Chapter Eleven: Half Past New Years

Brentwood Academy, Uptown Gotham, Seven Fifty-Three AM, January 1990

"Bye Alfred! See you at three!" Dick smiled and waved at the butler, who drove away in the very same Rolls Royce that Dick stowed away in nearly three weeks ago. He wore a school uniform, consisting of tan pants, a white button down shirt, a black and red tie, and a navy fleece jacket, in which he had a walkie talkie, as Bruce was under cover, as this wouldn't be the first time the mob killed a child at school.

The boy turned around, hands hanging from his backpack straps, and exhaled. This was his first day of the second semester of fifth grade (which was delayed by snowstorms, pushing exams back to early January and the second semester do the 3rd Monday), and his first full semester that would be taught at a real school, as opposed to the circus' homeschool program, which, while giving him an academic edge (he was considered for the 6th grade class do to his proficiency), Dick chose to forget, as that was old life. It was easier that way.

Plus, it's what Bruce would do. And Bruce was a badass.

Dick was prepared to walk down the sidewalk along the hedges, and then turn, down the main pathway, and maybe find a side entrance, all with his head down. While he was excited at being here, at Brentwood Academy, he was also nervous about coming to school in a Rolls Royce. When he rounded the corner around the hedges, stepping through the main gate, he realized that he wasn't noticeably richer than any other students. Plenty were being dropped off in Limousines and Porsches, and plenty had expensive watches and tailored shoes. Dick simply used his plain brown backpack from Haly's Circus and wore black tennis shoes. He trotted down the path, looking around. He seemed to be average here. Then he looked ahead.

Brentwood Academy was an all-boys school, a massive campus, too big for a normal Middle School, but that didn't stop it. It had three four-story tall brick and stone buildings, all over 150 years old, and, despite numerous refurbishments, all kept the uncouth style of Gotham architecture before Cyrus Pinkney transformed the city. The campus was surrounded by a square brick wall that was normally eight feet tall, but several refurbishments made both its height and color inconsistent. The wall had twelve entrances, six of which were vehicle-accessible, which three being vehicle-only. The wall had tall pine trees along its outside, in an attempt to make the academy feel secluded from the whole city, but, after expanding to taking up what would be nine whole city blocks, the replacement of trees, and the growth of average building height, the city skyline was easily visible from in campus. Across a parking lot were another two buildings, clearly from around the 1950s, as they were very square, had much smaller windows, had no stone to contrast the dark brick, and each had a fallout shelter. To make up for its unseemly appearance, however, the academy had some of the best academics of any middle school of the country.

Dick walked a few hundred feet up to the first building, which had a tall clocktower atop it, making it distinct from the other two buildings which were less- than parallel to it. This was building One, which, according to the acceptance letter he got from the school, was where he was supposed to go. He walked up the steps, noting that classes started in a mere six minutes.

At the top of these stairs was a tall veranda, its pale grey pillars extending to the ceiling, which was almost at the level of the large clock, and there were 3 stories of windows which looked right at those pillars. The veranda floor itself was littered with pieces of paper and bits of everything from last week's exams. Dick was surprised that they survived past the storms that weekend. This veranda may have been particularly good, or it may just be the way schools are. There were many people around, but none recognized him.

When Dick walked into the front, the office was right at the side, which was convenient, and so he walked in there. There were already several students in there, several in chairs, and 3 talking to secretaries, with only one being open. Dick looked to make sure that nobody else had to speak to her, and, once confirming this, he went up with the letter out.

"Um, hellow Miss," he began, unusually unsure of himself.

"Yes? How may I help?" she responded.

"I'm Dick Grayson," he said, her the letter, "I'm new here."

"Oh! Mr. Grayson, I'm glad you're here, come with me please," she beckoned. Dick followed her through the door in the back left corner, leading through a larger room with more secretaries. She passed that one and got to a room with security guards before taking a left into a room with a single secretary.

"Is Principal Stevenson available? This boy here- he's Dick Grayson," presented the first secretary.

