AN: I looked back over my last chapter and just...grrr. I messed it up bad! I was really tired when I did it, so it sounded fine then. But now, it just sounds awful. Even though you guys seem to like it, I'm mad at myself. Oh well. I just wrote it to say that Dick saw himself in Gar. Ta-da! Message/moral delivered!
And I'm now working on three chapters at once 'cause my mind is all these places at once. But I'm really satisfied how some of the later chapters are turning out! Get excited and anxious!
And as for the eyes' color, I address that in here. I'm just trying to build up a reason as to why...never mind. SPOILER ALERT. NO COMMENT.
Disclaimer: Why do we have to put these? Is my name Greg Weisman (disregard the sentence up there) or Brandon Vietti? Obviously, no, so I don't own YJ.
Whisper studied his eyes carefully in the mirror. Small specks of blue were sprinkled along the brown, creating a slightly disorienting affect. So far, the long-lasting contacts he had...found had truly been long-lasting, but now, they were starting to dissolve. Apparently, wearing them for two years straight was pushing it.
The teen sighed before running a hand through his hair. Maybe he could ask Bruce for some money...
Wow. Just...wow.
An actual Thanksgiving feast. With a turkey. And gravy. And silverware made out of silver. It was unheard of!
"Are you going to eat or just spend your time gawking at the food?"
Whisper was jerked out of his thoughts by Bruce's abrupt sentence, forcing him to tear his gaze away from the food. "Oh, um...eat, I guess?"
A brief smile flitted across the man's face at Whisper's cluelessness. "Then I suggest you get to it," he prompted, motioning to the plate in front of the teen, only to smirk further at Whisper's dumbfounded stare was directed at the utensils. "The little fork is for dessert and the big spoon is for soup."
Whisper nodded and slowly grabbed a knife and fork before going to work on his turkey.
"So, is this your first Thanksgiving?"
A snort escaped Whisper's mouth, only to be closely followed by coughing. Bruce leaned forward in his seat anxiously; he didn't mean to make the poor boy choke on his dinner! Finally, the teen regained his breath and looked up with a grin.
"Might as well be. I don't think I've ever seen this much food in one place." And it was true. Back with the circus, he and his family would always eat a homey meal in their train car or trailer (depending whether the tour was international or not) before going out into the ring. Then, everyone in the troupe would sit down in a circle and tell what they were grateful for. It was one big, happy family; he even used to call the clowns his honorary uncles.
Needless to say, things were done quite differently at Wayne Manor.
Bruce tilted his head as Whisper became lost in memory. He had noticed that the adolescent had been zoning out more often as of late, whether it be at the Cave or in the Manor. Shaking his head, Bruce started eating again. The teen would eventually realize his food was getting cold, plus nothing on this Earth could keep Bruce from eating Alfred's cooking.
At exactly 3:34 AM, Whisper crawled out of bed and crept to the music room. He hadn't properly celebrated his birthday in years and nothing was going to prevent him from doing it today, even if he was the only one who knew of the importance of the date.
Sitting down at the piano bench, Dick began to play and sing the peppy tune of 'Happy Birthday.' Later on, he will tell himself it was purely an accident that he said 'Richard' instead of 'Whisper', because he was most certainly not going soft. Not by a long shot.
After playing a few more songs, the teen finally headed back towards his room. Maybe he would innocently suggest to M'gann that a chocolate cake would be fun to make.
Then again, he might ask Alfred instead, despite the fact that it would only make the Englishman more suspicious. Because no one, especially those wannabe chefs on TV, could ever compare to the culinary skills of Alfred Pennyworth: Batbutler extraordinaire.
He found them.
After a year and a half traveling throughout the U.S., two months in the slums of Gotham, and half a year living part time in Wayne Mansion, Whisper finally found just which cemetery his family was buried in. Somehow, it didn't surprise him that Bruce paid for the service and headstones.
Maybe it was true that he never really tried to find them, not having the courage to scour row upon row of names long forgotten. He wasn't even there for the funeral, so how could he be there an entire four years afterwards? Because of his uncertainty, Whisper didn't look for details. He just downloaded the article stating the approximate area where 'the deceased Flying Graysons lay' and saved it to his glove.
He promised himself that he would visit him by the end of the year. Looking at the calendar that clearly said 'December 3, 2010', he just hoped that he would be ready by that time.
Flipping around downtown Gotham was not how Whisper wanted to spend his day. Why he even had to help Bats with a villain that had been around for ages was beyond him. Was he able to go on the mission that Batman had assigned for part of the Team or just hang out at the Cave? Absolutely not! Instead, he was forced to take down the Scarecrow's henchmen and help the civilians to safety.
Punching yet another thug into unconsciousness, Whisper quickly took in his surroundings. Batman and Scarecrow could be seen battling it out down the street, the former attempting to edge toward the giant bomb in the middle of an intersection. Just as Whisper was about to go assist in the fight, a shrill cry met his ears.
Whisper turned on his heel, only to spot a middle-aged man backing away from yet another underling. Well apparently, grown men now sounded like little girls. Fighting down a smile, the teen launched himself at the criminal. This one was slightly better than the rest, but not by much. All Whisper had to do was dodge a few sloppy punches, knee him in the gut, then kick him upside the head.
