AN: At long last, part two is finally here! Enjoy!
Batman tightens his jaw as he stares at the limp, smiling face of the Joker lying on the ground just feet in front of him. Time seems to freeze for a few seconds as his mind grasps the connection to the dead body and the gun resting inches from that frozen, hated smile on the slack face of his biggest enemy to the crowbar in the boy with bleached white skin and dreadfully familiar ebony black hair dressed in an agonizingly painful clown costume's hands.
His gaze snaps up to look at said boy when he hears him saying, "What say you, KF?" in the innocent tone of voice that once made Bruce's heart melt. He's still tensed, his mind trying to comprehend how Joker could have done something like this to his boy in a span of three weeks. The boy's small speech continues, every word seeming to melt the ice that's preventing the Dark Knight from moving.
"One hit for every single damn time I was held there and forced to watch you be beat. Or two hits for every. Single. Time. That you promised me the League was coming? Told me they'd be there at any moment?"
He's glad that the boy hasn't turned around yet, because Bruce doesn't know what he'll do once they inevitably face each other. There's so much that needs to be fixed… so much to explain… so much to apologize for…
Apologizing for not finding him sooner, apologizing for not knowing that Joker was behind the drug dealings that he sent the Team to look into. Santa Prisca was Bane's land, and the oversized man on steroids was even seen on the island. That combined with kobra venom traces were enough for Batman to send the Team to look into it. He should've known better. Should've…
Hands raised to bring the crowbar smashing into Wallace's skull, and Batman removes a batarang from his utility belt. It's millimeters from leaving his fingers when the boy lurches backward with a speed that, despite the circumstances, made Batman's heart flutter with pride. Of course he taught the boy how to move quickly and increase his speed to peak human conditioning for a fourteen year old.
The Flash skids to a halt right in front of Wallace and turns to reassure him. The boy moves before Batman can open his mouth. He watches Flash crumple to the ground, and it's at this point that Batman's suspicions are confirmed. He takes half a step back, obscuring himself entirely in the shadows of the room. He gaze sweeps across all members of Young Justice; Miss Martian's tears, Superboy's anger and potential fear, Kaldur's broken walls of defense, Artemis's face struck dumb with shock and realization, and Wallace's somewhat blank face, his previous look of numb acceptance rivaled with a concealed shriek as he watches Robin plunge the fork of the crowbar through Flash's leg.
"Nuh-uh," he sing songs, "No interrupting our playdate, flashy boy!" He giggles at this before going deathly quiet.
The quiet shatters Bruce's heart. Dick has always been such a lively boy, so full of charisma, enthusiasm, good vibes, a warm heart, and the desire to always be moving or talking. All the traits that made Bruce come to love the boy and think of him as something very close to a son. He dare not think son because Bruce knows that he is no father, nor does he want to strip that title from John Grayson.
Batman can feel rather than see the lack of smile over the boy's face. His shoulders tense in preparation.
Dick strokes the crowbar admiringly, drops of blood flinging off the fork of the metal and making a wet plopping noise as it hits the ground, the drops now providing the only noise. Even Barry has gone quiet. "Do you really think I don't see you?" he asks, and this time –of course it just has to be this time– he sounds so undeniably like Robin, no, Richard Grayson, that Bruce's heart metaphorically shatters and if it weren't for the actuality of the situation that confirmed this moment to be real, Bruce would have thought himself to be having a nightmare, but it wasn't. You wake up from nightmares. This is hell itself, and it's giving Bruce the biggest middle finger in the universe right now.
He takes a quiet yet deep breath, because despite everything this is still his boy and he made a promise to two gravestones five years ago that he intends to keep. He doesn't want to set the boy of it at all possible. "I excepted nothing less."
The boy's head tilts to the side impossibly far, and Batman is mildly surprised that he didn't just snap his neck right there and then. The creaks and cricking noises it makes as his spinal cord cracks confirm something to Batman. He's getting his muscles ready for a fight. There's no walking out of this one without a fight.
"Three weeks," Dick drawls, his tone making him sound entirely sane and unbroken.
