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To say that it had been a long week for Officer Dick Grayson would be the understatement of the century. He knew taking a job at the Gotham City Police Department was going to be difficult, but no one had prepared him for the eccentric villainy that grew out of the city’s darkest shadows. A new villain had sprung up who called himself Kiteman, and although the villain hadn’t done too much irreparable damage, he had been just enough of a problem to have Dick working overtime to assist the thinly stretched department. It didn’t help that more than half of the officers didn’t seem to take their jobs seriously, wanting to wave around their guns in a show of dominant power rather than actually doing anything to help anyone. The system was corrupt, and though the newly appointed Commissioner Jim Gordon had a good moral code and was doing his best for the city, he was still only one man in a sea of self-serving crooks. More than anything, Dick wanted to change the system. He wanted to lift people up. He wanted to bring light and hope back to Gotham and its people, but it was hard to do that when going on two days of no sleep.
He was currently sitting at the island in his kitchen, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand while the other hand held an open casefile. The file was labeled Thomas and Martha Wayne; Designation: Open. It had been nearly three months since the Wayne’s had met their unfortunate end in Crime Alley. Although Dick was still a long way off from being a detective, Commissioner Gordon had allowed him to take copies of the casefiles home to study. But even though Dick had poured over the files for months and reviewed every scrap of evidence the GCPD had gathered, it wasn’t enough to name a culprit. And every time that Dick came to the same conclusion that the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne were going to remain unsolved, he was filled with the crushing weight of guilt. He had promised Bruce Wayne that he was going to do everything in his power to find the man that had killed his parents. And even though Dick had spent sleepless nights and hours upon hours of his time trying to solve this case, he still felt like it wasn’t enough. He felt like a failure.
In the weeks that had followed Thomas and Martha Wayne’s funeral, eight-year-old Bruce had called Dick’s personal cell phone for updates on the case. The calls had started with Alfred serving as a proxy before handing the phone to the quiet boy. But then Bruce started calling on his own. It wasn’t often, usually just once every couple of weeks. Dick was honest, giving him as much information as he could, but was careful not to breed false hope.
Dick let out a bone weary sigh, running a hand through his shaggy dark hair that was past due for a cut. He discarded the casefile on the table before dumping his soggy cereal into the sink. How was he going to explain to Bruce that he failed—that he would be unable to bring his parent's killer to justice? He glanced towards the refrigerator. There, hung up with a magnet from Dick's favorite Chinese restaurant, was a beautifully embossed invitation.
You are cordially invited to celebrate the 9th birthday
Of
Bruce Thomas Wayne
Saturday February 17th 1:00 p.m.
RSVP to Alfred Pennyworth
*In lieu of gifts, please make a charitable donation to the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation
Dick’s eyes softened as he looked at the invitation. He was honored that Bruce wanted him as a guest at his birthday party. Alfred had told him as much when Dick had called to RSVP.
“Master Bruce will be elated that you are attending, Mr. Grayson. I daresay, your presence is the only one he truly wants there.”
Dick had been surprised by that comment. Surely Bruce had other friends his age that he would be excited to see. But Dick also knew that trauma and grief had a way of altering relationships. There was safety in isolation. You can’t lose anyone if you’re all alone. Dick knew that feeling all too well. But being alone, though safe, brought an emptiness that would only grow as time went on. As that emptiness grew it would be harder and harder to fill–another feeling that Dick also knew too well. It was why he threw himself into his work, but it certainly wasn’t healthy.
“Now isn’t the time for self-introspection, Grayson. You’ve got a birthday party to get ready for.”
—
Dick didn’t think he’d ever get used to the grandeur of Wayne Manor. From the tall iron gate at the entrance to the lavish gardens that surrounded the property, it seemed like a completely different world. There was just so much space. Dick had grown up in a tiny circus trailer with barely enough room for himself and his parents. Following their death, it was foster homes with too many foster kids and not enough beds to go around. Even now, in his tiny apartment, it still felt like more space than he ever had before. Staring up at the giant manor, he wondered just how lonely Bruce felt now that Thomas and Martha Wayne no longer occupied its vast halls and numerous rooms.
