This is my first fanfiction, and I'm really proud of it, so please enjoy and review. (Currently being cross-posted on AO3.)
Dick is Romani in this story, but as there is no written Romani language, I will be using the Romanian language via Google Translate. If you know either language and have any suggestions for improvement, please let me know.
Disclaimer: I don't own DC or its property. Surprise surprise.
Trigger warning: This story will contain some graphic descriptions of self-harm in several chapters. Please be careful and take care of yourselves.
The office was orderly with everything in its exact place. Not that Dick noticed. No, his mind was far too clouded by grief and confusion. Three days previous his parents had fallen to their deaths. He had spent the time since in a small prison cell of the Gotham City Police Department as they decided what was to be done with him. From the small snippets Dick gathered, all the orphanages were full. Foster care, too.
So here he was at the Juvenile Detention Center in the same city where his parents had been murdered. Not that anyone would believe him about that. No matter how much he pleaded and ranted for someone to believe him, nobody would listen. Apparently, eight-year olds weren't credible witnesses.
"This is the boy?" the lady behind the desk asked, interrupting Dick's thoughts. He looked up. The lady appeared to be in her fifties with black, pin-straight hair tied back in an impeccable bun. She had cold, hard eyes that stared down at Dick dispassionately. She frowned in distaste, making the slight wrinkles on her face deepen. "Looks like a right convict already," she snorted. "I'm sure if he wasn't sent here now, it'd only happen in a month or two."
Dick didn't understand what she meant. Sure, he wore the pale orange, short-sleeved jumpsuit they had given him when he first arrived. But that was because they made him! On the left breast, it said "Gotham City Juvenile Detention Center" and his identification number, 38041940. His ebony hair was in disarray, and his blue eyes were red-rimmed. Tear tracks marked his face in deep rivulets. But he didn't think he looked like any sort of a criminal.
The policeman that had brought Dick here said nothing, only stared impassively on as the woman made her comments and pressed a button on her desk. Moments later, two guards walked through the door to the office. "Take this delinquent out to the yard. Put his possessions in storage. After last meal take him to cell B21. Dismissed." Each word was sharp and short.
The two guards grabbed him roughly by the arms and pulled him out of the room. They took him into the main lobby, then through a gated doorway into a maze of corridors. He stumbled along with them, trying and failing to keep up with their longer strides. They led him down many bare hallways. The walls, floors, and ceilings were all made of dirt-clogged cement. Spaced at regular intervals on each side were metal doors. Each had a letter and a number on them printed in large, black block letters underneath a small window. The windows each had a wire mesh embedded in them.
The guards finally stopped at a metal door at a T-shaped intersection of three hallways. They opened it and shoved Dick through. He stumbled and turned to look at them. "W-what––?" One reached out and grabbed the black garbage bag he had been given two days earlier to put his measly belongings in.The door closed in his face. Dick stared on in confusion. What just happened? He turned around slowly to look at where he was.
It was a medium-sized yard outside. The whole ground was made of cement. Directly in front of him was a basketball court with many boys playing. To the left were a handful of picnic tables. Several boys were sitting on them intently talking while others were merely leaning on them out of boredom. To the right was an open space where some boys were doing Dick-didn't-know-what. Surrounding the whole area was a large fence with barbed wire sitting menacingly at the top. Spaced at even intervals outside the fence were large, manned guard towers glaring down at the inhabitants of the yard. Several guards were stationed in between the periodic doors in the prison wall at Dick's back.
Dick cautiously moved forward into the yard. Most of the other prisoners immediately turned to look at the shaking boy. Each wore the pale orange, short-sleeved jumpsuit that matched his own.
The large group that had been playing basketball were the first to approach. Dick didn't know what was happening. He had never experienced anything like this before. He stared at the people approaching him. He was scared and didn't know what to do.
