Butler Boy - Chapter 29 (Patreon)

“Lunch time! Everybody up and out!”

Astrid and I groaned in unison, different tones but the same feeling. The shout had come through over the dulcet tones of Mr. Presley in my left ear, and I yawned deeply as I reached down to cut the song off, beginning the process of loosening up my muscles as I stretched out my arms and legs.

“I still say Elvis shouldn't count as country,” Astrid muttered, clearly just coming to, herself.

“His entire late career is country,” I argued. “And Blue Moon is a classic.”

“It's a waltz,” she snorted, standing and offering me a hand.

“You can waltz in the country,” I replied with a grin as I was half-pulled to my feet. “You just have to do it in boots, overalls, and flannel.”

Astrid snort-giggled, half bending over into me and shaking with laughter before pushing off playfully. “Ugh, c'mon. Let's get some food... and I need a bathroom.”

Around us, the other scouts were still giving us the side-eye even after-

I checked my watch.

-three hours and change of, no doubt, peeking at us as we used each other as pillows. Regardless of the stares, though, Astrid and I made our way to the restroom. The place we'd stopped at wasn't a town. No, it was a nowhere diner off a state highway intersection surrounded by brilliant evergreen forests and rocky cliffs. As we stepped off the bus, I took a deep breath and raised my arms over my head in an enormous stretch.

Ahhh... yeah, I needed that.

It felt good, especially after Gotham.

Even a lifetime ago, I'd never been a city-person. Too cramped, too smelly, too crowded, too noisy... just, too much. Not that I was in love with the country or anything, but I had to live somewhere and it wasn't going to be surrounded by millions of other people if I had anything to say about it. At least I could breathe out here and not feel like I was snorting car exhaust.

“Dude.”

I rolled my neck and gave another jaw-cracking yawn before slipping on a pair of shades as my eyes caught the late-morning sun. “Hey Mike, what's up?”

“You an' Astrid gettin~cozy,” he ribbed, grinning as he elbowed me.

I rolled my eyes as I saw my girlfriend getting ambushed on her way to the toilet by Jane, Bella, and Charlotte. I had no doubt the inquisition would begin for both of us momentarily. “What? Jealous I didn't cuddle up next to you?”

Mike snorted and blushed lightly. “Piss off, man. Just saying... you two have only had one date, right?”

I hummed and shrugged as we entered the bathroom, a few adults doing their business as the male members of the troop trotted in. “We've also known each other for...”

I squinted past the semi-clean tiled bathroom, thinking that one over.

“...since we were six?” I guessed, events and dates getting fuzzy the further back I went. Before I was four, things were mercifully blurry, but I kind of remember... “Yeah, so seven years?”

“Yeah, but you just started dating, right?” Mike pressed, and I sighed.

Both out of exasperation and relief, at my friend and my bladder respectively.

“Mike, real talk?” I asked in a softer undertone, cognizant of the bathroom's echo. “Astrid and I started dating because we were friends. We share interests, we're comfortable around each other. Dating isn't about kissing and copping a feel. It's about being able to sit and talk with someone for a couple of hours and not needing to do that to make the date fun.”

Mike blinked owlishly at me for a moment, then squeaked out a curse and looked back down at his own business while my gaze stayed stuck to the wall in front of me.

In the meantime, I finished up and turned back towards the sink to wash my hands.

One of the men – a trucker at a guess – gave a scoff filled with rust and gravel from a life spent inhaling diesel fumes and tobacco smoke as he wiped his hands before looking at Mike as he zipped up. “Listen to your friend, kid. If I'd had someone tell me that thirty years ago, it'd have saved me three godawful marriages.”

I snorted and gave him a nod when his brown eyes met my own.

“You're gonna' have to explain that one,” Mike muttered as I exited the bathroom. It was an open-door affair with a turn in it to block line-of-sight, the kind you usually saw on state rest-stop bathrooms instead of gas station/truck stop/diners like this.

