A Lesson in Obedience

by Virginia





Batman spun on a booted heel, long dark cape flowing gracefully down past the tops of his boots. He walked away from the Batmobile, cutting a striking figure: at once fluid in form, yet formidable in stature, muscle rippling beneath the taut stretch material of the Batman costume.

Alfred was waiting for him, and Batman knew the instant they made eye contact that it was bad news. He didn't have to ask who, only what. "What's he gotten into now, Alfred?"

"Sir, it would appear that the Batcycle--"

Even after all the times it had been stressed that the bike was off-limits, somehow it came as no surprise to Batman that the headstrong 18-year-old had taken it. Dick Grayson was not a bad kid, but he continually pushed the limits. He had had his eye on the bike from the start, just aching to take it out on his own and open it up. The Batcycle was a powerful machine, with more power than Dick could surely handle. It was almost more power than Batman could handle -- almost. He smiled, but it faded fast as disaster scenarios filled his mind. He set that mind to the task at hand, in the hopes of preventing any of those avenues to disaster for his young Ward.

"Alfred -- the Tracker."

"Yes, Sir." The calm words were matched with calm movement as the elderly man accompanied the caped figure.

Batman's movements were not calm. Graceful, yet efficient and losing no time were more accurate descriptions for the imposing figure that seemed to glide across the stone cave floor.

When he'd installed all his vehicles with tracking devices, it had been with the forethought of preventing or combating theft. Not this. Well, he corrected himself, this was theft -- just not of the type he had initially expected to deal with. Of course, that had been before the teenager came into his life and proved to be a handful to keep up with and a challenge to control.

"Any idea how long he's been gone?" Batman asked. Gloved fingers played deftly over a keyboard that controlled the computerized tracking system he had designed himself.

"Ah -- No, Sir, not exactly," Alfred responded apologetically. "But he did answer me over the house intercom approximately two hours ago."

Batman sighed. "That's okay, Alfred. You aren't his keeper. I, on other hand...."

"Are not, either," Alfred finished for him decisively. "At least, you can't monitor him 100% of the time."

Batman frowned, the expression lost behind his cowl. "He's 18 years old. I shouldn't have to. He and I are due for a very long discussion, once I haul his impudent ass back here."

"Yes, Sir." Alfred nodded approvingly. Master Dick was long overdue for one of Mister Wayne's 'talks', in Alfred's opinion. Eighteen years old or not, the boy sorely needed discipline in his life to make sure he made it out of his teens.

Within minutes the sophisticated technology pinpointed the current location of the Batcycle. Batman traced the LCD screen with a gloved finger and opened his mouth to say something when the display flickered and changed. Batman turned to Alfred, his heart in his mouth. "According to the Tracker, the bike just went from 65 to 0 miles per hour in the space of one second." As always, he hid behind cold facts to mask his true feelings.

But Alfred had known him too well, for too long to be fooled. He didn't hear cold facts, but instead the unspoken and fearful: 'Dick just crashed the bike.'

The spell holding them both broke two seconds later. Alfred remained in the underground communications network, while the crisp snap of Batman's cape sounded as he moved swiftly through the cave. He had the Batmobile turned on a dime and barreling through one of the cave exits in mere seconds.

Minutes later, Alfred relayed the call that relieved the worst of Batman's fears, yet replaced them with new ones. The responding police unit had just radioed for an ambulance, but reported the victim was conscious and mobile.

"How did the police get to the crash scene so fast, Alfred?" Batman wondered out loud.

"They must be patrolling the west perimeter, Sir -- there have been a rash of accidents along the highway there. It's a popular stretch of road for drag racing and the like among the young people."

"Yeah, that's probably it." Batman was always concerned about secrecy, forever wondering how much longer his luck would hold out before coincidence let someone make the connection between the masked crimefighters and the Wayne Estate.

Alfred added, the relief obvious in his voice, "But it does sound as if he's alive, Sir. And standing on his own power. That must be a good sign."

