across Bruce's face. "I don't even have to tell you, do I?"

"Not really, no." He sat down on the end of the couch, tired and knowing Alfred was right. Dick wouldn't have put up with this and certainly wouldn't have wanted it. And, since Bruce was being honest with himself, he'd known this for months now.

"You know what he would have said, don't you?"

Bruce nodded and heard, imagined Dick's voice in his head, as he'd been doing more and more lately. 'C'mon, Bruce, you've had a year to get it together. I know you loved me and you know that I loved you and everybody else, but enough is enough. Okay, I'm dead and that's crappy for all of us—especially me—but it happened. You're not going to forget me, we both know that, but I'm dead and you're not. You have stuff to do, Alfred needs you, so do Gotham and the JLA. There's work to be done and you're the only one who can do it, so get your head out of your butt and snap out of it, will you?'

A small smile almost made it to Bruce's lips while he played out the lecture in his head. He could hear Dick's voice almost as if he was sitting beside him, the way he used to talk about whatever was on his mind, forcing Bruce to listen and engage.

'C'mon, I didn't have it that bad, did I? I had you and Alfred after my parents were killed; I had the Titans, Clark was a personal friend—you have any idea how cool that was? I was one of People's sexiest men of the year when I was like sixteen—those pictures really were pretty hot, weren't they? And you know what I had with Barbara. Damn, she was like the icing and the whipped cream and the cherry on top of the rest of the cake, y'know? I really loved her, okay? Maybe it would have gotten better, maybe it would have imploded, but it was incredible while it was happening.'

Bruce watched the fire for a couple of minutes, Alfred sitting nearby, knowing he was coming to a decision and would only do so when he was ready.

'I did a lot, Bruce. I really did. Sure, yeah, there was a lot I never got to, but the stuff I did? It was amazing, wasn't it? I spent almost nine years traveling with a headlining circus act, I was one three people in the world to turn a quad, I was Robin and I bested some of the worst criminals on the planet. Hell, I even had personal the respect of the Justice League when I was twelve—how many people can say that, huh? Yeah, there was stuff I wish…I really would have liked kids—I think I'd have been a really good father and I'd have liked to see where I was and what I was when I was thirty or forty but we don't all get what we want, do we?'

Bruce shook his head slightly in agreement.

'But I did all right. And if you hadn't been there when my parents were killed, if you hadn't taken me in...Shit, you made the difference, Bruce. I was so angry then. I had all this anger and I had no idea what to do with it, but you directed it so I didn't end up in jail or something. I think I might have if it wasn't for you, y'know. I think I would have turned to the dark side of the force instead of becoming a professional boy scout like I did. That was you who made that difference, you and Alfred—but I think you both know that, don't you?'

Bruce gave the smallest of nods.

'So that's it. You've had a year and that's enough. I wish I'd had more time, but…look, you have the time so frigging use it. Do the stuff I can't. Do everything, okay? But don't just do it for me; do it because you're alive and you can and you want to because tomorrow it could be you hitting the damn tree.

Bruce knew Dick was right, he'd known it for months now. The time he'd had, not nearly enough though it was, had been like a full life for any three average people. He should have had more—decades more, but that wasn't in the cards and that was…tragic, but what he'd had was damn good. And the difference he'd made in their lives, even in the too few years he'd been with them, was beyond words.

'Lighten up, Bruce, will you? I'm dead and you're not. Suck it up and deal. Jeez, what do I have to do, haunt you?' He could see the smile, almost hear the laugh at the end.

Dick was right. His friends were right, and so was Alfred. He'd known it for a while, but you do things when you're ready, right?

"Master Bruce?"

"I want Dick's room left unused, but perhaps you could change the sheets in the morning, if it's all right with you."

Though Alfred gave no sign, he realized the first corner on the road back had been turned. "Yes, sir, I'll get to it first thing after breakfast."

2/11/06

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