“He your boy?” Trucker asked and I twitched slightly as I saw Gary Hobb leaning up against the exit with his arms crossed.

“Dating my daughter, actually,” Gary replied, giving me the slightest smirk.

The trucker blinked, then gave a mighty guffaw as he rubbed at his beard. “Well damn... some guys have all the luck. Had to break a leg of one of my girls' boyfriends a few years back when he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Gary, clean-shaven and tidy in a fleece button-down and jeans, snorted. “Oh, he's a good kid. And besides, my daughter has a mean left hook if it turns out he's not.”

The trucker laughed again at that and exchanged a goodbye with Gary before we were left alone... well, Mike followed me out of the bathroom, but he proved to have some survival instincts when he saw Gary and I next to each other. He beat feet not five seconds later.

“Shotgun speech?” I asked.

Gary pursed his lips and, after a moment's consideration, shook his head with a wry grin. “Like I told that fellow, Arden... you're a good kid. If Astrid has a problem with you, she'll come home with bloody knuckles and – if I see you again – you'll have a black eye and a bouquet of flowers.”

He let that hang for a moment, then smirked.

“That's when we'll have the shotgun talk,” he stated as he reached out and clapped me on the shoulder, his hand heavy with... not quite warning, but a general kind of notice. “And, just in case you think I'm joking, kid? I'm pretty sure that runs in the family.”

He reached up and tapped a small, faint white scar that dragged across the orbital of his right eye. The kind someone got when they were punched in the face by a hand wearing a ring, my medical skills reported with a good deal of certainty.

“That's... gotta be an interesting story,” I dared slowly.

Gary chuckled and nodded, removing his hand. “You make it a few months and I might even tell you it. But a bit more advice? Don't get drunk enough to do something stupid. You're too young for that besides, but keeping sober is good practice.”

In the back of my mind, I speculated on that tidbit as I followed the adult into the diner proper. It took up a full half of the building with the other half dedicated to roadside chotchkies, brightly wrapped bars of condensed sugar, and a plethora of neon-colored bottles of equally-sweet caffeinated sugar water. The fact that they also had a small selection of grocery goods probably meant that this was the next best thing to the hour-drive through mountain roads to whatever town or city existed in addition to being a local watering hole.

“-and I told you! You should order off the lunch menu!” Thomas – always Thomas, never Tom – stated, striking the table with his palm as he glared at the smirking Terry. “It will inconvenience the staff if you order a menu item intended for lunch or dinner!”

“Hmm... whatever, I'm just really feeling the dinner plate,” Terry replied, showing off white teeth against dark skin. “But-”

“Thomas,” I interjected, “Terry just wants a rise out of you. It's deliberate provocation. Terry, remind me what happened the last time you got Thomas this PO'd?”

“I was kind of hoping to see what Thomas threw at him this time,” Duke chuckled, leaning on the table with one elbow as he looked over his own menu. Terry winced, no doubt remembering how difficult spaghetti sauce was to get out of a person's hair.

“Sooo~ what'd I miss?” Mike asked, sliding into the last available seat in the booth, a move that was only viable because the seats were open on both sides. “I don't see any food flying, so Arden must have been his usual lame-o self.”

I sighed deeply, “If being 'lame' is needed to get through one meal with you lot without a waitress threatening to throw us out, then so be it.”

“See, he admits it,” Duke grinned, all sporty athletic charm and easy confidence.

“Personally, I'm more interested in what the news was covering yesterday, since Arden's here now,” Terry chimed in, making an obvious play to push the topic away from his sordid past with food-based fashion statements. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” I asked, flicking a glance towards Astrid's table – the one occupied by the girls of the troop – and meeting her eyes briefly. She gave a helpless shrug as she subtly looked around to the girls who'd penned her in. I rolled my eyes and shrugged, which got me a smile. A moment later, I'd dropped my eyes back to my menu. “Use your words.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Terrance is curious whether or not the news coverage regarding your heroic intervention of those injured by the mafia at Mr. Wayne's mansion was true, hyperbolic, or a complete fabrication?”