He looked up at the lead boy, staring him hesitantly in the eye. He was probably sixteen or seventeen. Really big and muscular. He had a mean scar on his face diagonally under his left eye. Tattoos covered both his arms from his wrists to his shoulders. His head was shaved. Hard, green eyes stared out from under two dark brows. The boy was clearly dangerous. It was almost as if he exuded an aura of malevolence. Dick was immediately terrified of him.
On either side and somewhat behind him were two very large boys. The looked like they could be brothers, twins probably. They were around seventeen as well and had numerous scars each along every visible body part as well as multiple tattoos. They both had brown eyes and hair and were extremely well muscled. The two were brutes, and something told Dick that they didn't have much for brains. They looked like they relied on the lead boy for that.
The lead boy gazed down on Dick in derision. He had a half-scowl on his face, as if he had sized Dick up and found him utterly lacking. "Well, well, well. Who do we have here, boys? Ain't he a pretty one!"
Dick swallowed real hard as he stared up at the boy. "M-my n-name's Richard." He winced as he heard how heavy his Romani accent was. He had learned English several years earlier when Haly's Circus first started touring in the US. His mother had said it was good to be able to speak to the spectators and customers. Even after all his time in the US, though, his accent was still very thick.
The boy lashed out and grabbed Dick by his left shoulder. His hand squeezed tight, making Dick cry out in pain and fear. What was happening? Why weren't the guards doing anything? This boy was hurting him!
The older boy leaned close so Dick could see the malice in the boy's eyes. "I don't remember asking you, pipsqueak." His fist landed in Dick's gut, and the younger crumpled over, holding his stomach and coughing in pain. Dick would have landed face first in the ground had the boy not still been holding onto his shoulder.
The pain was excruciating, like nothing Dick had ever felt before. He struggled to wheeze in a breath. The older boy looked down on him in contempt. Dick struggled to stand under his own power again despite the pain, still curling an arm around him aching stomach. He looked nervously up at the boy who still refused to remove his hold on Dick's shoulder. "Now look here, pretty boy. Here's how things work here at Mini Arkham. My name is Nikolai, and what I say goes. You don't do shit if I don't approve. Behind me are my two lieutenants, Jack and Dan. Their orders are second only to mine, you hear?" The boy was apparently waiting for a response because he shook Dick hard until the boy cried out in pain and nodded helplessly. Tears streamed down his face. Nikolai snorted in derision and knocked the boy down with another punch to his already aching stomach. This time he let go of Dick's shoulder, and the boy hit the ground with a cry of pain.
Dick turned his head to look at the guards that stood by the walls of the Detention Center. They stared on passively as the scene unfolded in front of them. Dick was about to cry out for help when a booted foot stomped down on his already bruised shoulder. Dick screamed and struggled to get the boot off. Nikolai only pressed harder until Dick stopped fighting and simply lay there with his eyes scrunched tight and tears running rivers down his face.
"Now don't go looking to them for help, pretty boy. They don't care what we do so long as no one ends up dead. Maybe not even then, depending on who it is. You're the new meat here, pretty boy, which means you have a lot to learn. And I'd be glad to be your teacher."
Dick was forced to sit underneath the basketball hoop. The first couple of times that the ball had gone through the hoop, he had dodged out of the way instinctively. Each time Nikolai grabbed him by the shoulder and punched him in the gut again. He was to stay put and let the ball hit him. Some short time later, he learned what else he was supposed to do.
One of the other boys had missed the ball when his teammate tossed it to him. It bounced away across the yard. The boy started to go after it. "Stop!" The boy halted and looked to Nikolai. Nikolai turned his gaze to Dick, who cringed under the weight of his eyes. "Let pretty boy go get it." Dick looked up confused. He hadn't been allowed to move until now. Was he now allowed to? "Well, pretty boy?" Nikolai growled, looking incensed. He started towards Dick.
