A/N: Special
thanks to
WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS TO “CATCHER”!
“The Greatest Gift”
Twelfth Birthday
There were moments when even Alfred Pennyworth questioned his elder charge’s sanity, but today was the exception. Today he knew Bruce Wayne was insane.
“Master Bruce, don’t you understand the ramifications?”
“The Joker escaped, Alfred.” Bruce, with his cowl against his back, never looked away from the computer. “The Joker.”
“And this day comes around but once a year. I would think the world’s greatest detective would not need a reminder in his BlackBerry.”
“He wants to be there.”
“He wants you to be here, but he will take being there with you as a consolation prize.”
Bruce stopped for a moment. He glanced back at the older man, standing over him with a disapproving scowl. Then, when a blip showed up on the Cray’s monitor, he pulled the cowl over his face and rushed toward the car.
He slowed to a halt just before the Batmobile, seeing the little bright character in the passenger seat, his feet hitched on the dashboard. He slipped his mask over his face and gave Batman a kind smile.
“You got him?”
Alfred snatched Batman’s elbow and whirled him around to whisper, “He deserves more.”
“I have to go.”
“Yes, but not for the reason you think.”
“I’ll get him a present—”
“His birthday is today, Bruce. Today, not tomorrow.”
“It’s okay.”
The two adults looked at the boy now balancing on his hands on the hood of the car.
“Every moment is the Joker’s free is another moment no one’s safe.” The boy flipped to his pixie boots. “My birthday is not an exception.”
Batman met Alfred’s eyes sternly. “He understands.”
“Yes. Only Heaven knows why.” Alfred leaned closer to whisper. “Tomorrow, you will get him a good present. I hear a horse is preferable.”
“I was thinking a dirt bike.”
Robin smiled widely. “Why choose?”
Alfred winked. “Why indeed.”
*^*^*
Fourteenth Birthday
Night fell early in
Batman
leapt from roof to roof, the
Batman wiped the disturbing thought from his mind. He needed to stay focused. The boy might have woken up in another’s custody, but he would not go to sleep that way.
He wouldn’t.
Batman shot a line and swung into the air, his feet pushed in front of him. The balcony’s sliding glass door shattered upon impact, and Batman landed in a crouch. The lights flipped on in the opulent chambers. It was rather large with a thick king-sized bed with a plush chair in the corner. A few books were stacked on an end table—The Republic, The Art of War, and MacBeth. There were no communication devices of any kind or even a TV. Yet it seemed clean and comfortable with a bathroom off to the side.
Jeans and a Gotham Knights T-shirt were thrown over the ottoman.
The boy had been there.
Had being the operative word.
“You are too late.”
Batman looked up at the white-haired man before him. He was an albino, dressed in all white with a shiteating grin. The detective had seen him before in the videos and pictures he’d taken. He was known as the White Ghost but whom he worked for remained a mystery. Anyone who knew anything was dead or scared witless.
Around Batman stood black-figured men and women—ninjas. His son was taken by ninjas. But why? For what purpose?
Batman slowly rose to his feet. “Where. Is. He.”
White Ghost cocked his head to the side. “I thought you would be taller.”
Lunging, Batman almost reached White Ghost before the ninjas attacked. A kick, a punch, a karate chop, and one by one, the ninjas fell. Batman’s attacks were more vicious than usual, more brutal, but that could not be helped. They had harmed his kin, and that could not be tolerated.
As he finally turned back to White Ghost, he saw the albino now held a gun, pointed directly at Batman’s heart.
“I usually detest such barbaric forms of violence, but under the circumstances, I believe this is necessary.”
“I won’t ask again,” Batman growled.
“The boy has assimilated and joined the Master.”
“Who is the Master?”
“Someone you will know intimately one day,” White Ghost replied, “but the boy is lost to you.”
“Like hell.”
White Ghost’s lips perked. “It is over, Detective. Accept it.”
“Never.”
Slowly, the ninjas awoke and rose to their feet. Batman never glanced at them.
“What do you think? You can exhort answers from me, from my men. They won’t talk, for they are only loyal to me. I’m sure you have realized that by now.”
Batman narrowed his eyes.
“The boy was here less than an hour ago, but the Master knew you were coming. He knows you, and he knows you will not give up. So he has sent me to deal with you.”
Batman gave one more glance about the room. The draws were pulled open. Empy closets, the books—and around a bedpost, cable wire.