"Yes, he's available," droned the second, nearly spilling her coffee cup pressing a pager. The small red light above the doorway turned on.

"C'mon Mr. Grayson," said the first, going inside the principal's office. He followed.

The principal sat behind his desk, but stood up at the sight of Dick Grayson. He was about five and a half feet tall, and clearly in his early 40's, much younger than what Dick imagined a principal being. He had graying hairs barely visible on the sideburns of his short haircut. Dick, undergoing a detective's crash course along side his combat training in the past few weeks, concluded that he was ex-military.

"Hello, Mr. Grayson," said the prinical enthusiastically, "I am principal Stevenson. I normally don't make it a prerogative to meet new students, but for you I'll make an exception, both because of your recent tragedies, and because of your association with Mr. Wayne. I'm willing to help you in any way, shape, or form, and-"

"Thank you, sir," interrupted Dick, "but I'd really like to get to class."

"Of course," fake-laughed the principal, "I'm glad to see you're focused on your studies, it's a desirable trait in a young man." He pulled out a piece of card-stock paper with shiny detailing, saying, "here is your schedule and classes. The room numbers are easy. First is the building number, then the floor, than the room. Would you like to be walked there, or-?"

"No thank you. I'll be on my way. Sir," said Dick. He left, not liking all this focus he was given, but also resolving to stay positive. That was the one lesson Alfred had taught him, and it was just as valuable as any of Bruce's.

1-328, locker #1394, combination: 49-12-50. That meant his room was in this building. He walked over to a wide staircase, which was packed with people walking up and down. He walked up to the third floor, happy to be unnoticed. There was a plaque saying '1-301 to 1-330', with arrows showing where rooms up to 1-314 and 1-315 and on were. He took a right, walking down the hallway. Towards the ends of the windowless hallway sat room 1-330, and right next to it, 1-328. At the corner between these two was locker #1394. He sighed, recognizing what a pain corner lockers seemed to be, even though he had never had one. He unlocked his locker, took out his pencil bag and folders, and put his backpack back in the locker, closing it.

There was a minute until the bell rang, and the hallway was clearing up. Dick walked in to the classroom, and looked at the seating chart pinned to the bulletin board. He saw Richard G. was in the middle of the class, and, since there was nobody else who could be him, he went and sat down there. Soon after the bell rang, they heard announcements, said the pledge of allegiance, and sat back down.

"Good morning, class," sang the teacher.

"Good morning, Mrs. Flynn," came the chorus.

"Welcome to day one of semester two! Today, we have a new student in our class- say hello to Richard Grayson, who I'm sure plenty of you have seen on the news recently. Stand up Richard, if you don't mind."

He didn't, although he would if she brought up his parents. "Hello everyone," he said, "I'm Richard, but everyone calls me Dick," some sniggers came, "I just turned eleven last month and I hope to get to know you all." He sat down, hoping the teacher would understand that he wanted to talk no further. She obliged, and got to the lesson. Dick shook hands with a few students near him, but it seemed nobody was quite as excited for what the future had in store as he was.

Cafeteria Hall, Building Two, Eleven Thirteen AM

Dick Grayson walked down to the cafeteria. He had his lunch money in pocket, hopefully sitting next to some guys he spoke to earlier. He stopped by the bathroom and scrubbed his hands well, as he had been taught, even though hopefully a private school lunchroom was cleaner than the circus, and then soon got out, only to be stopped by a security guard.

"Sorry sir, I didn't me-" Dick began, before looking up at him, "wait..."

The guard, a man with black hair and a goatee, laughed in a familiar tone. "Yes, it's me, Dick. Just making sure you're okay. I can't watch the whole campus at once, of course, and between classes is the most dangerous time of day."

"I'm fine Bruce. I have some fr- guys waiting for me," he said, making sure nobody was eavesdropping.

"Good," he concluded quickly, and then, as Dick turned away, grabbed his arm. "Dick, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I do trust you."

He looked sincere.

"Believe me it's fine. I don't lie," responded Dick after a pause.

Both walked away.

