Story Synopsis: Takes place four/ten years after “Catcher.” Tim is forced to struggle with a Thanksgiving tradition alone.
A/N: This takes place during the sequel to “Catcher,” which I will probably never write, but I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head.
“Thanksgiving This Year”
“Tim…?”
Tim Wayne whined and rolled over in his bed. The warmth and blankets called back to him, and he wanted to give into slumber. It was way too early to be thinking, even earlier to be answering.
“Tim, come on.” A poke in his butt. “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s cook.”
Tim snorted and grabbed his pillow, effectively covering his head. “Don’t know how.”
“Good. I’ll teach you.”
“…Nuh-uh. ‘oo ear-ly.”
A rough hand snatched his blankets and stole his warmth but left his pillow over his head. “Come on, kiddo. Time to make the donuts.”
Tim didn’t get the joke and whined when his older brother coaxed him out of bed and cupped his butt to hold him close. With his face tucked in Dick’s neck, Tim savored the smell of vanilla—his brother’s cologne—and peppermint—the candy his brother loved.
His brother.
Tim had a brother.
Well, actually three to be exact, where as last year he was an only child. And Dick—Dick always made time just for Tim. Sure, his eldest brother was busy, studying pre-med at GSU and stepping in between Bruce and his younger siblings when the Bat got angry, but he always made time on the weekends to teach Tim a new trick or to take him for ice cream.
And now…
As they passed through the dining room, the enticing aroma of bananas and blueberries wafted into his nostrils, and Tim’s eyes blinked then to see the pancakes already set upon the table. He caught a glimpse out the window to see the sun just peaking over the horizon.
“All righty,” Dick ran a hand through his little brother’s bedraggled hair and placed Tim down on one of the kitchen stools. Slipping a pile of pancakes—apple cinnamon—in front of Tim, Dick kissed the boy on the top of the head and went to the refrigerator. “You want any whipped cream?”
Tim wiped the sleepiness from his eyes and slowly awakened to the apples. “Nuh-uh. Why’d you drag me down here again?”
Dick took out various vegetables and placed them the counter to begin chopping. “We’re going to cook Thanksgiving dinner.”
“…why? Ms. Mac used to do that for my dad and mom.”
Dick shrugged and smiled easily. “Alfred works for us all the time, and I figured this was something we could do together, y’know?”
“…and I repeat. Why?”
Separating the vegetables, Dick shrugged again. ‘I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at six when I started the pancakes and was lonely.”
For some reason, that statement pegged Tim. His eldest brother was always full of life. Whether he lounged on the couch in their father’s study, his head popping to Bon Jovi as he read his textbooks, or worked on the Batmobile in the Cave, blaring Bon Jovi from the speakers, he moved like everything was all right in the world. Even better, he always involved his family. He helped Alfred with cleaning the bathrooms or taught Jason how to clean ejector valves or high-jacked Damian to go food shopping. Almost everything he could do with someone else, he did. So for Dick to be lonely and more importantly, for him to involve Tim…
The boy sat up straighter and pushed the stubborn bangs from his clear eyes. “Okay, how can I help?”
Dick grinned from ear-to-ear. “You can finish your breakfast and then start to peel the potatoes.”
Tim cocked an eyebrow. “You peel potatoes?”
Dick smacked his palm in his forehead. “Please tell me you know to separate your whites from your colors.”
“What for? I thought you were supposed to have lots of color on your plate. It’s a balanced meal.”
“Hopeless,” Dick bemoaned. “Completely hopeless.”
But he mustn’t have thought so. Less than two hours later, Tim had peeled potatoes, and Dick showed the boy how to use the cheese grater. They were halfway through the chopping of hardboiled eggs when Tim interjected, “Who taught you how to do all this stuff? I thought Alfred banned Bruce from using anything in here.”
Dick laughed. “Yeah, Dad’s been exiled to the dining room for years, but you have to remember. I grew up in a trailer next to the Big Top. Every Thanksgiving, the whole circus would get together, and my mom loved cooking so much that she was in charge of getting the meal together. We’d make pots of sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes and candied carrots and corn and almost anything you can imagine. Pop Haly would bring the dessert, though, and Harry, one of the clowns, would bring the turkeys. It was our own little slice of Heaven.”