They’d tied the boy to the bedpost, and they’d left in a hurry.
“I will find him,” Batman promised.
White Ghost pulled out a syringe.
“No. He’ll eventually find you.”
The ninjas lunged, and Batman threw batarangs. They didn’t hit one target.
*^*^*
Standing on a balcony of the Four Seasons, Dick threw his head back and allowed the warming spring air to soothe his flushed cheeks. The last hour and a half had been pure hell for him, lounging in the gala with the world’s deadliest criminals and outlaws. Glancing back at the party inside, he swore the person to the left was the North Korean dictator.
Of course,
he’d had a glimmer of hope. Thomas Whitmire, owner of Whitmire Incorporated, an
up and coming trading company out of
Whitmire swirled the wine about his glass and took a nip. “Sorry, kid, but I know which side my bread is buttered on, and Bruce—he’s nothing but jam compared to Mr. al Ghul here. You’ve traded up.”
Dick sighed
and leaned his elbows upon the railing. He’d turned fourteen today, which meant
he’d been away from
“Emperors do not slouch.”
Dick immediately straightened his back at the sudden order, and he pivoted with his chin unnaturally raised. “They don’t usually kidnap and imprison their heirs, either, so I guess you make up the rules as you go.”
Ra’s al Ghul seemingly floated onto the balcony, his cape catching wind as he walked. His elegant hand rose, and a bent knuckle caressed Dick’s cheek. “Shows how little you know. Emperors do what they must to secure their rule. I must do what I must to secure my family’s. Our family.”
“We’re not family.”
“And where is yours?” The man’s devious eyes bore into Dick’s, but the teen refused to be intimidated.
“Bruce will find me.”
“The Detective has forgotten you, Richard.”
“That’s a lie.”
Ra’s chuckled raspy. “It has been five months, and the world’s greatest detective hasn’t been able to find his protégé?”
Now, Dick looked away.
“Yes, Richard, as much as you lie to me, you cannot lie to yourself.” Ra’s leaned forward to whisper. “He has forgotten about you, but trust me, boy. I will not.”
A figure dressed all in white appeared in the doorway, and he nodded once to Ra’s. Dick caught White Ghost’s dark eyes before he met Ra’s. They paralleled, and in them, he saw nothing but death and darkness.
“May I retire to my chambers?” he asked, his teeth clenched together. He hated asking for permission, but it was little to give in exchange for a painless night.
Ra’s smiled gently, almost fatherly. “Yes. Tonight, I will allow your comfort, Richard. You may call it your present.”
Dick nodded and headed off the balcony, thankful to be away from Ra’s. White Ghost’s company wasn’t much better, but he knew no torture would befall him tonight. Ra’s had said he could be left alone, so tonight, he was safe. Or as safe as he could be held captive by the deadliest megalomaniacs in the world.
White Ghost placed a firm hand on Dick’s shoulder, a reminder not to run. Dick had learned by then it was futile. Getting his ass kicked time and time again would do that to a person, but he still bored his steel eyes into Whitmire’s as he crossed the dance floor.
He knew the man would regret this. When Bruce found him finally—well, he’d leave the details up to Bruce.
Silence held as they exited the building, and Dick knew better to run. With a hand on his shoulder, White Ghost led him through the crowd and promised that any resistance would end with swift agony. Still, Dick looked up at the camera hanging down from the Four Seasons’ overhang. Would Bruce find this? Would he look down at Dick and want him back—or think he wasn’t strong enough to be his protégé anymore? Was that why the Batman hadn’t found him yet?
He entered the limo. Leaning his chin on his hand, Dick asked, “Why do you do it?”
White Ghost made no indication that he’d heard Dick.
“Seriously? Ra’s has taken me as his heir, not you, and you’re his son. He doesn’t at all acknowledge you as such.”
“Why I follow the Master is not your concern.”
“Other than the fact that you torture me because of it, and seriously, why do you?” Dick got him talking, and yet he didn’t know why. Why was he pressing this? “You’re practically his servant. Why don’t you fight for your rightful position? Why do you accept the one he’s cast you in?”
“Because it is my master’s bidding, and I do not question my master.”
“He’s your father, not your master. You shouldn’t just let him—”
“And it would do you well not to question, either, if you wish to keep your birthday blood free.”
