Yukon Cornelius: Observe the Bumble's one weakness … the Bumble sinks!

Yukon Cornelius: Didn't I ever tell you about Bumbles? Bumbles bounce!

"Where we've been has left us burned, still I won't turn now from a fight you know I'll never win. Still, you know I'll try again. 'Cause I believe that we are lucky, we are golden, we are stolen men."

Third Eye Blind Blinded

Everyone Always Jealous

By: The BatThing

"Please!" Dick begged as he clutched his hands together and made the most pitiful face he could gracefully manage. He was nine-years-old, and had this sort of thing down to an art. Not only did he know what to do, he was young enough that people couldn't say no. Well, ok, most of the time people couldn't say no. And he really wanted this. More than anything else, he wanted to do this. Holding back the whimpering, knowing that it would only annoy Bruce, he resorted to his excited jump. "I promise I'll be good. I-I-I, uh, I'll not talk. I can be quiet! You know I can be quiet!"

"It's already ten."

"But I stay out late when I go with you as Robin!"

Bruce was between answers. He didn't want the child to go, but he felt horrible saying no at the same time. It was clear Dick was already riled up. "We're going out at ten, Dick. That means, with the drive there and back, we probably wouldn't be getting home till late. Probably after twelve. Alfred would have a fit if-."

"I won't be in a bad mood tomorrow! I promise! I'll be happy! Alfred would understand – please? PLEASE!"

Clark Kent was now chuckling, attempting to hide away his smile. He always loved when this sort of thing happened, it proved his theory that Bruce was more than just a hallow shell. Bruce had a heart, a complex heart that took grace and blind faith before being able to catch a faint glimpse of it. It wasn't a bad thing, but the reporter from Metropolis certainly didn't classify it as good either. He was just happy to know that it was there. Call it the small town farm boy in him, or call it compassion, but Clark worried about Bruce Wayne sometimes.

That's why he'd make these annoying visits – annoying for both sides. He figured, the way Bruce reacted, that it was probably more irksome for the Gothamite then it was for him, but then again Bruce didn't hide his dislike for Clark. Whereas Clark had been granted the luxury of kindness (something Ma had made sure of) and even though being around Bruce was exhausting, and never much fun, he did it with a happy heart. So, whenever he came into the Dark Knights' City, he'd call Alfred, and make a point to force Bruce into an act of friendship, and get something to eat, or just talk. Tonight he had been lucky enough to actually drag Bruce out of the Manor and into the city for dinner. He highly doubted the likelihood of much talking, but it was better than nothing.

Turning to give the reporter a glare, as if knowing his private thoughts, Bruce began to usher Dick across the room to have a more private discussion. Though, with the volume of the nine-year-old's voice at this point, it wasn't going to be too discrete.

"It's Friday, Bruce! And I don't have anything to do! Please?!"

"Raised voices, Master Richard? How do we feel about such things in this household?" Alfred came into the room with a knowing look. There was a smile in there, hidden beneath the pretense of disproval. He had been close by and 'overheard' (never listening in on) the conversation, and figured that this would be a decent moment to casually force himself in.

"Alfred, can I go with Clark and Bruce!" In the instant he shouted the demand, which was formed like a sentence, though hardly asked, Dick skittered towards the elderly gentlemen, knowing perfectly well that if anyone would take his side, it would be Alfred Pennyworth. Flopping his hands about, unable to contain emotion, the pleading began. "Please? I swear I'll be happy in the morning – I swear I'll get up when you say I need to!"

Bruce rolled his eyes a bit and put his hands on his hips, looking towards the elderly man. "We're going out for a talk. It'll be late, and it'll be boring."

"If Master Bruce told you no, then you know better than to ask me, Master Richard."

Dick dropped his head, totally and completely getting pity from everyone. "He didn't say no though." It was a whisper, a comment that he hoped everyone would overhear, but said in a way that he couldn't be held guilty for.

"I didn't officially say no. I just didn't know if it would be a good idea. I know you don't like it when he's out late."

"I don't like it when either of you are out late. You are fully capable of deciding whether or not Master Richard can join you."