Tim focused on mashing the potatoes. He’d never really thought of his brother’s life before Wayne Manor once he, himself, came to live here. Sure, he was a huge Dick Grayson fan when the aerialist was younger, but once he moved into Wayne Manor, he’d met Richard Wayne, a posh, pre-med student with a Harley Davidson special edition motorcycle in the garage and custom-made Hugo Boss jeans in his closet. He’d forgotten about the teen’s roots.
And about his own life.
Until last year, Tim was an only child, but when Lex Luthor had his parents murdered for government contract and even went after him, Bruce Wayne stepped in. He’d saved Tim as Batman and brought him to the Batcave for safekeeping until Luthor was brought up on charges. He might have still been in the Batcave if Dick hadn’t wondered upon him while looking for his notes for a mid-term, and when he had, the teen scooped Tim up in his arms and brought him upstairs. Tim still remembered the walls vibrating from the shouts once Bruce found out.
“We don’t know if we can trust him!”
“He’s a scared kid. He’s not going to run to Vicki and scream that Bruce Wayne is the Batman.”
“But that means he can never leave.”
“Oh, and like any of us are dying to.”
“He was one boy I was trying to spare.”
“Spare from what? A life of public servitude? From your biting sarcasm? Face it, Dad. You’re stuck with us.”
Tim could hear the fond exasperation Bruce held for his eldest son. “Are you seriously asking me if we can keep him?”
And Tim could hear Dick’s brilliant smile, the one that brightened the world. “Can we? Please!”
And thus, he became part of the family.
But he still couldn’t forget his past, wouldn’t forget his past, and for the first time, he missed the lounge chairs in Jack’s den where Tim and his father would sit on Thanksgiving and watch the football games. He missed his mother’s humming in the hallway as she finalized the guest list. He missed the smells of Mrs. Mac’s dressing and homemade gravy. He missed his dad demanding that she join them at the table, like Dick did to Alfred last Easter. He missed it. He missed his past life.
Two strong arms came behind him, wrapping around his tiny torso in a secure grip. “Shhh…” Dick soothed, lifting the boy from the stool and holding him in his arms. “It’s okay. I promise. It’s going to be okay.”
But it wasn’t. He loved his new brother, who worshipped the ground he walked on as much as he worshipped Dick’s footsteps, but nothing could fill the biting void that sucked at his heart and stained trails down his cheeks.
And Dick didn’t try to. Neither did Bruce or Jason or Damian or Alfred or Ms. Vale. They accepted him for who he was and didn’t demand anything from him in return. They simply tried to be there for him, to teach him, to help him.
To listen.
Tim’s eyes fluttered open as he realized why Dick asked him down there. His brother knew it would be a hard day for Tim, and instead of waiting for the inevitable to occur, he tried to give him something to keep his mind off his lost until he finally remembered When he broke down, Dick could be there for him.
Like he was now.
“How did you do it?” Tim finally ventured to ask, his cracking voice thick with tears. “How did you go on?”
Dick fidgeted with the bangs on top of Tim’s head. “Well, I cried a lot, so step one, done! Then, I talked about it, and doing that just helped me to remember that they’re not really gone. As long as I remember my parents, then they’re still here with me every day. And then I realized I wasn’t alone, and while things were bad, I had people who cared about me and loved me, and even though I’d lost a family, I’d gained a new one. And not a better one, just a different one.”
He kissed Tim on the forehead, and the young boy felt the love seep through the embrace. “I know that probably doesn’t help now,” Dick continued, wiping Tim’s tears with his tender fingers, “but hopefully, one day, it’ll mean something.”
It did already. Dick had made it easier by being there, by listening, by caring, and while the Batman adopted him, Richard Wayne had saved him.
“Tell you what.” Dick sat Tim down upon the stool once more and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Why don’t we make this a tradition, huh? You and me, every Thanksgiving.”
“Yea!”
And Dick’s smile saved the world again.
*^*^*
“Damn you, bro,” sixteen-year-old Tim Wayne growled under his breath as he dropped another pot lid, its reminisce still burning Tim’s fingers. The young man immediately dowsed it with cool water, but the stinging persisted nonetheless.
“Timothy!” Alfred called with a tiny knock upon the kitchen door. “Are you in need of assistance?”
“No!” Tim barked for what seemed like the hundredth time since he started cooking almost two hours ago. The bird was in the oven, but he had yet to find the time to baste it once. The mash potatoes weren’t even peeled yet, and don’t even make him think about the pies.
At this rate, Thanksgiving would be burnt, cold, or raw. All thanks to Richard Wayne.