Batman takes another half step back, refusing to allow himself to be fooled into what Dick is doing. He's not going to allow his defenses to fall by trying to explain himself now. He makes a mental note to add serious mental trauma to the list he's already created for possible factors Joker used in order to break his boy.
When Dick whirls around, crowbar raised high in the air and plunges himself exactly when Batman is hiding, he's ready. He knew Dick would use that single sentence he spoke to calculate where he was hiding in the shadows.
Smart boy. Weak boy. Strong boy. Broken boy. Intelligent boy. Unstable boy. Precious boy.
Batman jerks to the side, and Dick staggers as his attack misses by a long shot. He puts his hand in his utility belt and pulls something out as Dick lunges once more. The batarang expands and Batman brings it up. The two metals clash and he grabs the crowbar with one hand.
Dick's inhuman smile and soulless eyes seem to dare Batman to hit him, and dammit does he not want to have to. But he knows that he must, so he swallows back the hard lump growing in his throat and forces back the memory of fighting Robin on the Watchtower almost a year ago.
Batman tugs on the crowbar, pulling it harshly towards him, ignoring the chuckling consuming his boy. Dick's grip is relentless, so Batman raises his knee. The boy's stomach collided with his knee, and the breath is knocked entirely out of him, but his hands remain glued to the metal.
He tugs it towards himself two more times before the force is enough to rip the crowbar out of Dick's hands, the weapon landing somewhere behind him. He slumps to the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. The Dark Knight's jaw clenches. He's pretty sure the crack he'd heard came from his boy's ribcage.
Bruce leans down to check, but Dick rolls himself away and uses one hand to propel himself to his feet, his face warping into a half scowl, half smirk.
He lurches forward to launch another attack, his fists raised, that shaggily black hair stabbing his eyeballs and making him thrash his head back and forth as if to rid himself of it. Batman steps to the side at the last possible moment, his own arm shooting out and snagging Dick's right before using the boy's own momentum to slam him stomach first on the floor.
Batman quickly grabs Dick's other arm and wrenches it behind his back, a knee pressing down on the boy's back to keep him from getting away.
Dick squirms and struggles, his feet trying to find a foothold somewhere, harsh laughs ripping his vocal cords and crushing Bruce's soul.
"You fucking asshole!" Batman hears Wallace screaming from somewhere behind him. He takes note of the anger in his tone of voice and can picture him walking up, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his face twisted into a snarl. "What gave you the right to go and leave us all alone? What gave you the right to just go and let them turn you into this?"
Dick's head snaps to look in the direction, his chest fluttering in attempts to take in even more air, his cackling still echoing around the room. Batman pins both of Dick's wrists in one hand (he's become that lightweight) while he pulls a sedative out of his belt with his newly freed hand. Wallace's rage continues, but Batman doesn't pause to put a stop to it. "Stop laughing! STOP IT JUST STOP! YOU DON'T GET TO YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! NO RIGHT TO GIVE UP JUST BEFORE THE LEAGUE COMES! WE'RE SAVED SO STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE AND LAUGHING YOU JERK!"
A sob sounds and is quickly followed by a thud, indicating that Wallace has collapsed to the floor.
Batman carefully slides the needle into Dick's neck, his thumb pushing down and administering the sedative. Dick's struggling continues for a minute while the drug spreads through his system before slowing down, his chuckling finally dying away as he falls unconscious. The amount of time this took worries Bruce. Dick had to have been exposed to sedatives and who-knows-what-other-drugs during the past three weeks numerous times if he was starting to build up a tolerance to it.
It's only when he's positive the boy is out that he stands and looks around. Martian Manhunter and Superman have freed the rest of the Team by now, and their inhibitor collars lay in a broken mess on the ground, leaving only Wallace left who still has it on.
They stand in a small circle, all of them pointedly refusing to look in his direction and face the bleached white face of their teammate. He makes eye contact with Barry, who nods silently at him while he slowly stands up and tests his leg. Another sob sounding from the young speedster causes Batman to jerk in his direction.
