Chapter 14 - Sans Pants
I apologize for this taking so long to write. Now that my thesis is done, I can finally get back to fun writing. Those of you still interested in this story – enjoy.
I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched two handfuls of cover. I heard the whoosh high about me, and then I felt the hairbrush slam into my bottom.
"Bruce!" I cried out.
"Not a word," he warned me. "Not one word out of you." Another swat, and I burst into tears.
Bruce swung again, and I clutched the covers with both open fists. There was nothing I could do at this point except try to bear it out.
I hate spankings! I hate them with a passion. I don't like bending over to present Bruce with a better target. I don't like having to hold myself still. I don't like listening to Bruce's hand or the hairbrush swing through the air, and I do not like the pain at all. It stings and it aches, and it's horrible.
I hate having Bruce yell at me, but spanking takes that guilt to somewhere far away that I can't control. I get all nervous and jumpy, and my eyes sting, and I start crying like a baby when he starts swinging.
But compared to other punishments, at least spankings don't last that long. He's never spanked me to the point of actually hurting, and it's better than being grounded or restricted from the TV or video games. Spankings are awful, but at least they get over with quickly. In the past weeks, I had been grounded and now I would have to do the chores as part of my punishment. I wondered if I could ask Bruce to wallop me for everything bad so it could just be all over.
More than the groundings or the spankings, I hate for him to be mad at me. I want him to like me – I want us to be friends. I want him to see me as a partner, and I want him to treat me like an adult. I'm thirteen. That's practically grown-up.
"You've got to learn to think before you jump into action," Bruce lectured as he paddled. "What if you had gotten hurt out there?"
"I'm Robin. I can take care of myself," I squirmed.
"Like you did when the Joker kidnapped you?" Bruce and his horrible logic kept going as did the spanking.
"He didn't get loose this time. If I'm old enough to help you fight crime, I'm old enough to go out by myself."
"I might consider letting you go out in the city in the daytime for a while as long as I knew where you were. But disappearing at night and going into the city and leaving Alfred here to worry. Dick, I swear you make me want to pull out my hair!"
Bruce walloped me twice and then he sat down on the bed.
I looked at him through tear-filled eyes, confused, but I didn't have much time to think about what was happening because he pulled me over his lap, securing my legs between his as he angled my body for more discipline. He began applying his open hand to my bottom, thwacking firmly over my underwear.
I no longer had to worry about holding myself still so I let go. I thrashed and bellowed and yelled out absurd things.
"Stop it, Bruce! I'm too old. You already spanked me with the hairbrush. Bruce! Why do I have to get spanked? I wasn't even that bad!"
"Rethink that," Bruce advised, snatching up the hairbrush and whacking my bottom with it.
"OOOWWWW!" I squalled. "Ow, that's too much. You're supposed to be punishing me, not killing me."
"Quiet down," Bruce scolded. "You can take a spanking."
"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one getting it."
"My arm gets tired eventually," he popped me several more times.
"I'm supposed to feel bad about that?" I shrieked.
"Yes. If a spanking doesn't get through that stubborn head of yours, maybe you'll think about how hard this is for me and you'll behave."
Bruce was impossible. Maybe insane, too, but definitely impossible. Why was I the one stuck with him? Why did I have to be his partner and the one he watched all the time and the one he punished and trained and lectured and scolded?
"You've got to be done soon," I hollered.
"I'm not stopping until you sound repentant," he returned.
I gave into tears then. I let out a primitive scream (he had been spanking me for a while by then) and I let the tears just come.
He delivered two more swats and then he pulled me up.
I should have accepted whatever he thought I needed to comfort me. I should have sat on his knee and taken the hug and whatever he wanted to tell me and then let him put me to bed. And had this been the end of my punishment, I might have done it, but I knew I had more coming the next day and I hated being punished and Bruce thinks he's God, sometimes, and he isn't.
So, I did what I really wanted to do. I drove a fist into his stomach, and when he gasped in surprise, I bolted for the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and waited.
The mirror showed my reflection. My face was streaked with tears and looked pathetic. My hair was all over the place, and I had no pants on, and I looked about six years old.
"Dick," Bruce said from the other side, "you open this door right now, or there's going to be trouble."
I didn't do anything.
"You have five seconds to unlock this door or else," Bruce bellowed.
I stood still, shaking slightly.
"One!"
I needed a way out. I glanced around and saw the window.
"Two!"
I scampered over to the window and unlocked it.
"Three!"
I pushed the window up and I climbed out. Bruce is really dumb. When you give people a chance to think, they never do what you want them to do. Instead, they panic and take matters into their own hands.
"Four!"
I climbed up on the roof, clinging to the sloping eaves and gables, tucking my body close to the brick and shingles.
"Five!"
