Chapter 4
Dick is still buzzing with the high of flying with Superman, the next morning. He knows he shouldn’t be so easily impressed by anyone. His guardian after all, is Batman. But Batman, once you get to know him, is just Bruce; the man who helps him with history homework and gives the occasional advice on how to talk to girls.
Superman and The Captain are different. Last night they had stood like gods on watch from their rooftop perch overlooking the city. It was impossible not to look at them in awe. After they get Bruce back – and Dick doesn’t doubt for a moment that they will – Dick plans on convincing Bruce to let him go to the next Justice League meeting. He’s already preparing his arguments.
A knock resonates throughout the manor, startling Dick. He listens as Alfred opens the door and greets whoever is there. Creeping down the hall, He peaks over the banister to watch. Three men stand in the entryway and Dick recognizes them as board members that Bruce introduced him to at the last Wayne Foundation Gala. He can’t see Alfred’s face, but from the tension in his shoulders Dick can guess that Alfred isn’t happy to see them.
“Master Bruce isn’t home at the moment,” Alfred says primly and only those who know him well can hear the icy edge in his voice, “when he returns I will let him know you dropped by.”
“Mr. Wayne has not been seen almost a week, nor has he responded to any of our calls and emails,” a short balding man with a briefcase says. One of his companions, a tall man with a thin mustache attempts to push past Alfred.
“I’m sorry, but visitors aren’t allowed in without Master Bruce’s approval.” Alfred says sidestepping him. Dick smirks.
The third man, a redhead with a perpetual sneer on his face, uses his moment of distraction to step inside.
“I’m sure Bruce won’t mind.” He says and Dick hates the way he calls him Bruce, as if they’re actually friends, “We’re just here to pick up some paperwork and then we’ll be on our way.”
The man ignores Alfred’s protests. Dick slides down the banister, hopping off with a flourish to land in front of the men as they make their way inside.
“You’re not allowed to be here.” Dick says crossing his arms. He tries to sound like Bruce; self-assured and intimidating. He doesn’t quite manage it as well as he hoped. The men pay him no more mind than they paid Alfred. Angry, Dick tries again.
“You need to leave.”
“We will, as soon as he get what we need.”
“No, now.” Dick says, “When Bruce isn’t here, I’m in charge.”
The short man chuckles, “We don’t take orders from Bruce Wayne’s charity case.”
Dick’s ears burn with embarrassment. This isn’t the first time he’s been called a charity case—the tabloids had been very fond of the phrase when Bruce had first taken him in—but it never fails to set him his teeth on edge. He knows Bruce cares for him, considers him more than just a charity case he took in for good press. Bruce never would have made him Robin if that’s all he was. Yet it still stings. It still hits him in just the right spot to antagonize the sliver of self-doubt he harbors regarding his and Bruce’s relationship.
Dick blocks their entrance to Bruce’s study, face flushed and hands on his hips.
“This charity case,” he sneers the phrase back at them, “says you aren’t welcomed here and you definitely aren’t welcomed in Bruce’s study.”
He dares the men to try anything. He’s been fighting criminals by Batman’s side for months now, he can take three old businessmen. As if hearing his thoughts Alfred steps behind the men, shaking his head over their shoulders. A silent reminder that Dick isn’t Robin right now. He’s Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson doesn’t fight. The men brush past him.
Bruce’s study is a sacred place. It’s where Bruce first revealed that he was Batman and where they’ve spent long hours together; Bruce at his desk working on Wayne Foundation paperwork and Dick on the chair doing his homework. Some of his happiest memories take place in this room. The men don’t care though, and they rifle through the desk, paging through Bruce’s private papers. They shove the ones they need into the briefcase.
One of them even picks up a framed picture of Bruce and Dick, taken only a few months after Bruce had first taken him in. They’re in the kitchen trying to cook something for Alfred’s birthday. Neither one of them are paying attention to the camera, though both are smiling. It’s Dick’s favorite picture of them together. The man smirks at it.
“Don’t touch that!” Dick snaps, swiping it away. The redheaded man looks up as if half surprised that Dick is still there.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” He asks, “Go practice your summersaults.”
In addition to “charity case” the tabloids had made a very big deal about Dick’s circus origins. Some of the more disreputable ones even going so far to imply certain things about Dick’s character and the risk he posed to Bruce’s many valuables. Bruce had been quick to shut those down rumors, but for months afterwards ladies at galas clutched their pearl studded purses a little closer whenever they noticed he was around.
Anger clouds Dick’s judgment and that’s the only excuse he can give for what he does next. He rips the briefcase from the short man’s hands and takes off. Dodging their outstretched hands is easy, and Dick bounds out of the room as they stumble clumsily after him. Alfred winks at him before pretending to be too busy dusting to notice his escape out the door.
On the grounds of Wayne Manor there are several places for Dick to tuck himself away. Always most comfortable in the air, Dick chooses the high branches of a centuries old oak tree. He swings through the branches with an easy grace. The familiar motion easing away the anger. He finds a sturdy branch and settles down. Popping open the briefcase, Dick curiously goes through the paperwork the men had.
It’s difficult to read through all the legalese but Dick gives it his best shot. His brow furrows with every flipped page. Luthor is buying WayneTech shares. He’s trying to buy Bruce out, but he can’t do that. Not without Bruce’s signature and Bruce would never give him that much power. Dick needs to take this to a lawyer, but the only lawyers he knows all work for WayneTech and given the board members behavior he’s not sure he can trust them. Nobody at WayneTech is above suspect at a moment. A slight self-conscious grin flits across his face. He sounds like Bruce.