“It's actually a manor, not a mansion, you know?” I asked rhetorically. “I actually asked the staff and it turns out there's a difference. Mansions are just big fancy houses, but manors are the primary residence of a larger estate and have a historic presence which a 'simple' mansion doesn't.”

Was I being pedantic?

Yes, yes I was.

Did I enjoy the look of self-disgust that flitted across Thomas' face a bit too much?

Yes, that too.

But listen, I never claimed I was perfect and Thomas Hill was so straight-laced that it made me want to strangle him sometimes. So even if I avoided being mean about it, I had to occasionally take a potshot here or there.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know,” Thomas breathed out, apologizing with all the gravity of someone who'd unknowingly uttered a horrible slur.

Terry folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, his expression calling me a hypocrite where his words fell silent. But Terry was a dirty fucking troll and I'd never gotten Thomas pissed off to the point he threw food at me, so screw both of them and their constant bickering.

“Didn't ~ Answer,” Duke sing-songed, clicking his tongue as he flipped the menu over before making an interested sound as he focused in on a chicken salad. That was pretty typical for the health nut of our group.

“Yes, fine, whatever,” I waved them away as I resolved to get the largest cheeseburger they had topped with as much bacon as they could reasonably fit and a side of bacon-covered cheese fries. The look of disgust on Duke's face would be secondary to the legitimate fact that I needed the calories, I swear. “I sewed up a dozen people from gunshots, stab wounds, and other stuff.”

The other boys all traded glances amongst each other.

“They said your family helped, too,” Mike spoke up, clearing his throat. “The guy on the national broadcast was calling you all heroes. You in particular.”

A gold ticket itched in the back of my mind.

One for becoming a real, true-blue national-level figure in the media. Actual fame, not just the flash-in-the-pan headlines you got from not dying.

“I don't care about that,” I informed them bluntly, not even looking up from the already-decided meal choice I was faux-considering still. “No one died. Almost everyone will make a full recovery. That's what's important. As long as those are true, the news can say whatever it wants to about me.”

...and I was mildly surprised that I believed the words coming from my mouth. A fine idea, but I'd always been... a little self-conscious. Egocentric, as most people were when all was said and done. But, no... the news cycle could go fuck itself. I'd done the right thing, and that was what mattered.

My declaration sat heavy in the middle of the table and the rest of the boys didn't really understand it.

Finally, they all mutually – and unspokenly – seemed to decide to ignore it.

I let them, it was easier that way.

I'd had a lot of practice.

“So... did you see him?” Mike asked, leaning over the table.

My gaze slid up from my menu and I raised an eyebrow at him... before making a show of glancing to either side of me. The paranoid motions tickled something in the other teens' minds and they leaned in like Mike had. One of my hands slipped down into the pocket of my cargo pants and pulled out a long piece of solid black metal cut into the stylized shape of a bat with outstretched wings, cutting edges carved into the contact areas of the shape.

A collective inhalation of breath swept around the table as they leaned in even further, eyes wide. Even the perpetually too-cool-for-school Duke looking a bit slack-jawed at the physical evidence.

And, sure. I could have lied about it. I could have said I didn't see shit and avoided the notoriety among the troop, but for two things. The first was that any lie in regards to seeing Batman would have been pointless. I tried to only lie when it served a purpose, and an important one at that. Lying about pointless, stupid shit was a bad habit to have in the first place. The second part was that it could be easily disproven. My parents had seen Batman, my siblings had seen Batman, the news reports they'd already seen had talked about Batman.

If lying for no good reason was bad, then lying when everyone already knew the truth was just fucking retarded.

Also, yes, I wanted to brag a bit. A bit of street cred never hurt.