In the bathroom below, there was a terrific crash, and I heard the door slam on the floor.
A second of silence, then Bruce roared, "Richard Grayson! You get yourself back in here right now!"
I climbed up to the roof. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I had to get away from him. I would climb off the other side of the manor and I would run to the woods. I had no idea where I would go after that, but I planned to turn rogue, just to show Bruce. I would apprentice myself to some villain, and I would tell him all of Batman's secrets, and we would kidnap the Dark Knight and put him in a hanging cage, just where a bat belonged. He would have to watch while the villain and I began to rule the world, and then Bruce would be sorry.
I made it to the top of the manor. The view was incredible. I could see the lights of Gotham in the far distance, bright and glowing against the night sky. I crept over to the other side and shimmed down the side of the manor. As I hit the ground and started running, two things hit me at once. One was how much my bottom hurt. Bruce had been more than thorough, as usual. The second thing was how cold my legs were without pants. I would have to find pants somewhere. I couldn't easily go to a villain and be taken seriously without pants.
I heard yells behind me as I raced across the lawn; they had spotted me. I jumped and pulled myself up over the stone wall and jumped over to the other side.
It was late by now, past midnight, and the woods around Wayne Manor were almost black. I hesitated for a second, and then I plunged ahead.
I'm a fast runner so I pushed myself to keep going, ignoring the branches and leaves that scraped at my bare legs. I finally stopped once I was deep enough in the woods.
The trees looked haunted, and I felt like eyes were watching me. I spun around several times, trying to convince myself that I was alone. I had watched The Village a while ago (another movie snuck past Bruce), and that stupid red monster thing had scared me a little. I had laughed it off in the den of the manor, but here in the middle of the woods at night, I was terrified at the idea of meeting that thing. What if I looked around a tree, and it was standing there, watching me?
I backed up, and I had the awful thought of backing into it. I'd seen that in movies before. The guy looked around a tree, trying to find the monster or the killer, and the guy sees nothing. You relax for a second, and the guy turns around to find the thing right behind him and it's the worst surprise ever.
I whimpered slightly. With all the bravery I could muster, I turned around.
Nothing but trees, empty except for the mist rising. Why, oh, why did there have to be fog tonight?
I turned back the other way. Still nothing.
Just when I was about to relax, I heard leaves rustle behind a huge oak tree. I crept forward, slowly looking around the tree. Nothing there.
I gulped down air and turned around.
Bruce was standing right behind me.
I screamed in terror, and then I promptly burst into tears. I stood there, shaking and bawling and trying to calm myself down.
"Good grief," Bruce snapped at me. "All that training, and this is how you react to a threat? We have a lot to work on."
He reached for me, and I jumped back.
"No!" I shrieked. "No!"
I turned and started running. I had been so scared I was slightly dizzy, but I wasn't going to let Bruce get me. I made it about ten wild steps, and then something whizzed around my torso. It trapped my arms to my side, and I tripped, sprawling on the bumpy ground of the woods. It hurt, and I started crying harder.
I realized that he had flung two batarangs at me, attached to opposite ends of a sturdy twine of rope. It had tied around me, and I couldn't get my arms free.
I struggled, but I saw black shoes stop inches from my face. Strong hands grabbed me and pulled me up to my feet. I stared at Bruce for a second, still crying, and he slung me over his left shoulder, wrapping his left arm over the back of my knees as I leaned over his shoulder, my arms still pinned to my side.
"No, Bruce," I squirmed. "Don't take me back."
"If you think I'm going to let you live in my woods without pants, you are crazy," he replied.
"Then let me down to walk."
"You lost the privilege of walking."
That was insane. Since when was walking a privilege? I twisted to get free.
"Richard," Bruce's voice cut through the wood, "you will stop squirming, or so help me, I will cut a switch and use it all the way home."
No doubt about it – I had been caught by the scariest thing in the woods. I had never had Bruce use a switch on me, but I doubted I would like it. I let my body go limp.
He strode through the woods, carrying me like I weighed nothing. I got angry but there was no use in throwing a tantrum here. I couldn't plot revenge either. Bruce was stronger than I was. He was bigger, older, smarter, quicker – everything better than I was. He had me beat – clear and simple. I lost; he won. I couldn't do anything except accept it.
No matter how far I would run, he would catch me. I belonged to him. I was his ward, and he wouldn't rest until I gave everything up to him.
The unfairness of it all hit me, and I started crying again, but this time quietly. I lay over his shoulder watching my tears fall onto the dirt as he strode back to the manor. Once I saw the dirt turn into grass, I knew we were close. The grass became a path, and then a stone walk. I saw stairs beneath his shoes followed by a hard-wood floor, more stairs, and finally the rug of my bedroom.