Wayne Manor, Kane County, Five Fifty-Five PM

Bruce had gone to work at Wayne Enterprises after school let out. He hadn't come home yet.

Dick was sitting atop his usual haunt, the chandelier above the foyer- that is, the main foyer, not the small one, which was just a small hallway lined with trophy cases and a few chairs. It was fine for a normal foyer, but Dick always assumed this wide, open space, with its dark wood paneling and red carpets and elegant staircases was the true foyer, fitting for this massive house. Of course, after living here for a month and a half, Dick didn't think the house was as big as he used to. He had explored pretty much all there was to explore. He had also trained in all he felt he could train, that is, without Bruce.

So now? Now, Dick was bored.

He had finished his homework an hour ago, and, as of the past week or so, Alfred had stopped trying to get him to stop climbing everything he could find. The acrobat could swing above the floor far below, but without an audience it was much less fun.

Dick sighed loudly, shaking every crystal hanging from the chandelier. He sat there, wishing, more than anything, that he could go out with Batman, for at least one night. But now, he was beginning to think it'd be months before he was 'ready'- although he had already shown Bruce the video from last year of him taking down a wrestler solo in Denmark. Even Alfred had said that Dick was twice as capable as Bruce was before he had disappeared for five years. But it didn't matter. After all he had been through, he really was just a kid. He couldn't even be on Bruce's direct comms during missions- just monitor duty. And only before midnight.

And to think a few months ago he was called 'Boy Wonder'.

Dick didn't like feeling moody. It may have been worse than feeling useless. Even the beauty of the sunset, albeit marred by Gotham's signature smog, wasn't enough to calm him. As he looked on, over the hills, over the gates, he saw movement. A car! Bruce was home!

The chandelier buckled under Dick's quick movement. He stood up, hopped to the other side, than dove over to one of the four smaller chandeliers on the ceiling. He grabbed the slack chain, which was long enough to extend the chandelier to the floor, and, after making sure it was safe, hopped down, swinging the chandelier and himself in opposite directions. He jumped off and landed on the large mantle, right in front of the massive portrait of some old Wayne. Dick then back flipped onto the banister of the stair (going "Woaaahhh" as he swung his leg around to get balance), then hopped down to where his feet were supposed to be, the forrest and gold carpeting of the mahogany stairs.

He ran down them, skipping a few steps, and then took a left. He ran down to the north wing of Wayne manor, which contained the parlor and entrance to the Batcave, but Dick just ran to the garage. He opened the door just as Bruce was coming in.

"Oh, hello, Dick, you seem excited," said Bruce in his throaty voice, "Its dinner time, isn't it? What's Alfred cooking?"

"Dinner?" asked Dick, disappointed, "I wanted to go train! My costume's practically done, and-"

Bruce cut him off, "If you're going to fight crime, here's another lesson: It takes energy," he got on his knee to stop Dick from cutting in, "and the best way to get energy is by high-calorie meals. Now, lets see what what Alfred has for us, and that's an order."

Dick expected him to smile, but he didn't.

Bruce and Dick ate a fine meal of swiss steak and white rice. Both were surprised by the glamour of the meal, but Alfred insisted he simply chose to try something new, and all the unhealthy experiments were to be saved for parties, as Bruce's diet, and now Dicks, was very strict. This experiment, however, was successful. The two dined on a window side table, one much smaller than the large dining room one, where Bruce had eaten prior to adopting the boy.

They ate wordlessly. Almost.

Dick finished first. As he got up to put his dish away, however, Bruce finally spoke up, "So, Dick, how was school today."

Dick raised an eyebrow, but sat back down, answering, "It went fine. I met a few guys, they were nice. Nobody even asked about my parents. It's a nice school."

"I'm glad to hear it Dick," he got up, and the two of them walked to the bar and kitchenette to their left, "I hope you meet some longtime friends at that school. But now.. well, I think you'll be happy to know that I found a lead."

"A lead?" Dick's ears perked up, "What kind of lead?"

"The kind that could be dangerous. I need you on comms. Think you can handle it?"

Dick raised his eyebrow yet again. He was never on Bruce's comms. "Why?"