He walks towards him and places a hand on Wallace's shoulder. Years of taking care of Dick taught him that children tend to appreciate physical contact when they're upset. He looks up, his hands still wrapped tightly around his legs, and makes eye contact with the Dark Knight. "Wallace." He doesn't say anything else, and he's suddenly glad Dick chose Wally to be his best friend, for Wally seems to understand what he wants to say but can't, both out of risking bruising his ego and because he isn't a man that can explain feelings or gratitude.
Wally glances at Dick's unconscious form, and Batman follows his gaze. He senses Wally looking back at him before pushing himself up on shaky legs. While Wally moves toward his friends, Bruce moves back to his boy.
He stops a foot away and simply stares down, his eyes finally noticing all the little details he missed in his first scan of the boy when he had first entered the room. The sunken face, the thin hands, the slight smell of burnt skin that made his nose curl and damn it he wants to wring Joker's neck for electrocuting his boy, and the barely visible scar that looks suspiciously like a J engraved into his cheek. And who knows what else is currently hidden behind that clown outfit.
He starts to lean down but stops, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He should've done more… spent more time awake… should've known Joker was the only criminal crazy enough to do something like this.
A hand touches his shoulder, and when he doesn't react, it hesitantly yet reassuringly gives a small squeeze. "This… this wasn't your fault, Bruce," Superman says. Batman whips his head around and glares, now completely recomposed. "Right. No names in the field. Regardless, this wasn't your fault. Are you bringing him up to the Watchtower?" he asks, his hand falling back to his side.
Batman turns back to the boy and removes the cape from his back. He wraps it around Dick's thin frame before lifting him up, one arm under his knees and the other under his armpits. "No. I have a friend."
"Alfred?"
"No. Go help Conner."
oOo
Month: 1
Day: 1
Dick knew the rules; when captured, try to escape. If you can't, try to avoid harm. If you can't do that, don't let your actions get you killed. And above all else, stay alive.
Bruce scowls in distaste after watching the horrific clip of Dick's torture from the last three weeks. He didn't follow the rules, but Bruce couldn't bring himself to blame the boy. He only could've been put through so much before the instinct to purely try and escape overcame any rational thinking he should have been able to conjure.
He knows that Joker did not put everything he did to the boy on the old tape. As much as he refuses to admit it, he's scared of that fact. He has already watched the tape three times to pinpoint any faces to track down and to give Leslie and Alfred all bruises and wounds they should be looking for. Alfred knows Bruce is just looking for something to do to avoid looking at the heavily sedated boy.
Much to Alfred's disagreement, Dick is strapped to a metal table in case he wakes up while being washed. Even sedated, Dick's body gives little twitches as if trapped in a nightmare, though he doesn't whimper or jerk around like he usually did before his abduction.
Alfred dips the cloth into a pink tinted bucket of water before bringing it back up and rubbing circles around the boy's arm. This process continues for several minutes before he stops to clean the bucket and get a fresh batch of water. He brings more band aids back on the way and purposefully doesn't look at the boy's other arm which is littered with band aids from scabs breaking open during cleansing.
He's not sure if he'll ever get the memory of a terrified Bruce jumping out of the batmobile and scooping up a purple, white, and green lump of something out of the passenger seat. The only other time he'd seen the man so scared was when his parents died. It was only when that lump turned into Richard that Alfred felt fear. He didn't know what was going on at the time, but he knew who had the boy and that the sight he was seeing wasn't a good sign, even if he'd been rescued. Stripping the boy revealed a multitude of bruises and contusions covering his entire torso, the black-purplish markings standing out even over the obviously bleached skin.
It's when he moves to get a new cloth that the boy starts twitching in his restraints. Eyelids flutter for a long time before red rimmed, blue eyes snap open, a feral grin plastering itself across his face. A loud growling noise rumbles in the back of his throat.
Bruce is alerted by the strange noise, and Dick all but throws himself against his restraints the millisecond he steps through the door. He half snarls, half growls as he jerks at the restraints on his arms.
Bruce holds his arms out in front of him. "Calm down, Dick. Everything is going to be okay."
Dick ignores the man's voice and continues to thrash around, neck craned forward and teeth snapping as if trying to reach far enough and bite him.
