Robin: Beginnings - Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

I Am Declared a Charity Case

The next few days are pretty much the same. I wake up, get ready, then launch into my daily routine. Alfred nearly kills me in the gym every day. I don’t understand why he expects me to sneak up on him and land a punch without him noticing. I don’t know how he dodges the punches, old and dressed in a three-piece suit like he is. 

I don’t understand why I have to work my butt off on the still rings, flipping around and holding myself up by my arms alone. I don’t understand why I have to run, and run, and run. What? Is he getting me ready to be in the Olympics? To compete in every single stupid event? Because it sure feels like it. I have to practice throwing darts at targets, shooting wooden ducks out of the air with plank guns, and tossing boomerangs around the yard with Ace. I don’t get the point of that last one.

But I’d be lying if I said I don’t enjoy myself. Every time I collapse into my chair to eat breakfast after a good morning’s workout brings a sense of satisfaction. My whole body burns, but it’s a good burn.

The martial arts are fun too. I wanted to hide, though, when Alfred said Jui-Jitsu and I said, ‘bless you.’ I’m just glad the man doesn’t have a sense of humor because if he did, I’d really die from embarrassment. Instead, I only got the ‘look.’ 

By the end of the week, I’m sneaking up on Alfred, sliding behind him, so he doesn’t see me, catching his blows before they land. Okay, well, most of the time. And let me tell you, you would think that an old, stuffy British butler can’t land a punch? Yeah, get punched by Alfred and come back. I guarantee you’ll be singing a different song. 

On top of all that, I practice breathing, controlling my heart rate, and all that weird but cool stuff that Masters do. I laugh when Alfred tosses me a long wooden stick he calls a bō staff. That morning, it’s all we practice. Punches, kicks, sticks, the more I do it, the more I love it. 

What I really want to know, though, is how Alfred knows all this stuff. I did ask him about it on my first day of kickboxing, after he sent me down to the ground, hugging my stomach, and do you know what he said? He just said: “What, you do not think I have always been a butler, do you, Master Dick?”

It takes me a while, but finally, on my fifth day, I force myself to climb the ladder to the trapeze swings. I don’t want to look down. I don’t want to take that bar and swing over the ground. All I can hear is their screams. But I do it anyway. I fly, flipping and twirling, and I live for it. Because I find, when I’m up there, I’m alive, and they’re with me. It’s not like my nightmares. When I spar with Alfred, when I work out on the gymnastic equipment or dive into the pool, they’re with me. I see their smiles. I hear their laughter. And I can capture the moments in my head. 

I thought I’d hate studying all the extra subjects that Alfred’s making me do. But I love them. Literature’s my favorite, but Forensics and Criminal Science are fantastic too. When I study those, I can just imagine the Gotham PD working the case of my parents' murder, using all of these skills to track Zucco down. 

And I think about Zucco a lot. When I punch the bags or the pads on Alfred’s hands, I imagine they’re Zucco, so my punches land. When my kicks slam into the boards, snapping the wood in half, I imagine that it’s Zucco’s stomach. I hate the feeling, the burning anger that sends spots into my eyes, but then I remind myself that he did it. He took them from me. 

Bruce isn’t around much. He usually wakes up around three-thirty when I’m done with school, and we talk about my classes sometimes. Alfred wasn’t kidding when he said that the expectations were high. Bruce’s definitely not the shallow, stupid person that the media makes him out to be. He’s a genius, even sometimes helping me with my homework. But not as much as I’d like. 

More often than not, he’s gone in his office, and I don’t see him until dinner— or even the next day. But, like Alfred said, the more I’m around him, the more I know him, the real him. Or at least the one that I want to be real. 

The Bruce Wayne who helps me figure out that one problem that’s making my brain hurt. The Bruce Wayne who likes to take me into the garage and wash cars with me, polishing them until they shine. The Bruce Wayne who takes me out to play basketball, dunking baskets like the best of them. 

The Bruce Wayne that actually cares. 

