This writing is terrible. In this chapter, I abuse google translate. I haven't bothered with a beta or careful editing. I invent nonsense medical stuff because I can't be bothered to research into realism. I tell a story that's been told a million times before. I tick people off by staying to close to canon while changing little stuff because it suits my fancy. I wax poetic at a weird moment. Umm... And I hid a oddball quote by Markus Zusak.

Italicized words are spoken in French but typed in English for clarity

Bruce had seen the acrobats fall. The beautiful little family he had spoken with not more than an hour ago at the private meet and greet which was a part of the fundraising event.

"I say hallo me name be Grayson Richard. Meeting plezure is Mr. Wayne. I have fantastique my do I show to you," the friendly little boy had excitedly declared when Bruce asked to meet him.

Mary Grayson had proudly ruffled the small boy's hair. "He speaks quite a few languages due to our travels. He is just learning English. When ever he is trying to learn a new language word order can be a challenge. We just came from an Asian tour. The spectators there were very enamoured with him."

Asia, Bruce had thought with a smile, that explained why the child had put his last name first. Mary's accent had sounded vaguely French.

All of that endearing self confidence was shattered with grief, horror and shock. Though Bruce did not speak Romani the paramedic and police officer trying to speak to the child, only spoke English.

Bruce knelt next to Richard and was frantically asked, "La mère et le père vont bien se passer? Un médecin peut-il les réparer?" (French: Are mother and father going to be alright? Can a doctor fix them?)

"Ils ne peuvent pas être réparés. La vie est partie d'eux." (French: They cannot be fixed. The life is gone from them.) Bruce answered softly.

The circus was frantic with tears and sirens and hysterical voices. The strong man in tears spoke to Richard in Russian. "Teper' oni s Bogom." (Russian: They are now with God) He kissed the boy on the head.

Richard confided in Bruce, "Eto to, chto g-n Zucco imel vvidu svoimi ugrozami. YA videl yego s instrumentami ryadom s oborudovaniyem dlya trapetsii." (Russian: This is what Mr. Zucco meant with his threats. I saw him with tools near the trapeze equipment.)

A Japanese aerial silk artist interrupted them but she whispered to the child and Bruce did not know what she said.

Richard pleaded with Bruce, "Kare wa kore de nigete wa naranai. Watashi o tasuketekudasai." (Japanese: He must not get away with this. Please help me.) The child wanted him to help talk to the police.

He was taken by a social worker who spoke only English and made no effort to communicate with the little boy who was so desperate to communicate he was frantically calling out in every language he knew. He pulled away from the social worker entreating Commissioner Gordon. "I showing bad boy do bad doing you! I named be Grayson Richard. I have seeing of bad boy! Bad doing mami, dad! There! There!" Richard frantically pointed to the trapeze wires.

Bruce looked over. Some equipment he always had on him. He used the cuff link camera to take some photos and a small evidence bag and tweezers to take a small sample of wire fragment. Then he called the Commissioner over and told him the little acrobat had seen a man named Zucco tampering with the wires.

"It kills me sometimes how people die," spoke the Commissioner starring at the forsaken child.

Brucelet the police take over at the scene before flying home to change clothes.

At first Richard was taken to an orphanage. It wasn't great but it wasn't so bad. He'd sneak out at night and ghost around the back alleys of Gotham trying to learn who Zucco was. There was so much crime. Dick had never seen anything like it. He'd pull fire alarms and dial 911 on nearby payphones to bring help where it was needed. Not much of it made sense though with his English so poor.

He needn't have gone looking for Zucco. Zucco's thugs broke into the orphanage Richard was taken to. He was beaten and left for dead.

He woke in the medical ward of a juvenile detention centre. His vision was blurry and his balance wonky but because no one could properly talk to him and no one really cared, as soon as he could stand he was put in a cell with a twelve year old arsonist with mental health issues.

Batman was looking into the Grayson murder. He wanted to talk to the boy again. He needed more evidence and it had certainly sounded like Richard had information to share but he couldn't find him anywhere in the child welfare system.

Bruce had been having nightmares of the boy. He was being pulled into the shadows by an unseen assailant and he kept calling for help in different languages. There were dead parents falling into blood. Sometimes Bruce was Richard and when he called for help, he couldn't make a sound.

Batman outright asked Commissioner Gordon for information on the Grayson boy.

Alfred noted that Batman came home in a rather dark mood. At breakfast while Bruce stared into his coffee and stabbed his eggs rather then eating them Alfred had finally had enough.

"Master Bruce something has been bothering you for sometime now. Your already abysmal sleep patterns have suffered. The china is getting scratched by your angry knife work and my boy you've not said two words to me in weeks."

"He was beaten and left for dead and then they put him in protective custody in juvie," spat Bruce.

"Who Master Bruce?"

"The bright clever little acrobat. His parents died. He was right there and saw it all. He spoke to me in four different languages if you include his faltering attempt at English. He asked me for help. He was missing a tooth on the top. His eyes were blue like the Mediterranean sea where the ocean shelf drops off into the abyss."

"Oh dear." Poetic language was a terrible sign.

"I'm going down to take to his social worker. The security here is tighter than a kid's detention centre."

"Master Bruce?"

"Let's go, Alfred. The Towncar with the tinted windows I think."

Alfred stopped at a baby store and picked up a car seat. He stopped at the grocers for extra milk. He was stalling. Master Bruce hadn't slept or eaten well in days. Alfred wanted to give Bruce a little extra time to wake and sort himself out before jumping into this traumatized child's life but Bruce passed out in the back seat like a toddler on a car ride. When they got to the Children's Aid Center Bruce snapped awake.

"Are you sure about this Master Bruce?"

