More drabbles!
How are we doing, Dru?
Loaded
He lives in the worst part of town and he revels in it. There are fights outside his door every night and he presses his ear against the wood, grinning to himself.
There's something thrilling about living on his own, earning his own money, making his own life. He is free.
And that's what he tells himself every time he sees Bruce Wayne on the news, smiling for the cameras and pretending that he owns the world. He is money. Dick hates him.
Yet he remembers hot chocolate and being held close, like he was important.
He wishes Bruce remembered.
Coffee black
Alfred has always brought in the coffee and the paper. It is a ritual undisturbed by Batman and it has only stopped for earthquakes and the saving of the world. Alfred allows this.
He has brought coffee to the injured, to a vigil sitter by the bedside of a Robin and to a man consumed by grief and guilt. There is something familiar that always comforts.
Today, Dick enters the kitchen and sets down his helmet. Grinning, he takes the cup from Alfred.
"I'll take it," he says simply, and Alfred lets him, because mantles need to be passed on.
Persuasive arguments
There is a sound at the door. I look up and see Dick balanced on Alfred's shoulder, barely able to stand but somehow moving forward. Alfred looks disapproving. I am livid.
"What are you doing? You should-"
"Shut up," he grinds out and then collapses gratefully into the nearest chair. "You…can't do…this."
I glare at Alfred. "Oh, really?"
"No. Won't…let…you," he gasps. I go to him but I refuse to touch. I'll hurt him.
"Dick, I have to…"
He catches his breath. He is desperate. "You're Batman. Don't stop…because…of me."
I relent. "Okay."
"Good." He holds me. Everything is better.
Loaded
He lives in the worst part of town and he revels in it. There are fights outside his door every night and he presses his ear against the wood, grinning to himself.
There's something thrilling about living on his own, earning his own money, making his own life. He is free.
And that's what he tells himself every time he sees Bruce Wayne on the news, smiling for the cameras and pretending that he owns the world. He is money. Dick hates him.
Yet he remembers hot chocolate and being held close, like he was important.
He wishes Bruce remembered.
Coffee black
Alfred has always brought in the coffee and the paper. It is a ritual undisturbed by Batman and it has only stopped for earthquakes and the saving of the world. Alfred allows this.
He has brought coffee to the injured, to a vigil sitter by the bedside of a Robin and to a man consumed by grief and guilt. There is something familiar that always comforts.
Today, Dick enters the kitchen and sets down his helmet. Grinning, he takes the cup from Alfred.
"I'll take it," he says simply, and Alfred lets him, because mantles need to be passed on.
Persuasive arguments
There is a sound at the door. I look up and see Dick balanced on Alfred's shoulder, barely able to stand but somehow moving forward. Alfred looks disapproving. I am livid.
"What are you doing? You should-"
"Shut up," he grinds out and then collapses gratefully into the nearest chair. "You…can't do…this."
I glare at Alfred. "Oh, really?"
"No. Won't…let…you," he gasps. I go to him but I refuse to touch. I'll hurt him.
"Dick, I have to…"
He catches his breath. He is desperate. "You're Batman. Don't stop…because…of me."
I relent. "Okay."
"Good." He holds me. Everything is better.