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Chapter 6: A Hollow Manor

Wayne Manor, Kane County, Eight Ninteen AM; December 1989

Nine days ago, Dick Grayson turned 11. Two days ago, he attended his last day of school. Yesterday, Bruce Wayne- Bruce Wayne- officially adopted him.

And today, Dick confirmed it wasn't a dream.

He had been used to getting up at a strict time. Scheduling was very important at both the circus and at the orphanage, but it seems that the manor staff was happy to let him sleep in. Dick, however, had no interest in sleeping. He climbed out of bed, but before he acted on his desire to explore, he had to soak in his new lodgings. His room was a rectangle, 24 by 30 feet, but his whole space was a square, as his bathroom and closet were both 10 feet long and 6 feet wide. On the wall of his closet was his bed, which itself was wider than any bed he'd ever been in. He got out of bed to his right, looking at his messy face in the mirror. His hair was long and his eyes looked annoyed. He walked over to the door, but before opening it, he looked at the design. It wasn't a simple rectangle cutting. It was a hundred year-old mural of a flower garden, with lilies, daisies, and roses in a circle of bushes surrounded by a vined fence. He paused to look at it.

"Huh," said Dick. It was nice, but rather pretentious, in his eyes. After the awe wore off in a few seconds, he turned around. On the far side of the room, to his right, there was a large paneled windows, not dissimilar to the ones at the orphanage, but with the window stretching to the floor, and with billowing white drapes with a golden calico pattern. Dick wouldn't be surprised if it was real gold weaved in somehow. He walked around the room. The carpet was soft and smooth, the walls adorned with a mirror, a bookshelf, and dressers. All with an intricate, beautiful design. Dick didn't like that at all. And, although he had only spoken to him once, this house of Bruce Wayne's told Dick enough to know that he didn't like him either.

He opened the door, and stepped out onto the wood of the indoor hallway. It was wide and tall, bigger than the train cars he lived in for most of his life in length and, moreso, width. He walked down the hallway passed a few doors, than turned onto the indoor balcony, overlooking the large living room, which had a fireplace and a kitchenette and eating room. This was the casual wing of Wayne Manor, and it looked like something Dick would fantasize about, but now he certainly didn't enjoy looking over this. He walked over to the window, which showed him the front of the manor. Dick loved the snow, and this whole situation was objectively better than the orphanage, but he felt nothing for contempt for this house and its owner. He gritted his teeth at the frozen fountain.

He silently walked over to the far side of the wide space, where the stairs were. He walked down, but stopped upon seeing that, at a table, in a spot under the balcony, sat Bruce Wayne.

"Ah, Dick. May I call you Dick? I hear you prefer it to Richard," said Bruce. Dick suspected he knew he was there ever since he stepped out of the room. Standing up, he wobbled, grabbing his coffee cup, chugging the rest.

Hungover, thought Dick, of course he would be. Probably soaked up the brownie points, adopting me, and then drank the strongest thing in his collection all night.

Dick knew several alcoholics. At the circus, people were either in a loving family, or down on their luck lost souls. The latter often helped out during performances, but spent the rest of the night drinking. Some were violent, but most were just there, sitting alone in a corner. Bruce was neither- from what Dick could see. Yes, Bruce was in the corner, alone, trying to block his hangover with caffeine (which Dick knew didn't work, but not by experience of course), but he got up and walked toward him. He would get there soon- the manor was large, but not that large. Dick wasn't looking forward to whenever Bruce got to him.

"Dick," said Bruce softly, "How are you holding up? I hope you slept well."

"I-I," Dick didn't expect this caring from the billionaire, "I slept well."

Bruce sighed, "Are you sure?"

Dick paused. He knew he was lying, but he wasn't expecting Bruce to notice.

"Dick," Bruce got on his knee to look at him at eye level., "If you need anything, I'm here. I don't think I can provide everything for you. Not as your parents could. So if you're uncomfortable, I understand. I'm fine with it. You've got nothing to fear. Nothing to hide," he stood up, "I believe you'll do great. Alfred's got more experience at this than I do," he laughed slightly, "so you can talk to him too. Now, I'm sorry to say I have work. I really do hope you have a nice day, despite all that's happened. I can tell you're taking it better than.. I did," he patted Dick on the shoulder and walked away.

Well, thought Dick, maybe he isn't drunk at all.

Bruce Wayne's Lamborghini Diablo, Eight Thirty-Five AM

Bruce readjusted his Jacket and tie in the mirror of his expensive car at a stoplight. He was waiting for Alfred's call after he had finished feeding Dick.

brrrinng brriinng Came the sound of Alfred's specialized ringtone on his retrofitted car radio. He pressed a button to answer as the light turned green.

"Hey Al, how is it?" Bruce said with a light tone of voice, very different from the dark, angry tone of Batman's. Due to his closeness to Bruce, Alfred would hear both interchangeably, regardless of if he had the mask or not.

"He's not happy, Master Bruce. The boy doesn't trust your intentions for his adoption. You really should tell him. Not everything, of course, but enough to make him understand," Alfred, as always, sounded as the same sincere old English gentleman.

"No Alfred. I.. I just can't. The boy... he's smart. Brilliant even. Not just in the academic terms, but there is that, of course. But.." Bruce spaced out, watching the cars around him on the highway, "He's right. About me. I'm not just doing this for press, of course, but he is right about me being selfish. He's the first person I felt guilt for on such a level since my parents.. and since Chill. I adopted him because I wanted to know why. Not to help him. To help myself."

"Bruce. You've been a hero. After all that you've done for people, is it not right for you to save yourself? And you also have a chance to make his life better too. You can't be a hero who hates himself."

Alfred was always good with speeches. Bruce shook his head, "Maybe you're right. Anyways Alfred, do you have anything on this pyro who's torching mob warehouses and homes?"

Alfred sighed, but allowed the change of subject, "Not particularly. You're hypothesis that it was on behalf of Carmine Falcone seems to be false, due to the fact that the most recent arson case was against the Peregrine Club, one of the most profitable businesses Falcone is suspected of owning."

"Well that makes sense," said Bruce, using his detective skills, "The others were smaller targets for other mobs, who had begun to suspect Falcone was behind this. The arson would simply have to be on a small Falcone warehouse or two to throw them off, not such a gold mine for Falcone. I think this pyro is a hitman of Falcone's who was wronged in some way. Who owns the Peregrine Club?"

"A man by the name of Ronald Edwards, sir. 6 feet exactly, one hundred-ninety-five pounds, fifty-four years old. Bills himself as a majordomo. He was unharmed in the fire."

"Thanks Al, I'll talk to him tonight."

"Are you sure, Master Bruce? You should spend some time with," Alfred smacked his lips judgmentally, "Well, your son, sir."

Bruce took little notice to his word usage. "He'll be fine. If I'm right about the arson- and I know I am- then tonight is a big night in the investigation."

"Are you sure, sir? You seem to be hiding again. You don't want the boy to think you're a coward, either."

Bruce swerved in his car, pushing the gas down as his body tensed up, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Master Bruce.. you said you saw so much of yourself in that boy. Do you remember your first night alone in the Manor?"

Bruce sighed, and loosened up, "How could I forget?" he said guiltily, "It felt empty, just like I did. Despite everything inside- it was hollow."