He set me down to stand on the floor and set to work loosening the ties around my torso. I felt tears roll down my cold cheeks, and I was so tired I would have fallen into the bed without protest.
The batarang dropped to the floor, and then Bruce sighed as he looked at me.
"I would rather fight every villain in Arkham right now than have to do this with you," he said.
I had no idea what he meant so I stayed silent, tears still rolling down.
"This is impossible," he ran a hand through his hair. "You're impossible, Dick. I don't know what to do. I'm trying to be consistent with you, but I'm in way over my head here. I punish you, and you act worse. I let something go and you get into even more trouble. You don't even react the same way after I spank you. One day you hug me forever, and the next you jump out the window and I have to chase you through the dark woods. Do you really hate me that much?"
I blinked, sending more tears down my face. "What?"
"I want to be good to you, Dick, I really do, but I'm starting to think that you'd be better off with someone else. It's dangerous what I do, and I put you in danger, but if you hate me the rest of the time –"
"I don't hate you," the words came out before I even knew what I was going to say. "I've never hated you."
"You're going to have to help me out here," Bruce looked really shook up. "I don't know what it's like. My parents died before I was your age, and Alfred did a good job raising me, but he still wasn't my father. When my parents were still alive, I ran away a few times, but I always came back when I reached the end of the drive, mainly because I wasn't allowed to go beyond the end. As a teenager, I stole one of the cars and stayed away for two days, and Alfred went crazy. When I came back, he took my license and cut off my allowance for six months, and I knew right then that he meant business."
I watched him, not sure where he was going.
"Do you want to go back to foster care?" he asked. "Is it so horrible here that you want to leave?"
"No, no, Bruce! I love you," I confessed. "You're my dad now, and I belong here with you."
He looked away and when he turned his head back, I saw his eyes shining with tears.
I ran forward and threw my arms around him. I hugged him tight, taking comfort in his strength. He hugged me back, and we stood there for a minute, finally understanding each other.
I pulled back and gave him a shaky smile.
He smiled back at me. "There's my boy."
I basked in the joy that overwhelmed me, and I loved him so much at that moment I thought my heart would burst.
"Thanks, Bruce," I smiled fully.
"Good boy," he smiled.
Then he reached forward so fast I didn't have time to react. He tucked me against his side and spanked me.
"Ow, Bruce," I complained.
"You try the patience of a saint!" he declared. "You're getting twenty for that little stunt and then I'm going with you into the bathroom to watch you brush your teeth, and then you're going to bed. If you fight me at all, I'm making you sleep in my bedroom, on the floor!"
"Jerk," I growled though I didn't struggle. "I don't want this."
"Behave yourself then," he kept spanking and I took it, this time not as angry.
Once he was done, he stood me up to face him.
"You can either let me hug you or you can go brush your teeth without a hug, but if you ever punch me again after I discipline you, I will spank you again the next night."
Like I said, there was no winning against Bruce. But I was too tired and cried-out to care, and I hugged him again, letting him rub my back for a few seconds.
Five minutes later, I was in my bed as he pulled the covers over me. The clock beside my bed read 1:57.
"Where's Alfred?" I yawned.
"I sent him to bed," Bruce said. "I said I could find you, and I promised him that he could punish me if I didn't find you and bring you back."
"You wouldn't let him punish you," another yawn. I was having trouble keeping my eyes open.
"No, I wouldn't," Bruce agreed, sounding a little too sure of himself.
"Are you going to treat me like a kid tomorrow?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, and I'm not letting you out of my sight," he promised, again sounding like he was enjoying himself too much.
"That's mean," I pouted though I could barely move my face muscles.
"Maybe some meanness will knock some sense into your head. Where were you going out there without any pants?"
"I was going to find a villain who would take me on as a partner."
Bruce laughed suddenly.
I pried my eyes open to glare at him. "What? I would have given them all your secrets and worked to defeat you for good."
"Oh, Dick," Bruce grinned broadly, "if you did that, my enemies wouldn't stand a chance. I should do that – loan you out for a few weeks to them. They'd be ruined in no time."
"I'm a good fighter," I scowled at him. "I would make a good bad guy."
Bruce laughed again. "I'm just remembering you with the Riddler. You drove him up a wall. I wonder how you'd do with Poison Ivy or Mad Hatter."
"Keep laughing at me and you'll find out," I threatened.
"Nope," he brushed my hair back from my forehead. "You belong here with me. You're my Robin, and not anyone else's. Go to sleep. Get out of this bed before morning, and I'll make you scrub all my cars with a toothbrush."
There had to be something smart I could retort to that, but I was so tired, I just glared at him. My bed felt very warm, and my last coherent thought was that Bruce was an all right guy once you got past all his side-comments and spankings.