"Careful, Alfred -- your affections are showing," Batman teased.

The time for teasing and banter was over, and Batman focused all his attention on reaching the crash site. The last thing they needed right now was the media getting wind of Bruce Wayne's Ward, Dick Grayson, out joyriding on the souped-up Batcycle. That story would be an instant hit on the news magazine shows and invite further investigation.

Yes, Batman reflected as he took the last turn as fast as he dared -- the crash site was down this route. Emergency lights flashed up ahead. He was just as anxious as Alfred to verify that Dick was truly all right. Once that was determined, then he was gong to demonstrate his own affections for the young man -- in the form of some good, sound discipline.

He passed the police lights, braked and neatly brought the sleek car to a stop some yards beyond the commotion. There were two police cruisers on the scene as well as a rescue unit. Batman silently applauded their response time even as he realized it meant his job of covering up would be that much harder.

All talk had ended no doubt as soon as the Batmobile approached; that was typical. Even after years of his work as Batman, everything about the caped crusader still drew attention. It was a combination of the flashy technology and the mystery with which Batman strived to keep his work enshrouded.

As always -- at least, if the people he greeted were on the right side of law and order -- he was a welcome sight. One of the officers stepped forward immediately and offered his hand. "Batman! What are you doing out this way?"

Careful! Batman thought to himself. This is supposed to be foreign territory to you -- not a mere two miles from the Batcave entrance. "I'm out doing some test runs of the Batmobile. I don't really know this area well, just enough to know the roads are usually deserted this time of night. I saw the crash on my radar unit and wondered if I could be of assistance."

"Deserted, yeah -- except when some of these kids decide to use it as a drag strip." The officer stepped aside and jerked a thumb in the direction of the sullen teenager sitting on the back of the rescue unit. A paramedic dabbed something on a cut over the youth's eye.

"Hey, aren't you Bruce Wayne's young Ward?" Batman brought a gloved hand to his chin as if struggling to recall the name.

Dull green eyes look up into hard, angry ones - seemingly all the more so, framed by the dark cowl. The youth answered miserably, "Yeah, that's me."

"Grayson," Batman said, nodding as his memory 'found' the correct name. "Dick Grayson."

"Yeah."

One of the officers nudged the boy, disapproving. "Hey, this is the Batman you're talkin' to -- he stopped to help you out. Show some respect."

"It's quite all right, Officer," Batman assured. "I'm sure Mr. Grayson is somewhat shaken up." He cast an eye over to the tangled heap of metal. It was fortunately too dark for anyone to have identified the bike, yet. They would though, as soon as they got a wrecker out there to remove it.

As if coming to a decision, Batman said, "Tell you what, Mr. Wayne is a good friend. Why don't I take young Mr. Grayson back to the Wayne Estate? That's, what, about ten miles or so away?" He glanced around at the dark forest that lined both sides of the highway as though trying to get his bearings.

"Yeah! Great idea -- you two bein' friends and all. Please assure Mr. Wayne that we can take care of this incident. The Estate's not that far; only about three miles back that way." The officer nodded in the direction Batman had just come from. "You sure you don't mind?"

"I have no doubt Wayne would do likewise if our situations were reversed, and he happened upon Robin like this."

Batman had been pretty sure none of them would want to face Bruce Wayne with news of his Ward's crash, not with the legendary proportions the billionaire's reputation had taken on over the years. He didn't usually rely on favors based on the Wayne family name, but in this case, with so much at stake, he was willing to make a rare exception.

Another officer asked, "Where is Robin, by the way? Haven't seen you two separated in a long time."

Batman waved it off casually. "Ah, he's off visiting colleges for a couple of weeks. So I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't see him around for a while." He stared at the miserable-looking Grayson as he spoke, hard eyes glinting purposefully.

The officer nodded toward the dark wreckage. "Nice bike he's got there -- or had. I'll bet Mr. Wayne won't be any too thrilled to hear about the damage."