"It's just until a better solution then juvie can be found," protested Bruce.

The news when they talked to Children's Aid was not good. Even if they did want to step in it would take months before Bruce could be checked out and vetted to take a child into his home. They agreed to let Bruce meet with Richard. A supervised visit was a first step.

Bruce with Alfred trailing dutifully along was taken into a small dark meeting room in the detention center with bars on the windows and flickering florescent lights. It smelled of sweat and industrial floor cleaner. The room was uncomfortably cold. Richard was shoved roughly into the room by a bored looking guard. He tripped into one of the wheeled office chairs and stumbled awkwardly to the floor before gingerly getting himself to his feet. He was covered in still healing bruises and swayed slightly. He kept his head up straight and his shoulders back with determination.

"Richard please sit," suggested Bruce horrified at the boy's condition and treatment.

Dick felt his way along the table to the chair and pulled it around. He felt where the chair back was then felt to check nothing was on the chair pad before carefully sitting down.

Alfred stepped forward and knelt in front of the child taking one of his hands then looking at his eyes and gently feeling through his hair. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Please tell what fingers is,.. are?" asked Dick softly.

Bruce decided on French because Mary had looked vaguely French. He learned about Zucco's men. Richard's roommate who liked to shove. He learned no one had been trying to talk to the boy. They'd let him out of the infirmary having made no effort to diagnose a serious head injury that had severely effected his sight and balance. With someone finally talking to him, Richard started to tremble trying to withhold tears.

"Mr. Wayne-sama?" asked Dick finally recognizing the voice. They had skipped over the introductions in the shock of seeing the small boy's condition. Dick gave small smile and looked towards the familiar voice. Richard bowed a formal Japanese bow. "Dumo arigatō gozaimasu, for night of death. For,..." Richard signed "speak" in American Sign Language and "for mouth work?" He looked so lost and frustrated. "Merci beaucoup de parler avec moi." (French: Thank you very much for talking with me.)

It was clear to Bruce that the boy desperately wanted to speak his native tongue. No matter the language he tried, the words he wanted were not right. They did not feel right so he flipped through the languages knew that he thought Bruce understood trying and trying to communicate. He must have felt so terribly lonely, confused and isolated.

Bruce glanced at his unflappable British butler. Alfred's eyes were suspiciously glossy. Bruce had lost feeling in his hands he was clenching his fists so hard. Richard's treatment had him furious but this was not the place for anger. Richard had done nothing to warrant it.

The social worker looked at her watch impatiently. "I'm sorry Mr. Wayne but that will have to be all for today." She gave the guard a brisk nod. "You may return him to his cell now."

"Gently!" protested Mr. Wayne when the guard yanked the child away. Bruce looked at Alfred. The dark fury of Batman flickered in his eyes for a moment followed by an entreating gaze Alfred had not seen from Master Bruce since Bruce had himself had been eight.

Alfred straightened. "Ms. Levit I was vetted and cleared to act as a foster parent for Master Bruce after he suffered a similar loss to young Richard Grayson. Perhaps I could act as an interim Foster Parent until Master Bruce's clearance can be expedited. I should be already in the system."

The social worker looked surprised. "I suppose that might work but we'll need an updated Police Check. They can usually be acquired in about a week's time."

Bruce giving the social worker a steely eyed glare, hit Commissioner Gordon's number on his speed dial. "Jim it's Bruce. Can you get me a Police Check for Alfred Pennyworth. I've been to see Richard Grayson. He needs immediate medical care. They have him in the one of the big JDC's. It's terrible Jim..." Bruce stepped into the hall to talk privately with the Commissioner.

In less than half an hour, the paperwork had been faxed through. In twenty minutes more, they were leaving with Richard. Bruce had to carry him to the car. He could barely walk on his own. They called Doctor Leslie to meet them at the manner. After a quick initial examination, they were back in the car headed to hospital for an emergency MRI.

Bruce explained what was happening in French and sat talking with Dick as he liked to be called. Dick was teaching him Romani and Bruce helping him with English. For right now Bruce didn't stress the English. There was enough else going on.

The remainder of the day was spent doing testing of some form or another. Finally while Richard slept exhausted in a private room in the pediatric wing of the hospital hooked up to an IV that was administering fluids and an assortment of medications, Doctor Leslie took Bruce and Alfred aside to explain the findings.

"There is significant swelling due to the head trauma. At the moment his vision is badly disrupted. He can discern only movement, bright colours, light and dark. The prognosis is not good with how poorly he's been treated since the initial injury but he may yet regain some vision. He was showing signs of malnutrition and dehydration. From what you have relayed of his treatment it seems unlikely that he was physically capable of seeing to even his most basic needs given the circumstances."

"His cracked ribs from the initial assault are still healing but the head injury is the worst of it. Things will get slightly better as the swelling in his brain goes down. I'd like to keep him in hospital for at least a week to monitor the head injury and stabilize his physical condition. I haven't really even begun to address the emotional trauma of all of this. He is going to need a lot of help getting through this. With the medication and the head injury he will sleep a lot. Everything that can be done to reduce his stress needs to be done. Expect persistent head aches and potentially nausea. Head injuries tend to increase testosterone production to the point where it modifies behaviour, expect a short temper and rash behaviour. He needs to be watched for seizures or other signs of neurological damage."

Zucco had done it, thought Bruce. He'd damaged the one witness severely enough that if Zucco was brought to trial, Richard wouldn't be able to positively ID him unless he did miraculously regain sight.

"I don't want him to need to fear Zucco anymore," Bruce spoke softly, thinking quickly. He called Commissioner Gordon to put a plan into place. Actually he made quite a few calls.

Richard slept a very long time. When he woke he could feel the warm sun on his face.