[Complete] Struggle of the Worst Kind
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Wayne (NPC)
Setting: Wayne Manor
Time: Late Night, sometime after Fuu's network post
Summary: Bruce finally takes the Dick and Siegmund situation into his own hands. Unfortunately for him? This is the night Dick also puts two-and-two together, so things... don't end as planned.
Warnings: Lots of tl;dr and some violence (on Dick's part). It's basically a father-son struggle of the worst kind that ends with Dick running away from home. Kids, DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME. PLEASE.
Had he realized that Zatanna would've taken this long on her book tour, Bruce probably would've asked her to come home much sooner. Without Alfred, raising three children was substantially harder than he expected. Sure, there were babysitters (all of them shard hunters, of course--- Bruce didn't exactly trust the natives) that the kids adored. Tim'd been especially fond of some "Cissie King-Jones" girl; Dick and Cass liked Aoko.
But even they couldn't alleviate the questions. Oh god, the questions. Dick and Tim - his world's wards - had questions back home, but they had been one-at-a-time. There was no need to worry about what was appropriate when, and Alfred had been the living censor for the Wayne household. It'd taken him about a month, but Bruce thought he'd finally gotten the hang of things. So when Dick had asked, completely out of the blue, "So can I go to Siegmund's house?" - Bruce had to think twice about it.
Before Fuu's message, Bruce would've automatically given his permission. Siegmund Heissenrech had seemed like a nice kid, if not a little kooky and against societal norms. Dick hanging out with him? Was completely and wholly normal. Little kids idolized their older peers; Siegmund was rich too; and everything seemed fine. How come he didn't pay attention to the warning bells? To the signs that Siegmund wasn't who he seemed to be? ... Part of Bruce didn't want to admit that his guard had fallen.
"No," Bruce had replied, shaking his head as he helped Tim wash the dishes. They were in the rather spacious Wayne kitchen. Although they'd hired maids and servants, Bruce'd shooed them away to other parts of the house for dinner. (It was family time. They didn't need the housekeeping preventing them from acting like a normal, American family. ... Plus, Haven!Bruce had insisted that the kids cleaned up after themselves like normal ones.) "I just don't think it's safe for you right now."
Dick swerved to face his father. Sliding his yellow sunglasses up his face, the kid rudely stared at him. "How could he be dangerous?"
"Because," It took all of Bruce's patience to keep that even, calm voice with his son, "He's much older than you. I'm just worried about the possible influence he has over you."
Throwing his hands in the air, Dick moaned, "But you never cared about that before!"
"But you also weren't grounded before," Bruce had to laugh, now setting the last plate on the drying rack. Letting Tim wash his hands, Bruce then leaned on the counter top, "Did you honestly think I'd forget...?"
Dick rolled his eyes - the sunglasses couldn't hide everything - as he shrugged, "You normally do. You normally forget everything we've done after a couple of days."
There went another difference between the two men. The differences were subtle, Bruce had noticed. To the general world, the two men - one from Haven, one from Gotham - acted the exact same. They cringed at Alfred's Facebook status updates; they laughed at all of Bob Kane's corny jokes; and they had the same sense of fashion. However, the one from Haven had a better grip on parenting... and just on life in general. He laughed more; he knew the ins-and-outs of Dick's moods; and he also made the corniest jokes.
(Turns out that poison control'd been the one "character flaw" - sometimes Bruce and Zee were a little scatter-brained. Good-meaning parents, but scatter-brained. Hence why Dick used to be able to get away with everything.)
"You shouldn't have told me," Bruce tried to joke with him. "I might just remember this time."
Tim giggled at that ("Daddy! You know Rick's always---") but he was cut off by his own brother's glares. Dick folded his arms, continuing to stare his father down. "Ha ha, very funny," He icily commented. "So I can't go?"
"Nope," Bruce shook his head. "How about we go downstairs to..." He trailed off there. Right, they couldn't go to the game room. It was being renovated; the Batcave had a few more steps until it was complete. (And even then, Bruce was determined to make sure the kids didn't know; he'd made the Batcave under the excuse that "the pipes underneath had burst.")
"It's being renovated," Dick scoffed. "I had to put the PS3 in the media room."
PS3? These kids and their video games were almost undecipherable. Bruce laughed, "Right, right. So what do you want to do?"
Dick gestured towards the pantry, "Let's make some lemon tarts. I miss having them."
Oh. Crap. He had to ask for the one thing Bruce never quite had a handle on: lemon tarts. Not only did they taste awful the first few times, but they also? Didn't quite taste like lemon the next three times. (Evangeline - their maid - had finally banned Bruce from all things related to lemon tarts in protest.)
"I can't," Bruce insisted, swerving Dick and Tim towards his bedroom. "Remember? Eva put me on probation."
"Daddy?" Tim piped up, adjusting his magician's hat, "What does probation mean?"
