Author's Note: More of the same. Dick's POV for variety's sake.

Enjoy.

Details Epilogue

Two Months – Week 4

Dick

I don't mean to brag, but I've got tons of friends. I've got so many that I sometimes forget their names. I know some of them are only my friends because of Bruce's money. That's cool. I know some people are shallow. I'm used to it. Most of them are my friends because of my public persona. I call it my 'fake Richard experience'. I pretend I'm always happy and charming, sociable and literally boyfriend material for any girl on the planet. I dial up my showboating and my competitive side to eleven to score easy points with the guys, and make sure I stay footloose and fancy-free with everyone else. The fake Richard experience is the best fantasy going. I wish that was who I really was, all the time.

But it's not.

Out of all my friends, there's only one who's seen the real Dick Grayson and not been spooked by it. If I slip out of character in front of people, nearly all of them want it to be a prank. They want the fake experience back. People don't like my scars or me showing how deep they run. They don't want to see the orphan who lost his parents to crime. They want the kid who has the world at his feet, Mr. Perfect himself. That's cool too. I get why they feel that way. Some days I feel like that too. Some days, I want the fantasy experience and nothing else. But Howie's different.

Howie Finke has been my friend since I came to Bristol Middle School. He was the second kid I met on my first day. As a student, Howie's nothing special. As an athlete, he could maybe scrape a passing grade. And I rib him a lot for being ginger and covered in freckles, not that I hold the patent for that or anything. Howie's a hell of a sport about it all. Most kids in his shoes wouldn't cope, but he does. He gives as good as he gets too. But all that makes him sound like a normal kid, someone destined for an unremarkable life, comfortable but dull. But Howie's awesome.

The first time he caught me crying in the bathroom during break, when I really felt my folks being gone, he could've sunk my reputation and fake image there and then. But he didn't. He pretended like nothing happened. I said I'd give him anything if he kept it a secret. Anything at all. Howie said he didn't want anything, but he'd keep it a secret anyway. And he did. He's kept more of my secrets than I have friends, which, as I've said, is more than I can sometimes remember. Obviously, I've never told him I'm Robin, never even hinted at it, but everything else is fair game.

And, despite all my baggage, Howie still likes me. He likes the real me more than the fake Richard experience. I never thought I'd find a kid my age like that. When I sleepover at his house, I know I can let my guard down and not have the world bite me in the ass for it. It's one of the best feelings in my life. I can talk to Howie, almost as openly as I do Alfie. Except I can curse. And talk about stuff Alfie would not want to discuss because it was 'puerile' or 'childish'. In short, I can be a normal teenager with Howie, even if deep-down we both know I'm not.

Tonight, I'm staying over at Howie's. Not only is it Mexican night at the Finke residence – they do the best enchiladas in the universe – but Howie's also got a surprise for me after dinner. By the time we're going upstairs to his room, the suspense is close to killing me. I don't see anything out of the ordinary when we go in. The place is a dump, like always, but nothing jumps out.

"I thought you were going to have a real surprise, Howie. Like, maybe actually cleaning up for guests, instead of deliberately throwing more socks and used tissues on the floor."

"Yeah, well, I still got this cold, haven't I?" Howie says with a smirk whilst crouching behind his computer desk. We both know what the tissues are for. "Shut the door, Dick. This isn't something my folks should see." He adds now reaching behind it. I sigh and do as instructed.

"Look, if this is your mom's vibrator again..."

"I made an honest mistake, alright? That was last summer. Just let it go, man. Try this instead." He tells me, holding out an unopened beer bottle. Alcohol. Howie's raided his dad's stash in the garage. Awesome. I put my hands together and bow.

"Bravo, Mr. Finke. I am suitably impressed."

Howie managed to sneak four bottles into his room. I've literally only had like one small sip of wine in my life. Now, I'm going to at least get tipsy! It tastes really bad, like something out of the boy's urinal, but after three-quarters of a bottle, I can definitely feel it working. Howie's not attacking his as enthusiastically as I am, but he's still halfway to the bottom.

"Doesn't your dad notice?"

"He doesn't count them, so, no, not really." Howie says laughing. I laugh too. We're both feeling it. "You seem kind of chipper tonight, Dick. Does that mean Bruce has come back from Europe?"

"I wish. Nah, he's still out there. Alfie says he won't be too much longer now. But he's been saying that since he left, so...whatever." I reply taking another swig of my beer. Howie rolls his eyes and takes a sip too. He knows I'm steamed about the big guy. I think everyone knows by now. He sighs.

"Movie?"

"We got popcorn?"

"And butter."

"Great. What's showing tonight?"

"Guest's choice. As long as it's..."

"A horror movie. I know the drill, Howie."

I think it's an hour in when I finish off my second beer. I would've drunk it faster, but I'm literally stuffed with butter popcorn now and it was a challenge to even entertain swallowing anything else, much less alcohol. On screen, Freddy Krueger is doing as Freddy Krueger does, slaughtering good-looking but stupid teens by the boatload in their dreams. Alfie would let me watch this if I wanted to. But not with this much popcorn and beer. This is freedom. When Bruce is gone and I'm upset, this is my ultimate escape from worry.