He pulled himself from his thoughts as he drove his car through the open gates of the property. His very old Sedan looked abysmally pathetic parked amongst the expensive automobiles of Gotham’s elite. He couldn’t help but stare at the sleek, expensive makes and models as he made his way up the steps to the front doors.
Gold and black balloons moved softly in the breeze. It was a surprisingly sophisticated choice for a ninth birthday party, but Dick supposed that when you were the sole heir to a billionaire’s fortune, birthday parties must look a little differently. Which was why Dick had showed up in a nice button-up shirt tucked into a pair of slacks. In his hands he held a crudely wrapped present. He was greeted by who he assumed to be a hired waiter, who led him out to the backyard where the party was being held. It was then that Dick realized in horror that he was severely underdressed. The fashion choices seemed to be men in full business suits and women in fancy cocktail dresses. Even the children were dressed in finery that probably cost more than Dick’s car was worth. In his panicked state, he barely noticed Alfred approaching.
“Ah, Mr. Grayson, I’m very glad you could make it.” The butler greeted him in the same formal tone that he always used.
Despite the anxiety of being wrongly dressed, Dick put on his best smile. “Thank you, Alfred. I apologize for missing the memo that I needed to dig out my tuxedo for the big day!” He joked lightly.
Alfred shook his head. “You are dressed adequately enough for the occasion. A tie does not make the man, after all.”
“I think I saw that on a fortune cookie once.”
There was a soft twitch to Alfred’s mustached lip–a smile. Dick considered that a personal victory.
“To ease your fears, I do believe Master Bruce will hardly notice that you are not wearing a suit coat. In fact, I think he will welcome a more relaxed attire. It is a child’s birthday party.”
Dick got the sense from Alfred’s tone that he disapproved of the formality of the other guests. But Alfred kept silent about that particular subject as his eyes glanced down at the present in Dick’s hands.
“And I see, Mr. Grayson, that you did not listen to the instructions listed on the invitation.” Alfred said. There was no malice to his tone. He almost seemed moved.
“Well, I have always been told I’m a bit of a rule breaker. I did make a donation to the Thomas and Martha Wayne foundation, but…” Dick’s eyes softened. “It is always nice to have a present to open on your birthday, especially on the first birthday without your mom and dad. It’s not much, but if I can make today just a little bit brighter then it will be worth breaking the rules of birthday invitation decorum.” He winked playfully. But he was surprised when Alfred reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
“You are a remarkable young man, Mr. Grayson. I am grateful that you are here today.”
Dick was touched by the butler’s words. Alfred seemed like someone who would only say something if it were absolutely true, and Dick was moved that Alfred had deemed him as a positive addition to Bruce’s birthday.
“I’m glad I’m here too, Alfred. So, where is the birthday boy?” Dick looked around, but he saw no sign of Bruce Wayne.
Alfred’s let out a sigh. “I’m afraid he has not come down to greet his guests yet. I… believe he is having a hard time in finding cause for celebration. I had suggested to him that we skip a big birthday party this year, but he was insistent to proceed with it as it was his parents’ tradition.” It was then that Alfred’s eyes lit up with an idea. “Perhaps, Mr. Grayson, he would feel more encouraged to come down if he knew you had arrived.”
Dick’s eyebrows raised. “If you think I could do anything to help, you know I’ll certainly try.”
That earned him another soft look from Alfred. “My dear boy, you have already done more good than you realize.”
—
Alfred had given Dick directions on how to find where Bruce was located. He apologized that he couldn’t show Dick there himself, but as the host he had an obligation to make sure the masses were staying entertained. The ire was not lost on Dick, and he gave Alfred an empathetic smile of encouragement before he set off on his quest to retrieve the reclusive birthday boy.
He wandered the long hallways decorated with lavish paintings and other pieces of artwork. He passed by several framed photographs of smiling faces and happy memories, and his heart ached for the photographs that would never be. He took the stairs like Alfred had instructed. Directly at the top was a set of double doors that led into Thomas Wayne’s study. One of the doors was slightly ajar. Dick gave a soft knock.