"He can't make them," Dick glumly explained, though he did hold his father's hand the whole way to the master suite. "Even if Eva's off for the weekend. I heard her say she'd stalk the security footage."
"Eva's scary when she's mad," Tim noted as he opened the door for his family.
Bruce couldn't help chuckling, "You've got that right," as he waltzed inside and turned the TV on. The kids plopped onto the bed, being careful not to wake Cass up from her nap, and changed channels with the remote.
Finally finding something on Disney Channel, they watched in near-silence. Cass hadn't woken up... and everything seemed to be alright. Finally. Peace.
"Dad?" Dick piped up, now staring at Bruce's bedside table. Before Bruce could protest, his son'd already dove into the contents of the drawers. Rummaging through all the socks, he finally uncovered a tiny jar inside a pair of black socks. Unearthing it, he held it to his face and carefully stared at it for a moment before he waved it in his father's face. "What's this?"
Bruce took a deep breath and kept himself calm. How had Dick managed to find the one piece of jewelry that meant more than anything in this world? "A surprise for your mother. I was going to make it into a bracelet."
Furrowing his brow, Dick remarked, "Really." (The tone wasn't lost on Bruce.) "Then can we send it to the jeweler's? I'm sure it'd be better off there."
"No," Bruce said too quickly for his own taste as he walked towards Dick and tried to take the jar back. "I want to make sure I've got her measurements right... and besides, don't you have to call your mom tonight? I thought we were going to call now." (This was a complete lie: Zee had an interview with some book publisher, but Dick didn't know that.)
Off the sunglasses came. "Liar."
"I beg your pardon?" Bruce folded his arms.
"I know what this is," Dick protested, raising his voice. Waving the jar again, he said, "This is a jewel shard. You're looking for more of them, aren't you?"
How did he even--- what was this nonsense--- Siegmund. Bruce's face grew more serious as he peered closely at his almost-son. Somehow, somewhere, his son had discovered the presence of off-worlders. Most likely through a certain Heissenrech boy who should honestly have known better than to drag a protege into the mess.
Taking the silence for an unspoken 'yes,' Dick's expression grew smug. "I knew it."
Then? The smug, confident look... immediately shattered. He stared from the jar to the solemn look on his father's face and back. Wordlessly, he dragged - without a single word - his father outside into the hallway.
"You really want these?" Dick quietly asked.
Bruce solemnly nodded. "I do."
The frown on Dick's face grew larger. Stuffing the jar into his pocket, he then assumed a fighting stance. "Too bad," The kid insisted. "You're not getting it."
Alarmed, Bruce held his hands out to protect him, "Dick? What the heck are you talking about?"
"Don't lie to me!" The kid tried to jab him in the stomach (Bruce narrowly dodged). "I heard! That you! And lots of other people! Are stealing our parents and friends and everyone away! To go look for some stupid! Shards!"
The last attack hit Bruce squarely in the stomach, from surprise and nothing else, and he fell back into the wall. Groaning, Bruce assumed a defensive stance. He had to take Dick down! Before... before...
The kid just stared, "Since when could you fight?"
Oh. Oh God. That had to be the most substantial - and most important - difference of all. Haven's Bruce Wayne never needed to learn how to fight. He was too busy learning how to heal the world.
"Answer me!" Dick said, punching his father's shoulder. "WHEN?!"
Bruce could only sadly smile, "... A very, very long time."
Frustrated, Dick tore through the mansion. Weaving his way past a mansion he didn't quite know, Bruce barely managed to keep up with Dick (blame it on the flora, the maids confusedly running into Bruce at least three times, and what-have-you). Once they reached Dick's bedroom, Bruce levelly tried to reason with Dick.
"Richard Jo--Zachary Wayne..." He sighed, slowly walking through the strewn clothes and pizza boxes and video games. "Can we talk? ... Please?"
That had been the last straw. Slinging his bag across his shoulder, Dick hmphed at his father. "No." Giving his father the thumbs-down sign, the kid brushed past his father as hard as he could. "I'm not talking to a fake father."
"Dick!"
Dick gave his father the middle finger. Sliding the sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose, the kid snorted, "Give it up. You're not my father. You're some stupid man that stole him away from me."
What? That was--- that wasn't even--- "Richard Zachary..."
"One last thing," Dick called as he disappeared from sight. Waving good-bye, he added, "My nickname? Is actually Rick. Get that right next time, old man."
Bruce pushed past everything in his path to catch up. The plants, the maids, even the dogs couldn't keep him away from running. That was his son! Or the son of the man he was pretending to be! He couldn't lose him now!
And yet? Even as Bruce continued to run, he still couldn't see completely. His vision was blurred... and by the time he managed to make it to the front gates, his son had completely evacuated the premises.
"Hmmm," Bruce remarked to himself, wiping something off his face. "... It seems even I'm not incapable of crying after all."