To be
honest, Tim really couldn’t fault his brother. When Dick appeared outside his
classroom at
Ra’s al Ghul was alive.
So? Who cared if Damian’s granddad hadn’t kicked the bucket?
At the time, blank stares met
Dick’s frightened gaze, but Dick refused to elaborate more before he quit the
room and their lives. Only once Bruce arrived and demanded to know what
happened that they received the answer—when Dick was thirteen, he’d been
kidnapped and impressed into Ra’s al Ghul’s League of
Assassins. When Ra’s died—apparently thanks to Dick and Damian’s mom,
Talia—Dick had returned to
None of them had ever known.
And now with Ra’s al Ghul back, Dick refused to put their lives in jeopardy by sticking around. He and Talia were off—hiding or attacking, no one knew. Even Bruce couldn’t find his eldest son, and thus, the entire Thanksgiving meal fell upon Tim’s shoulders (not that Alfred didn’t try to help).
Now his hardboiled eggs for the potato salad were boiling over.
Tim cursed loudly and ignored a knock from Bruce this time. He hit off the burners and dropped his head into his hands. At this rate, Bruce would be forced to call one of the chefs for his restaurants, and Tim couldn’t let that happen. But he surely couldn’t put on a Thanksgiving meal all by himself.
God. It looked like Thanksgiving pizza was going to be the menu.
“Man, is this bird dry. Are we back to the whites and colors foundations again?”
Tim blinked. He rubbed his hands down his flushed face and wanted not to turn. He couldn’t, wouldn’t believe his ears, but somehow, his judgment got the better of him and he turned.
Dick stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it across the counter. At the wall oven, he took a baster and showered the turkey with its own juices. “Seriously, bro. You’re better than this.”
“Dick!” Tim exclaimed, rushing over to his brother. “You’ve alive!”
“Shh—ow! Ow! Hot juice! Hot juice! Tim, do you want to crush me to death or burn my skin off?”
Tim uncoiled from his brother’s torso only after the older man returned the embrace.
“Yeah, I missed you, too, little brother.”
“Where have you been? God, Dad has looked every where for you, and even Jason took the rest of the semester off from Columbia and Damian’s been trying to talk to his mom but can’t get her either, and Vicki’s using all her resources—hmph!”
Dick’s smile lit the cold tresses of the Manor once more and ruffled Tim’s hair as he made his way to mess that was Thanksgiving dinner run amok.
“Geez, little brother, you know how to make a mess. Alfred would not be proud.”
Dick didn’t answer his question, and Tim, somehow, knew not to push. For now, Dick was home, and that was all that mattered.
“Well, I guess I take after Dad. You know the kind of messes he makes.”
“Landfills for sure.” Dick rubbed his hands together and smirked at Tim. “Okay, let’s make a game plan. Potatoes are yours. All of them—the mashies, the sweet, and the salad. I’ll get the veggies and claw slaw, and we’ll work together on the pies and dressing. Got it?”
Tim slapped Dick five high, then low. “Got it.”
As they worked, they spoke about everything—from Tim’s studies to his football team—
“All-American quarterback! Way to go, little brother! Did Dad get you a cake?...Good.”
—to Bludhaven’s crime rate—
“It was going down until you left.”
“Really had no choice, kid.”
“I don’t see how one man—granted, he did come back from the dead—is really all that power—”
“Superman is only one man, and look what he can do.”
“Point.”
—to their usual points of contention.
“Oh. My. God. How can you say that? Selena Gomez—hell, Miley Cyrus—is so much hotter than Angelina Jolie.”
“And both’re jailbait for me, so I hold no comment.”
“But Angelina’s totally into all that freaky sex stuff.”
“Again, I would not do her, but I think she’s hotter than your teenybopper generation.”
“Did you just say teenybopper?”
Finally, as Dick pulled the apple pie out of the oven and placed it on the counter to cool, he clapped the potholders together and let out a long, draining sigh. Then, he smiled at his brother. It wasn’t his normal smile, the one that stopped the world on its axis. It was sad, almost heart-breaking for Tim to see this mockery.
“What’s wrong?” the younger brother asked.
Dick ruffled his little brother’s hair. “I just thinking about how much I have to be thankful for.”
“We do, don’t we?” Tim grabbed the mashed potatoes and started toward the dining room. “Just wait until Dad sees you. He’s going to flip.”