“Bruce? It’s Dick Grayson. Can I come in?” There was a short silence where Dick worried he had knocked on the wrong door. But he heard a bit of shuffling and movement before the door opened wide revealing Bruce Wayne.
“You came.” The boy said in disbelief, his blue eyes wide.
Dick couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “Of course I did! I RSVP’d and everything. I wouldn’t miss your big day. But you might miss your big day if you stay up here. There’s a lot of people down there excited to see you.” He said gently.
Bruce’s eyes lowered, his expression dampening. “I’m not being a very good host am I?”
“Hey, it’s okay, Bruce. You’re the birthday boy, so you get to call the shots today. I don’t think your guests will mind waiting a little longer.”
At this, Bruce nodded, leading Dick into the study that once belonged to Thomas Wayne. The room had walls made of deep colored wood paneling and plush forest green carpet. A large formal desk sat in the middle of the room. It was neat and tidy, not a pen or paper out of place. Dick had a feeling that was Alfred’s doing.
A large window provided ample natural light and surveyed the birthday party below. Bruce had moved to sit at the window seat there, looking down at the guests below. Dick could see the tension in the young boy’s shoulders. He had only just turned nine and he was already bearing the responsibility of hosting wealthy guests and carrying on the philanthropic traditions of his parents. It wasn’t fair, but Dick knew all too well how unfair life in Gotham City could be. Above the desk was a beautifully painted portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Dick passed the portrait, paying a silent respect as he moved to stand behind Bruce. “Hey, kiddo, I got you something.”
Bruce turned, his eyes sizing up the colorfully wrapped present in Dick’s hands. The boy frowned, something Dick had never seen another child do when presented with a gift.
“You weren’t supposed to bring a present.”
Dick couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “I know, I know. I already got in trouble with Alfred for it.” He plopped down on the window seat next to Bruce. “I promise I donated to your parents’ foundation, but I also wanted to get you a little something too. You’ve got to have at least one present to open on your special day. It’s in the birthday rulebook.”
Bruce’s face scrunched in confusion. “It is?”
“Yep. Right after the rule that you have to make a wish when you blow out the candles. Now, here. Open it.” Dick handed him the present, watching as the boy began to open it. Dick had always been a bull in a China shop when it came to opening presents. Excitement always overtook him as he would tear apart the wrapping paper as fast as he could, ready to see what lay underneath. Bruce, however, was calculated and meticulous. He carefully lifted each folded corner and piece of tape, preserving the paper that was decorated with a colorful circus motif. As the paper was set aside, Bruce observed the slightly weighty gift in his hands. It was a book with a thick binding. The cover of the book was maroon with a giant gold magnifying glass and surrounding it were different designs–a violin, a pipe, a deerstalker hat, among other various symbols that represented London. The font of the title was intricate and bold in swooping cursive letters that read The Complete Sherlock Holmes Collection. Bruce’s fingers traced over the title, his lips parted in quiet admiration of the beautiful book.
“I know you have a whole library with tons of books and you may already have this one, but I really enjoyed these stories when I was growing up. My mom and dad would take turns reading it to me before bed. I guess Sherlock Holmes sort of inspired me to work towards being a police detective.” Dick explained as he watched Bruce open the book to the title page where Dick had written:
Happy 9th Birthday!
To: Bruce Wayne
From: Dick Grayson
Bruce’s fingers traced over Dick’s chicken scratch handwriting. The boy was so quiet that Dick was worried Bruce didn’t like his gift. But he was relieved when Bruce said, “I love it. Thank you.” He clutched the book to his chest protectively as he looked back out at the party below. “My dad liked Sherlock Holmes stories too.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Bruce nodded solemnly, staring out the window. A cluster of gray clouds had formed in the sky, slowly moving to cover the sun and casting a shadow over the vibrant birthday party below.
“He’s never going to be found, is he?”