I got to sleep well into the next morning, but I knew right away that it would be an awful day. Down in the kitchen, Bruce was reading the paper and drinking coffee, but I sat down to a breakfast of oatmeal with raisins arranged in a smiley face on top.
I glowered, but I didn't say a word as I picked up my spoon and ate. I had a large glass of milk by my plate and the oatmeal wasn't very sweet, but the worst part about the breakfast was the fact that it wasn't that different from a regular breakfast. I don't get smiley faces, but Alfred serves a lot of oatmeal, and he's always after me to drink more milk.
"Drink all of it – growing boys need milk," Bruce said without looking up from his paper.
I thought about flipping him the bird – that was something I didn't know about when I was seven. But I had made up my mind to just take it. The day couldn't last forever, and I did want to go patrolling with Batman tonight, so I had to brave out this second punishment.
After breakfast, he insisted that I follow him into his study. I had the awful thought that he might have rigged up some giant playpen to keep me in, but I guess seven-year-olds don't stay in playpens because his study looked normal.
"Sit on the sofa and read this to me," he handed me a book from his desk.
It was the Nutcracker, all bright and pink with some dumb girl on the front looking all excited over a nutcracker. Bruce had dragged me to the ballet every Christmas, and I hated the whole thing because the music gets stuck in your head and you end up humming that opening number all Christmas. Last year, I pitched a fit at having to go, and Bruce said I could go along pleasantly or he was signing me up to play Fritz the next year. I couldn't imagine playing the dumb little brother to Clara, but Bruce said that ballet was good for toning my body so I didn't push it. I went to the play and pretended to like it, and Bruce didn't threaten ballet again.
Christmas was only a couple months away, so I hastily opened the book to the open page. The writing on the page was split into two sections, the top being English and the bottom being Russian. I think the guy that designed the music for the ballet was Russian, so I guess the book had both because of that.
Just to revenge myself a little, I decided to read the Russian. My parents used to read stories to me in Russian, and I recognized most of the letters.
"It was Christmas Eve," I read in Russian, "and the children waited in the front hall for the Christmas Tree to-"
"What are you doing?" Bruce interrupted.
"You told me to read," I answered, trying not to sound too sassy. "You didn't say which part to read."
Bruce stood up and came to stand right in front of me. "You know Russian?"
I nodded. "Yes, my parents said their parents were Cold War immigrants."
"You know Russian?" Bruce repeated, looking amazed. "You can read Russian? Can – can you write it?"
"Sure," I replied.
"Sure?" Bruce lifted his eyebrows. "You've lived here this long and I never knew you knew Russian? What other languages do you know?"
I shrugged. "A little German and Italian. The circus had people from all over the world, and they taught me different languages. So what?"
"So what?" Bruce looked shocked. "This whole time I thought you were dumb when it came to schoolwork, and now I find out that you can speak all these languages?"
I froze. "You thought I was dumb?"
"All those low grades? Of course I did. I accepted the fact that you would never be a good detective because you'd never have my intelligence, but –"
I launched myself at him. The book tumbled to the ground, but I started pounding on him, lashing out with my fists and feet like a mad man.
"Whoa, whoa!" Bruce tried to fend me off. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just – you've never showed much initiative in school, and after those C's in English –"
"My teacher has it in for me!" I howled. I was ready to beat him to the ground, but he overpowered me, and I found myself with my legs wedged between his as he sat on the sofa, and he had my arms tucked behind my back with my head hanging down.
"Calm down," he advised.
"Like hell," I snarled. "I'm not stupid. I'm not stupid, but you're a jackass."
"Maybe a little," Bruce said. "Why didn't you tell me you knew all these languages? Are – are you bored in school?"
"Of course I'm bored!" I squirmed. "Now let me up and fight me like a man."
"Settle down," Bruce shifted my arms into one of his hands and used his free hand to pat my back like he was calming a wild animal.
That made me even angrier, and I snarled under my breath.
"Do you get bad grades in school because you're bored?" Bruce went on patting me while I imagined horrible ways he could die. "Take a few breaths and tell me the truth."
"The truth," I struggled against his iron hold, "the truth is school teaches me dumb stuff and I'm not going anymore, and I'm going to beat you up once I get free."
"Listen," Bruce lowered his voice a notch, "you can either calm down and sit on this sofa and answer my questions about school or I'm taking you up for your nap early. What's it going to be?"
Impossible! I twisted one last time and then growled, "I'll talk."
He set me up on the sofa, and I couldn't resist giving his shin a kick as I sat up straight.
"None of that," he admonished. "I want the truth from you, Dick. No more fighting with me, no more quarreling. Tell me what's really going on at school, and I mean everything."
I thought about refusing, but it was really the first time that Bruce had ever asked me to share my side of what was going on. He had lectured me endlessly about school and bringing my grades up, but we never had a one-on-one conversation about it, man-to-man, with him really listening.
