Anonymous asked: 132. "I thought I lost you" dick and bruce!

Nine-year-old Richard John Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne, heir to Wayne Enterprises, was being kidnapped.

Well, he was fairly sure that was what was happening. It was hard to see with a blindfold covering his eyes, but his shoulders were in an awkward position due to his hands being tied behind his back, there was a gag in his mouth, and there were unfamiliar voices muttering somewhere in front of him.

Okay, he was being kidnapped. He knew how this worked, for the most part since he'd been taken hostage a few times as Robin. But the question was, was he Robin or was he Dick Grayson, because the reasons for being taken would be very different.

He was jolted forward suddenly, and he let himself roll off whatever he was lying on and onto the floor, because Bruce had always said that it was better to pretend to be unconscious to gain info the kidnappers would never say in front of a conscious hostage.

"Shit," someone said from almost right next to him, and then Dick was hauled back onto the soft—seats, probably. He was probably in the backseat of a car. "Joe, don't slam on the breaks so hard. We don't want the kid to wake up before we get back to base."

"I knocked him out with enough drugs to keep him out for hours," another voice called out, but this one sounded like it was coming from the front seat. "He ain't waking up, Doug."

"Get the kid downstairs," said a third voice. "I'll make the call."

"Is this far enough away?" Doug—the first voice—asked.

"It has to be," Joe said. "We ain't got no matter gas left in the tank."

There was a pause and then Dick was being moved. His head spun when he was lifted into a sitting position, but he managed to keep his limbs pliant and relaxed as one of the guys heaved him over his shoulder. He didn't know where he was or who he was with, but he was in trouble, and he could only hope that Bruce would come for him soon.

"Jim?" Bruce called out to the Commissioner, trying not to look overly worried. It was pretty hard, though, when he hadn't seen Dick in almost half an hour. The Commissioner turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Have you seen Dick?"

"Not since he started talking to that reporter," the Commissioner said. He looked around the hotel ballroom, and Bruce looked with him.

The Police Ball had been a success. They'd managed to raise more funds for the GCPD than was expected. And then Bruce had written a check with the same amount that they'd raised, to be used to better the department.

The Ball was pretty much over at this point, and Bruce wanted to leave. The only problem was that he couldn't find Dick.

"It's been a little while," Bruce said. "Can you have hotel security check the cameras."

The Commissioner blinked. "I know you're paranoid, but he's nine, Bruce. Maybe he's just hiding again."

But Bruce shook his head. "I've checked all of his usual spots. He's not here."

The Commissioner's eyes darkened with understanding. Dick was a smart kid, and even though things had changed overnight for him a few months ago, even though he was a circus kid with very little understanding of how high society worked, Dick got that he was Bruce Wayne's kid now. He understood the implications of it, and he knew not to disappear during something like this.

"Did he run away?" The Commissioner asked in a low voice.

Bruce shook his head. "Unlikely. He's been pretty cheerful all day since he though Barbara was going to be here."

Which, unfortunately, she wasn't. She was down with the flu, so Dick had mostly kept to Bruce's side or hidden under his usual table in the corner.

"I'll have the cameras checked," Jim reassured, his face creased with worry. He laid a heavy hand on Bruce's shoulder. It was the weighed down with the responsibilities of carrying for a child, and Bruce was glad for once that Jim could see past the act he put on for the socialites, for the city.

"So you're awake," the third voice said as soon as the blindfold came off.

They had tied Dick to a chair, but they'd taken the gag off as well, so Dick could now talk and see, and he scrunched his nose up at the sight of his kidnappers. The third voice from the car—it was the stupid reporter. The one who had wanted an interview for just a few minutes. The fake reporter smirked when he realized Dick had recognized him.

"Let's make this call, yeah?" Fake Reporter said. He pulled out his phone, but glared at Dick as he unlocked. "You got Wayne's number?"

Dick could only nod. He didn't like this. This wasn't like being Robin in any way, and he didn't like the way they were looking at him. Like he was just a toy. As Robin, he was mostly seen as someone capable, and as a way to Batman more than anything. They never wanted to do anything but beat him up, so he could always seem to find the best way to escape.

Here and now, these guys wanted money. And if Dick escaped, would that put his identity as Robin in danger? He didn't know. He didn't know what to do, or whether to try and escape, and honestly, he just wanted Bruce to be here, whispering in his ear and telling him what to do.

"Wayne's number," Fake Reporter demanded. Dick told him, keeping his voice quiet. Fake Reporter punched it in and looked at him again. "If he asks for you, you don't say anything funny, got it? You're alive, you want to get out of here, blah, blah, blah. No info. Hear me?"

Dick nodded solemnly, and that's when the other two guys—Joe and Doug, he didn't know which was which—showed up again, a gun in one of their hands.

Dick forced himself to breathe. He needed to stay calm, right? Just pretend that he was Robin at the moment, just without the mask. Keep his kidnappers happy until he found an opportunity to escape or Bruce found him. He could do that.

He could. He just hoped that one of the two happened soon.

The cameras caught it all. The entire thing. And Bruce wonders just how everyone in this damn hotel had missed something so obvious.

The reporter, the one that had taken Dick aside not a half hour earlier, was behind it all, having his goons attack just outside the ballroom doors, drugging Dick unconscious and then heaving his body over his shoulder let a sack of rocks, and no one had given the three of them a second look. Not one person.

Bruce's blood was boiling. Dick was nine-years-old, and even if he could probably escape these amateurs in a second's notice with the skills Bruce had taught him, Bruce was feeling an urge to get out there and look for Dick himself.

"We've got a hit on those plates!" an officer called to the Commissioner. "Car's parked in the parking lot of the hotel down the street. Probably didn't think they had much time to stash him before we found out."