“Come on, Master Dick. It is a simple lock. Now, how do you get out of it?” I’m chained to a chair. No, no, don’t call child services. I’m fine. Really. But I’m sitting in the living room in one of the straight-backed chairs, my limbs chained to the arms and legs. 

All part of my newest class, Escapology. I didn’t even know that was a thing until now, but there it is. Other subjects that Alfred’s added include hacking and sleight of hand, and what I call ‘the ninja thing,’ which is basically disappearing when someone isn’t looking, trying to get away before they notice. That’s fu,n but so hard. More often than not, I trip over my own feet and end up falling flat on my face by the time Alfred turns around. Thank goodness the man doesn’t laugh. Otherwise, I don’t think I’d ever live it down. 

“I don’t have the pin, though!” I squirm in my chains, trying to reach the small locks sitting on top of my wrists. I grunt, wiggling my hands and squeezing my fingers through the chains. I know I’ve got to get my hands free first. I’m not about to undo locks with my toes. But I lost the bobby pin Alfred had me stick in my mouth. It sits on the floor right in front of my feet, taunting me. 

“Then get it, Master Dick.” That’s all Alfred says. In fact, he leaves, disappearing into the kitchen. I’m doomed. 

“I need to pee.” I groan, trying to scoot my chair towards the bobby pin only inches from my feet. I stick my tongue out with the effort, wiggling my bare toes towards the pin. But, if I get it, how will I reach my hands?

I grasp the pin between my big toe and second toe, grunting in triumph. Now… what to do? I try so many things, bending over as far as I can, trying to scoot the chains up with my foot, tipping the chair over, which only gives me a heart-stopping jump as I thump back down onto the carpet, thankfully right side up. 

What’s Alfred expecting me to do? I’m not Plastic Man over here. 

Finally, I make up my mind. I’ll pick that lock with my toes. Just you watch me! I bend my foot over to the lock, closing my eyes, feeling around for the opening. It takes a few tries, well, a lot, actually, but I finally get the bobby pin into the lock. I wiggle my toes around until CLICK! The lock pops off, and I shake the chain from my leg. 

Next is the easy part. Well, easy for me. I lift my leg and lean forward, bending until I get the bobby pin firmly grasped between my teeth. Now I just need to hang onto it and—

The pin drops into my hand. It’s not long before I’m out of the chair, rubbing my wrists, dancing with glee. “Yeah!” I point at the chair as if it was its fault I was stuck there. “Take that, you frugal piece of furniture!”

“Not bad.” I spin around, my foot whipping into a powerful sidekick, only for Bruce to snatch it in his hands without so much as batting an eye. Really, what’s with this guy? I never see him in the gym. Is that what he does all night? Train?

I hop around on one leg for a little while, my cheeks burning. But I still manage a sheepish smile, muttering a “thanks” as he drops my foot. I’m proud to say that I don’t teeter around or stumble. If my balance was good before, it’s way better now. At least I have that going for me. 

“Why were you chained to a chair?” Bruce bends down and picks up the chains, inspecting them. 

I rub my neck. What a way to greet a person. What? Does he walk up to someone and say, ‘So, do you always drown on Saturday afternoons?’ “Alfred’s teaching me escapology. Ya know, if someone ever kidnaps me?”

“Hm.” Bruce’s eyes narrow, and I want to take a step back. Why does he do that whenever I mention Alfred training me? Isn’t he the one who told Alfred to do it? Isn’t he the reason why I’m doing it in the first place? So I can live up to the Wayne Family name? “Well, you did a good job. But, in real life, if you took that long to get away, it would already be too late.”

I try not to ask. I really do. But I can’t help myself. “Have you ever been kidnapped?”

“A lot of times, actually.” Bruce hands me the chains as if this is the most normal thing to say in the world. I blink at him. What’s wrong with this place? Who wants to live in a city where they're kidnapped every other day? Serious help, that’s what they need. Serious help. 

“Oh. Wow.” I lean forward, tugging at the chain. How do you respond to a bomb like that? “Is it because you’re rich, or because of your glowing reputation?”