"SEE! Alfred said it was ok!" Dick clutched his guardian's shirt and began bouncing again. Because Dick Grayson bounces. "SEE! SEE! SEE!"

"Eh-hem."

Clapping his hands over his mouth, Dick gave Alfred a bashful expression entwined with a silent apology.

Bruce seemed a bit concerned about the over-excited boy. He tensed up and pulled away, escaping Dick's clutches, lest he get attacked again. "Don't do that Dick." He warned with a calm voice, but slightly on edge. This whole thing was no good, for variant reasons. The first, being that he didn't want this night to be any more complicated than it had to be. Clark Kent was his co-worker at best. He planned to keep things civil, nothing more. The second reason was that he knew, too well, perfectly well, that Dick would be hyper. Dick would be childish. Dick wouldn't make things move faster. And Dick would idolize the Man of Steel with no real conviction.

Not that Bruce Wayne was jealous. No. He had better things to be jealous of then Clark Kent being friends with everyone (even though Clark was an idiot). And there were many reasons to prove why Clark Kent was to be disliked, but Bruce really didn't want to think them through all over again.

The nine-year-old was looking downcast, unsure of what he had done wrong, and why he had made Bruce upset. Glancing at Alfred, hoping for some help, he bobbled his head. "I'm sorry."

"How do we ask someone for something, Master Richard?"

"…" Dick hung his head, disappointed in what this whole situation had become. Clark was watching and he was being attacked from every angle, being made to look like an incapable child. "I said please."

"That is not what I was referring to. When one wants something, one should ask in a calm and rational manner, hmm? … Though, it is good that you have said please."

Bruce was shifting his weight, waiting to get the ok so he could leave.

"Bruce?" Dick began. "Can I please go with you and Clark tonight?" Emphasis on the please.

The billionaire gave Alfred a look and saw that saying no wouldn't be to his advantage. Heaving a sigh and wishing he didn't have to do this, he nodded. "Only if you promise to do what you're told. No complaining or begging."

"I PROMISE!" Dick yelped, thrilled he was going to be joining the two coolest adults in the entire world – probably the entire universe. Clark was Superman after all, and Superman was an alien, right? So there it was. Dick Grayson was going to be hanging out with the most absolute coolest adults ever.

It took a little while before they were ever able to walk out of the house. Alfred insisted that Dick wasn't allowed to go in jeans and a T-shirt, Bruce argued that it didn't matter, Dick said he didn't care so long as he could go, but he'd prefer to wear jeans. So, finally, five minutes later, Alfred gave up the argument, seeing that Bruce was already in a bad enough mood, and told them to 'have a good night'.

Bruce knew that meant Alfred wasn't happy with him.

"So, I'll drive." Clark began as Bruce closed the front door with a grimace.

"Let's take our own cars."

"That'd be wasteful though."

"Yes, but it'd be more comfortable for me."

"Can I go in Clark's car then?"

Clark wasn't ready to let billionaire Bruce Wayne pollute the air all the more with fumes. He gave a disappointed look that really wouldn't affect Bruce, and shook his head. "I think it'd be best if we carpooled. We can take your car."

"Yes, but if we carpool then you'll be forced to come back here to pick up your car. That'd be a waste." That and Bruce Wayne really didn't want to converse with the man standing a few feet before him. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a counterargument. There was none.

"Can I go in Clark's car, Bruce?" Dick pleaded.

"It's ok with me." Clark affirmed, jangling his keys like he owned the place. He was staring at Bruce now, behind his glasses, eyes just watching, waiting. There was the slightest start of a smile, but he held it back, knowing much better than to dare smile.

Dick on the other hand, was beaming. He drank up Clark's words, taking them to mean that Clark thought Dick was cool enough to drive in the car with him. Well! How about that?! "Can I Bruce?! Can I?! PLEASE?"

Giving a stern look that silenced the gypsy boy, Bruce slowly shook his head. "I thought we had a deal." Dick said nothing, and the billionaire decided not to push it. It was clear enough that Dick realized his mistake. Now just to answer the question. His first response was no, but he didn't have much of a reason to back that response up. It wasn't like Clark would put the kid in danger. In fact, Dick was probably safer with Clark than anyone else. The Man of Steel could easily see things coming and protect. "I don't care."