As soon as Dick recognized the threat, he hurried up and after the ball. When he finally reached it, he picked it up and started back towards the court. He slowed as he got closer. Was he supposed to hand it to Nikolai? It wasn't Nikolai's team that had possession of the ball now, though, Dick didn't think. But he didn't know who on the other team to give the ball to. Nor did he think Nikolai wanted him to give the ball to the other team. But he desperately didn't want to get closer to Nikolai.
His decision was made for him. Nikolai growled and stormed up to him. Dick froze in terror. Nikolai tore the ball from his hands and tossed it to either Jack or Dan. Dick didn't know which was which. Nikolai grabbed him by his shoulder and punched him in the gut repeatedly until he couldn't breathe. He sagged in the older boy's grip, choking on what little air made it through his windpipe. Nikolai released his grip, and Dick dropped to the ground, moaning in pain. "Get back to your place," Nikolai spat.
Dick didn't know how he was expected to move. He could barely breathe, and his stomach was in too much pain to do anything. But when Nikolai made to grab him again, Dick shoved himself up with what little strength he had and hobbled at his top speed towards the basketball hoop. He carefully lowered himself to the ground, and clutched his stomach miserably.
The game went on for a good hour more. By the time it was finished, Dick had been hit on the head twenty-three times and had fetched the ball twenty-nine times. He had also been grabbed and punched eleven more times for various "misdemeanors," as Nikolai liked to call them. Never once did any of the other boys speak up, nor did any of the guards stop it. The message was clear: No help was coming for Dick. For the first time in his life, he was on his own.
Dick was in more pain than he could ever remember being in.
Physically, at least.
He was still torn and grieving over the loss of his parents and his entire circus family. All he wanted to do was curl up and cry as he had been doing for the last several days. But it seemed he wasn't even allowed that.
The game finally ended when the guards called everyone in for last meal. Apparently, it wasn't called dinner or supper here. When the guards announced the change, Nikolai whistled twice, and the game came to a stop. The boy with the ball tossed it to one of the guards who was now standing nearby. The rest of the yard began to empty into the building. Nikolai looked to Dick, who was still sitting under the hoop. He didn't dare move until Nikolai told him to. He had done that once before when he saw the ball roll away. He had been punished for that misdemeanor and then been sent after the ball anyway. Dick learned that it wasn't the action that Nikolai wanted from him but obedience.
Nikolai finally turned around to face Dick. "Come here, pretty boy," he called. Dick stood up and made his way towards the boy cautiously. He didn't want to be punished, but he didn't know what would trigger Nikolai. The closer he got to the older boy, the slower he moved until he came to a stop two feet from Nikolai. "Closer, pretty boy," the elder boy cooed. Dick cautiously moved forward with several small steps. Nikolai reached out, forcing Dick to flinch from the imminent grab and punch. Only one of the two happened. Nikolai gripped Dick's shoulder firmly and dragged him along. "Time for dinner, pretty boy."
Once in the cafeteria, Dick was tossed to the end of the line while Nikolai cut in front and made his way to the counter. Jack and Dan followed behind. No one complained or even commented. When Dick finally got his meal––a pitiful looking plate of spaghetti with overcooked broccoli and a glass of water––he looked around for a seat. Most of the tables were filled, and none of the kids looked friendly. The ones that weren't openly hostile refused to make eye contact.
Dick finally decided on a table on the right side of the room that was out of the way with only a couple of kids at it. He put his tray down and was about to sit when a large hand wrapped itself around his left arm. Dick turned to look. It was Jack or Dan. The boy merely glared at him, glanced to another table, and then returned to glaring at him. Dick followed his line of sight and saw Nikolai sitting proudly at the table in the very center of the room. Jack or Dan, the brother not holding him, was sitting across from him. Several other boys sat on the outskirts of the table, seemingly trying to stay as close to Nikolai as possible while still at a safe distance. Dick understood that he was supposed to sit with his tormentor and internally cringed in terror. But he obediently picked up his tray and allowed himself (as if he had a choice!) to be led by the fierce grip on his arm to Nikolai's table. Jack/Dan shoved him towards Nikolai's side of the table while he made his way towards his brother. The older boy sat down heavily.