Bruce laughs. It’s short, like most of his laughs at home, but it is genuine, unlike his longer laughs on TV. “You should know by now that my ‘reputation,’ as you call it, isn’t—”

“Who you are?” I assess him. I’ve been learning a lot, and the more I learn, the more I see. What did Alfred say? ‘Master Bruce is a man of many secrets, many mysteries. He is very protective of those secrets.’ “You put on a show.” I realize, shocking myself with my own deduction. Hey, maybe I do learn things after all!

Bruce’s surprised but pleased. “Yes. A show. All of it’s an act.” Bruce’s sigh is deep, tired. But didn’t he just get up? “A play for the media to eat up. They have to have something.”

“But…” I puzzle over this. Why? Why would he be so different at home than he is with other people? Why can’t everyone see the real Bruce Wayne? Wouldn’t that be better? “Why?”

Bruce doesn’t answer. Instead, he holds out a pamphlet. “I know Alfred has got you back on track for schooling. We took the liberty to turn in your Placement Test to Gotham Academy, and they’ve accepted you. 

I take the pamphlet, trying to ignore the fact that Bruce ignored me again. If everything outside the house is a show, why do I get the feeling he’s still hiding something here at home? No, not just something, a lot of things. Then again, should I even care? Shouldn’t I just be grateful I get time with him as it is?

But… school? I look at the pamphlet, taking in the nice font, the crisp pictures, and the typical talking up about the school and its faculty. I’m told on the booklet that I’m going to get the best education I could possibly hope for. That my future will be set in success. 

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to say. 

I want to get out of this Manor. I want to see other people. I want to be around kids my age, talk with kids my age, and laugh with kids my age. But… how will they treat me? I’m the ward of Bruce Wayne. Will they even know? Will they even care?

Bruce reads my expression flawlessly. In a rare moment, he sits on the couch in front of the normal-sized TV, patting the cushion next to him. I thump down beside him, clutching the pamphlet. He does what I expect. Blow me away with how much he knows how I feel. How much he understands. 

“I know this might be… scary, Dick.” His voice is that deep, kind voice I’ve heard in the garage, that I’ve heard waking me from my night terrors. Why can’t I have him here all the time? “Going to a school for the first time— but more than that, going after what’s happened.”

I snort, kicking my legs against the seat. “Yeah… that about sums it up.” I glance at him, my heels pounding into the couch. “But… I want to be with other kids, Bruce. It’s not that I don’t want to go… it’s just….”

“It’s something new. Something unsure.” Bruce puts a hand on my shoulder, a weight keeping me rooted in reality, keeping me away from the questions wanting to spiral me out of control. “There’s going to be a lot of that, Dick. Think about how it was coming here, starting a new life, a new routine. This isn’t ever going to stop.”

It should, though. The circus was my routine for my first twelve years of living. Nothing really changed, except I went from watching to helping to participating. 

Bruce keeps going. “School, parties, work, life, growing up… Dick, trust me, it will never stop. But we need to keep moving on with it. Don’t think you have to be completely confident in every new situation. That’s not how it works. Being nervous is natural.”

“Were you nervous?” I scoot closer to him, my feet finally finding a place, propped up on the coffee table. “When you first had to do all of this, were you nervous?”

“Of course I was.” More than ever, I realize that there’s an actual human being sitting next to me, settling back against the cushions, his arm moving to drape around my shoulders. I want him around. I want him around every day, every moment. I need him. Doesn’t he know that? “I went to an academy too— at least until high school. Then, I went away to boarding school. Then around the world for college.”

I lean against his strong arm, his voice calming my jittering nerves, untwisting my knotting stomach. “When I returned, I had to take over my father’s company. I studied so much, learned so much, and grew so much, but I was still unsure. I had a huge burden to bear. I still do.” Bruce sighs. “And now I hear that burden’s yours, too.”

I look at him. Look up at those thoughtful eyes, those eyes that seem to read every part of my expression, hear all of my thoughts, spoken and unspoken. I can talk to him. I can share it with him. I’m safe. “Alfred says I have to live up to the Wayne legacy… but—” I can’t look at him anymore. I find something interesting to stare at on my feet, my eyes running along my toes. “But I’m not even a Wayne. I’m just your ward.”