"Yes!" It was a nine-year-old's victory.

"Zuuuup! BONGK! Try that again and you'll – VROOOM! Reeeee!" The television could be heard a bit too well, and the channel was far from appeasing or entertaining. It was some cartoon that was more sound effects then real conversation. It was the same plot, bad guy getting hammered by the hero of the show, which in the case happened to be a chicken. How kids found this sort of thing interesting was beyond Bruce Wayne. There was no point, no moral, just stupid pranks pulled of by a stupid character fooling a stupider villain that anybody could fool.

Bruce brushed away a few strands of stale, dried up cheese from the previous customer, off of the table top and onto the floor. Maybe it had been a bad idea to come to a low key place in the Alley. The restaurant wasn't very clean, the workers didn't look friendly, and the food didn't look or smell that good either. And now he was getting a headache from that ridiculous noise overhead.

"How are you doing today?" A waitress had found her way over to the billionaire, a smile on her face, but she didn't look like she meant it. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her make-up was flaky, showing that her skin was a bit dry today. She gave a four second pause between the question before moving on to the next, figuring that this customer wasn't going to answer. "Can I start you out with a drink?"

"I'm waiting on someone."

"That's fine. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?"

Did he want to risk it? From the expression on her face, she was becoming slowly impatient. He glanced at a menu, and that was enough to signal her on with the next part of her act.

"We have Pepsi products, tea, sweet tea, coffee, both regular and decafe, we have lemonade, fruit punch, root beer, water … uhmn, need more options? Oh wait, I forgot, we also have hot chocolate and hot tea, if you're interested."

"I'll take the regular coffee, just black, thank you."

"Would you like sweetener or cream with that?"

Was she deaf or did she not know anything about coffee? Bruce smiled despite himself, winning her over. "Just plain coffee is fine." Maybe she was just having a long day; he could give her a break.

"Ok." She scampered off, hollering that she needed a coffee to one of the production workers who told her promptly to get it herself.

The door creaked open and Dick's voice came in clear. High pitched and moving rapidly. "I've never eaten here before. What do they serve? Chili and stuff? I haven't had chili since a long time ago."

"It's been awhile for me as well." Clark answered, coming into view first and nodding towards Bruce. "Over there, Dick."

Dick jumped up, stepping double to see what Clark saw, and when he did a big smile broke free. He rushed over to his guardian, ready to spill out a story that probably wasn't all that interesting, but he'd tell it because he was excited.

"Sorry." The apology came quickly from Clark, ready to assume full responsibility of any problems or anger issues that Bruce might have at the moment. He did have some trouble trying to find this place, and might have had to drive up and down Grant Avenue three times before seeing it – or rather, having Dick spot Bruce's car. "This place is tucked away."

"We had to drive up and down the road because we couldn't find this place. Clark wasn't even sure where Grant Avenue was, I had to give him directions." The nine-year-old stood at the table, not bothering to take a seat, just happy to stand and talk to both adults. Clark on the other hand sat on the opposing side of the table, gaining a safe distance from Bruce. He kept a smile in tact, keeping his focus on Dick.

The waitress was making her way back over, carrying the coffee, balancing it, knowing full well how painful it was to spill the hot liquid on herself. She had to side step to get around Dick, but then placed the white, ceramic mug before Bruce. "Hi, how are you guys doing?" She asked Clark and Dick, both of which were looking at her now.

"We're very well, thank you for asking. And how are you doing?"

Stupid Clark.

"Eh, you know, happy that my shifts about up, my feet are killing me."

"We'll try not to make you run around too much then."

The two shared a laugh without Bruce or Dick.

Bruce motioned for Dick to take a seat, and the boy obeyed, but made a point to sit beside Clark who was much more cheerful and colorful then the other option.

"Can I get you two something to drink?" The young girl asked, tilting her head with a bright smile to Clark.

"I'll have some water and lemon if you have it."

She nodded and then looked at Dick, a smile showing that she found the child adorable. "And what can I get for you, honey?"

This was the occasion for a timid look towards Bruce, knowing full well that this opportunity was to be handled with care. Alfred was a stickler on certain drinks at certain times, but that didn't mean Bruce knew about any of that. With luck, the child could get away with ordering something good and not get into trouble.