"Yes, but the important thing is that young Mr. Grayson is safe," Batman duly returned. He turned back to the teenager. "And I'm sure that he's going to learn something tonight about motor vehicle safety." Among other things, Batman thought dryly. His message was not lost on the young man, who only looked back up at him with certain knowledge of what was waiting for him back at the Estate.

As Batman closed a firm hand over Dick's shoulder to lead him to the car, headlights bore down on them and a wrecker pulled up beside the wrecked bike.

Batman overheard an exclamation from one of the Officers: "Hey, that was fast! I guess the towing service wasn't asleep on the job tonight, huh?"

The answering voice of the tow truck driver as he joked with the Officers reassured Bruce that they had narrowly averted discovery. He smiled. Good old Alfred, saving the day again.



The swift ride back to the cave was made in silence. The sleek black car came to an abrupt halt on its platform, and if his mind had not been so otherwise preoccupied, Bruce would have noted the braking time down in the log he continually kept, always looking for ways to better his equipment performance times.

They were mismatched figures: sulking teenager in t-shirt and jeans and imposing older man in his dark costume. No sooner were they out of the car than Dick broke the silence.

"Hey, don't freak, okay--"

"Don't freak!!" Batman immediately calmed down, with visible effort. He lowered his voice but was easily heard with the cave's excellent acoustics. "Don't freak. You are advising me not to freak." The dark cape whipped about as he spun on his heel and began pacing in the underground chamber, needing to expend energy while he attempted to talk matters out with the younger man. "You have, all in one evening, mind you: endangered yourself; done something I expressly told you never to do; taken equipment from the Batcave for non-sanctioned use; lied to me; and, in fact, you endangered this entire crime fighting operation. And now, you advise me not to freak."

"I knew what I was doing. And hey, you've told me it's my stuff too. Besides that, technically I never told you I wouldn't take the bike..." The list of attempts to save his ass spilled forth indignantly, as if he couldn't understand what all the fuss was about.

There was deadly quiet when Dick finished talking. Then, "Fine. You've got answers to everything? You left one out: I. Told. You. Not. To. Do. It." Batman spoke with exaggeration, the sentence drawn out for emphasis.

He stopped pacing and looked once more into the miserable yet defiant, vibrant green eyes. He reached out then and pulled the younger man unceremoniously through the underground chamber to another room, large hand grasping the youth's t-shirt. A gloved finger pointed in his face. "When I give you a directive, Dick, it's for a reason... whether it has to do with our world down here or up above. I told you NOT to take the bike out by yourself, which is no different from my telling you NOT to take the Batmobile out joyriding. In fact, at this point you won't be taking anything or going anywhere for quite a while!"

"But you do it all the time!" Dick's plaintive response echoed through the network of caves. "You come and go as you please, and you don't feel you have to tell me everything!"

"How's this for an answer? I own it, Dick." He tapped his chest. "I do, it's mine. And you're right, I have told you to consider it your 'stuff' too." He spat the word out between them. "But if it means that you're going to behave irresponsibly with any of it, especially when it endangers your life or that of others, then we revert back to the basics. It's all mine, and I told you what to do and what not to do. What is so difficult about that?"

The beautiful young face, that most of the time looked so bright and fresh and ready for the world, now looked only defeated and angry. Batman reached for the younger man again, marveling that he had come to be such an important and irreplaceable part of the older man's life. A gloved hand closed over one slim shoulder like a vise and Batman pulled the teenager over to the Tracker console. "Take a good look at this. I was standing right here, right here--" he shook the younger man for emphasis, "watching your progress with the bike when you crashed it. For all I knew, you had just been obliterated with the blip of a radar signal."

Grayson stood looking at the console, not responding. Bruce could see the battle of wills going on inside him -- his bid for independence versus his conscience. Still, he had to be shown how serious an issue it was when he put himself at risk like he had tonight.

"Do you have any idea what you put me through? You don't, do you?"

Again, stubbornly, there was no response.

"Then I need to let you know. I think it's fitting if you answer for it right here, as I remind you not to disobey me."