"Because you have to. No monitor duty today. That's an order."

"And if they get cut out? You said it yourself last week that Zucco had bought a large shipment of radio jammers."

"Well then, I'm going to need to hope for good luck," he concluded, walking off.

Dick scoffed. Bruce didn't believe in luck.

"Alfred," Dick said, walking into the butler's room, "I'm gonna need that costume you gave me. Now."

"Dick- do you mean to tell me Master Bruce has approved your request to go out on patrol with him?"

"No, all," he asserted, leading the butler out of his room, "I mean he's hiding something from me. He doesn't want me to follow this. He put me on comms duty-comms! He never does that!"

Alfred's nose twitched, as it did when he was curious, "Well, that's very unusual, sir. Did he say anything else?"

"That he had a lead."

Alfred's mind raced, as he too was forced to take a crash course in detective work, but his experienced outmatched Dick's. "I agree he's hiding something from you, Master Richard, but I don't think the costume will be necessary." He walked away, quicly stepping down the stairs, and disappearing behind the grandfather clock.

Alfred finished down the stairs, stepping into the Cave. Lights illuminated the crescent-shaped floor of the base, proving Bruce had been there (they really had to get this thing off the grid soon). From the opposite side of the crescent, Bruce emerged from a side cavern, attaching his blue breastplate.

"Master Bruce, please tell me what it is you are hiding from that boy?"

Bruce sighed, putting on the cowl. "Does it matter? You get the night off, at least, until his bedtime."

"He'll find out eventually, sir. I know you keep your secrets, but I assure I will not defend your keeping of this one if you won't confide in me!"

Batman's white eyes thinned. "I think I found Zucco. He's planning something big. Hell, every mob in the city is- but something has him spooked more than the others. What, I don't know. But what I do know is that thousands are in danger, and, if I keep Dick on my own comms, I can protect him."

"From what? He's smart enough to figure this out, you know that, Bruce. You can't just hide this from him. Not after all this."

"Yes, I can." He attached his utility belt, "it's that or he stays upstairs, and he'll just try and go out again, and I can't have that, especially not tonight. And if he was on monitor duty, he'd probably go out too. There's nothing wrong with comms. He'll be fine- better than any other option. So my question to you, Alfred, is what would you have me do?"

Alfred hated when Bruce got this angry, but he nevertheless continued, "I think that you ought to take him with you. I think that he needs to know what it's like. He's getting ideas in his head that this is easier than it looks. He expected to be ready by New Years', and now January's halfway over! If you want to dissuade him from going into this too early, the best option is to show him firsthand! Anything else is doing nothing but harm to him- and we don't need you harming him too, on top of everything else."

That last part struck Bruce. For years, he blamed himself for his parent's death. Survivor's guilt. Something he tried to fix when he killed Joe Chill- and what did the opposite. He never wanted Dick to be hurt the way he was. Had he really forgotten about that?

Alfred looked at him right in the eyes.

"Fine, Alfred," he said, his voice mellowing with shame, "I'll take him out this week. As soon as he's- as his costume is ready. But not tonight."

"Oh, yes tonight," yelled Dick Grayson, running down the stairs, then breaking into a triple front flip, before sticking the landing in front of them. He wore a costume, clearly inspired by his circus days. The torso was red, with three large yellow straps connecting the kevlar weaving, with a black and yellow R on the left chestpiece. The legs too were in red, but the boots and sleeves were a deep, vibrant green. The long sleeves stopped at the wrist, where his fitted red work gloves began. He wore a cape with a yellow inside and black outside, and a green domino mask.

"What the hell are you wearing, Dick?"

"Master Richard- did you hear all of that?"

Dick grinned, enjoying how ashamed Bruce looked, even under the cowl, "It's my suit. And yeah, of course I heard all of that- but don't worry, I get it! And I promise I won't hold it against you if you take me out on patrol." The eleven year old put his hands on his yellow belt, beaming, "Oh, and my name's not Dick," he pointed to the R, "I'm Robin, the Boy Wonder!"