"Tell her what you want." The billionaire said, feeling bad that Dick wasn't answering the woman. He didn't know why the kid was staring him down like he was supposed to make the choice. Or wait – was he supposed to make the choice? Was there something here he was doing wrong? Think. And then it hit him that Mountain Dew was a Pepsi product, and Mountain Dew wasn't anyone's friend. "Alfred'll know whatever you get tonight." He managed.

The waitress was shifting her weight, tried of standing around. "We have Fruit Punch, Lemonade, and Sierra Mist. And I don't think our Root Beer has caffeine, if that's what you're worried about."

"Sprite then." Dick muttered.

"Alright, we'll get those right out for you." And away she went.

"So, here we are." Clark began, and the look on his face only made Bruce mad. "I'll bet you're curious as to what's new in my life. Well, who isn't? Dick's interested, aren't you kid?"

Dick just smiled up at the man of steel, agreeing because he was agreeable. "Yep."

"Well, nothing's really new at all. Sadly. I guess I sort of built that up … well, I guess there are new things happening, but they're far from interesting, especially to a nine-year-old."

"I'm interested, Clark."

"I forget, you're polite, aren't you? Ok, well, I just ran an article that made the front page last week – but like Lois said, anyone can make the first page so long as Petty gives us a good story." He made a face. "Anyhow, you'll probably like this story, Dick. Last week we had this wild cow in downtown Metropolis."

This earned a raised eyebrow from the youth beside the reporter. "A wild cow?"

"That's right. It was a cow that some guy bought stupidly. Anyhow, this cow was left alone for three days. When he got back he found out she had destroyed the small shelter he had built for her. She managed to break out and roamed the street, hurt a few guys that tried to catch her. Apparently cows can go wild … it's rather interesting."

"Did they catch her?"

"Yeah, she was safely removed and -."

At this Bruce entered the conversation, ruining everybody's night a little more. "They'd have to shoot it, or slaughter it."

"…Excuse me?"

"I take it you didn't cover that part of the story, did you?" There was a wry look and Bruce smiled as the waitress came over with the drinks. "Thank you."

"Are you ready to order or do you still need some more time?"

The wild cow story was forgotten as Dick frowned down at the drink set before him. It was stupid kid sized, he sighed and slunk down his seat, wishing he could say something about it, complain just a little, but knowing Bruce – he'd get in trouble. The cut off age for being a kid here was eight, he had read the menu! He should have a big cup like Bruce and Clark.

The billionaire shook his head politely. "We're just doing the drinks tonight, I'm afraid. But the food looks good, I'll have to think about taking a carry out home." He was lying; he wouldn't be taking any food home. He was just trying to be personable.

She left the table alone again, leaving Clark to roll his eyes at Bruce. "You really should let me do an article on you."

"You have before, and I hated it."

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice in that matter." The reported elbowed the nine-year-old beside him. "Something the matter? You're looking rather glum."

"Nothing, thank you for asking." Dick whispered, taking the drink and deciding he was thankful for it. His mom would probably be mad if she knew he was moping over a silly drink size. He looked at Bruce, feeling sad now, and saw his guardian was preoccupied with looking through the menu, memorizing most everything he saw.

Clark was bored with this crowd. "So, Dick – what about you? Do you have any interesting stories to share? Is school fun? You making a lot of friends?"

"I have friends." His voice was very soft, compared with just a short while ago. "I like school. My teachers are nice, and the kids are nice too."

"Have any girlfriends?"

This made Dick laugh and turn a bit red. "No!"

"Well, you never know – a good looking kid like you, I'm sure a lot of girls in your class are trying to earn the position of being your girl. Just remember – the pretty ones aren't always the best ones. I know they'll get you more popularity, but that doesn't mean they're nice."

Bruce glared at him, finding Clark duller than dull and bad with advice. "And just because they're pretty doesn't mean they're not nice."

"That's true as well."

Dick just smiled.

"How about you, Bruce – do you have any girls in your life that you'd like to share with us?"

The billionaire took a drink from his coffee and ignored the question completely.