Dick finally showed some reaction, looking up into the older man's still-cowled face. "What are you going to do?"

"I think you and I have been through this drill enough times that none of it should come as a surprise. You're about to get a little lesson in obedience."

"Look, can't I just apologize and pay for the damage?"

Exasperated, Batman returned, "No, Dick! It's not that easy. What would you learn from that?"

"What am I going to learn from your being over-bearing, anal retentive--"

If he had more adjectives in mind, they were lost as Batman again grasped him, both hands this time on slender shoulders, roughly turning the youth to face the console. "Tell you what. Let's ask that question again once your bottom is red."

Dick's mouth fell open. "No!" His tone was cross and he actually stamped his foot. "I won't let you."

"You used up your choices when you took the bike out of this cave, young man. You are going to drop your pants and bend forward over this console, or I'm going to see to it you spend time in that position every night for a week."

Any thought of resistance vanished in the face of the caped crimefighter - who presented an image that had frightened many a hardened criminal. Dick had been disciplined by this man more times over the years than he cared to remember. But usually, it was upstairs in the Wayne Estate and he was punished by Bruce. Occasionally it had happened when they were in their alter-ego personas, Batman and Robin. This would be the first time it had ever happened this way: the caped crimefighter disciplining him as teenager Dick Grayson. For some reason, that imbalance filled him with dread as much as the thought of what he was surely about to receive in the way of punishment.

Batman added, seeing the teen's resolve waver, "Don't make me tell you twice. And the childish theatrics just lengthened your punishment time."

His voice less sure, Dick said, "Look, I know I pissed you off..."

His answer was a firm swat to his rear, followed by a swift hand grabbing his shirt-front and pulling him around to the cowled face. "You don't even begin to know how much," was growled at him.

He was released. He reached for his jeans, knowing he had pushed his luck further than he usually dared. In moments he had the denim pushed down to his ankles. Batman had him step out of the jeans, then pushed his legs a bit farther apart. This was going to be particularly bad, Dick realized. At that point he only wanted to get it over with -- he would be spanked, sent upstairs to sulk, then subjected to a long lecture about the error of his ways. With any luck, it would all be behind him in a couple of hours.

The flowing cape moved gracefully about the older man's trim body, making him seem larger-than-life. Dick had a glimpse into what criminals must feel when faced with this imposing, dark and unearthly form. Grayson didn't fear the Batman - not in the same way the Crusader's prey undoubtedly did when faced with certain capture, but he did feel a lightning bolt of panic. He faced sure punishment now at the Crusader's hands. He had committed two cardinal sins at once: 1) he'd been reckless, risking injury to himself because he disregarded his mentor's rules, and both personas, Batman and Bruce, were big on rules; and 2) he'd endangered the secret operation Bruce Wayne had worked so hard to build over the last decade.

The dark form towered over him. Dick felt a cold surface on his bare ass -- a supple, form-fitting leather glove as Batman rested his palm against the milky buttocks, gauging his target. The other hand pushed him forward to bend over the console.

The smack of leather impacting on bare skin was explosive in the underground chamber. Dick jumped, surprised that the glove could produce so much sting. He'd have expected it to protect his tender flesh. The spanking continued and he quickly realized he was in for a blistering. The Batman knew exactly what he was doing. Dick endured it and never broke, never let out a sound beyond a few grunts and gasps of breath, not even when he'd lost count of the times that leather glove made its way methodically over his backside and ventured down his thighs.

The older man was thorough -- as always. Dick realized the ordeal seemed much worse because of the imbalance in their personas. Even the times when Batman felt compelled to discipline his young partner, it had been Batman to Robin -- once, with the younger man bent over the Batmobile, his cape pushed aside and his tights pulled down to bring home the point of not taking unnecessary risks purely for the sake of showing off; another time it was through his costume but with a switch that made its presence painfully known to answer for an incredibly stupid stunt that nearly cost the teenager his life -- and drove the Batman to see to punishment once they were safely alone, on the side of the road, rather than wait until their return to the Estate.