There are only two people Dick can trust with this. He flips out of the tree, landing gracefully on his feet. He needs to get to Metropolis.
It’s Dick Grayson and not Robin who makes the trip. Dick decides against trying to sneak back in the mansion for his costume with the board members still there. On the train nobody pays attention to a teenager with an unusually fancy briefcase.
Dick knows both Steve and Clark’s addresses. Bruce made him memorize them in case of an emergency. And as much as Dick would like to see Superman’s home, Steve lives closer to the train station. It’s just after two when Dick reaches the door to Steve’s apartment. He knocks. The door doesn’t open. He knocks again and then curses. It’s the middle of the day, of course Steve isn’t home. With a sigh Dick leans against the wall, resigned to waiting.
His wait is shorter than expected, however, as after only a half hour he hears footsteps approach. Dick straightens up, but it’s not Steve that rounds the corner, keys in hand. This man has brown hair that’s a bit too long and a metallic hand poking out of his long sleeved shirt. It takes only a moment for it to click.
“Holy Army!” Dick mutters, “Sergeant Barnes?”
The man’s eyebrows raise and his lips quirk at the use of his title as he surveys Dick.
“Friend of Alfred’s I assume?” He says as he unlocks the door. He holds it open for Dick.
“Sort of… I’m Dick Grayson.” He holds out his hand for Sergeant Barnes to shake. His metal hand is cold under Dick’s grasp.
“Bucky Barnes.”
Dick follows Bucky inside. Immediately a fat orange cat winds his way between Dick’s legs.
“Steve told me about Bruce. Sorry to hear it.” Bucky says picking up a gray cat that is begging for his attention.
“I’m going to get him back.” Dick says, “The Captain and Superman already promised to help. Bucky grins, a private look of amusement flashing in his eyes.
“Good on you. You made quite the impression in Steve and Clark.” Bucky says. Dick’s eyes grow wide. He’s not sure what is more amazing to him right now, the fact that he “made an impression” on The Captain and Superman or the casual way Bucky refers to them by their given names.
“So, what brings you to Metropolis?” Bucky asks and Dick holds up the briefcase.
“Board members of WayneTech showed up with a bunch of paperwork. They’re trying to sell the company to Luthor!”
“The same Luthor who is very likely holding Bruce captive.” Bucky says, his eyes are stormy as he reaches for the briefcase. Dick lets him have it and can’t help staring at the silver hand that moves so much like a real one and unlike any prosthetic Dick has ever seen. Alfred had told him that Bucky lost it in the war, but never went into detail how. Temptation to ask beckons, but Dick pushes it away. He doubts it’s a pleasant memory for the man in front of him.
A small frown appears on Bucky’s face as he reads through the documents.
“So, what do you think? They can’t get away with selling Bruce’s company without his permission, right?” Dick asks.
Bucky gives him a sad smile.
“Kid, I barely finished high school before they shipped me out. This,” he holds up one of the pages filled with tiny print, “requires a law degree to make any sort of sense.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Dick admits, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face, “but I don’t know any lawyers I can trust.”
Bucky drums his silvery fingers absently on the briefcase. Tap tap tap.
“Clark’s been in Metropolis a few years. He must know a lawyer or two. I’ll make sure he gets this,” Bucky as patting the briefcase.
“Good and then we can take down Luthor.” Dick says.
Bucky gives him look, “Not with just this we can’t.”
“Why not? It’s proof that Luthor’s up to something shady.”
Bucky laughs softly, “Luthor’s a businessman, they’re usually up to something shady.”
He shakes his head as he sets down the paperwork, “No, this won’t tell us where Bruce is. That will require a bit more investigation, but this is a good start kid.”
“Well, then let’s go investigate him.” Dick says. He jumps to his feet and looks expectantly at Bucky. He’s disappointed to see that Bucky doesn’t move. He tries to shake off the frustration squeezing his insides, doesn’t Bucky understand how important this is?
“It’s not that I don’t get where you’re coming from kid, but you can’t go in half baked. You need a plan if you’re going up against someone like Luthor.” Bucky says.
“We can figure out a plan on the way!” Dick says his voice slipping into a whine. He slams his mouth shut, embarrassed.
“You are so much like Steve,” Bucky says shaking his head. The admission momentarily distracts Dick, “Really?”
He straightens, a smile forming. He wonders what Bruce will say when Dick tells him that he’s just like The Captain.
“Wipe that smile off right now, that wasn’t a compliment,” Bucky scolds, “it took a literal world war for him to learn the value of having a plan, rather than rushing head first into every bit of trouble he ever came across.”
Dick has a hard time imagining The Captain ever rushing recklessly into a fight or being anything other than calm and collected, like he had been that night on the roof. His thoughts must show on his face because Bucky rolls his eyes.
“He was a hellion when he was younger and I’ll tell you all about it another time,” Bucky says, “for now, go back to Gotham, let Alfred know that Steve and Clark will look into it and keep an eye out for any more board members who might come poking around. If you see them, let us know.”
Reluctantly, Dick nods, “and you’ll make sure The Captain and Superman get the briefcase?”
“Promise.” Bucky says seriously and Dick believes him. His mission complete, he allows Bucky to walk him to the door.
“Thanks Sarge.” Dick says. Bucky’s eyes flash with surprise at the nickname. His face settles into the picture of amused interest as he watches Dick go.