"He likes Miss. Kyle." Dick answered for his guardian absentmindedly. "But they aren't dating anymore."

Bruce put down the coffee mug and gave his ward a look that would silence the dead … which would be rather easy, considering the dead don't talk. But, the look was enough to make the nine-year-old hush up and return to his straw. "And how is Lois, Clark – since you're so intent on knowing about everyone's love life?"

"Ok, ok – sorry I asked."

"Why did you ask?" Bruce returned to reading through the menu, wishing that time would somehow speed up. That would be wonderful. He could just go home, get some sleep in before starting into the next day.

The waitress was coming back now and she had her hands behind her back. The smallest smile was on her face; apparently she wasn't so great with hiding things. Approaching their table she pulled out a package of crayons and a coloring sheet with some spaghetti that had legs, arms, and a face, not to mention a dorky looking hat. "Here you go, sweetheart. You wanna' color this for us so we can put it up with our collection?" She motioned toward her server station where dozens of drawings were pinned up.

Dick didn't accept the paper straight away, but slowly he forced himself to take it. He couldn't bear to hurt the nice woman's feelings by refusing. "Thank you very much." It was hardly a whisper. His little heart sank in his chest as she walked away, leaving him to stare down at the stupid looking drawing smiling up at him. How embarrassing!

"I think our waitress finds you cute, Dick."

The nine-year-old looked at Clark and then slowly nodded. He glanced over at Bruce again and saw that his guardian was now focused on the Daily Special sheet, reading it through. "I don't know why she keeps giving me baby things. I'm nine."

"These aren't 'baby' things. I'm offended you would even think that. When I was nine, I colored. There's nothing baby about it." Clark took the crayons himself and opened the package. "If you aren't going to color, then I will." He was trying to get Dick to have some fun, but the plan backfired.

"You can color it, Clark. I don't mind."

"Are you sure?"

Dick nodded. He was eager to see the Man of Steel color cartoon spaghetti, it would be funny to behold. Bruce, on the other hand was far from amused and very much annoyed. He took a long drink from his coffee and then gave a pointed look to the reporter. "Perhaps we should call it a night if you're reduced to coloring Dick's picture."

"Ok, Bruce, I apologize." Clark sat up a little straighter. "But it's not like you're offering much to do. I ask a question and you shoot it down."

"How's Metropolis?"

For a moment Clark just stared, but then slowly he made himself talk back. This was a golden opportunity, and he wasn't about ready to pass it up. "Great, great – it's really good as of late, so much so that I've taken a few trips elsewhere. I helped Ollie out the other week; apparently Vertigo was giving him some trouble."

"I heard about it. Heard you had some trouble at first."

"Yeah, well … I didn't really know what I was up against until I was up against him." A pause. "Ollie told me that your company is causing him some pains. Apparently you're trying to get a foot into Star City now?"

"We're doing business with the Ball Brothers, that's all. It'll bring more jobs, something Ollie should be thankful for."

"…Well, he probably would be, but he says that the Ball Brothers aren't exactly on good terms with his company, and you're teaming up with them doesn't do him a whole lot of good."

"Well, that's business, isn't it?"

"Has he said anything to you about it?"

Bruce scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. He didn't need to answer that, they both knew Ollie wouldn't say a word about it – he was much too proud. "He's more then welcome to make us an offer, it's not like we're taking sides here. It's business."

Dick wished he could say the conversation was interesting, but it wasn't. At his point the crayons were starting to look pretty good, if only he didn't have his dignity to worry about.

Ding. The door to the restaurant opened and a small gathering of people came in. A bigger man and his two twin daughters, both close to Dick's age. They were dressed in matching outfits, still at an age where it was acceptable to do so.

"Look whose here – Molly and Mallory!" The waitress went over to them, a huge smile. "I haven't seen you guys in two weeks!"

"We couldn't come because grandma died." One of the girls said. She took the waitress' hand. "Daddy finally let us come tonight, late too, because mommy had to work again, so this is dinner!"

"Mommy's gonna met us here soon though."

"Did you miss us Miss. Karen?"

"You know I did."