I jump, realizing what I’ve just said, and whip back to Bruce, waving my hands frantically. Okay, maybe I can’t share that much! “It’s not that I don’t love it here or love the stuff I study. I do! I do! It’s just….”

“I know.” That’s all he has to say. We sit there in silence until Alfred calls us to dinner. Bruce eats with us, then tells Alfred to get my things ready for the morning. For school. 

In the morning, I get up an hour earlier. Alfred and I train like usual, but after, instead of going to breakfast, I go straight to my room, shower, and get dressed in my school uniform. I didn’t even know that school uniforms were a thing anymore, but here I am, slicking back my hair, wearing a white button-up, a red and gold striped tie, a navy jacket complete with a red shield patch logo on the pocket, and navy pants. 

I get a new school bag too, just the right size to carry my lunch and books, the black leather shining brand new in the sunlight as Alfred leads me to the limo parked in the drive. I want Bruce to come out to say goodbye and good luck on my first day, but he’s still asleep in his room. 

So I’m left to snack on BBQ chips in the back of the limo, crunching my way through the drive, peering out the windows, searching for my new school. I might just throw up in my mouth when Alfred pulls up to a large campus. The buildings are aged but graceful, the iron fence looking like our own fence back at the manor, with ivy crawling along the poles. The familiar aesthetic should calm me down, but really, it seems more like a prison or the creepy fences around graveyards. 

The courtyard is packed with kids, all dressed like me. Well, the girls wear skirts instead of pants, some wearing navy and gold knitted vests instead of jackets, and argyle socks pulled up to their knees, but the effect’s the same. They chat, laugh, and whisper in groups, waiting for the bell to ring. Just how I imagined school would be like. 

My hands twist the strap of my bag. I want to do this… but I also want to hide in the seats, safely away from all these kids. I can feel Alfred’s firm gaze watching me as he steps out of the limo and opens the door for me. I don’t want to move; some kids are already staring. I don’t want to go out there, where the sharks are circling. Part of me remembers the Home, King Kong, and the caretakers. I have to swallow hard to keep the barf from embarrassing me more. 

I strangle my strap and climb out of the limo, looking up at Alfred. “Thanks, Alfred.” I manage, smiling. Keep smiling. Keep going. Everything will be fine. This is something new, something exciting! Wow, I haven’t had to tell myself this in a while. 

“You are most welcome, Master Dick.” Alfred clasps his hands in front of him, nodding as he looks me over. “Have a good first day at school. I will pick you up right here. Wait for me, please.”

“Yeah, of course.” I adjust my strap and take a step back, away from Alfred and towards the sea of tweens and teens. Towards my utter annihilation and doom. “See you later, Alfred.”

“Goodbye, Master Dick.” Too soon, Alfred’s driving away, taking my only way of escape with him. Yeah, yeah, call me a baby. Call me dramatic. But if you aren’t nervous going into a new, strange place full of people you don’t know, well, I don’t actually know what to say to you. Good for you, I guess?

Taking a deep breath, I walk into the school grounds. Some people stare, but most of them ignore me. Honestly, it’s a mixed bag. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. Movies lie. Most school movies have the new kid being ‘weird’ or universally loved by almost everyone, except the ‘mean crowd.’ But in reality, people are people. Not one gaze is alike. 

I’m just about to walk up to someone and ask what I should be doing or who I should be talking to when someone taps me on my shoulder. I turn around, expecting to see an unfamiliar face, perhaps a friend I can make. Instead, I’m met with sparkling green eyes, wild mac n’ cheese hair, and a face full of freckles. 

It’s all I can do not to squeal like she does. I don’t want to be a sissy in front of all the teen boys watching, especially on my first day, so I manage to make my shout of “Babs!” as deep and manly as possible. My voice still cracks, though. Oh well.

“DICK!” Someone, or a group of someones, snickers at my nickname, but I don’t care. Babs gives me a hug, leaving my face so red and hot that I might as well have eaten a ghost pepper. She smells like pizza, sweat, and lavender, which is a strange combination, but when did that ever faze me? If smell were a problem, I would’ve died in the Home.