Alfred, who had backed up to Bruce's side, approaches Dick's side, his body stiff and eyes assessing the situation. He gazes down at the young boy, his face softening. "Master Dick…" he murmurs. He's not sure if it's the familiar sound of his soft, English accent or just the gentle tone of voice he used, but Dick's bucking and thrashing halts. Blue eyes flicker up to meet his own, recognition flashing across the boy's face. "I must say," he continues in that same, gentle voice, "Despite the circumstances, it is good to have you home, sir. I have missed hearing your voice at the dinner table."
Dick tilts his head to the side, a soft smile gracing his young face.
Bruce observes from the doorway, his body tense and ready in case the boy was to try anything on the butler. He trusts Alfred to be able to protect himself and not let his guard down, but right now, Dick's behavior is unpredictable and there is no way to guess what is going on inside his mind.
Dick's mouth opens as if his wishes to speak and he smacks his lips together several times, his tongue flicking across his lips to wet them. When he does speak, his voice is hoarse from abuse. "… Alfred?"
The corners of Alfred's lips twitch upwards a centimeter. "Indeed, sir."
Dick turns his attention to Bruce and stares at him for a long time as though waiting for him to speak. Bruce, however, is too busy trying to read the boy's face and figure out what he is planning. That and his mouth went dry when he said Alfred's name.
All thoughts of reading the boy abandon his mind when Dick's gaze turns to something behind him and his eyes widen in fear. His chest heaves. Bruce whirls around, fists raised in defense. Nothing is there.
A ripping noise behind him.
A whoosh of air.
A smacking noise.
A grunt of surprise.
Bruce turns around once more, already bolting for the bed, expecting Alfred to be on the floor, but he's wrong. Rather than the butler on the ground, Bruce sees Dick's left fist uncomfortably close to Alfred's face, his wrist caught in Alfred's grip. He's not even sure how in the hell Dick managed to slip out of the leather strap.
Dick begins screaming through already torn vocal cords and rips his arm free from Alfred's grip. Fear unlike anything Bruce has ever seen before lights in Dick's eyes the moment he catches his arm and presses it back against the bed, his free arm struggling to find the leather strap. Alfred assists in keeping the boy's arm still, and it's a struggle even then.
Head rolling across the pillow in desperation, Dick moans and a tear rolls down his face. "No… god, please… let me go… someone help me, someone please help me!" His chest heaves desperately for air, the smirk gone from his face and his teeth clenched tightly together.
The strap is finally latched to the boy's wrist. Bruce turns to Alfred and speaks loudly in order to be heard over Dick's shrieks. "What's going on, Alfred?"
Alfred walks over to the medical table and pulls up a syringe filled with a sedative and returns. He gazes sadly at the young boy he'd helped raise over the past five years. Dick's eyes are hazy and unfocused, yet still filled with fear. "… I'm not sure, Master Bruce. I do not believe that it is us he is seeing."
Dick has stopped moving, his chest halted as though terrified to the point that he physically cannot move. Bruce grasps the boy by his shoulders, ignoring how bony he is beneath Bruce's hands, and starts shaking him in an attempt to snap him out of it. Dick doesn't respond.
"Dick!" Bruce shouts desperately. He repeats the boy's name several times over. Still no response or confirmation that he's been heard.
Brilliant blue eyes start to flutter closed from the lack of oxygen.
"RICHARD!" he hollers with a harsh jerk on the boy's shoulders.
Dick gasps loudly, air sweeping into his lungs so forcibly that Bruce was positive it had to have felt like acid rushing down his throat. He continues to gasp, and giggles find their way from his mouth, the smirking planted back across his face. He twists against Bruce's grip and rolls his head as far to the side as he can. He eyes the syringe in Alfred's hand, eyebrows furrowing.
A sweaty hand runs over his hair. "Dick… it's okay, Dickie… you're okay… we're going to fix you…"
He glances through his peripheral vision, not wanting to move. "I knew… you wanted… me dead," he manages to say between gasps and chuckling. "Go… ahead. Prove him right, Bruce."
