7A/N: New multichap! Well, technically, this has been done for 3-4 weeks. I just didn't like how it came out. But changes weren't happening, so I guess I'm just leaving it as is. As with nearly all of my YJ fics, this is in response to a prompt over on the YJ anon meme on livejournal.
No Wally in this chapter, but he'll be making an appearance soon, and he will be a main character. I don't know yet whether it'll be Dick/Wally slash or just friendship. We'll see, I guess. I already have the outline for almost all of the story planned out, and it's friendship thus far. So if it DOES turn out to be Dick/Wally, that won't happen until the end. And by end I mean, like, around the last chapter.
Uh. Enough rambling. Read on~
Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car rolled up the driveway and eased to a stop outside the manor. Not home. The manor. Because, thought Dick, staring bleakly up at the huge house, this place wasn't like home, and it would never be home.
'Home' was supposed to be the associated with words like happy and comforting and safe and familiar. If home wasn't in an RV, constantly on the move with a bunch of other mobile homes, all part of a traveling circus, then Dick had always imaged that 'home' should be a warm and cozy little house. Not this huge mansion that he still couldn't find his way around after two months. To Dick, the Wayne Manor was the complete opposite of everything he had ever pictured a proper home to be like.
Which was why he didn't see it as such. It was strange to even refer to it as his home, so he didn't.
"Master Bruce is out on important business at the moment," said Alfred, locking up the car and following Dick as he trudged up the steps leading to the house, "but he should return soon."
"Of course," snorted Dick. "Soon being two plus days, I'm assuming?" That playboy. He's always out. 'Important business.' Like I believe that.
Dick refused to accept Bruce Wayne as any sort of father figure. Because why should he? The man was never home, and when he was, he always shut himself away in his study and ordered his young charge not to bother him.
And he was supposed to feel grateful towards this man? Ridiculous.
Wayne had seemed so kind that horrible night that his family died. He had seemed so generous, taking him in and letting him live in his ridiculously huge mansion. He had seemed so thoughtful, asking if he needed anything to help make himself more comfortable (Dick, timid and scared at the time, had shook his head, no, he had everything he needed, thank you.).
But then he had left. Called away on 'urgent business,' he claimed. Dick hadn't paid it much mind before—Wayne was rich and famous; he'd be surprised if he wasn't a busy man—but it happened again, and again. And, of course, he never bothered telling Dick a thing about whatever work this was, even when asked. In fact, he ignored him most of the time. Dick wasn't buying the 'urgent business' story anymore. How many emergencies could spring up to cause Wayne to be gone nearly every night? He hadn't even seen the name 'Bruce Wayne' on the news for at least two weeks. And, considering how famous the man was, that was surprising, 'urgent business' or not.
Alfred continued walking a careful space behind Dick as the latter headed for the staircase. "Would you be needing anyth—"
"Nothing," Dick interrupted the butler a little more harshly than he should have. "I'm going to my room. Thanks, though," he added. Just because he hated Wayne didn't mean he had to take it out on Alfred.
Alfred Pennyworth was pretty cool. Dick had expected the elderly butler to be a boring, stuffy old man, but he wasn't at all. He was nice and friendly, and always willing to chat and listen to his childish eight-year-old rantings. Dick just hoped Alfred didn't relay said rantings to Wayne. That wouldn't exactly be a nice thing, especially considering the subject of many of the rants was the big man himself.
He climbed up to the second floor and entered his room. Dick could make his way here without being lost, at least. Probably because he spent most of his time in this room.
But today, he didn't want to stay in the house. Not after thinking about home, and what a home should be. It made his heart ache.
He needed to get out for a while. Homework could wait. He didn't have a lot, and it would take him half an hour, tops. Dropping his book bag by his desk, Dick descended the stairs again and headed for the door.
"Alfred, I'm going out for a bit!" he called.
"Very well. Would you like a drive somewhere?" Alfred inquired, appearing by the door, seemingly out of nowhere (Dick wondered how he could move around the house so fast.).
Shaking his head, Dick said, "No, it's okay. I'm just going to walk around a bit. I'll be back later."
"Very well," said Alfred again. "Don't be late for dinner."
"I won't," promised Dick as he exited the house. Because I'm not like a certain someone...
He strolled around the side of the huge manor, not sure where he was going until he went to the back. There was a wire fence indicating the end of the territory and, beyond it, woodland. He'd been meaning to poke his head around there, but for some reason, never had. Well, today was as good a day as any.
Climbing the fence was child's play, and Dick dropped down easily to the other side.
Not worried about getting lost (He was confident he could climb a tree and see the mansion any time.), Dick wandered off into the forest.
He wasn't sure how long he had been walking until he found it, but the little grove in the heart of the forest just screamed perfect the second he saw it. Actually, no, it wasn't a scream. It was something of a whisper, but not quite, like a soft voice, warm and inviting.
Dick stepped into the grove, instantly feeling the warmth from the shaft of sunlight flooding the little clearing.
The mere thought was silly, even to him, but Dick felt an instant connection to the place. It was like...his own Secret Garden, just like in that old classic novel. Except it wasn't a garden. And it wasn't some secret, locked-up place with a sad history surrounding it. He hadn't needed to follow a red-breasted robin to find the key and door. But, standing here, Dick decided that this must be how Mary Lennox felt when she first stood in her garden.
He was just like Mary Lennox, Dick reflected. His family was gone. He was living in a huge house with a strange man. And now, like Mary, he had found a little secret hideaway, just for himself.
And he wouldn't tell anyone about it.