I took a deep breath.
I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched two handfuls of cover. I heard the whoosh high about me, and then I felt the hairbrush slam into my bottom.
"Bruce!" I cried out.
"Not a word," he warned me. "Not one word out of you." Another swat, and I burst into tears.
Bruce swung again, and I clutched the covers with both open fists. There was nothing I could do at this point except try to bear it out.
I hate spankings! I hate them with a passion. I don't like bending over to present Bruce with a better target. I don't like having to hold myself still. I don't like listening to Bruce's hand or the hairbrush swing through the air, and I do not like the pain at all. It stings and it aches, and it's horrible.
I hate having Bruce yell at me, but spanking takes that guilt to somewhere far away that I can't control. I get all nervous and jumpy, and my eyes sting, and I start crying like a baby when he starts swinging.
But compared to other punishments, at least spankings don't last that long. He's never spanked me to the point of actually hurting, and it's better than being grounded or restricted from the TV or video games. Spankings are awful, but at least they get over with quickly. In the past weeks, I had been grounded and now I would have to do the chores as part of my punishment. I wondered if I could ask Bruce to wallop me for everything bad so it could just be all over.
More than the groundings or the spankings, I hate for him to be mad at me. I want him to like me – I want us to be friends. I want him to see me as a partner, and I want him to treat me like an adult. I'm thirteen. That's practically grown-up.
"You've got to learn to think before you jump into action," Bruce lectured as he paddled. "What if you had gotten hurt out there?"
"I'm Robin. I can take care of myself," I squirmed.
"Like you did when the Joker kidnapped you?" Bruce and his horrible logic kept going as did the spanking.
"He didn't get loose this time. If I'm old enough to help you fight crime, I'm old enough to go out by myself."
"I might consider letting you go out in the city in the daytime for a while as long as I knew where you were. But disappearing at night and going into the city and leaving Alfred here to worry. Dick, I swear you make me want to pull out my hair!"
Bruce walloped me twice and then he sat down on the bed.
I looked at him through tear-filled eyes, confused, but I didn't have much time to think about what was happening because he pulled me over his lap, securing my legs between his as he angled my body for more discipline. He began applying his open hand to my bottom, thwacking firmly over my underwear.
I no longer had to worry about holding myself still so I let go. I thrashed and bellowed and yelled out absurd things.
"Stop it, Bruce! I'm too old. You already spanked me with the hairbrush. Bruce! Why do I have to get spanked? I wasn't even that bad!"
"Rethink that," Bruce advised, snatching up the hairbrush and whacking my bottom with it.
"OOOWWWW!" I squalled. "Ow, that's too much. You're supposed to be punishing me, not killing me."
"Quiet down," Bruce scolded. "You can take a spanking."
"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one getting it."
"My arm gets tired eventually," he popped me several more times.
"I'm supposed to feel bad about that?" I shrieked.
"Yes. If a spanking doesn't get through that stubborn head of yours, maybe you'll think about how hard this is for me and you'll behave."
Bruce was impossible. Maybe insane, too, but definitely impossible. Why was I the one stuck with him? Why did I have to be his partner and the one he watched all the time and the one he punished and trained and lectured and scolded?
"You've got to be done soon," I hollered.
"I'm not stopping until you sound repentant," he returned.
I gave into tears then. I let out a primitive scream (he had been spanking me for a while by then) and I let the tears just come.
He delivered two more swats and then he pulled me up.
I should have accepted whatever he thought I needed to comfort me. I should have sat on his knee and taken the hug and whatever he wanted to tell me and then let him put me to bed. And had this been the end of my punishment, I might have done it, but I knew I had more coming the next day and I hated being punished and Bruce thinks he's God, sometimes, and he isn't.
So, I did what I really wanted to do. I drove a fist into his stomach, and when he gasped in surprise, I bolted for the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and waited.
The mirror showed my reflection. My face was streaked with tears and looked pathetic. My hair was all over the place, and I had no pants on, and I looked about six years old.
"Dick," Bruce said from the other side, "you open this door right now, or there's going to be trouble."
I didn't do anything.
"You have five seconds to unlock this door or else," Bruce bellowed.
I stood still, shaking slightly.
"One!"
I needed a way out. I glanced around and saw the window.
"Two!"
I scampered over to the window and unlocked it.
"Three!"
I pushed the window up and I climbed out. Bruce is really dumb. When you give people a chance to think, they never do what you want them to do. Instead, they panic and take matters into their own hands.
"Four!"
I climbed up on the roof, clinging to the sloping eaves and gables, tucking my body close to the brick and shingles.
"Five!"
In the bathroom below, there was a terrific crash, and I heard the door slam on the floor.