Amateurs, Bruce thought again.

Jim, who was standing right next to Bruce as he glowered at the screen, turned to the officer and nodded. "Take Dempsey, Allen, and Huffaker with you. Get the hotel management to let you check the cameras." The officer nodded, and Bruce turned to go with them. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Mr. Wayne, please stay here with me and a few officers. We'll wait for the ransom call."

Bruce kept his face carefully blank, nodding as he did so, but on the inside—on the inside he was burning. Dick had been taken before, but that was as Robin. Never before had Dick been targeted as Dick Grayson, ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne, and all Bruce wanted to do right now was rush home to the Cave, pull on the cowl, and save Dick himself.

And yet he couldn't. He couldn't do that.

That's when Bruce's phone buzzed. He blinked down at the screen, at the unknown number, and held it up to the Commissioner. Jim nodded and waved to another officer.

"Answer it," Jim told him, and Bruce put it on speaker.

"Where's Dick?" Bruce said at once. He was furious, and it was starting to leak into his voice. The careful outward control failing at the prospect of talking pointlessly with Dick's kidnappers. "What did you do to him?!"

"So you noticed the brat was gone, huh?" a voice sneered. "Funny, I thought this call might surprise an idiot playboy like you, Mr. Wayne."

"Where. Is. Dick?" Bruce ground out again.

"He's here. But before I give him back, I want half a million dollars delivered to the warehouse on 6th and Washington. If it's not there by eleven pm tomorrow, the kid gets it."

"I want to speak to him," Bruce said, when the Commissioner gestured vaguely at him. Jim and another officer were doing something at the computers—probably tracing the call. They needed more time. Well, they were lucky, because Bruce wasn't going to let the kidnapper hang up without letting him speak to Dick. "Let me talk to Dick. I want to know he's alive."

"You're on, kid," the voice called.

And then Bruce heard the most beautiful sound in the world. Dick's voice.

"Bruce?" Dick asked, and he sounded—not scared, but almost confused. Maybe slightly determined. "They said I'm not allowed to say much."

"What can you say, kiddo?" Bruce asked.

"That I'm alive and kicking, and these guys are jerks," Dick said glumly. And then he said something in Romani that Bruce almost didn't catch.

Before Bruce could say anything back, there was a struggle on the other line, a string of curses, and then the first guy was shouting, "Damn it, kid! What did you say?!"

"I was just telling him to hurry and get me out of here!" came Dick's voice, but it was slightly muffled by distance. That hadn't been what Dick had said, but they hadn't come up with codes for a situation like this, and Dick had just given him vital information. "You said I could! It just came out in—"

There was a shar slapping noise, and then, "You do not—agh! Half a million, Wayne! If it's a single dollar short then—"

A gunshot rang out and Bruce's blood ran cold. The call disconnected right after that. Bruce ended the call. And then he turned around and punched the wall. He punched the wall. His knuckles split immediately, but Bruce wasn't done.

"That's enough!" Jim called out from behind him, stopping him from throwing another punch. "Punching things won't help Dick! What we need from you right now is to tell us what he said. That was Romani, right? What he spoke at the circus?"

Bruce deflated, and Jim released him, taking a step back. "Yeah. He said 'basement', 'three men', and 'one gun'."

Jim stared at him. "You're sure."

Bruce nodded. "He's been teaching me some things."

Blowing out a huge breath, Jim reached for his walkie talkie. "Talk to me, Dempsey."

"We've got the kid," Officer Dempsey on the other end, and Bruce was relieved, but it still felt like he was waiting for something. Until he had Dick where he could see him, he wasn't going to let his guard down. "Guys left tracks everywhere. They weren't smart about it."

"Injuries?" Jim asked.

"A few scrapes and bruises," Dempsey reported. "Otherwise, everyone's okay."

"The gunshot?"

"Huffaker shot the gun out of the guy's hand. Mr. Wayne, we're gonna bring your kid to you in a few minutes."

Bruce could only close his eyes at the thought of Dick being here safe and sound, right next to him. God, if this was going to happen again, Bruce needed to get him a tracker as a civilian, too. He needed to make codes and plans and backup plans and backup plans to the backup plans.

But mostly, he just wanted Dick here, in his arms.

If he was being honest, Dick had been kind of scared.

Being kidnapped as Dick Grayson was a completely different experience than being kidnapped as Robin. The mask provided a sort of filter to dissociate from real life, to keep the vigilante part of his life separate from his own. But as Dick Grayson, he didn't have the luxury of a filter. Everything had been so close to him, so real, and Dick hadn't really known what to do other than give Bruce vital information.

And when Officer Dempsey had led him into the hotel ballroom where Jim and Bruce were waiting, Dick started crying. The moment he was in the room, he sprinted for Bruce, and Bruce kneeled down and scooped him up in one motion, lifting Dick under his arms. Dick wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck and buried his face in Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce hushed him gently. "Hey, you're okay, Dickie. I've got you now."

"I was scared," Dick sniffled quietly. "I didn't know what was gonna happen."

"Me either," Bruce admitted. "I thought I lost you. Just for a second. I heard the gun go off and—"

Bruce cut off, and Dick squeezed him harder. "I'm okay, Bruce," Dick whispered, his voice still thick with tears. "But I wanna go home."

Bruce's chuckle reverberated through Dick, and the fact that everything was okay, that Dick wasn't in the kidnapper's hands anymore finally crashed down on top of him. It was all Dick could do to keep his breathing steady as Bruce rubbed a comforting hand down his back.

"Don't worry, Dick," Bruce said, and it was in a tone of voice that made of Dick think of movie nights, and warm hugs, and everything good in the world. "We're going home."

Dick was here, safe, wrapped up in Bruce's arms, and he didn't want it any other way.