Dick averted his eyes. The threats had become so commonplace he hardly realized them anymore.
“Perhaps that’s the reason he chose me for his heir. Perhaps he knows a true leader knows when to question. Perhaps he knows I am the better choice.”
He could have avoided the slap. He didn’t need to taste the metallic liquid rolling over his tongue or feel the blood seep down his chin. In fact, he could have blocked and reciprocated.
But he didn’t.
And that was when he knew the al Ghuls had won, that they had broken him.
Back when they first took him, he fought back. When White Ghost attacked, he struck back. A punch, a kick, something to show that for every scar they gave him, he would return. But something happened. Somewhere between the whipping and the beatings, he’d stopped. The attacks left him drained, bleeding, and alone, locked many times in a lonely cell or if he was lucky, in his chambers, worse off than he was prior.
He’d lost hope.
It had been five months, and if Dick knew one thing, it was Bruce was the most stubborn man on the planet. If he wanted something, no one could stop him.
Then why hadn’t Bruce found him yet?
The limo stopped in front of a high-rise building with wide windows and large balconies. Dick emptied out before White Ghost and went to the private elevator. His guardian rode with him in silence. When the doors open, a pack of ninjas awaited his arrival and led him to a specific door.
Apparently, Ra’s gave him a second present because White Ghost didn’t follow him into the chambers to bind him to the bedposts. Today, he would be given free reign of the suite, and today, he would savor it.
Falling back onto the overstuffed bed, he let out a sigh and stared at his closet. The door was shut. He’d left it open. And his lamp—it had been moved a fraction of an inch, and—what glimmered at the base of his sliding glass window? He sat up and inched toward it. Carefully, he extracted the small piece from the track. Glass. His window had been broken—or more accurately, shattered?
What happened here?
Dick snorted to himself and pulled off his dress shirt. Probably another assassination attempt by the League of Shadows trying to take out Ra’s’s newest heir.
Heading into the bathroom, all Dick wanted was a warm shower and a few minutes of peace and solace. Discarding his shirt upon the floor, he stopped. His eyebrow furled, and he retreated into his room.
There, embedded in the wooden frame of the bathroom door was a batarang.
*^*^*
“There has to be something we can do,” Flash—Barry Allen—demanded.
Bruce, with a five o’clock shadow and black circles under his eyes, placed the DVD in the JLA’s computer. “The room had been evacuated. They had already moved him.”
“They couldn’t have gotten far.”
“Far enough not to know where.”
Superman shook his head and crossed his arms. “Bruce, please. Shutting us won’t help.”
“Keeping you in hasn’t either.”
Green Arrow snorted. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t go back to that place. Maybe there was a clue.”
Batman shook his head. “They’re smarter than you give them credit. Whoever did this, they wouldn’t keep Dick in a place that was compromised.”
Wonder Woman, her face firm, stood next to Superman with narrowed eyes. A warrior herself, she understood Batman’s callous exterior. “What can we do?”
“Oracle created this collection of
film from around
And that the JLA could do.
Green Lantern hit the play button
after a few seconds of fuzz, the picture cleared. The footage lasted what
seemed like an eternity as people lingered through the streets of
Eight hours later, a pile of pizzas, and a natural disaster or two, Superman sat up in his chair.
“Wait.”
Batman hit the pause button.
Hovering a few feet off the ground, Superman pointed to a small scene outside the Four Seasons hotel by the front door. “Here. Focus it here.”
With a few, swift clicks, Batman switched to a closer camera and hit play. Sure enough, a boy in a blue dress shirt and black slacks was being led by the albino Batman had fought earlier that night. The boy looked directly at the camera as if looking right at Bruce himself.
Dick Grayson.
Alive.
The boy was unbound, but his face showed his trepidation. And the ever firm hand scrunching his shoulder showed the possession of the man known as White Ghost. He was responsible for Dick.
And he would pay.
*^*^*
Seventeenth Birthday
“…and many more!” Damian’s cheerful voice bleeted over the rest as he sat upon the couch, his hands upon his brother’s shoulder as Dick tore open present after present.
New ski boots. “Little D, that’s really only for the cake singing. It doesn’t apply to presents.”
“Really?” The boy shook his head indignantly. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Dick ruffled the boy’s hair before looking at his parents, sitting in their respective chairs. “Dad, Alfred, you didn’t have to do this, y’know.”