Dick slowly made his way towards Nikolai. He sat down a good three feet from the boy, on his left, shaking visibly from the nearness. Nikolai made a tsk-ing noise, and Dick cringed. He scooted a little closer, not wanting to anger the boy more. Nikolai tsk-ed once more, sounding a little more irate. Dick shook as he moved within a foot of the boy, leaving just enough room for what would be comfortable personal space were this anyone else. Nikolai smirked and began eating his food. Dick kept his head lowered and his shoulders hunched over as he reached for his fork with his right hand.
Suddenly, Nikolai's hand whipped out and crushed Dick's right hand in his grip. Dick cried out in pain and tried to jerk his hand away. It wouldn't come so he left it where it was, in Nikolai's grip. Tears coursed down his cheeks from the pain. He whimpered helplessly.
"Did I tell you you could eat?" Nikolai asked under his breath.
Dick whimpered more and shook his head miserably.
"Then why did you reach for your fork? You weren't planning on eating without permission, were you?"
Dick shook his head furiously.
"What do we say when we've been bad?"
Dick looked at him in confusion, the older boy's features blurry from the overflow of tears in Dick's eyes.
"You've done something wrong. What do you say?" the boy asked, becoming more agitated.
Dick hesitated. The grip on his hand grew impossibly tighter. Dick heard a pop and screamed in pain. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
His hand was released immediately. He cradled it to his chest with his uninjured hand and whimpered weakly.
"There. That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"
Nikolai went back to eating as if nothing had happened. Dick only then noticed that Jack and Dan hadn't touched their food yet. Nor had anyone at the table. Dick sat there miserably and cradled his hand to his chest as tears streamed endlessly down his face. When Nikolai was halfway through his meal, he made a circular gesture with his fork towards Jack and Dan. The two began eating. Moments later so did the rest of the table. Dick cautiously reached for him fork with his uninjured left hand. As soon as he saw the hand whipping towards his, he jerked his hand back to his chest and to once again protect his injured hand. Nikolai took a second to glare at him, half in anger, half in approval, before returning to his own meal.
Dick's stomach growled the entire time. He hadn't eaten since early that morning when he'd had a meager meal of plain oatmeal at the police station. And he didn't know when, if ever, Nikolai was going to allow him to eat.
Once Nikolai finished, he turned to look at the boy cowering beside him. Dick quivered under the intensity of the stare but dared not look up at the owner of it. After a moment Nikolai spoke up. "You may eat now, pretty boy."
Dick glanced up unsurely. Was this a trick? Would the boy attack him again? He didn't know if the food was worth the risk of being harmed again. But then his stomach spoke up, so he cautiously reached for the fork. His hand was not grabbed, nor was his shoulder squeezed or his stomach punched. He carefully picked up some pasta on the fork and brought it to his mouth, half expecting to be harmed the entire time. He wasn't. He continued to eat, constantly expecting attack. His stomach cramped with relief at finally receiving food.
After only three bites, a hand grabbed Dick firmly by the nape of the neck. He froze in fear. "What do we say when someone's done something nice for us?" Nikolai asked with a cruel smile.
Dick whimpered out a "Thank you," earning Nikolai's glare of approval. Dick cautiously went to take another bite. No punishment ensued. He continued eating carefully. The hand never left his neck.
When he was only halfway done with his meal, the guards called a halt to dinner. Dick looked up in anxiety. He wasn't done yet!
It didn't matter.
Nikolai and the rest of the boys stood up. Nikolai looked down expectantly at Dick. Dick miserably picked up his tray of half-finished food and followed the elder boy to the garbage. He scraped off his plates into the trash and stacked the plates and tray on top of the bin.
