Forgotten Bonds

Twenty-Two - Christmas at the Haunt

December 20th, 2008. Saturday, 11:43am. 

Dick tapped his pencil on the edge of his paper. His expression was in deep concentration as he worked. His leg bounced, rapidly bopping up and down endlessly. 

It was thoroughly irritating. 

Slade had told the boy to hold still, countlessly; but back again it would start – that incessant bouncing was enough to drive anyone mad. How many times did Slade have to tell the boy to hold that blasted leg still already? 

"Dick, for the last time. Hold still," said Slade, rubbing a hand over his face, completely exasperated. Dick blinked and the annoying bouncing ceased – finally. 

"Oh... Sorry, sir." 

"Mmmm..." murmured Slade. He glanced at the clock that was on the kitchen wall. The written test he was giving Dick would be over in just two minutes. Afterwards, they'd have about a half an hour until lunch. 

Dick put his mechanical pencil beneath his nose, holding it temporarily with a protruding upper lip as he studied his paper. 

That blasted bouncing was beginning again. 

"Time," said Slade; a minute earlier than was actually so. Dick sighed with relief as he handed the two test papers to Slade. The boy leaned back against his chair, balancing the pencil beneath his nose as he stared up at the ceiling; his arms dangling lazily at his sides. 

Slade glanced at the two papers; back to back as well for a total of four test pages. At just a mere glance, Slade could tell that Dick only had fifty percent of the answers correct – which was extremely unusual for the boy. He knew all this stuff by now. Dick was exceptionally intelligent after all – one of the prodigies to grace the world with his presence. 

So why the terrible work right now? 

"Fifty percent," said Slade, tossing the papers back at the boy. Dick groaned; the pencil sliding to the floor as he collapsed his forehead to the kitchen table with a dull thump. 

If that—now those—blasted bouncing legs had anything to say... Well, Slade had his answer. 

Stir crazy. 

Normally, Slade would force the boy to correct his mistakes, but it was obvious that they just weren't going to get anywhere at that moment. Something was off with the boy this morning. Perhaps too much energy? Dick rolled his head back and forth on the surface of the table. 

Ah, well. 

"Lunch is soon," said Slade. "Until then, go take a break, amuse yourself, or whatever." 

Dick's head popped up. 

"R–really?" 

Slade leaned an elbow onto the table, resting his head in his hand, and did a flittering motion with the fingers of his free hand. 

"Really. Go, before I change my mind." 

The boy let out a whoop and bolted to his feet. He darted to the basement door, nearly tearing it open, before he ran down the stairs. Why Slade had the fleeting desire to shout that the boy go slower so he wouldn't trip down those stairs, he didn't know. But he quickly squashed it. Dick was an acrobat – he wasn't going to trip. Please. What a foolish thought. 

Slade sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. 

Things... were getting better. Over fourteen weeks now. But it was the past ten weeks that truly mattered. Since promising Dick that he wouldn't beat him, things had gotten a thousand fold better. It took time for the boy to stop looking so nervous around Slade, but now he was slowly getting used to the change – slowly beginning to trust that Slade would keep his word.