But then the screams of Freddy's victims start to jar. His movements become pixelated. And, only a few seconds later, the escape is ruined when the DVD refuses to go another frame further forward. We both sigh.

"Who would've thought The Dream Master would be the one to break down first?" Howie remarks in slowly getting to his feet and fumbling with the DVD player.

"Well, we have watched it like...a million billion times now. It's like our favourite Nightmare on Elm Street movie." I reply whilst looking at my empty beer bottles and wondering how far off actually being drunk I am right now. Feels like...maybe I'm one away? Maybe one-and-a-half. When I look up, Howie has wrestled the disc back into its box and replaced it on the shelf with the others.

"We could do Candyman if you like, or even a Halloween." He says running his finger over the spines of the boxes. "It's still early."

"Nah, I'm not feeling like starting another one now." I tell him arranging my two bottles by my left foot with the labels turned outwards. Neat. I like things neat when I'm tipsy. Alfie would like that. "Come talk at me, Howie. I like when you talk at me."

Howie likes to talk when he's given an opportunity. At school, that's not very often, especially if I'm hogging the action. So, he talks a lot when we're at his house like this. Usually it's all stupid stuff that doesn't mean anything or go very deep. That's okay though. Even when he talks absolute crap, Howie makes it fun. He's a great storyteller, like one of the best I know, especially with sub-par material. He comes back to the couch with one of his goofy grins.

"You know how you know if a girl likes you?" He starts to really show his hand tonight. It's going to be really dumb. I smirk at him.

"Is it opposite day, Howie? I should be telling you this junk. Go on, though, enlighten me."

"Smack them on the ass. If they slap you in the face, that means 'no'. If they ball-tap you, that means..."

"Super no?" I interrupt, barely able to keep imminent laughter at bay.

He leans in close. "Nah, that means they like you."

I lose it there for about thirty seconds. He's totally nuts and it shows. Yeah, I'd totally slap a girl's ass, if I were a total creep. Since I know I wouldn't like a girl to smack my butt in public, I really wouldn't pull that move and expect a good outcome. Still, Howie's only ribbing me. I nod whilst wiping away some stray tears. "Yeah, really, really unconvinced by every part of that, Howie. Did you get ball-tapped by some girl this week after smacking her butt like a total pervert? Is that where this 'wisdom' came from?" I ask teasingly. He shakes his head.

"Nah, it was just something stupid my brother told me on the phone last week. I figured it would cheer you up if you were getting low."

"I actually wasn't getting low, but that cheered me up anyway. What else you got in the back pocket?"

"I could go all night with that level of material, or we could talk about you."

"What's to say, Howie? I'm still ripped, charming as hell and a speed demon on the track, same as last week and the two years before that..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone gets to see that. I just meant, like maybe if you wanted to get some stuff off your chest, about Bruce being MIA and how you're feeling about it..."

I waggle a finger at him. "I didn't come here for therapy, Howie."

"I wasn't planning on giving you any. We're best friends, Dick. I just want to help. That's all, man." He means it too.

I sigh. "Look, I'm not gay for Bruce, alright? I don't need to...talk about him all the time."

Howie rolls his eyes and grins. "I know you're not in love with him. I just know that you're way better emotionally when he's around."

"I'm coping fine without him, Howie. I'm here, I'm with it. I was a little sketchy during the first couple of weeks, but I'm good now. The big guy does what he does. You think I'm good at faking? Bruce takes it to another level. That whole handsome, perfect philanthropist shtick you see on the TV whenever he's on the news? Totally bogus. He's ruthless as a businessman. Guy runs his company like a bank. Every single cent accounted for. He checks the sales figures, tax payments and net salaries of the entire thing almost every night. He doesn't care about making money, not really. All he cares about is the image of his company. No dirty deals, no embezzlement, no corruption or bribery or tax evasion. He won't cross that line or stand for anybody who does. Scares the shit out of me sometimes." Yeah, let my tongue slip that one out at the end there. Anyone else I'd keep the safety on, but not Howie. He knows I need to vent.

"How'd you know all that stuff?" He asks, sounding genuinely interested.

I shrug. "Sometimes I peek in on him in his study. He does most things by hand when he's checking his books." I smirk. "He has his dad's calculator on the desk and he never uses it. He does all the math in his head. Millions of dollars, sometimes billions, and no calculator. He's a total genius."

Howie looks suitably impressed. "Must be great for math homework."

"He's never helped me once with it. To be honest, neither has Alfie. I'm solid at math. That and science are about the only subjects I am naturally good at. Everything else is hours of work."

"At least you're good at some subjects. Better than having a 2.5 GPA."

"Keep telling you, Howie, 2.5 is pretty good."

"You know that sounds patronising coming from a guy whose GPA is a whole point and bit higher, right?" Howie says with enough bitterness behind the sarcasm to know I need to tread lightly.

I counter accordingly. "Yeah, but which one of us has all the demons?"

