Batman Porn Story: Grief Chapter 2

Batman Porn Story: Grief Chapter 2

See? I still know what real soon
means! Ok…here I am with the second and hopefully (this is where
vinnie gets a good laugh) the last chapter for this ficlet. Sorry I
dropped you back there but…since senior year has started I’ve lost
all my ability to function after eleven. Pathetic, I know. Anywho,
nuff rambling. Shut up and read.

Don’t cry. Dick stumbled, only
just catching himself as yet another faceless person shoved past him.
You are not going to cry.

There were no homes in this part of
Gotham, no porch step to duck into, no fence to jump, no backyard to
hide in. There was just skyscraper after skyscraper, shop after shop,
and what felt like millions of people packed into every square inch.
He thought for the barest second of crossing the street, but that
would have been pure suicide considering the din of horns honking and
brakes screeching.

What felt like hours later, his
situation had only grown worse, and now he couldn’t have gone back to
Wayne Enterprises whether he wanted to or not. Every person looked
the same, every building melded into one. The cacaphony common to a
busy street had dissolved into a single, high-pitched screech in his
head, drowning out all logical thought, freezing the air in his
lungs, and shocking his heart into frantic beating. He was
lost…completely and hopelessly lost, and not one person in this
massive crowd cared. No one in this city, in this country, in this
world, would have any reason to even care what happened to him today.
There was no parent to frantically describe, no reunion waiting for
him after this terrifying experience. He was just one in millions.
Just one little boy engulfed in the mobs of Gotham City.

He choked on the first tear, giving up
the effort to keep moving forward and instead just ducking, crawling
between legs until he found the solid, brick wall of a building. He
planted his back flat against it, letting his heart pulse through
it. His frightened eyes closed, his head dropped into his hands, and
he sobbed his heart out. No one would come for him.

The only comforting thought his young
mind could conjure up was that, if he ceased to exist today…maybe
he would see them again.

Bruce knew even as the office door
clicked shut that he was making a terrible mistake, but still, he
shoved his intuition aside. What did he know about kids, anyway? The
boy was eight, what trouble could he possibly get into in a restroom?

So he sat. He skimmed over documents
for signing. He sipped his morning coffee. And he watched the clock.

It wasn’t until ten minutes had ticked
away that the nagging voice became too loud to ignore. Sighing, still
unsure about his annoying impression, Bruce Wayne made his way to the
men’s bathroom.

“Richard?” he called,
feeling like a moron even as he did so. “You in here?”

No response.

The embarassment vanished immediately,
to be replaced by an intensely painful sinking feeling. “Richard?”
he called, voice slightly higher pitched. Losing all sense of
dignity, the head of Wayne Enterprises bent over and searched for
feet in every stall. All of them were about eight sizes to big.

Turning on his heel, Bruce was off,
his mentality quickly switching into his after-hours persona. Where
would the boy go?

“What makes you think you have
any say in what happens to me? I didn’t ask you to adopt me! You’re
not my father, and I don’t have to stay here! I WON’T!”

“Son of a bitch,” he
whispered, pace rapidly increasing. Not even twenty-four hours and he
had already lost his charge.

It took his sluggish brain a moment to
realize that someone had pulled him up by the arm. He stared in
surprise at the man who now held him, his face bringing up a complete blank.
He’d never seen him before.

“Johnny? Thank God you’re all
right!” The strange man pulled him into a suffocating and
slightly painful embrace. Dick’s nostrils filled with the revolting
smell of sweat, cigarette smoke, and stale alcohol. His mouth opened
at last, entirely prepared to let out a shriek for help…but at that
precise moment, he felt the icy cold metal pressed in between the
button gaps of his collared shirt. “Shut up and walk,” the
man hissed, lips pressed against his ear.

The boy didn’t have much room for fear, only shock. His legs moved on their own as the man pulled
back, gripping his hand and sharing a relieved smile with anyone who
took the time to glance his way. Not that many did.

He was tugged along until they stood
before the gap between two skyscrapers, filled with trashbins and dim
with natural shadow. The gun was back now, pressed midway up his
spine. For a moment, the man was content simply that Dick was putting
one foot in front of the other, and in that instant, he thought maybe
it would continue like this and he would never have to worry about
what would happen when the street was far enough away. Wishful
thinking.

The man laughed, voice scratchy and
thick with mucus. He spat out the words so fast one ran into the
next. “I know who you are, kid. You’re that brat orphan Wayne
took in. Oh yeah, that was all over the papers, kid. This is just my frickin’ lucky day, isn’t it? Wonder what he’d do to get you back.
Better yet…” Dick heard an ominous click, and he knew he
should be terrified. He wasn’t.

“I wonder what Brucey would pay
if he had some…proof that his brat’s life was in danger.”

Dick turned slowly, eyes fixed on the
muzzle of the gun. Maybe he would see them again…

A sickening crack rang through the
alley…but Dick wasn’t the one to fall.

Bruce Wayne stood with the shattered
neck of a bottle in his hand, the man collapsed at his feet. For what
felt like an eternity, Dick stared at Wayne, and Wayne stared back.
And then the shock dissolved.

The eight year old clung to Bruce’s
waist for dear life, sobs shaking his small body as all the fear of
the last few hours, no, the last few days escaped him in one
torrent. He thought that he was alone, staring down that gun. He
thought no one was left to come for him. But this man did. It was
only natural in his mind that he would cling to that man for
support.

Bruce lifted the boy he barely knew in
his arms, rocking him gently, stroking his dark black hair and
whispering soft words in his ear. “It’s all right…I’m here. No
one’s going to get you. You’re safe.”

It seemed as though hours passed
before Dick felt that he could let the tears receed. He was crying
out every memory, every hope, and every ounce of disbelief. His body
was nearly limp with exhaustion when at last he took a shuddering
breath.

Setting Dick gently on his feet and
kneeling down beside him, Bruce rubbed his cold arms comfortingly,
searching his face. “You ok, squirt?” he asked, voice slightly
choked. He couldn’t seem to get the image of that gun and the look on
Richard’s face out of his head…He had the feeling it would haunt him for quite some time.

Rubbing his sore eyes with both fists,
Dick nodded hesitantly, not sure if he really knew the answer to
Bruce’s question. He did know one thing, though. He had known it
inside from the beginning…but now he realized there was no point in
fighting it. Nothing could give him back his old life…but eight was
way too young not to start a new one.

“Bruce?”

The man blinked for a moment, eyes
analyzing. “Yes?”

Dick gave a small, shaky smile. “Can
we go home now?”

One more thing…The bit with Bruce in the office skipped back an hour or two from where we left Dick, and that time was spent in trying to find the kid. Gotham’s a big city and Dick made a lot better time than you would expect… That said.

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