Dick’s brow furrowed, thrown off by the question. “Who, Bruce?”
“The man who killed my parents.”
Dick felt an invisible knife twist in his chest. He thought about the casefiles stacked on his kitchen table. He thought about the sleepless nights as he analyzed every piece of evidence, listened to recordings of witness interviews, and followed every lead that he could find. But all of that work–most of it on his days off from the precinct–had led him nowhere.
“I’m trying, Bruce. I really am.”
“What about Commissioner Gordon? Is he trying?”
“Bruce…”
The boy’s lip trembled, but there was a desperate fire in his eyes as he looked up at Dick “Or that mean detective, or any of the other police officers, are they trying?”
For a moment, Dick didn’t know what to say. It was a seemingly simple question with a complicated answer wrapped inside of a Rubix cube. He had to be honest. Bruce deserved an honest answer. He sat next to Bruce on the window seat, meeting the earnest blue gaze with his own.
“There’s a lot of crime in Gotham, Bruce. What happened to your parents is something that happens to other people too. That doesn’t make your situation any less important.” He emphasized quickly. “It just means that myself, Commissioner Gordon, Detective Bullock, and the rest of the police officers have a lot of bad people we’re trying to track down. Sometimes we find all the clues like Sherlock Holmes does.” He touched the cover of the book in Bruce’s hands. “And sometimes we don’t.”
The weight of Dick’s honesty hung in the air. Bruce’s grip tightened on the book. “So, you need someone who can help you find the clues–another detective, but even better. Like, the World’s Greatest Detective.” His eyes were alight with a childlike hope. Dick didn’t want to take that hope away from him.
“That would be great if someone like that existed, Bruce. And maybe they do, but we haven’t found them yet. But right now the GCPD is doing what it can. It isn’t perfect and they make mistakes sometimes, but I need you to know that I am trying, Bruce. I’m trying really hard to find who did this to your parents, but…” Dick hesitated as guilt weighed him down like a slab of cement tied to his ankles that would drag him down into the depths of Gotham Harbor. “I… don’t know if I’ll be able to find him. And for that I’m so, so sorry.” He couldn’t look Bruce in the eye as he apologized. Failure had never been an option for Dick, but months of obsessing over clue after clue that only led to dead ends was taking its toll on him. He knew he had to let the Wayne case go, but that meant letting Bruce down.
It was then that he felt small arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bruce Wayne was hugging him. “I’m going to find the World’s Greatest Detective, and when I do, they can help both of us find the people who killed our parents.” Bruce said with finality.
And Dick couldn’t argue with that. He returned the hug gratefully, enjoying the small boy’s warmth. “If anyone’s going to find the World’s Greatest Detective, I know it’s going to be you, kiddo.”
They stayed like that for a long time–two orphans taking comfort together in a moment of shared grief. When they pulled apart Bruce looked back out the window.
“I guess I shouldn’t keep my guests waiting any longer,” he said a little glumly.
Dick managed a soft laugh. “Well, it’s hard to have a birthday party without the birthday boy.” He nudged Bruce’s arm playfully.
Bruce looked up at him. “You’ll stay the whole time?” He asked hopefully.
Dick smiled at him warmly, unable to stop himself from ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately. “Yeah, of course. Birthday rule number two, you’ve got to do whatever the birthday boy wants for the day.”
Bruce scrunched his nose again, something he seemed to do when he was thinking. “What’s rule number one?”
And Dick’s smile widened, “Birthdays must be fun!”
And that was how Bruce Wayne made his triumphant entrance to his birthday party riding on the shoulders of Dick Grayson. Dick ignored the disapproving looks from the wealthy party guests because when he glanced back at Bruce, the nine-year-old had a smile on his face.
When Dick set Bruce down to let him mingle with the rest of his party guests, the boy was quietly insistent that Dick come with him as he took the older man’s hand to pull him on his journey through the crowd. Bruce introduced him to politicians, business women and men, doctors, and lawyers. The vast amount of important people at a child’s birthday party was making Dick’s head spin and his anxiety rise. But he put on his best performer’s smile as he shook hands and made small talk because every time Bruce introduced him to someone new, Bruce said, “This is my friend Dick Grayson. ”
Later on, when Bruce had disappeared to stand at the front door to bid his guests goodbye as they left, Alfred approached Dick, placing another warm hand on his shoulder.