A second of silence, then Bruce roared, "Richard Grayson! You get yourself back in here right now!"
I climbed up to the roof. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I had to get away from him. I would climb off the other side of the manor and I would run to the woods. I had no idea where I would go after that, but I planned to turn rogue, just to show Bruce. I would apprentice myself to some villain, and I would tell him all of Batman's secrets, and we would kidnap the Dark Knight and put him in a hanging cage, just where a bat belonged. He would have to watch while the villain and I began to rule the world, and then Bruce would be sorry.
I made it to the top of the manor. The view was incredible. I could see the lights of Gotham in the far distance, bright and glowing against the night sky. I crept over to the other side and shimmed down the side of the manor. As I hit the ground and started running, two things hit me at once. One was how much my bottom hurt. Bruce had been more than thorough, as usual. The second thing was how cold my legs were without pants. I would have to find pants somewhere. I couldn't easily go to a villain and be taken seriously without pants.
I heard yells behind me as I raced across the lawn; they had spotted me. I jumped and pulled myself up over the stone wall and jumped over to the other side.
It was late by now, past midnight, and the woods around Wayne Manor were almost black. I hesitated for a second, and then I plunged ahead.
I'm a fast runner so I pushed myself to keep going, ignoring the branches and leaves that scraped at my bare legs. I finally stopped once I was deep enough in the woods.
The trees looked haunted, and I felt like eyes were watching me. I spun around several times, trying to convince myself that I was alone. I had watched The Village a while ago (another movie snuck past Bruce), and that stupid red monster thing had scared me a little. I had laughed it off in the den of the manor, but here in the middle of the woods at night, I was terrified at the idea of meeting that thing. What if I looked around a tree, and it was standing there, watching me?
I backed up, and I had the awful thought of backing into it. I'd seen that in movies before. The guy looked around a tree, trying to find the monster or the killer, and the guy sees nothing. You relax for a second, and the guy turns around to find the thing right behind him and it's the worst surprise ever.
I whimpered slightly. With all the bravery I could muster, I turned around.
Nothing but trees, empty except for the mist rising. Why, oh, why did there have to be fog tonight?
I turned back the other way. Still nothing.
Just when I was about to relax, I heard leaves rustle behind a huge oak tree. I crept forward, slowly looking around the tree. Nothing there.
I gulped down air and turned around.
Bruce was standing right behind me.
I screamed in terror, and then I promptly burst into tears. I stood there, shaking and bawling and trying to calm myself down.
"Good grief," Bruce snapped at me. "All that training, and this is how you react to a threat? We have a lot to work on."
He reached for me, and I jumped back.
"No!" I shrieked. "No!"
I turned and started running. I had been so scared I was slightly dizzy, but I wasn't going to let Bruce get me. I made it about ten wild steps, and then something whizzed around my torso. It trapped my arms to my side, and I tripped, sprawling on the bumpy ground of the woods. It hurt, and I started crying harder.
I realized that he had flung two batarangs at me, attached to opposite ends of a sturdy twine of rope. It had tied around me, and I couldn't get my arms free.
I struggled, but I saw black shoes stop inches from my face. Strong hands grabbed me and pulled me up to my feet. I stared at Bruce for a second, still crying, and he slung me over his left shoulder, wrapping his left arm over the back of my knees as I leaned over his shoulder, my arms still pinned to my side.
"No, Bruce," I squirmed. "Don't take me back."
"If you think I'm going to let you live in my woods without pants, you are crazy," he replied.
"Then let me down to walk."
"You lost the privilege of walking."
That was insane. Since when was walking a privilege? I twisted to get free.
"Richard," Bruce's voice cut through the wood, "you will stop squirming, or so help me, I will cut a switch and use it all the way home."
No doubt about it – I had been caught by the scariest thing in the woods. I had never had Bruce use a switch on me, but I doubted I would like it. I let my body go limp.
He strode through the woods, carrying me like I weighed nothing. I got angry but there was no use in throwing a tantrum here. I couldn't plot revenge either. Bruce was stronger than I was. He was bigger, older, smarter, quicker – everything better than I was. He had me beat – clear and simple. I lost; he won. I couldn't do anything except accept it.
No matter how far I would run, he would catch me. I belonged to him. I was his ward, and he wouldn't rest until I gave everything up to him.
The unfairness of it all hit me, and I started crying again, but this time quietly. I lay over his shoulder watching my tears fall onto the dirt as he strode back to the manor. Once I saw the dirt turn into grass, I knew we were close. The grass became a path, and then a stone walk. I saw stairs beneath his shoes followed by a hard-wood floor, more stairs, and finally the rug of my bedroom.
He set me down to stand on the floor and set to work loosening the ties around my torso. I felt tears roll down my cold cheeks, and I was so tired I would have fallen into the bed without protest.