Nikolai turned towards a door simply labeled D. Dick went to follow him, not knowing what else to do. Before he made it more than a couple steps, though, two guards he vaguely remembered from earlier grabbed him roughly.
"Where do you think you're going?" one of them demanded.
Dick wasn't given a chance to answer as he was pulled harshly towards the door labeled B. They joined the stream of boys heading into that hallway. At the door labeled B21, the guards tossed him unceremoniously in. Dick stumbled forward and caught himself on the foot of a bed. The boy on said bed glared up from where he lay. "Hands off my property," he growled. Dick's hands immediately flew up and off the bed.
The room was sparse with only two bed occupying the small room. They sat opposite each other with the heads of the beds against the wall far from the door. A three-foot space separated them. On each bed was a thin set of white sheets, a pillow in a white pillow case, and a rough-looking, dark blue blanket.
The boy on the bed on the right side of the room, the boy that Dick guessed was his roommate––or cellmate rather––looked to be fifteen at the most. He still gave off an intimidating air that had Dick instinctively shying away from him. The boy's eyes were hazel, and his hair was brown. He had no significant markings or distinctive facial features. He was neither heavily muscled nor overly thin. He was rolled over on his side, having turned to face the wall in indifference the moment Dick's hands had left his bed.
Dick moved to sit down on what he guessed was now his bed. It was hard and uncomfortable. He slowly removed the prison-issued, white sneakers. It was more difficult since he could only use one hand. His right hand still burned with the kind of pain he'd only ever experienced once, when he'd broken his arm falling off the trapeze in practice when he was five.
Dick was startled by the sound of the door slamming shut of its own accord. The lights all went out soon after. This only made it more difficult to untie his shoes. Once his shoes and socks were off, Dick pulled back the covers and lay down with his head on the thin, white pillow. He lay on his left side, facing the rest of the room and the door. He cradled his injured right hand to his chest.
His mind began to run over the events of the day, and tears began to course down his cheeks with renewed vigor as he realized this was his life now. He hadn't done anything wrong, but somehow he had ended up here, in this horrible place, being tormented and beaten by a horrible boy. And he didn't think his life would be getting any better any time soon. Nor did he take any comfort in the fact that his life couldn't get any worse. It merely managed to make his tears stream faster.
His thoughts traveled farther back to the past couple of days and the greatest horror of his life. The images of the cell faded from his sight, and the big circus tent took its place. The quiet of the prison was replaced by the sounds of cheering crowds. Dick looked on excitedly as his mami and tati swung on the trapeze. He glanced up suddenly as he heard an out-of-place sound. The wires were lifting off the bolts securing them in place! His mother swung towards him. He was supposed to be readying to jump to her, but he was frozen to the spot.
Her arms reached for him.
The wires lifted off the bolts.
Dick stared on in horror.
His mother and father realized what was happening.
"Dick," his mother whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
"No!" he screamed out in denial.
Their bodies fell to the ground with a sickening crunch.
Back in his cell at the Gotham City Juvenile Detention Center, Dick sobbed aloud as the horrifying sound echoed endlessly in his head. He couldn't stop the noises leaving his mouth. It was all too horrifying.
In one moment, his entire world had ended.
His parents were dead.
He had been taken away from the circus, despite his parents' wish for him to remain there as specified in their will.
He had spent three days in a jail cell as the Justice System and Social Services tried to figure out what to do with him.
And now here he was.
He sobbed harder, trying to make it all go away.
Dick was abruptly ripped out of his thoughts when a fist connected with his face. "Will. You. Just. Shut. Up." Each word was accompanied by a punch to the face. The beating went on endlessly. Dick tried to get away, but there was nowhere to go on the small cot. When it finally ended, Dick just lay there in pain. He dare not whimper or sob or cry aloud. He didn't want to anger his cellmate again. So he simply lay there, sobbing silently to himself and wondering how this horrible fate could have befallen him.
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