“Master Bruce wanted me to inform you that he insists you join us for his birthday dinner. And he told me to remind you of birthday rule number two, which I assume is inside knowledge between the both of you.”
Dick laughed easily. “Well, I can’t go around breaking rule number two, now, can I?”
And Alfred joined him in a subtle smile. “Indeed not.”
Bruce’s birthday dinner consisted of a meal that could have fed a group of twenty people, although Bruce, Dick, and Alfred were the only ones in attendance. It was then that Dick realized this was another tradition for Bruce. His parents would throw a lavish party to appease the decorum of the wealthy Gotham society, but it was the family dinner afterwards that the true celebration began. Cake and ice cream was served. Dick listened intently while Bruce talked about school and how he enjoyed his karate and fencing classes the most. Dick, in turn, regaled Bruce with stories of his life at the circus, about Zitka the elephant and all of the flips and stunts Dick had learned. Bruce begged for a demonstration, and with Alfred’s hesitant blessing, Bruce dragged Dick to the manor’s gym. They spent the rest of the evening there. Dick showed off every flip and trick he knew. Bruce was awestruck, wanting Dick to teach him. They started with simple cartwheels and ended the night in a laughing heap on the gym floor. It was good to hear Bruce laugh. Dick wanted to hear that sound more often.
It was Alfred who came to announce that it was well past Bruce’s bedtime. Bruce looked disappointed. “I don’t want my birthday to end…” He admitted, looking up at Dick with wide blue eyes.
Dick knelt in front of him, squeezing his shoulder gently. “That’s the thing about birthdays, they have to end sometime. But your birthday will come around next year and then the year after that. And I think those birthdays are going to be even better.”
“Will you come to those birthdays too?”
Dick’s eyes softened, “I’ll… try, Bruce. I can’t promise I can be there for every birthday, but I’ll try. I can promise you that much.”
Bruce nodded, seeming to accept Dick’s response. He looked down at his socked feet, shifting nervously. “You know that book you gave me?”
Dick’s eyebrow raised, “Yeah?”
“Um… could you… would you read a little of it to me before bed? Like your parents used to do for you?”
Just when Dick didn’t think Bruce Wayne could worm his way any deeper into his heart, he just had to say something that sent a blooming flower of warmth into his chest. “Well…” he looked at his watch. “It is still your birthday, and we do still have to abide by birthday rule number two. As long as it’s okay with Mr. Alfred.” He glanced up at the butler with an apologetic grin.
Bruce followed suit, his blue eyes verging on puppy dog eyes. Bruce Wayne was going to be an absolute heartbreaker when he grew up, Dick was sure of it.
“Please, Alfred…”
Alfred let out a defeated sigh. “Very well, Master Bruce, But only one story. Birthday boys do need their rest after all, as does Mr. Grayson.”
Bruce couldn’t hide the smile that lit up his face as he grabbed Dick’s hand to practically drag him to his room. Once Bruce was in his pajamas and tucked in snugly with a nightlight on, Dick pulled up a cushioned chair and began to read.
“A Study in Scarlet by Sir Alfred Conan Doyle. Chapter 1: Mr. Sherlock Holmes…”
When Alfred came to check on them thirty minutes later, he found Bruce sound asleep in his bed with Dick having fallen asleep in the chair, the book still open in his lap. Alfred shook his head, but there was a fond smile on his face. He removed the book from Dick’s lap, setting it on the nightstand and turning off the lamplight. He found a spare blanket and draped it carefully over Dick, not wanting to disturb the young man’s sleep.
When Bruce had blown out his birthday candles that evening, Alfred had also made a quiet wish. He hoped that Dick Grayson would continue to bring light and hope into his young master’s life.
Only time would tell if that wish would come true.