“Damn...” Terry breathed, reaching over and tapping the metal before carefully picking it up. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the metal and hissed lightly – theatrically – when he found it to be sharp. “Yep, it's the real deal.”

“Like you'd know,” Duke muttered, holding out a hand. For a moment, Terry looked like he was going to protest, then I tilted my head towards Duke as our eyes met and he grunted in a displeased tone, but held the batarang out.

Notably, even the straight-laced Thomas wanted to have a look at the legit superhero relic being passed around, and I made sure everyone had a turn before watching as the waitress finally finished with the adults' table and the girls' table after that. Even if there were small sounds of disappointment, they gave in when I promised to bring it back out around the campfire tonight.

“Alright dears, what are we having?” A middle-aged woman with a name-tag reading 'Becky' asked as she cocked a hip and put pen to pad.

For the record, not the best cheeseburger I'd ever had, but a pretty damn good one all the same.

…

“Sooooo...” Astrid drawled the word out as we wandered the gas station side of the store after the meal. “Sorry about not sitting with you during lunch, the girls kind of...”

She made a vague motion, and I chuckled.

“Don't worry about it, you should have time to hang out with your friends,” I stated, and her shoulders unhitched a little. “We're going to be sitting together the rest of the ride anyway, and I don't think we'll be going back to sleep, right?”

She nodded. “Good-cool-thanks, I mean-”

I turned towards her and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about something?”

Her mouth closed abruptly, her lips sealing themselves as she looked away. “Can I ask... about AJ?”

“Sure, ask me anything,” I replied with a nod.

Well, not anything, but...

“Okay, so you know she likes you, right?” Astrid asked, turning back to face me as she searched my expression for... something. Dishonesty? Disbelief? Maybe dismissal, even.

I nodded, going back to studying the snacks on offer. “She does. I reminded her that I already had a girlfriend multiple times over the weekend, though. Not... in her face or anything, but I didn't let her conveniently forget, either.”

Astrid heaved a gusty sigh, visibly relieved. “Okay... yeah, I was worried you were... well, going to be a guy about it.”

I snorted and chuckled.

She went a bit red in the face. “Ugh, don't laugh!”

“Nah, it's fine,” I shook my head, picking up a bag of gummies. “What, you just wanted to make sure I knew she was crushing on me?”

“Pretty much,” Astrid nodded, slipping one hand in my free one and relaxing a bit more. “I just... didn't want you to blow me off about it, since you might end up hanging out with her again. My sister had one of her boyfriends keep hanging out with his best friend who happened to be a girl, and... it got messy.”

I hummed in the back of my throat, remembering some vague school drama about that last year. “For what it's worth, I don't think AJ's the type to poach. At least, not on purpose.”

Remembering all the superhero relationship drama I'd read about, I had to wonder if all that body armor and spandex cut off blood flow to the brain or something.

“On purpose, yeah,” Astrid repeated, muttering the words. “Just, if you end up visiting Mr. Wayne again-”

“I'll ask to bring you along,” I interrupted her. “Bruce has plenty of rooms, he'd be fine with opening another one up. Or you could bunk with AJ and make sure she doesn't try anything. I don't want to be a guy about it, but girls do slumber parties, right? Pillow fights, screaming at pitches only dogs can hear, talking about hunky celebrity crushes?”

Astrid's face was a deep red, telling me that I hadn't missed the mark entirely. “Arden...”

“Fine, fine, I'll stop,” I chuckled. “That what you wanted to know?”

“Well, I want to hear about the whole night, especially after seeing the news,” Astrid replied after a thoughtful moment. “But I was mostly worried about AJ, yeah.”

Right, right... first real relationship for her. And me, actually. In... ugh, at least twenty years, if that even counts. Damn, I need to shake the rust off...