Setting: Wayne Manor
Time: Late Night, sometime after Fuu's network post
Summary: Bruce finally takes the Dick and Siegmund situation into his own hands. Unfortunately for him? This is the night Dick also puts two-and-two together, so things... don't end as planned.
Warnings: Lots of tl;dr and some violence (on Dick's part). It's basically a father-son struggle of the worst kind that ends with Dick running away from home. Kids, DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME. PLEASE.
Had he realized that Zatanna would've taken this long on her book tour, Bruce probably would've asked her to come home much sooner. Without Alfred, raising three children was substantially harder than he expected. Sure, there were babysitters (all of them shard hunters, of course--- Bruce didn't exactly trust the natives) that the kids adored. Tim'd been especially fond of some "Cissie King-Jones" girl; Dick and Cass liked Aoko.
But even they couldn't alleviate the questions. Oh god, the questions. Dick and Tim - his world's wards - had questions back home, but they had been one-at-a-time. There was no need to worry about what was appropriate when, and Alfred had been the living censor for the Wayne household. It'd taken him about a month, but Bruce thought he'd finally gotten the hang of things. So when Dick had asked, completely out of the blue, "So can I go to Siegmund's house?" - Bruce had to think twice about it.
Before Fuu's message, Bruce would've automatically given his permission. Siegmund Heissenrech had seemed like a nice kid, if not a little kooky and against societal norms. Dick hanging out with him? Was completely and wholly normal. Little kids idolized their older peers; Siegmund was rich too; and everything seemed fine. How come he didn't pay attention to the warning bells? To the signs that Siegmund wasn't who he seemed to be? ... Part of Bruce didn't want to admit that his guard had fallen.
"No," Bruce had replied, shaking his head as he helped Tim wash the dishes. They were in the rather spacious Wayne kitchen. Although they'd hired maids and servants, Bruce'd shooed them away to other parts of the house for dinner. (It was family time. They didn't need the housekeeping preventing them from acting like a normal, American family. ... Plus, Haven!Bruce had insisted that the kids cleaned up after themselves like normal ones.) "I just don't think it's safe for you right now."
Dick swerved to face his father. Sliding his yellow sunglasses up his face, the kid rudely stared at him. "How could he be dangerous?"
"Because," It took all of Bruce's patience to keep that even, calm voice with his son, "He's much older than you. I'm just worried about the possible influence he has over you."
Throwing his hands in the air, Dick moaned, "But you never cared about that before!"
"But you also weren't grounded before," Bruce had to laugh, now setting the last plate on the drying rack. Letting Tim wash his hands, Bruce then leaned on the counter top, "Did you honestly think I'd forget...?"
Dick rolled his eyes - the sunglasses couldn't hide everything - as he shrugged, "You normally do. You normally forget everything we've done after a couple of days."
There went another difference between the two men. The differences were subtle, Bruce had noticed. To the general world, the two men - one from Haven, one from Gotham - acted the exact same. They cringed at Alfred's Facebook status updates; they laughed at all of Bob Kane's corny jokes; and they had the same sense of fashion. However, the one from Haven had a better grip on parenting... and just on life in general. He laughed more; he knew the ins-and-outs of Dick's moods; and he also made the corniest jokes.
(Turns out that poison control'd been the one "character flaw" - sometimes Bruce and Zee were a little scatter-brained. Good-meaning parents, but scatter-brained. Hence why Dick used to be able to get away with everything.)
"You shouldn't have told me," Bruce tried to joke with him. "I might just remember this time."
Tim giggled at that ("Daddy! You know Rick's always---") but he was cut off by his own brother's glares. Dick folded his arms, continuing to stare his father down. "Ha ha, very funny," He icily commented. "So I can't go?"
"Nope," Bruce shook his head. "How about we go downstairs to..." He trailed off there. Right, they couldn't go to the game room. It was being renovated; the Batcave had a few more steps until it was complete. (And even then, Bruce was determined to make sure the kids didn't know; he'd made the Batcave under the excuse that "the pipes underneath had burst.")
"It's being renovated," Dick scoffed. "I had to put the PS3 in the media room."
PS3? These kids and their video games were almost undecipherable. Bruce laughed, "Right, right. So what do you want to do?"
Dick gestured towards the pantry, "Let's make some lemon tarts. I miss having them."
Oh. Crap. He had to ask for the one thing Bruce never quite had a handle on: lemon tarts. Not only did they taste awful the first few times, but they also? Didn't quite taste like lemon the next three times. (Evangeline - their maid - had finally banned Bruce from all things related to lemon tarts in protest.)
"I can't," Bruce insisted, swerving Dick and Tim towards his bedroom. "Remember? Eva put me on probation."
"Daddy?" Tim piped up, adjusting his magician's hat, "What does probation mean?"