“You go here?” I ask when she pulls away, her eyes glittering like emeralds. Man, I forgot how much I missed her! How much I wanted to see her again. What’s that Mom always said? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? What? It’s true!

“Yeah, I go here!” Her voice’s a breath of fresh air after the morugish quiet of the Manor. It reminds me of cozy blankets, hot chocolate, and tissues. I wonder why. “I’m a student liaison, in charge of helping new kids adjust to the schedule and stuff— but oh, Dick! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

My grin splits my face. I haven’t told Bruce or Alfred about my time at the Home yet, but for some reason, I can’t wait to tell Babs all about it over lunch. Maybe it’s because I know she’ll actually say what I need to hear. Bruce may be able to relate to being an orphan, but he was never put in a home. He had Alfred. And Alfred isn’t the kind of person to hug you after a sob story. “Yeah, I’m okay. I survived prison.” I joke about it, but Babs knows what I mean. 

We don’t talk about it yet, though. When she leads me inside, she shows me my locker, my list of classes, the schedule for the day, and what to do when the bells ring. 

We sit together in the courtyard for lunch, where I finally get to tell her about what happened after that morning when we said goodbye. About the Home, the mystery slop, the daring escape into the rain, the mugger who almost shot me, and who I met in a back alley.

“No, stinkn’ way!” Bab’s eyes are as round as saucers, her voice a reverent hush. “You met him? He saved you?”

“Yeah.” I stuff my sandwich into my mouth, talking with my mouth full since Alfred isn’t around to stop me. What? I just need to get it out of my system, okay? I can’t be perfect all the time! “I kicked him too, sent him stumbling backward.”

“No!” Babs looks as if she’s about to explode. I don’t know what I would tell the Commissioner. Probably something like, ‘Hey, so, uh, Commish, I accidentally blew up your daughter with my story about Batman.’

“Well… yes and no,” I confess, waving my sandwich with my motions. “He took one step back. But I did move him.”

“That’s got to be the coolest thing ANYONE has ever done!” Babs shoves her Lunchable pizza into her mouth— flapping her hand against her face as if it’s too hot on the benches. Maybe she is a little like Raya. But like, cooler. “I mean, the Batman!”

“On about him again, Babs?” You know what I said before? About movies being wrong about schools and stuff? Well, I eat my words because towards us walks someone who I’m sure is the ‘mean boy.’ He has a couple of friends with him, most of which look nice but snobbish. You know the type. The classic ‘rich kids’ who let it go to their heads. “Still obsessed with the Bat?”

“Hey!” Babs sits up straighter, scowling at them. “You love him too! He’s a hero, and he’s saved your dad more than once, Matt.”

Matt shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t fangirl over him all the time.” He turns to me, and for a moment, I don’t think he’s that bad. Maybe I’ve jumped the gun, and he’s actually nice. Then again— “Don’t let Babs babble your ear off. She can’t shut up about him. If you want to get away, just send up an S.M.F.B. You know, Save me from Babs?” Okay, so maybe I don’t like him that much.

I smile at him, relaxing back on my hands, letting my eyes twinkle. Matt and the others smile with me. “I don’t mind. I like hearing about Batman. I didn’t grow up here, so listening to all the cool stuff he’s done from someone who’s actually seen him do it is pretty awesome.” I don’t need to, but I add. “Who knows? Babs might end up writing the book on Batman.”

We all laugh at that, even Babs, who looks at me gratefully, mouthing a ‘thank you’ that the boys don’t see. Matt might not be King Kong, but someone doesn’t need to be big and tough to be mean. They don’t even have to shout or raise their voices. Sticks and stones. 

When we all finish laughing, I think Babs and I are in the clear. Now that Matt knows where I stand, he and his buddies will leave us alone. They should, really, but they don’t. Instead, Matt’s looking at me with that hard, cold, snake-like look that makes my blood boil. My fingers tremble. He’s not Zucco… he’s not Zucco… 

“You’re new… right?” 