“If it'll make you feel better,” I began slowly, organizing my thoughts. “I mean, don't tell AJ any of this, please, but... dating her would be a pretty awful idea. Not because she's a bad person or anything, but... well, it'd be a long distance thing, right off the bat. We couldn't just go get lunch together or hang out after school. It'd have to be phone calls and maybe seeing each other once a month. Even with Bruce being pretty flighty about that kind of thing, I don't think he'd want her flying out to Colorado more often than that. And Mom...”

I gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Astrid joined in with me. “Oooh, yeah, I can imagine what my mom would do if I told her I was going to start flying across the country to see my millionaire-heir boyfriend. She'd bolt my door and window shut.”

I snorted, letting my amusement fade as I continued, absently leading Astrid towards the drinks section. “So, yeah. Long distance would be tough. But AJ also doesn't have friends yet. Bruce is basically her dad now, but they're still settling in and Alfred is kind of-”

“That's their butler, right? I think AJ called him 'Alfie' on the phone?” Astrid interjected.

“That's him. He's like Thomas, but grown up and very British,” I explained, then paused. “Provided Thomas eventually grows a sense of humor.”

“I can kinda see it from what she said,” Astrid replied, frowning thoughtfully.

“But, yeah, she's got them and maybe this rich brat Derek that we met at the party,” I emphasized the possibility pretty heavily there. “No one else. She needs friends, not a boyfriend. That's why... well, that's one reason why I gave her your phone number.”

My girlfriend grinned slyly, “Also because you didn't want me to get pissed that you spent the weekend hanging out with another girl, going to a fancy party, and swimming with her.”

“That, too,” I acknowledged, and – if my cheeks heated up a bit – so be it.

“Hmm...” Astrid faux-glared at me.

“But, in addition to all of that,” I bravely soldiered on, changing the topic before I could dig my own grave further, “given AJ's... ah, well, how she ended up with Bruce, I think she's got some stuff to work through right now. Trust issues, probably, that might need to get worked on before she tries out a relationship for real.”

Astrid winced a bit and nodded. “Okay, yeah, I can see that. It sucks that all that stuff happened and especially that everyone knows about it. Ugh, I can't believe she was forced to live with a creep like that Dodge-guy.”

I nodded, then my eyes caught sight of a green bottle and I chuckled to myself a little maniacally. “Ahh.... yeah, that's the stuff.”

“Mountain Dew?” Astrid asked as I pulled the oversized bottle out by slipping two fingers around the cap and letting it hang off the same hand with the gummies. “Oh, right... your mom hates that stuff, doesn't she?”

“And she's entirely justified in her hatred,” I grinned. “This stuff is basically the toxic sewage of soda with a ton of sugar and caffeine in it and some chemical additives that I think are illegal over in Europe.”

“Which is why all the moms agreed that we shouldn't have any at scout meets,” Astrid nodded, shooting a glance over towards her parents.

“Last call Troop 1417!” Gary spoke up, a boom to his voice as everyone in the store – scout or otherwise – turned to him. “You know the rules. One snack, one drink, both under five dollars. Anything else the troop fund won't pay for and you have to get yourselves. Oh, and Terry, Duke, and Jane? So help me God, if I find any of you tried to slip a wine cooler in the basket again, you'll be banned from the next two camp-outs! ”

Astrid and I both snorted as the trio wore sheepish expressions under the surprised and amused looks of the other shop-goers. My girlfriend rolled her eyes, “She better not. Ugh, I told her not to accept any stupid dares last time.”

Idly, I toyed with the idea of broaching the 'Jane' subject. Astrid's best friend, Jane Quinn, and a sporty redhead who might be going out for cheer next year. Not to be too on-the-nose about our previous discussion, but if Astrid was worrying about AJ, she should definitely worry about Jane. But that was a conversation for another time, one that would need privacy and delicate wording so it wouldn't look like I was trying to drive a wedge between her and her friend.

And there was a reason I'd avoided any and all 'subtle hints' that the girl dropped about wanting to go to 'this movie' or 'that restaurant' over the past few months.