The batarang dropped to the floor, and then Bruce sighed as he looked at me.
"I would rather fight every villain in Arkham right now than have to do this with you," he said.
I had no idea what he meant so I stayed silent, tears still rolling down.
"This is impossible," he ran a hand through his hair. "You're impossible, Dick. I don't know what to do. I'm trying to be consistent with you, but I'm in way over my head here. I punish you, and you act worse. I let something go and you get into even more trouble. You don't even react the same way after I spank you. One day you hug me forever, and the next you jump out the window and I have to chase you through the dark woods. Do you really hate me that much?"
I blinked, sending more tears down my face. "What?"
"I want to be good to you, Dick, I really do, but I'm starting to think that you'd be better off with someone else. It's dangerous what I do, and I put you in danger, but if you hate me the rest of the time –"
"I don't hate you," the words came out before I even knew what I was going to say. "I've never hated you."
"You're going to have to help me out here," Bruce looked really shook up. "I don't know what it's like. My parents died before I was your age, and Alfred did a good job raising me, but he still wasn't my father. When my parents were still alive, I ran away a few times, but I always came back when I reached the end of the drive, mainly because I wasn't allowed to go beyond the end. As a teenager, I stole one of the cars and stayed away for two days, and Alfred went crazy. When I came back, he took my license and cut off my allowance for six months, and I knew right then that he meant business."
I watched him, not sure where he was going.
"Do you want to go back to foster care?" he asked. "Is it so horrible here that you want to leave?"
"No, no, Bruce! I love you," I confessed. "You're my dad now, and I belong here with you."
He looked away and when he turned his head back, I saw his eyes shining with tears.
I ran forward and threw my arms around him. I hugged him tight, taking comfort in his strength. He hugged me back, and we stood there for a minute, finally understanding each other.
I pulled back and gave him a shaky smile.
He smiled back at me. "There's my boy."
I basked in the joy that overwhelmed me, and I loved him so much at that moment I thought my heart would burst.
"Thanks, Bruce," I smiled fully.
"Good boy," he smiled.
Then he reached forward so fast I didn't have time to react. He tucked me against his side and spanked me.
"Ow, Bruce," I complained.
"You try the patience of a saint!" he declared. "You're getting twenty for that little stunt and then I'm going with you into the bathroom to watch you brush your teeth, and then you're going to bed. If you fight me at all, I'm making you sleep in my bedroom, on the floor!"
"Jerk," I growled though I didn't struggle. "I don't want this."
"Behave yourself then," he kept spanking and I took it, this time not as angry.
Once he was done, he stood me up to face him.
"You can either let me hug you or you can go brush your teeth without a hug, but if you ever punch me again after I discipline you, I will spank you again the next night."
Like I said, there was no winning against Bruce. But I was too tired and cried-out to care, and I hugged him again, letting him rub my back for a few seconds.
Five minutes later, I was in my bed as he pulled the covers over me. The clock beside my bed read 1:57.
"Where's Alfred?" I yawned.
"I sent him to bed," Bruce said. "I said I could find you, and I promised him that he could punish me if I didn't find you and bring you back."
"You wouldn't let him punish you," another yawn. I was having trouble keeping my eyes open.
"No, I wouldn't," Bruce agreed, sounding a little too sure of himself.
"Are you going to treat me like a kid tomorrow?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, and I'm not letting you out of my sight," he promised, again sounding like he was enjoying himself too much.
"That's mean," I pouted though I could barely move my face muscles.
"Maybe some meanness will knock some sense into your head. Where were you going out there without any pants?"
"I was going to find a villain who would take me on as a partner."
Bruce laughed suddenly.
I pried my eyes open to glare at him. "What? I would have given them all your secrets and worked to defeat you for good."
"Oh, Dick," Bruce grinned broadly, "if you did that, my enemies wouldn't stand a chance. I should do that – loan you out for a few weeks to them. They'd be ruined in no time."
"I'm a good fighter," I scowled at him. "I would make a good bad guy."
Bruce laughed again. "I'm just remembering you with the Riddler. You drove him up a wall. I wonder how you'd do with Poison Ivy or Mad Hatter."
"Keep laughing at me and you'll find out," I threatened.
"Nope," he brushed my hair back from my forehead. "You belong here with me. You're my Robin, and not anyone else's. Go to sleep. Get out of this bed before morning, and I'll make you scrub all my cars with a toothbrush."
There had to be something smart I could retort to that, but I was so tired, I just glared at him. My bed felt very warm, and my last coherent thought was that Bruce was an all right guy once you got past all his side-comments and spankings.
I got to sleep well into the next morning, but I knew right away that it would be an awful day. Down in the kitchen, Bruce was reading the paper and drinking coffee, but I sat down to a breakfast of oatmeal with raisins arranged in a smiley face on top.