"He can't make them," Dick glumly explained, though he did hold his father's hand the whole way to the master suite. "Even if Eva's off for the weekend. I heard her say she'd stalk the security footage."
"Eva's scary when she's mad," Tim noted as he opened the door for his family.
Bruce couldn't help chuckling, "You've got that right," as he waltzed inside and turned the TV on. The kids plopped onto the bed, being careful not to wake Cass up from her nap, and changed channels with the remote.
Finally finding something on Disney Channel, they watched in near-silence. Cass hadn't woken up... and everything seemed to be alright. Finally. Peace.
"Dad?" Dick piped up, now staring at Bruce's bedside table. Before Bruce could protest, his son'd already dove into the contents of the drawers. Rummaging through all the socks, he finally uncovered a tiny jar inside a pair of black socks. Unearthing it, he held it to his face and carefully stared at it for a moment before he waved it in his father's face. "What's this?"
Bruce took a deep breath and kept himself calm. How had Dick managed to find the one piece of jewelry that meant more than anything in this world? "A surprise for your mother. I was going to make it into a bracelet."
Furrowing his brow, Dick remarked, "Really." (The tone wasn't lost on Bruce.) "Then can we send it to the jeweler's? I'm sure it'd be better off there."
"No," Bruce said too quickly for his own taste as he walked towards Dick and tried to take the jar back. "I want to make sure I've got her measurements right... and besides, don't you have to call your mom tonight? I thought we were going to call now." (This was a complete lie: Zee had an interview with some book publisher, but Dick didn't know that.)
Off the sunglasses came. "Liar."
"I beg your pardon?" Bruce folded his arms.
"I know what this is," Dick protested, raising his voice. Waving the jar again, he said, "This is a jewel shard. You're looking for more of them, aren't you?"
How did he even--- what was this nonsense--- Siegmund. Bruce's face grew more serious as he peered closely at his almost-son. Somehow, somewhere, his son had discovered the presence of off-worlders. Most likely through a certain Heissenrech boy who should honestly have known better than to drag a protege into the mess.
Taking the silence for an unspoken 'yes,' Dick's expression grew smug. "I knew it."
Then? The smug, confident look... immediately shattered. He stared from the jar to the solemn look on his father's face and back. Wordlessly, he dragged - without a single word - his father outside into the hallway.
"You really want these?" Dick quietly asked.
Bruce solemnly nodded. "I do."
The frown on Dick's face grew larger. Stuffing the jar into his pocket, he then assumed a fighting stance. "Too bad," The kid insisted. "You're not getting it."
Alarmed, Bruce held his hands out to protect him, "Dick? What the heck are you talking about?"
"Don't lie to me!" The kid tried to jab him in the stomach (Bruce narrowly dodged). "I heard! That you! And lots of other people! Are stealing our parents and friends and everyone away! To go look for some stupid! Shards!"
The last attack hit Bruce squarely in the stomach, from surprise and nothing else, and he fell back into the wall. Groaning, Bruce assumed a defensive stance. He had to take Dick down! Before... before...
The kid just stared, "Since when could you fight?"
Oh. Oh God. That had to be the most substantial - and most important - difference of all. Haven's Bruce Wayne never needed to learn how to fight. He was too busy learning how to heal the world.
"Answer me!" Dick said, punching his father's shoulder. "WHEN?!"
Bruce could only sadly smile, "... A very, very long time."
Frustrated, Dick tore through the mansion. Weaving his way past a mansion he didn't quite know, Bruce barely managed to keep up with Dick (blame it on the flora, the maids confusedly running into Bruce at least three times, and what-have-you). Once they reached Dick's bedroom, Bruce levelly tried to reason with Dick.
"Richard Jo--Zachary Wayne..." He sighed, slowly walking through the strewn clothes and pizza boxes and video games. "Can we talk? ... Please?"
That had been the last straw. Slinging his bag across his shoulder, Dick hmphed at his father. "No." Giving his father the thumbs-down sign, the kid brushed past his father as hard as he could. "I'm not talking to a fake father."
"Dick!"
Dick gave his father the middle finger. Sliding the sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose, the kid snorted, "Give it up. You're not my father. You're some stupid man that stole him away from me."
What? That was--- that wasn't even--- "Richard Zachary..."
"One last thing," Dick called as he disappeared from sight. Waving good-bye, he added, "My nickname? Is actually Rick. Get that right next time, old man."
Bruce pushed past everything in his path to catch up. The plants, the maids, even the dogs couldn't keep him away from running. That was his son! Or the son of the man he was pretending to be! He couldn't lose him now!
And yet? Even as Bruce continued to run, he still couldn't see completely. His vision was blurred... and by the time he managed to make it to the front gates, his son had completely evacuated the premises.
"Hmmm," Bruce remarked to himself, wiping something off his face. "... It seems even I'm not incapable of crying after all."