My gaze swept across the store as Astrid and I dropped our picks into the basket under her father's watchful eye and I glimpsed Jane trying not to be obvious as she stared in our general direction.

Hmm... great, that might be a problem.

As if I didn't have enough on my plate, I'd need to dodge any attempts to get us alone on chore duty while we were at the camp.

“Oh, hey Arden,” a voice spoke up, a man wearing thick glasses with a full – if neat and trimmed – beard called out as Astrid and I passed near the door. “You've got about thirty minutes before we head out. Make sure you make a stop by the restroom after that meal. You too, Astrid.”

“Will do, Mr. Voit,” my girlfriend smiled at the older man. “Thanks for picking out the stop, by the way, the food was great.”

“My pleasure,” Bella's father grinned, “I hit this place coming back from a business trip once and just knew it was going to be perfect after I heard our plans got changed.”

I blinked. I hadn't heard about that. But, then again, I'd been pretty busy. “Our plans got changed? We aren't going to Black Bear?”

Shaun Voit blinked behind his glasses, then made a silent 'oh' of realization. “Right, you were out of town. Well, there was a landslide in Black Bear, actually. A couple of people were injured, but since it happened Friday before people got there for Spring Break... well, really lucky, all around.”

Really lucky.

A complicated feeling forming in my guy, I nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah... then, where are we going?”

“Lost Woods State Park,” he grinned, and I twitched as the man was focused on his enthusiasm. “It got a good review from another troop nearby, supposed to be kind of a secret spot that doesn't get much press. Apparently Marvin and his Dad have hunted there a few times and told us it was really beautiful.”

Astrid squeezed my hand, looking at me with a furrowed brow. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm...” Honesty, but not the full truth. Obviously, not the full truth. “I've just had a... run of weird luck lately. Kind of hoping nothing too weird happens while we're on the trip.”

Shaun's lips pressed together and he nodded, his joviality fading. “Don'r worry about that. The Lost Woods has a really good reputation, Arden. Apart from an injury or two – and those pop up in even the best parks – there shouldn't be any trouble like you-well, like you've had to deal with.”

I hummed and nodded, trying to pull myself away from that thought. I suppose it was possible that my luck had struck again and just prevented a massive tragedy, though... the conversation I'd had with the Creator of the Universe seemed to imply that luck didn't function quite like that.

Although that was before I had luck that 'could be considered an ability.'

Some abilities could function at range, like my pyromancy.

I shook my head a bit to clear it and smiled at Astrid, who was looking worried. “We've got a few minutes. Want to go look at the survival stuff on the back shelf?”

That perked her right up. And given what I knew about her, a new camping knife would be a better gift than any piece of jewelry.

I managed another trip to the bathroom and a quick catch of the next block of aerolite. This one was turned into another long snake that wrapped around my other leg, to slowly be processed into the next part of the holdout weapon I was constructing.

Hopefully, whatever ended up happening, I'd be ready for it.

~~~

For some reason, I'm just on a Butler Boy kick right now. Not sure why, but the chapters flow really easy. So, here's the next part of Arden's adventure. Notably, nothing explodes or goes horribly wrong... yet.

In all seriousness, though, this one and the next chapter or two of Butler Boy are going to focus on Astrid and the friends Arden has in the troop. Very slice of life as he unwinds a bit. Yes, something will inevitably go wrong, but he should enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.

It also stops Arden's entire story from just being one giant action scene and he needs a bit of a break after Gotham.

In any event... I'm probably going to try and get a chapter of Nexus Event out at some point this month, since it hasn't had one in a while. I'll also have something over the weekend, maybe get a head start on THWD or Mind Games?

Oh, and things are pretty close with the votes right now.

The Hand We're Dealt is leading Mind Games by 4 Votes at time of posting. You've got about 48 hours on the clock for that poll, so make your voice heard if you haven't.