Bats in the Attic
Phone Booth to Nowhere
In the same way the word "befuddle" seemed to fit his current mental state, the word "homeless" didn't seem like the right fit for Dick's situation, yet he didn't have the heart to correct Jason. The correct word for Dick's current situation was instead "transient".
His current choice in lifestyle for the past year, Dick wasn't sure if he could easily explain it to his brother who – prior to coming under Bruce's wing, lived with the fear of ending up homeless and on the streets. Not that Jason was likely to admit such a thing, yet it seemed the thought of Dick being homeless did, in fact, bother Jason.
The transient lifestyle, though, wasn't new. The circus, after all, was a transient lifestyle but felt like an honest home away from home due to Bruce's outright rejection of him around a year ago. Sometimes he scrounged and slept under the stars, but other times he bartered for a hot meal and a place to stay the night.
Yet, for some reason said lifestyle didn't fill the void left by the rejection he felt a year ago. Sometimes, for a brief moment, he felt good, after helping someone out, only for that feeling to fade after a day or two. He'd come home, running straight back to what he ran away from, only to find himself still running, unable to face Bruce's wrath.
A soft drizzle started down, and Dick pulled his motorbike to the side, having found one of the cities nicer bus terminals if one ignored the fact graffiti adorned the outside of the enclosed structure. This one had a phone booth, meaning someone could call in case of an emergency, which in Gotham proved a good thing.
Removing his satchel, and the key to the bike, he headed in where he could keep an eye on his bike, but also look up at the cloudy sky of Gotham city. A grey sky above wasn't a foreign sight in the bleak city, for while Wayne attempted to keep his factories clean, others did not. Dick's hands shoved into his pocket, taking a deep breath, glad the dirt and grime which normally covered Gotham city.
The fresh air reminded him what he liked about the transient lifestyle, the sense of adventure, and yet the thing he didn't like, the loneliness, that hit hard and fast. One part of him wanted to go crawling back to Bruce, begging the man to take him back, but the other part had a sense of prideful stubbornness combined by a fear of getting rejected again.
Letting out a sigh, Dick pulled out the yearbook, turning to read Barbara's quote. "Says Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, one of your favorite poets, 'ever man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.' I think you know without me saying what is meant by this, regarding you and Bruce."
"Who better to talk about my current situation with?" Dick grimaced, not sure he wished to be on Barbara's scathing end of things either. Still, something felt better than nothing, and he found himself heading to the phone, hoping her current phone number was in the phonebook, but that the local gangs hadn't disconnected the phone booth.
He found himself lucky in both respects, and put some of the loose coins he'd either managed to scrounge before coming or that Jason gave him – Dick wasn't sure which, into the phone booth. The phone rang and rang, and for a moment he thought his old friend wouldn't pick up. And then, he heard it, the familiar voice. "This is Barbra Gordon."
"Hi, Barb. It's Dick. Can we talk?"
A silence came from the other side of the phone, and it felt as if his heart stopped for a bit. Dick braced himself when finally, a sigh came from the other side. "Dick, look. I'm kind of busy. You can't just call someone up like this, after taking off for over an entire year and expect for them to just drop anything."
"No. I got that. Is there any way we could meet up later?"
"Dick, seriously. I'm running late for my date with my boyfriend, could we perhaps..."
"Boyfriend? I'd love to meet him. Who's the..." Dick found himself cut off before he could say, lucky guy. A shiver ran down his spine, as the drizzle of a rain brought a chill into the air. The streets of Gotham remained dreary.
"Dick, I'm not sure I want to introduce my ex to my beau."
Dick's eyes blinked, the corners of his mouth twisting down as he shifted the phone to his other ear. The phone felt a little grimy, yet he didn't mind. "Wait. We dated?"
"Very funny Dick. We went out for, like, a week, and I ended up being the only girl you ever dumped rather than the other way around because I drove you crazy. You said we should just be friends, but then you took off like you did, and nobody heard from you. So, I'm not exactly wanting to talk to you."
"Maybe later?" Dick swallowed, his eyes looking down at his black boots. The cement seemed a long way off.
"I don't know. Sam and I are kind of, well, you know. Busy."
"I haven't been around for a year, so no." His bright blue eyes darted up to the ceiling. "Longer than that, if one takes in my memory issues."
"You should call Wally. I'm sure he'd love to talk, though I also think he'd chew you out for not speaking to him for over a year."
"Who?"
"Oh, come on! He's like, your best friend. Anyways, talk to you later." The phone clicked off
Dick swallowed, unsure how to handle the situation. His eyes closed, trying to remember who Wally was, yet his mind simply decided not to work. Only, for the eyes to snap open upon remembering the yearbook. Walking over, he picked up the book, unsure of which year to look in for not only himself but this Wally.
Except, there was no Wally.
Dick knew because he flipped through the yearbook twice, and then three times.
There was no Wally.
Letting out a sigh, Dick looked up at the roof of the bus terminal, feeling ever so lost. He also felt cold, the urge to run back to Bruce and accept whatever lecture was coming his way fighting forth, only to know that getting rejected by the man might lead to a mental tailspin he couldn't easily return from on his own.
Picking up the book a fourth time, he went through, his eyes catching sight of the name Warren McGinnis. The name caught his attention before, yet for some reason, he knew Warren wasn't Wally as Wally wasn't Warren. Yet Warren had signed his yearbook that particular year, meaning Warren was somebody he knew.
Taking a deep breath, Dick tried the phone again, this time finding the phone number for Warren McGinnis. His finger hovered over the numbers, hesitant to call, remembering all to well how the call with Barbra went, as well as his trip back to the manor. Taking a deep breath, and working up his courage, he finally dialed the number, letting it ring.
His eyes closed tightly, hoping rejection wouldn't occur again. "Please answer. Please, please answer."
"Hello. Warren McGinnis speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hi, Warren. I don't know if you remember me, but it's Dick Grayson." Dick's lips pushed together, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
"Dick? Of course, I remember you. Why wouldn't I?" The voice sounded way to jovial.
Dick wanted to say, "because I don't remember you", yet held his tongue. He continued to rub the back of his neck in agitation, his eyes darting up to make sure nobody was touching his bike. "I don't know. Look, I know we've not spoken for more than a year, but would it be possible for us to talk?"
The other side of the phone went silent, and for a moment Dick thought they would hang up. He found himself sticking more coins in when the other voice spoke again. "I'm meeting up with someone today, so..."
"I get it. You're busy."
"No. I was thinking I could go to the place I'm meeting them an hour early. Sound good to you?"
"Um..." Dick's bright blue eyes blinked, taken slightly aback by the fact this person – who was a complete stranger to him – had no problems meeting up with him, unlike someone else he felt he could trust and rely on. "That's really okay with you? I mean, I did call at the last minute, and I get if it's an inconvenience and all."
"Dick, I know you. When you ask to talk, it's because you need to. If you don't, well..." The other person paused, there chipper voice becoming suddenly dark.
"You're not going to finish that sentence, are you?"
"I'd rather not." The other person's voice let out a sigh. "Let's see. Let me get you the address, so we can meet up. It's this small diner, so let me treat you to a cup of coffee and maybe some pie."
"No, you don't need..."
"Come on. I've not seen your smiling face for quite some time."
Dick hoped he could talk this stranger out of buying him a cup of coffee and the piece of pie. Why Warren wanted to, he honestly didn't know.