“They are small tokens compared to the present we have received, Richard,” Alfred admonished.
“Is that a nice way of saying, ‘Shut up and open your presents’?”
“You said the words, not I.”
“Actually.” Bruce eyed Dick warily for a long moment, to the point where Dick returned the glare mockingly. Bruce rubbed his hands together—a nervous gesture?—before disappearing from the room.
Dick looked from Alfred to Damian. “Is there something I should know?”
Alfred said nothing, but Damian giggled.
Ah, the squirt knew something.
With an infectious smirk, Dick pounced and attacked his little brother with wiggling fingers. “You know something, don’tcha, half pint? Huh? What is it? What—?”
Even through Damian’s angelic giggles, he heard the small ruff!
Dick eased off his brother to see the small animal that didn’t even reach the couch cushions. Black with a little tail wagging at speeds not even Damian’s mouth achieved, the animal jumped up and down, barking lowly, its tongue hanging outside its mouth. And on top of its head, a little blue bow.
A Black
Dad got him a puppy for his birthday.
“Hey there, little guy.” Dick reached down to pull the puppy into his arms, and the dog immediately licked the teen’s nose.
“His name is Ace,” Bruce announced as he entered the room once more.
Dick lowered the puppy into his lap, so Damian could pet it. The dog lapped the boy’s cheek. “You named my puppy?”
“I want a sixth sense in this house, someone who will know if an intruder is here before us.”
“You want a sixth sense?” Dick laughed. “We have the freakin’ Batman, an ex-Scotland Yard spy, and the former Prince of the Assassins here. Yeah, we need to add a sixth sense.”
Bruce brushed the boy’s argument away with a wave. “You’re not going to like him. I’ve already begun training him to follow your every move, bark if there’s a problem, even attack if need be. He’ll be a proverbial pain in your ass, but I don’t care.”
Dick put a hand to the side of his mouth to cover his words from Damian and whispered, “Isn’t that what that little pain in the tushy does?”
Bruce slapped the boy upside the head.
Petting the puppy absently, Dick sighed. “I’m serious about the presents, though. I want you to take them back.”
“Richard, please. Allow us to indulge,” Alfred replied. “We haven’t been able to in three years.”
“Yeah, but…” Dick’s shoulders slumped. “You gave me the greatest gift years ago.”
“Dick.” Bruce sat down in his chair again. “I didn’t even see you three years ago.”
“Ra’s had a gala that night with all the evil dictators. Kim Jong Il, Lex Luthor, even Thomas Whitmire.”
Bruce sat up. “Thomas Whitmire was there?”
Dick nodded. “He didn’t matter, but…Ra’s made me go. He felt it was fun to show me I could be in a room full of all these powerful people, open and free, and not be able to escape. It was one of his twisted mind games.” He shrugged. “By then, I’d given up. My resistance was token, and I just accepted that there was really nothing I could do other than just get beaten and tortured. But when I got back to my chambers, there was a batarang against my bathroom doorway.” He raised his bright eyes to meet Bruce’s. “That told me you were still out there, looking for me. You gave me hope when I had none, and—I dunno. I might have done something stupid if not for that, so…thanks.”
Bruce kept Dick’s gaze before he swallowed hard. Then, he swiftly stood and kissed Dick on the forehead. He kept his hand on the back of his elder son’s neck. “Thomas Whitmire saw you.”
“Dad, come on. It’s over. Let it go.”
Bruce was already moving toward the doorway. “He saw you, and he did nothing.”
Dick handed the puppy over to Damian and started after his father. “Technically, I asked him to send a message to you, and he told me you were jam, but that doesn’t—”
Ruff! Ruff! Grr!
Dick stopped dead as he felt a weak but insistent tugging on his jean leg. Ace sunk his teeth into Dick’s clothes and tried to pull the teen back.
“Dad! Dad! Don’t you—Stop it, Ace!” He tried to shake off the dog, but when he lifted his leg, Ace held on with his teeth, hovering a few inches above the ground. “Let go! Dad, what did you teach this thing!”
*^*^*
Twenty-Sixth Birthday
A soft hand caressed his cheek. “You do not appear happy.”
Dick extracted her hand from his face. “Perhaps because I’m not.”
Talia al Ghul waved an elegant hand about the ballroom. “All this is for you, my son.”
“All this is for you and Ra’s. I’m just the excuse for it.”