Bruce sits on the corner of the bed and bends over his damaged ward, his palm directly against his temple. Fingertips curl a little, a grieved, soft smile crossing Bruce's face. He notices the burning forehead of his boy for the first time. "No, Dickie… no. I've got you now. I'm not going to hurt you. Everything is going to be alright."
Apparently Alfred, who had been slowly inching his way towards the duo, took too big a step. Panicked eyes dart back to the old man and the syringe. He's starting to panic again, his breathing labored and forced once more.
He pulls against his restraints, twisting beneath the unforgiving hold of the leather. "Let me out of these things!" he shrieks, fighting even harder when Bruce tries to calm him. "Let me out let me out LET ME OUT!" His joints and muscles creak and groan, threatening to snap as he twists them in ways that not even an acrobat were meant to go.
"Calm down, Dick! Just calm down!" And then, "Alfred, he's going to hurt himself! I'll hold him down!"
He fights even harder when a hand pushes his head down against the pillow while an arm pins his chest. "Please, no!" he screams. "Don't!"
Bruce places a gentle kiss to Dick's head. "Dickie, I… I'm so sorry," he murmurs into his ear.
And then the needle pierced his lower neck, liquid already seeping into his vein and spreading throughout his body. He slowly started relaxing, his body giving into the lull of the drugs. "He was right," Dick gasps weakly, waterlogged eyes starting to slip closed. "… You're going to kill me…"
The two adults could only stand and watch in horror as the drugs took full effect. Bruce stood up and brought his hands to his sides. Silence ensued for a full minute after the sound of garbled, protesting murmurs came to a halt.
"You think he's seeing Joker and the other bastards that helped him." His face curled in disgust. "You really think certain actions will send him back to what he endured at the old Arkham building?"
"It would not be the first time the young master has hallucinated something that was not there," he responded in a despondent tone. "I will make some scones for when he arises from his 'slumber'."
oOo
Month: 2
Day: 15
Alfred journeyed stiffly through the halls of Wayne Manor with a tray of food and tea held in his fingertips. The steaming liquid barely swirls with each quiet footstep as he balances the tray with all the experience of his age. He makes his way past the ballroom, through the parlor, and walks through the massive grandfather clock that hides the headquarters of the infamous Batman, protector of Gotham City.
Weeks had come and gone with very few changes noticed in the boy's behavior. A brief discussion with Leslie Thompkins over where Dick should recover in resulted in his moving up to his own bedroom. All furniture minus his bed had been removed in order to make sure he could not harm himself –or others– as well as to ensure the adults that he couldn't try and hide anything anywhere. Bruce now bore the scars of that mistake.
Leslie advised putting up posters and pictures of friends and family on the boy's walls to try and bring him out of the hole he'd dug himself in to protect his teammates. That tactic hadn't worked, and several photos were found torn and strewn across the barren floor the day after they were put up. They changed their method of having photos of friends on a different wall as the poster of the Flying Graysons as the pictures of Alfred and Bruce. The poster was the only thing ever left untouched, and they quickly realized that Dick must be avoiding staring at that wall, for when they put all pictures on that wall, they remained whole and untouched.
Bruce, however, never witnessed these troubles himself. Alfred informed him of them when the man requested updates, but otherwise has yet to see his ward ever since that first night. In fact, Bruce has been spending most of his down in the batcave, only ever seeming to leave when it's necessary –a villain breaking out of Arkham, or to make an appearance to the media, business, and social world as billionaire playboy Bruce Wane
But he hasn't visited Dick since the night he brought him back to the cave. Not once.
Alfred reaches the end of the long staircase, strolling into the main room of the cave. Bats flutter around and screech from the shadows as a greeting, and Alfred sets the platter down on the computer module and takes off the lid.
Bruce turns his chair to look up at the old man, the lights on the ceiling illuminating his face, and it's then that he gets his first good look at Master Bruce in over a week. Dark circles encompass his eyelids while blood red is the neighbor of his blue irises. It's obvious he hasn't shaved in quite some time, for a small beard and mustache is beginning to take over the once smooth chin and face.
"I brought some dinner for you, sir," he says, glancing pointedly at the platter.