They sat at the counter, across the room from Bruce, Clark, and Dick. Even some of the production people came out to talk to the family. Clearly they were regulars. They didn't even have to order a thing, it was quickly made and drinks were given out. The girls were now giggling at one of the teenager production workers that was juggling packages of crackers.

Dick could do that too. In fact, he could do four packages, not just a measly three.

The smell of food was strong to start with, but now seeing the family eating it made the nine-year-old boy hungry. He took another drink from his Sprite, but it didn't do the trick. He wanted food. Looking over at Bruce he saw that he and Clark were talking about economics. Yuck.

Ding. The door opened again and a woman came inside, a smile despite her windblown appearance. It only widened when her two daughters shrieked out: MOMMY! And ran to her, giving hugs and kisses, talking about their day. "Oh my, talking with your mouths open? That's not very polite, now is it Mallory?" She gave the little girl a kiss on the cheek and then did the same to Molly. "I see Daddy got you guys your food!"

"Hey, baby." The man said, nodding to his wife. He got up and motioned for her to have a seat. "Girls, give your mom some space, she just got off work. She don't need ya' pawning all over her."

"Oh, but I do! I haven't seen my girls in almost two days!" The woman sat down and pulled up Molly on her lap, listening as Mallory continued to explain what she had done that day.

Dick watched the mother and he began to feel … well, sad. The way she held her daughter, the way she'd laugh, and her eyes would light up. The way she'd brush Molly's hair back, or make a kissing noise to her husband, the woman was clearly a mother in every possible way. And she made him want his mother back very badly.

Very badly.

He always missed his parents, constantly, but seeing a mother in action just made him feel miserable. He wanted that. He wanted his mother to hug him tightly, to fuss over a scrap or cut, and to praise him on the little, unimportant things. "Bruce?"

The billionaire paused in his conversation and looked over at the young gypsy boy. "What?"

Dick just shook his head and got up, walking over and sitting by his guardian. He took his drink along with. "I don't feel good."

"Are you sick?"

"I just don't feel good. Can you and Clark talk about something else?"

Clark suddenly felt lonely without Dick beside him. It was as if he suddenly wasn't good enough. Despite all the fun the two had that night, driving to the diner, getting lost, talking – it apparently wasn't enough to keep the nine-year-old around past his prime. Friendships were fun, but they didn't get the job done.

"If you're feeling sick, then maybe we should go home."

Dick shook his head. "No, I'm not sick!! … … …sir." He looked over at Clark and then back to his guardian, seeing that the two adults weren't sure what to make of him at this particular moment. He just lay his head down on the table, pressing his ear against the cool plastic.

"What else can we talk about? … Hmm." Clark got down to thinking, rubbing his thumb against his chin. "Well, you guys want to hear a funny story?"

Bruce just gave him a dumb look.

"No, really, this one's good. Well, Dick should appreciate it at least. So, back when I was growing up we had this dog, right? She was a hound, pretty smart too, if you ask me. But man, I tell you what, this dog was ugly! She'd never hurt a human, but if some critter got in her way she'd give this toothy snarl that looked like this." Clark tried to do an impression, Dick was unimpressed. "Anyhow, that's not the funny part."

The billionaire just rolled his eyes. He didn't know why Clark acted so stupid. It were as if he forgot that he could stop being 'Clark Kent' scatterbrained reporter and just be himself. Maybe the man was just trying to get on Dick's level or something.

Clark finished up his story, saying how the dog got old, developed a limp, and looked all the more scary. How she'd go around on stormy nights and bang the doors open to find company 'cause she was scared of thunder. But before she'd get to the room she'd wake everyone up with her limping.

In short, the story wasn't funny.

"Dogs are interesting creatures." Bruce offered, being polite.

"That's a funny story, Clark."

"Yeah, it sucked, I know – you can say so." He took off his glasses and shrugged. "I don't care, just tried to change the subject like you asked."

The waitress was back, a smile in place. One of the little twins had followed her. "Do you guys need anything else – refills?"

"Dick, are you hungry? Is that why you aren't feeling well?" Bruce questioned to the child beside him, seeing that the nine-year-old was still keeping his head down on the table. It could be various things, but he might as well try to take a guess at it since the waitress was back here. If this didn't work maybe they should just go back home.