I snort, shaking my head. “No, I’ve been going here since first grade.” Some of the boys snicker again, and I smile. If you can’t get them to leave, make them laugh, I guess. “Yes, I’m new. Dick Grayson.” I hold out my hand for a shake, but no one takes it. Okay, awkward. 

“Right…” Matt’s eyes narrow, looking me over like he would look over a piece of collector's art. It’s only now that I realize my mistake. If the boys at the Home knew who I was, what do these kids whose families are in the higher circles of society know? Bruce hasn’t let me turn on the TV other than to watch some movies with him, so I don’t know what the news is saying, but— “Wait, Dick Grayson, as in ‘Flying Graysons’ Dick Grayson?”

I know what’s coming. I don’t want to be here. I want to run, hide, turn back time so I can keep my big mouth shut, but I can’t. I stay stuck on the bench, fighting hard to keep the smile on my face. “Yup. That’s me!”

“Wow… Charity Case himself.” My eyebrows furrow at the name. ‘Charity Case’... Oh no, does he mean— 

“Matt!” Babs’ freckles are practically popping off her face, her hands on her hips, her eyes so stormy, I almost scoot away. Wow, she and Raya could be twins. I don’t know how to feel about this. “Don’t you dare call him that! Bruce Wayne—”

“Took him in to look good in front of the crowds.” Matt’s on a roll now, his façade dropping, the smile revealing a sneer. Snake. Coward! “My dad says he did it, so people like Gotham Hospital and the Orphanages don’t turn away his brand. You know, because he’s such a—”

“Charity Case, huh?” It’s all I can do to keep from punching Matt square in the face and break his nose. I can just see it now, him crying for his mommy, his nose all wonky. But I don’t dare. I shove my hands into my pockets, keeping my trembling fists hidden.“Well, I don’t think I care about that, Matt.” I stand up. Matt and his buddies take a few steps back. I’m the poster boy of calm, cool, and collected. I don’t give them the satisfaction of anything. Instead, I savor my small victory. “All I care about is that I'm not on the streets. Have you ever been on the streets, Matt?”

Matt doesn’t say anything. He’s trying to hold onto his sneer, his sense of power. I can’t let him know his words hurt. No one can ever know how much it stings, how much my eyes are smart. I point behind us, back at the street beyond the fence, away from the nicer part of town, and towards the run-down, crime-riddled streets. “You know, those things out there filled with people that would eat you up and spit you out? Do you know what that’s like, Matt?”

Matt doesn’t say anything. He can’t. I don’t give him the chance. “Well, if you don’t know what it’s like, maybe walk Gotham alone at night. See where that gets you. See how grateful you’ll be to go back to your nice, safe home.” I let my eyes spark dangerously, imagining myself as Raya’s lion, fangs and all. The image works. Matt and his posse take another couple of steps back. “You won’t care how you got there. You’ll just be grateful for what you’ve got. Like me.”

There’s silence for a moment, the tension so real that I could reach out and touch it. Babs is the one who breaks the staring contest, stepping up next to me, hands still on her hips. Wow, she really is the boss, isn’t she? “You heard him, Matt. Get to it.” I know she can talk because she’s the Commissioner’s daughter. She’s seen things I’m sure I wouldn’t ever want to see. She knows more than any of us what’s really out on those streets. 

And Matt and his buddies know it, too. They leave, but the nickname still lingers in the air. 

Charity Case. 

The rest of the day, I hear the whispers. They say I’m smart, and funny, and I make them laugh. Apparently, I’m this easy-going guy that’s fun to talk to and swap jokes with. That’s the general verdict of my new peers. But I know there’s something else. Whispers behind my back. Some of them, from rich and powerful families like Matt, look at me like I’m nothing. Like, I don’t belong in their world. Which, to be honest, I don’t. But some, like the more normal kids at the Academy, look at me with envy. 

After all, they have families and everything they should need, right? But how did I, an orphan boy, land a life with a billionaire without even trying?

By the time Alfred picks me up, I’m so lost in thought, excited and frustrated at once, that I don’t notice the black car watching us leave or the men standing at the corner, his dual-colored eyes glittering. 

To be Continued...