And he
hated it. He hated having to smile to murderers and criminals. He hated having
to drink wines older than him and food that he couldn’t even pronounce, and he
hated having to wear the green undershirt and cape that reminded him too much
of Ra’s al Ghul. He hated the whole affair, and more importantly, he hated
being in
“Richard—”
“If it is alright with you, Mother, I’d like a few moments alone.”
He waited for her to response, for which Talia blinked. “Are you asking me?”
Dick shook his head. “No, I am going to leave no matter what, but I figure it would be rude not to ask.”
Talia accepted his blunt statement with a kiss upon the cheek before she moved to speak with another group of tuxedo-ed men.
Dick sighed
as he retreated to the balcony overlooking
How could he ever be related to these people?
“Ah, Richard. There you are.”
No. No. Nononononono! Anyone but him. Seriously. Dick would even take the Joker over Callen al Ghul at this moment.
His cousin
came to lean against the railing next to him, his golden hair shimmering in the
lights of the
“So, twenty-six, huh? Can you believe I’ve lived a century longer than you?”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Cut the shit, Callen. What do you want?”
“I can’t wish my youngest first cousin a happy birthday?”
Obviously Nyssa hadn’t told Callen about Damian. Thank God for small miracles. “You and I both know that’s not what you want.”
“Ah. You’ve got me there.” Callen leaned closer to whisper with his alcohol-ridden breath, “I was hoping to entice you to jump. It will be less painful than what I have in mind for you.”
Now, when you run with the likes of Batman and Superman, you tend to hear your share of dry threats and coaxes. Yet Callen al Ghul, the murderer extraordinaire, was anything but empty with his threats.
Of course, neither was Richard Wayne. Dick turned around and leaned his elbows back on the railing. He allowed his long ponytail to lie upon his shoulders and sent Callen his deadliest, shit-eating grin.
“You’ve heard of White Ghost, right? Grandfather’s most loyal servant?”
“Ah, yes. I
heard he met his end in
Dick finished his drink in one nip. “I killed him.”
Callen choked on his.
Dick left out the details, how a concussion grenade had pushed White Ghost into the Fountain of Essence, and how was Dick supposed to know the bastard’s soul was too evil to come back to life?
But Callen didn’t need to know that.
“I was sixteen at the time. Sleep on that until the tournament.” With a wink and a slap on the shoulder, Dick started inside.
Callen whirled. “You don’t belong here. You’re nothing more than some blueblood aristocrat with a weak heart and a bleached hand. I will show Grandfather who should truly be running the Leagues.”
Dick stopped short and turned toward the older man with a sad smile. “I hope you do, Callen. I hope you do.”
With that, he left.
He didn’t
seek Talia or Ra’s before crossing the ballroom and heading toward the limos.
He didn’t really care to tell them anything more than necessary, and he hated
to admit, even to himself, that Callen was right. He was weak-hearted and
bloodless when it came to life, but when he lived his father, even the
Huh. And he wasn’t even that anymore.
Everything. Everything had been taken from him in one read of the letter he kept in his pocket.
Dick shook his head. There it was again. Like he was fourteen again sitting next to White Ghost, provoking the servant to fight.
Hope. He’d lost it.
If he closed his eyes, he could make out last birthday when he came home from Bludhaven. Damian and he had breakfast at McDonald’s (they swore never to tell Alfred). Jason had met him at Brent’s for chilidogs. Tim and he went to see Avatar at the multiplex, and then he caught ice cream with Cassandra. Afterward, Bruce said he had something to show him at the Watchtower. Dick had honestly thought the man forgot his birthday. It had happened before, but no. With the world spinning below and among his best friends, aunts, and uncles, he celebrated making it to a quarter century.
He belonged with his family.
God, he missed them.
He ignored the guards outside his suite—to protect or to restrain, he didn’t know—and entered his chambers. Ace met him first, and he petted the dog’s head as he accepted the licks. The dog then barked and motioned toward a darkened corner, but Dick dismissed it. If there was an intruder, Ace would have taken care of him already.
Dick’s cloak fell off his shoulders by the door. His shirt soon lay before the couch, and he kicked his shoes off by the bathroom door. A warm shower would wipe all the fears and turmoil away. He unzipped his pants.
Wait.
Dick backtracked to the doorframe of the bathroom. There, embedded in to the wood, was a batarang.
THE END