"Sometimes I don't feel well when I get hungry. That could be what's wrong with you, kiddo." Clark offered.

Dick lifted his head, looking at Clark and then bashfully shrugging his shoulders. He wasn't really that hungry, but there was some hunger. Maybe eating something would help. "A little, maybe."

"Then order something."

"… But I don't know what to order."

"You should get the kids p'sghetti!" Molly offered, holding onto the waitress's hand. "It's real good, and you get a kids treat once you're done – all for free!"

"You like spaghetti, right?"

Dick shrugged. He liked it fine, why not? Anything sounded good at this point. Just so long as they all knew he shouldn't get the kids meals, because he wasn't a little kid. "But it's a kid's meal."

"Oh, kids twelve and under are able to get the kids meals here." Karen offered with a grin and a wink. "So you're just fine getting the kids p'sghetti, sweetie."

He didn't say anything in reply to that, just unhappily hunched over. Call him rude, but he didn't like the idea of eating with the two greatest superheroes in the World and being forced to eat from the kids menu, to be forced to color, and to get baby sized drinks. Didn't these people realize that he wasn't like other little kids? "I don'wan'the kidsmenu stuff." He grumbled under his breath.

"The spaghetti's just fine, thank you." Bruce smiled up at their waitress and waited till she was gone to look over at the child beside him. He didn't say anything, just looked.

The food came out shortly, and Dick didn't touch it, grumpy with the knowledge he was being treated unfairly. Everyone else was far from aware, after all, being forced to eat from the kids menu was far from torture.

"Don't you want your food?" Clark paused in his conversation with Bruce to ask. "It can't be much good cold."

"…" He took a small bite of it to keep everyone happy, and that lead to the realization that he was hungry. So soon enough half the plate was devoured. He stopped only when the small family was getting up to leave. The father was paying at the register while the mother was getting the twins in their coats, telling them to calm down and get dressed. She saw Dick looking her way and smiled at him kindly.

Molly looked to where her mother smiled and then pointed. "I told him to eat the p'sghetti, mommy. And see, he likes it!"

"I see that. Now, come on baby, get your coat on, else you'll freeze your booch off outside!"

The little girls exploded into giggling, leaving Dick to feel lonely once again. The nine-year-old moved a bit closer to his guardian and slipped his arms around the man's upper arm, hugging it, resting his head against Bruce's shoulder. He wasn't brushed aside or pushed away, and he wasn't scolded or given a dirty look. Bruce didn't seem to notice until it happened and he froze a little, unsure what Clark would do.

The last thing he wanted was Clark Kent thinking the Batman was gone soft.

"…I just think that given the lifestyles these people are thrown into, raised in, I think that that drugs, prostitution – you know, think they're the only choices people think they have left after a certain point." Clark spoke on, only giving the kindest of smiles. "And it's sad, but that's how I've come to see it."

The two talked on, into the night, until they noticed the restaurant employees starting to clean up. Bruce moved to get up and felt Dick's head slip a little. He caught himself, keeping his balance, and saw that the child was fast asleep. He glared at Clark only to find the reporter up and paying for their bills. Shit. Bruce decided not to fight it. "Dick? We're going home now."

Slowly lifting his head, the gypsy boy studied his guardian. He then put his head down on the table top.

"No. Home." Bruce lifted Dick up so he could get out of the bench, then set the kid down on the floor. He felt the nine-year-old sized hand slip into his and allowed it as well.

"Well, I had fun." Clark said. "And I daresay you did too."

Bruce had his car door open, telling Dick to buckle up. He turned to look at the Metroplian reporter and shook his head. "Just don't keep calling Alfred to force me out."

"Ok, I'll just call you from now on. So long as you promise to take me up on it every once in awhile."

"We'll see."

"We'll see." Clark repeated and stuck out his hand. "See you soon, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce scoffed a little, in a friendly way. "Too soon. Doesn't matter when. It'll be too soon."

"Yeah, best of friends." And with that Clark turned and walked away, lifting a hand over his shoulder to wave goodbye, knowing it wouldn't be returned, but knowing it'd be appreciated. Even if just a little.

END