Bruce stares at the ham and bean soup for a few seconds. "I'm not hungry, Alfred," came the blunt response.
Alfred frowns and places the lid back on the thin sheet of metal. "I already have one child refusing to eat, sir. I do not need a second."
"… He's still not eating?"
"I am afraid not, sir. At least, not of his free will. I still must insist upon showing him that poster to get him to eat." He continues, his voice sounding flatter than usual. "Dr. Leslie Thompkins is upstairs with him as we speak, but she has yet to make any progress with him."
When Bruce does nothing except to run his hands over his face, Alfred continues. "Perhaps… a psychiatrist would be most helpful in-"
"No, Alfred! Absolutely not!" Bruce intervenes. He levels a glare at the butler and earns himself one in return. He sags back in his chair after a long moment. "I don't want anyone else involved in this. Not if it can be avoided."
Alfred raises an eyebrow. "If I may, sir, everyone became involved the instant the Joker took the Young Justice team."
"No. Dinah is not being dragged into this. Leslie has this covered."
"Then you pray that Miss Thompkins will be enough," he replies coolly, his eyes chips of ice. "If she is unable to help the young master back to health, I will take it upon myself to ensure he receives the help necessary."
Without another sound from either men, Alfred leaves, the platter of steaming food left behind along with the echo of Alfred's threat. Leslie is there to meet him when he exits from the grandfather clock.
He settles himself into a chair while Leslie watches in awe. Of all the years she has helped Bruce, she has never once seen Alfred sit down in the house, and was coming to believe the old butler never sits, sleeps, or eats until now.
"Has Bruce seen him at all?" she questions, breaking the silence after a full minute of nothing. She glances away, as if the sight of Alfred sitting is something that no one should ever see.
"Only once, I'm afraid," comes the steady reply.
"Then what has Bruce been up to?" Her voice grows steely and suspicious. "I haven't seen him once since you called me for help, and that was almost two months ago. Is he getting himself into trouble again?"
"When is Master Bruce not getting himself into trouble?" he retorts, sounding so uncharacteristically unlike Alfred that Leslie actually has to take a step back in surprise. Even then, his sarcasm is hidden, but years of experience and encounters allow her to pick up on it.
She squints her eyes and studies his figure, taking note of the many scratch and bite marks littering his arm. It's then that she realizes that Alfred is truly stretched thin, weary and tired. If she didn't know any better, she would guess Alfred wouldn't mind a bottle of wine.
Instead of mentioning this, she responds. "What's he gotten himself into this time?"
He hesitated and leaned back in his seat, concerning Leslie. "He has convinced himself he is of more use finding those responsible for Master Dick's condition than to pay him a visit."
A second passes. Then: "What?"
A heartbeat of consideration is taken before she tears herself down the stairs, ignoring Alfred's cry of, "Wait!"
oOo
Month: 3
Day: 2
Bruce sighs in resignation as Dick spews another mouthful of mashed vegetables right back into Bruce's face. He silently wipes it off with a napkin and tries once more.
Dick falls back from sitting on his bed and rolls onto the floor with a loud thud. Chuckles quickly follow, indicating to Bruce that dinner time is over. He gazes at the barely touched container of mush and sighs once more.
"I've studied every one of Joker's habits at Arkham both before and after I took you in," he murmurs to the figure jerking around on the floor, "And he never behaved this way, so why are you acting so differently?"
Month: 4
Day: 7
Another plus side to moving Dick to his room, Bruce and Alfred were both quick to realize, is that they can tell whenever he's up to something at night. Bruce's room resides directly across from the boy's, while Alfred's is a little ways down from that.
In the beginning, the chortled laughter late in the night haunted Alfred and prevented him from getting much sleep unless he move elsewhere, but now the thumps, thuds, and cackling provides comfort for the two other residents. Noise promises that Dick is exactly where he needs to be and that Gotham City is safe.
The thudding only stops after Batman comes back from patrol, though he seems to somehow sense when Bruce takes a night off, for silence ensues the house just after midnight.