“Maybe he’ll hold off until after dinner.”
“Yeah, you wish.”
Tim was halfway out the door when he stopped. He watched Dick as the older man cut the turkey breast into strips. He dropped the bowl of potatoes onto the counter and went forward to grab his brother from behind. “I’m really glad you decided to come home, Dick.”
Dick seemed stricken, shocked even, before he patted Tim’s hand. “Me, too. After all, one of my first Thanksgivings cooking, Dad had to take me to the hospital for almost burning my hand off. The fact that you still had all your appendages, is somewhat of a miracle.”
“Hey, not all
of us have the legendary
“I saw that bird,” Dick snorted, ruffling his brother’s hair and greasing it with juice from the turkey. “It’s another miracle that we can serve it.”
“Shut up,” Tim said good-naturedly as he pushed out the swinging door. As he came to the table, the family already gathered about it—Bruce and Alfred at the heads, Damian and Cassandra on one side, Jason and Vicki Vale on the other, with a seat empty on Bruce’s right as a placeholder for Dick. Next to Dick’s seat was another empty one for Tim to occupy when he finished serving.
“My word, Timothy,” Alfred exclaimed as Tim set down the last of sides. All that was left was the bird for the main course. “You have truly outdone yourself this year.”
“Yeah, I really thought we were going to have pizza,” Damian pouted, crossing his arms.
Tim stuck his tongue out at the younger boy.
Jason just smirked. “Hey, I bet on you, so I’m a hundred bucks richer now.”
Bruce sent them both Bat-like glares, which dwindled after the boys squirmed unnaturally. “This is a feast, Tim. We are grateful you wanted to make it considering the circumstances.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t take all the credit. We probably wouldn’t have had it if Dick didn’t show up right before I lost the eggs.”
Vicki coughed in her wine glass. “WHAT!”
Tim looked from one set of suddenly widened eyes to another. “Yeah. He’s been in there the last four hours helping me.”
Bruce shot out of his seat before anyone else, barreling toward the kitchen. Tim shouted after him, “Watch it! He’s bringing out the turkey!’
Sure enough, as Tim entered the kitchen behind Jason and Bruce, no one was there. The turkey was cut professionally with even slices and drizzled with the left over gravy. Even parsley garnished the side of the serving plate.
No sign of
Dick remained. It was as if the eldest
Jason whirled toward Tim. “You better not be lying.”
Even in his voice, Tim knew Jason already believed him. “He was here. I swear it! He made all the veggies, and I did the potatoes, and—and—”
And Bruce was out the backdoor before Tim finished.
Already, the teen wanted to kick himself. Dick never intended on staying for dinner. He should’ve known that. He should have done something to stop his older brother from leaving. He should have never let him out of his sight. He should’ve—
Tim looked down at the apple pie, which was missing a large portion. Next to it, scribbled on a napkin was, “I’m thankful for my family, who always sees the best in me even when I’m at my worst.”
And somewhere, Tim knew Dick’s smile lit the world.
*^*^*
When Dick
entered his chambers on the top of the chic high-rise building in
“Where were you?” she demanded.
Dick pulled off his T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom.
“Richard,” she called after him, sighing exasperated as she stood gracefully. A dancer, she could have been. “I asked you where you were.”
“And I’m no longer a thirteen-year-old boy you can push around,” Dick growled as he exited the room, leaning against the doorframe in a clean T-shirt and sweat pants. His bare feet looked comfortably natural dipped in the thick, oriental rugs. “Get off my back. I’m here. That’s all that matters.”
Talia al Ghul’s light frame,
illuminated in the lights of the
“Then I will tell him the truth.”
Talia choked during mid-sip.
Dick ignored her to flop down on his couch, his back toward the princess. Finally, he’d broken her assassin demure.
“I will think of something,” she finally said, coming to sit on the couch’s arm. “I will not let him hurt you again.”
A shrug. “Whatever.”
Her gentle fingers tapped under his chin and turned his bitter eyes upon her. “What is it for you Americans? Granted Thanks?”
“Thanksgiving.” Dick jerked his head from her grip. “Not that you will understand, but it’s a day to count one’s blessings and appreciate your family members.”
Her disappointment crossed her face in a deep frown, and she finished her drink in one sip. “And just what are you thankful for? That you have strangers and common thieves to call family?”
Dick damned her with his resentful glare. “I’m grateful they don’t know what I call you…Mother.”
THE END