"Look, feel free to deck me if I'm way out of line here, but wouldn't you be just as smart and talented and good-looking and all that, if your parents hadn't died?"

"I guess. What's your point?"

"Then you'd still have the GPA, but none of the demons, right? You'd probably actually be the Perfect Richard Experience instead of just faking it."

"I'd be an asshole, if they hadn't died, Howie. All perfect kids are assholes. I'd be all smug and cocky without an ounce of humility or appreciation for anybody else's hard work or efforts. Sometimes I think I need my demons to be who I am." I say, despite knowing that before Judge Watkins brought me down to Earth, I was dangerously close to being an asshole anyway.

"Does that mean you think Bruce would have been an asshole if his parents hadn't been murdered as well?" Howie says to actually perk me up a little.

That's a good question. But I've already thought about that one a few times. I shrug again.

"He thinks he would've been a good man, like his dad, but my dad was a great guy too. I still think I would've been an entitled and spoilt asshole if they hadn't died. I think Bruce is the same deal. He wouldn't have tried as hard or pushed himself as far without all his demons to chase after him." I say deciding to rearrange my empties again.

"You think maybe you guys need each other?" Howie asks without giving me any clue which way he's leaning with this. I've thought about this one too, a lot more than most of the others.

I leave my bottles alone and run a hand through my hair, feeling the scars from Two-Face and a nasty batting experience. I sigh. "I need him. I'm still not sure if he really needs me."

"Do you need me at least? Because I need you. Kids would pick on me much harder if you didn't have my back." Howie says to pull me back up again.

I grin and gently tap him in the chest. "Always need you, Howie. My life would suck right now if I didn't have Alfie and you to keep me sane."

Howie smirks at me. "Saying you'd lose your mind without me around, Dick?"

"I might just survive, Howie. Try to keep your head the same size, huh?" I respond narrowing my eyes a little. He nods.

"Sounds like someone's had enough of Dr Howie's amateur therapy. Ready for more Freddy?" He asks already on his feet and searching out the rest of his Nightmare on Elm Street collection.

"We going straight to five? Dream Child?"

"You know it, big guy. Still got popcorn and snacks to eat."

I guess I'm dreaming now. Only reason I'm thinking that is because I'm watching Freddy Krueger battle Batman on the TV in what looks like a really low-budget eighties film set. It's all dry-ice and what looks like a kid's play park. I look over and Howie's no longer sat next to me. Instead it's my dad. He's not dead or anything gross. He's just lounging next to me, in his joggers and his Haley Circus T-shirt like he always did when we weren't performing. I look on the other side of me, expecting to see my mom, but she isn't there.

"Mom couldn't make it tonight, kiddo." My dad tells me whilst clapping me on the shoulder. "She promises she'll catch the next showing with you. Okay?"

I just nod my head. "Okay."

"So, this the new guy, huh?" My dad asks folding his arms and slouching back on the couch. "Didn't think they'd go this direction with the franchise. Superheroes? Really?"

We both watch as Batman begins to battle Freddy. Freddy tries cutting him up, but Batman's too fast and too disciplined to get caught. When he punches Freddy, it's hard enough to knock the bad guy on his ass. It has to be Bruce under the mask. Only Bruce could knock the Dream Master himself on his ass like a street punk. We both watch the whole thing escalate. Freddy begins transforming into other things. First a huge snake, but Bruce dodges the attempts to eat him and sprays explosive gel all over Freddy's face before detonating it. Then Freddy tries his luck as an oversized lawn mower. But it doesn't matter. Bruce brings out shock batarangs, flash bangs and freeze grenades and uses them to reduce Freddy into a pile of ice fragments.

"That's hardly fair." My dad scoffs. "The guy's got like a bottomless utility belt or something. What's next, Freddy repellent spray?"

Freddy reassembles himself and then changes the venue to Crime Alley. Zombified versions of Thomas and Martha Wayne begin to close in on Bruce, who still doesn't look fazed by any of this stuff.

"Zombies now?" My dad says before getting up. "Sorry, kid, I'm out. It's pretty obvious this guy is going to win. Freddy can't scare him at all. He's like a stone or something."

I watch my dad disappear without trying to get him to stay. I think I should've, but I know he's dead. Somehow it makes it easier. I go back to the television only to find Bruce is now stood in front of it, still in his Bat-suit.

"You beat Freddy?" I ask him.

"As much as one can." He replies before sitting on the couch beside me with his cowl still up. I look at the TV and see Freddy being devoured by the Zombie Waynes. I turn it off. Don't need to see that.

"When are you coming back?" I ask him.

"Soon."

I look over at him. "You promise?"

He looks back at me, still wearing the cowl. "Always."

I jerk awake after that. I'm covered with a blanket and look over to find Howie asleep in his bed. That was a weird dream. Must have been the beer or something. I sit up and bump my knee against the DVD box for Dream Child. I look at Freddy's leering face on the cover and scoff.

"Bruce would totally kick your ass." I tell the box with absolute confidence. "Better pray he doesn't come back for a long time, Freddy."