This time as he listened to the smacks resound through the cave and felt the fire they produced, Dick felt even more like a naughty little boy than usual, chastised by the legendary costumed figure. Even the older man's voice was different. As the Caped Crusader, it had a hushed quality, yet it held unmistakable power. As Bruce Wayne, the older man presented a parental, father figure. As the Batman, however, the authority figure took on epic proportions... as did the burning now centered in his hind quarters.

The Batman finally pulled back. His voice not even winded, he said, "You can stay right where you are and think about your actions. Consider it a version of corner time."

Alarm flashed through him. "For how long?"

"For as long as I say. Don't. Move."

Dick was left alone, still bent over the console. He remained exposed and vulnerable for an untold amount of time, having to endure displaying his reddened butt in the chilled cave air. The fact that only Alfred could possibly encounter him down there underneath the Wayne estate did nothing to lessen the humiliation.



He became aware of another presence in the room, not long after Batman had left him. He knew it was his recent run of bad luck at work when he heard Alfred delicately clear his throat.

Dick groaned, sure that the older man's eyes were trained on his reddened behind. "Alfred, I know how this looks, but..."

The polished, modulated voice answered, "It looks as if you have received what you deserved for your rash actions, Master Dick." The teenager sensed the older man come further into the room, pick up something from the far end of the console. Alfred added, "And if I had been entrusted with your discipline, young man, I assure you, you'd still be on the receiving end of a very persuasive paddle."

He spoke as if he were making pleasant small talk. That fact made the bald statement even more effective in causing Dick to blush forcefully.

Alarm flashed through the teenager as he thought back on times when the butler DID see to the teen's disciplinary needs at Bruce Wayne's request. When the young man's Guardian was out of town on business, the older gentleman had very effectively and efficiently warmed the lad's bottom and kept it warm for his employer's return - whereupon Dick Grayson received very personal attention at his Guardian's hands. Alfred meant what he said, Dick had no doubt.

Those thoughts led his mind to the phrase Bruce Wayne had used repeatedly in rearing his precocious but headstrong and at times stubborn charge through his teen years: a warm bottom and a clear head. As a disciplinarian, Wayne was a firm believer in one condition helping to achieve the other. Dick had to admit, he was certainly thinking things through as he stood there bent forward and hugging the radar console, his backside throbbing with heat. He only hoped Batman believed his head was clear enough, when he came back.



When Batman did return, he was still fully garbed as the Dark Knight. Dick didn't turn to look at him but could see the dark form out of the corner of his eye. He didn't think it was a very good sign that Batman hadn't changed out of the heavy and confining outfit.

Dick waited, not moving away from the console. Finally the Batman spoke, his voice a curious and uncharacteristic mixture of exasperation and regret. "Dick, what am I going to do with you?"

Grayson wasn't sure of the exact answer the Dark Knight wanted to hear and remained silent, his head bowed and eyes trained on the floor beyond the console. He felt a cold, hard surface press against his hot flesh and swallowed a yelp.

The anger was gone from the older man's voice, now, but the hard tone still there told Dick all he needed to know about what was to come. "Do you think you know why I'm so upset with you?"

All the while, the ungiving surface was held to his bottom. Dick nodded. "It was stupid; I could've been killed."

"And you know I can't just let that go with a warning about next time."

Again Dick nodded. He knew.

"There almost wasn't a next time."

The paddle cracked loudly, not swung at the Batman's full range of strength but then it didn't have to be. The fiery pain stole Dick's breath and had him gasping for air. The second blow brought tears to his eyes as he clutched at the smooth console surface. A few more swings of the paddle had him sobbing, all his earlier resolve and stubborn stoicism forgotten.

The hand spanking had warmed him up and taken the edge off of the Batman's anger. The older man had then removed himself from the comm room to cool off and give the teenager time to focus on his mistakes -- given his awkward position and burning backside, Batman had known reflection was inevitable.