I glowered, but I didn't say a word as I picked up my spoon and ate. I had a large glass of milk by my plate and the oatmeal wasn't very sweet, but the worst part about the breakfast was the fact that it wasn't that different from a regular breakfast. I don't get smiley faces, but Alfred serves a lot of oatmeal, and he's always after me to drink more milk.
"Drink all of it – growing boys need milk," Bruce said without looking up from his paper.
I thought about flipping him the bird – that was something I didn't know about when I was seven. But I had made up my mind to just take it. The day couldn't last forever, and I did want to go patrolling with Batman tonight, so I had to brave out this second punishment.
After breakfast, he insisted that I follow him into his study. I had the awful thought that he might have rigged up some giant playpen to keep me in, but I guess seven-year-olds don't stay in playpens because his study looked normal.
"Sit on the sofa and read this to me," he handed me a book from his desk.
It was the Nutcracker, all bright and pink with some dumb girl on the front looking all excited over a nutcracker. Bruce had dragged me to the ballet every Christmas, and I hated the whole thing because the music gets stuck in your head and you end up humming that opening number all Christmas. Last year, I pitched a fit at having to go, and Bruce said I could go along pleasantly or he was signing me up to play Fritz the next year. I couldn't imagine playing the dumb little brother to Clara, but Bruce said that ballet was good for toning my body so I didn't push it. I went to the play and pretended to like it, and Bruce didn't threaten ballet again.
Christmas was only a couple months away, so I hastily opened the book to the open page. The writing on the page was split into two sections, the top being English and the bottom being Russian. I think the guy that designed the music for the ballet was Russian, so I guess the book had both because of that.
Just to revenge myself a little, I decided to read the Russian. My parents used to read stories to me in Russian, and I recognized most of the letters.
"It was Christmas Eve," I read in Russian, "and the children waited in the front hall for the Christmas Tree to-"
"What are you doing?" Bruce interrupted.
"You told me to read," I answered, trying not to sound too sassy. "You didn't say which part to read."
Bruce stood up and came to stand right in front of me. "You know Russian?"
I nodded. "Yes, my parents said their parents were Cold War immigrants."
"You know Russian?" Bruce repeated, looking amazed. "You can read Russian? Can – can you write it?"
"Sure," I replied.
"Sure?" Bruce lifted his eyebrows. "You've lived here this long and I never knew you knew Russian? What other languages do you know?"
I shrugged. "A little German and Italian. The circus had people from all over the world, and they taught me different languages. So what?"
"So what?" Bruce looked shocked. "This whole time I thought you were dumb when it came to schoolwork, and now I find out that you can speak all these languages?"
I froze. "You thought I was dumb?"
"All those low grades? Of course I did. I accepted the fact that you would never be a good detective because you'd never have my intelligence, but –"
I launched myself at him. The book tumbled to the ground, but I started pounding on him, lashing out with my fists and feet like a mad man.
"Whoa, whoa!" Bruce tried to fend me off. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just – you've never showed much initiative in school, and after those C's in English –"
"My teacher has it in for me!" I howled. I was ready to beat him to the ground, but he overpowered me, and I found myself with my legs wedged between his as he sat on the sofa, and he had my arms tucked behind my back with my head hanging down.
"Calm down," he advised.
"Like hell," I snarled. "I'm not stupid. I'm not stupid, but you're a jackass."
"Maybe a little," Bruce said. "Why didn't you tell me you knew all these languages? Are – are you bored in school?"
"Of course I'm bored!" I squirmed. "Now let me up and fight me like a man."
"Settle down," Bruce shifted my arms into one of his hands and used his free hand to pat my back like he was calming a wild animal.
That made me even angrier, and I snarled under my breath.
"Do you get bad grades in school because you're bored?" Bruce went on patting me while I imagined horrible ways he could die. "Take a few breaths and tell me the truth."
"The truth," I struggled against his iron hold, "the truth is school teaches me dumb stuff and I'm not going anymore, and I'm going to beat you up once I get free."
"Listen," Bruce lowered his voice a notch, "you can either calm down and sit on this sofa and answer my questions about school or I'm taking you up for your nap early. What's it going to be?"
Impossible! I twisted one last time and then growled, "I'll talk."
He set me up on the sofa, and I couldn't resist giving his shin a kick as I sat up straight.
"None of that," he admonished. "I want the truth from you, Dick. No more fighting with me, no more quarreling. Tell me what's really going on at school, and I mean everything."
I thought about refusing, but it was really the first time that Bruce had ever asked me to share my side of what was going on. He had lectured me endlessly about school and bringing my grades up, but we never had a one-on-one conversation about it, man-to-man, with him really listening.
I took a deep breath.