Piece of cake.
That is, until Whisper caught sight of the grenade rapidly beeping on the ground. Normally, a regular grenade would be bad enough, but since that one came from one of Scarecrow's goons, the teen knew that he had to get both himself and the still-cowering civilian out of the blast radius right then and there.
That plan didn't necessarily work, though, and soon, a cloud of green gas surrounded them both. There was one rebreather in Whisper's utility belt and two people. Whisper, letting his darn hero complex take over, popped the device out and stuffed it into the man's mouth, leaving himself exposed.
Whisper coughed as fear gas worked its way down his throat. Trying to be as loud as his now sore throat would let him, he told his companion, "Keep the rebreather in!" He pointed in the opposite direction of where Batman was fighting. "Go that way and don't stop until," he paused to cough, "until you've turned the corner!" At seeing the man hesitate, Whisper shouted more urgently, "Go!"
At that, the civilian dashed off, leaving Whisper to wobble to a building and lean his back on it. He had worked up an immunity to a large amount of fear gas, but that was two years ago. He just hoped it gave him some protection. He wasn't quite keen on facing his worst fears at the moment.
Whisper groaned at his surroundings started spinning, letting his back slide down the wall in a sitting position. Closing his eyes and leaning it back, Whisper tried to block everything out. It's not real, Grayson! Get a hold of yourself!
The soft sound of crunching gravel alerted Whisper to someone approaching and, praying it was Batman, he opened his eyes, ignoring the vertigo that came with the action.
A black smudge appeared through the swirls of everything around him and, soon, it had revealed itself as a tall, dark, figure with pointed ears.
Grinning slightly in relief, Whisper croaked, "Batm-," but cut himself off. The person before him started to morph, becoming lighter and sprouting what looked to be like feathers. The nose became more prominent,
almost resembling a beak, and a predatory gleam appeared in its eyes.
No, no, please, no.
Whisper pressed his back further in the wall. He had, had, had to get away…
Batman watched his young...semi-partner in worry. Whisper's pupils were dilated and his eyes wide, terror clearly displayed in them. The Caped Crusader quickly took in the gas quickly dispersing, suddenly glad for the rebreather in his mouth. Trying to be as calming as possible, the man advanced slowly, hands held in a placating gesture.
"Don-don't you dare c-come any closer."
Batman paused. It was a wonder Whisper was still coherent, let alone do that he had managed to push away any dread and only show fury in his now narrowed eyes.
Ignoring the threat, Batman kept up his advance, noting Whisper's shaking hands. Slowly, he bent down, only a yard away from the adolescent. Just as Batman started to reach forward, Whisper moved, darting to the right.
Batman, acting on instinct more than anything else, grabbed Whisper's arm before he got out of range. The teen yelped and twisted his arm sharply, looking like a contortionist. Pulling Whisper closer, Batman reluctantly put the boy's left arm behind his back and gripped his right shoulder tightly.
He needed to administer the antidote as soon as possible. Despite Batman's superior strength and the fact that Whisper was in the hardest hold to escape ever, the man had no doubt that, somehow, the juvenile would find a way to get away in the near future.
"Let go of me! Damn it! Let go! I don't want to join you! Leave me alone!" Whisper continued to struggle, hot tears welling up in his eyes. There was no way he was going with them! Another tug was cut off by Whisper's sleeve being pulled up and a sudden prick on his inner elbow.
Slamming his foot onto the kneecap behind him, he finally managed to break free. He took two steps before falling onto his knees, the ground swimming before him. Whisper rolled over into a sitting position and put one hand to his head.
A black boot came into the adolescent's range of sight and he instantly tensed. Only when he recognized the person inhabiting the boot did he relax, albeit hesitantly.
Looking up at the Dark Knight, he asked shakily, "B-batman? What happened?"
He remembered the Talon, but everything was just so...fuzzy.
Batman crouched down in front of him, his usually stoic expression expressing worry...for him. "You got a dose of fear toxin, but I managed to get you the antidote."
"Y-you mean it...it wasn't real?"
At Batman's nod, Whisper gave a tremulous laugh and collapsed onto his back. "Thank God," he mumbled. Sitting back up suddenly, he looked at Batman with utmost seriousness.
"Next time Scarecrow escapes from Arkham, you are not asking me to help, got it?"
Batman just gave the tiniest of chuckles.
Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, looking over the mission reports of that day. Chesire and Sportmaster had both escaped, along with the mysterious briefcase they had been carrying. According to Hugo Strange, Ivo had never left Belle Reve, even though Artemis insisted that she saw him and one of his MONQUIs working on what looked to be like an inhibitor collar.
Shaking his head, Bruce leaned back into his chair. The criminal underworld had been...active, lately, interacting in ways they had never done before. Finally, the man shut off his computer and started up the staircase.
Maybe he would check on Whisper before heading to bed himself...
AN: And...scene! Okay, I'm gonna go more in depth with what Ivo was working on later. Next chapter is 'Performance'! I'm so eager to begin! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Hope you enjoyed this!
-GSDLover