Now very much in control of his emotions and the situation, Batman delivered a half-dozen final, meaningful swats that brought Grayson over the brink of tearful repentance.

Moments later the older man helped him in raising his jeans, slowing his actions when Grayson hissed and tried to pull away from the denim's stiff surface touching his bruised backside. "Easy -- you can leave these off and I'll bring you a pair of sweats," Batman offered.

Dick shook his head and fastened the jeans, his eyes trained on the floor. Strong gloved hands tilted his face upward and one leather-encased thumb brushed across the youth's tear-stained cheek. "I never like to see you hurt, Dick," he said softly. "But you know why I spanked you, and why I paddled you just now."

Dick nodded.

"I'm sorry I had to," Batman continued, "but you're too important to me to lose. What we do as Batman and Robin is often dangerous -- that makes it even more vital that I keep you safe when it's in my power to do so. I'll do whatever it takes to make you realize that."

"I know. I'm sorry I scared you."

Intense eyes studied him through the dark cowl, then he was pulled into a bone-crushing embrace.

Batman released him and nodded in the direction of the elevator. "Go on up to your room. I'll be there shortly."

The order was given quietly, but there would be no arguing the point. Dick went.

When his Guardian came upstairs he would be Bruce Wayne again, Dick realized with relief. It wasn't that he didn't like Bruce's alter ego -- he respected the masked crimefighter and tried to emulate him as Robin. But after the events of that evening, Grayson didn't really want to face the Batman any longer. Knowing what he'd put the man through was almost enough to bring about fresh tears. Why didn't he ever think? he berated himself as the elevator lurched upward. The last thing he would consciously do was hurt Batman -- or Bruce Wayne. Yet it seemed he did so constantly.

He was lifted out of the bowels of the Batcave and up into Wayne Manor. He hoped he didn't have long to wait for Bruce. At the moment all Dick wanted to do was remove the heavy jeans from his aching body and go to bed. He would be hurting pretty good for several days to come, but at least he could try to sleep through a few hours of it.

The door was soon pushed open and it was indeed as Bruce Wayne that the older man joined him. Wayne walked up to him and took his face in both hands, searching the youth's eyes. Dick felt a thumb brush lightly near the cut over his eye. He hadn't looked at it yet, but the paramedic had said it was barely more than a scratch.

"I'm all right," he felt compelled to assure Bruce, though he couldn't have said if he meant following the crash or his punishment.

"I know," Bruce finally answered. "I just wish you knew how much I want to keep you that way."

Dick cast his eyes downward, unsure what to say. There really was nothing to say. Batman had been right; Dick had made the choice to act, and the Dark Knight had logically made the choice to punish him for that action.

Wanting to ease the older man's concerns, Dick sought his eyes and assured, "I'll do what you say from now on, Bruce."

Bruce Wayne actually smiled at that. "Dick... What am I going to do with you? We both know how likely it is you'll be able to keep that promise."

"I know," the teen said, miserable. "I wish I could somehow answer for it."

"Well, you made a start on it down in the Batcave just now."

Dick blushed.

"I do forgive you, Dick -- but you're grounded for the next two weeks."

"As... as Dick Grayson?"

Bruce released a pent breath and shook his head. "As both Robin and Dick, for now."

When the youth's face gave away what he thought of that idea, Bruce quickly put a stop to the teenager's answer before he could voice it. "Don't even think about arguing with me on it. I think your backside has received enough persuasion for one night."

Dick shuddered slightly at unbidden thoughts of soon again being on the receiving end of one of either Bruce or Batman's lessons. He shook his head 'no.'

"Good boy," Bruce nodded, approving the teen's decision not to pursue the issue. "Why don't you go on to bed. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Dick was drawn into another hug -- the same iron-muscled man who had embraced him down in the cave, but he was also different in so many ways. This man was not as imposing or intimidating. Both personas of the same man certainly shared something -- both cared for the younger man and had a firm resolve to give him the guidance he needed.

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