Over the three days, however, noise has been a promised constant. Neither men dare to go through another scenario of pinning Dick down while trying to jam a needle into his body to sedate him, especially with a straightjacket only securing his arms. Those legs and feet certainly delivered a lot of damage to Leslie's stomach the first time she invaded what he apparently deemed his personal space.
It was easy enough the night Bruce brought Dick back to take one look at that stark white face and clown suit and picture Joker's face instead. But once all the bleach had been removed… it was almost a nightmare within itself to see Dick's face twisting into such horrific postures, his once brilliantly beautiful blue eyes glazed over and crazed, begging for blood and gore.
Now it pains Bruce to look at that face and try to get him to eat something… anything.
oOo
Month: 6
Day: 17
The start of healing
Pure silence meets Bruce's ears as he ascends the stairs to go to his room. Alfred is in the kitchen on the other end of the house making himself a cup of tea, having told Bruce when he came back from patrol that Dick had gone dead silent the second he left for patrol. Something told him that there wouldn't be much sleep on anyone's end that night, and so he'd simply sat in Dick's bedroom, watching as the teenager merely gazed upon the pictures of his friends and family. It was when Bruce came back that he left his vigil.
Already prepared for the worst, his whole body tensing in anticipation, Bruce is still dumbstruck at the dead silence in the hallway. It was too silent. Unsettlingly silent.
He races to the doorway leading to Dick's room and pauses before opening it. If Dick is asleep, he doesn't want to wake the boy. It could be counterproductive in Dick to be woken after finally sleeping before Batman returned.
Taking a deep breath, Bruce pushes the door open without a noise. The room is exactly as he imagined it. Pictures of Dick with various heroes, a poster of the Flying Graysons, and a picture of Dick, Bruce, and Alfred all smiling cover the wall opposite of him while the others lay barren. A big bed lays next to the wall on his left. Everything else is completely barren minus the windows with bulletproof glass to his right. The curtains were shut.
Dick is sitting criss-cross in the middle of the floor, his back to Bruce. His head is tilted slightly to the side
"Dick?"
No response. In fact, there's no sign that he's even heard anything or noticed Bruce's presence.
He carefully makes his way around to the boy's front. Dick's face is grim, his lips pressed into a thin line while his eyes have a stare down with the wall. Following his gaze, Bruce finds himself staring at a photo of Dick, Wally, and Roy making faces at one another. This was taken on his twelfth birthday, he recalls.
Returning his gaze to the teenager, he witnesses a single, silent tear snake down a (thankfully, naturally) pale face and drip onto his shorts. Still, no indication is made that Dick is aware of Bruce being in the room.
He kneels down and slowly, carefully pulls Dick into a hug, gently running a hand through greasy, black strands of hair, much like he did when he first took him in and witnessed firsthand the agony of watching a child cry after a nightmare. Bruce is quick to decide the teenager needs a bath soon. He'll have to sedate him while he's between his stage of groggily waking up and snapping into erratic behavior. And a haircut, he notices dully. I'll add that to the list of things to get done tomorrow.
Bruce pulls him in tighter. Nothing happens for several minutes, and then giggles erupt from the back of the boy's throat. He backs away and returns to the doorway, his eyes closing while he runs a hand through his own hair. "It'll be okay, Dickie," he promises before the giggles could become too loud to be heard over.
He's overstayed his welcome. The door closes with a soft swishing noise, quickly accompanied by the clink of a lock.
oOo
Month: 8
Day: 24
Alfred blinks once. Twice. Three times.
After attempting one night of allowing Dick to roam around his room without a straightjacket hugging his arms at his sides, the one thing he did not expect was to find Master Dick curled up in his bed, the palms of his hands covering his eyes. The curtains are still closed while every photograph taped to the wall was flipped around.
"I brought you lunch, sir," he announces after taking the sight in.
"You should go," Dick croaks in reply, his voice raspy from misuse. "I- I could hurt you, Alfie."
"You would do nothing of the sort." Though he's reassuring the boy, he remains at the doorway with the platter of food, waiting for him to take it.
Over the past two weeks, the teenager seemed to be taking more control over himself and restraining from returning to the snappish, unpredictable personality he'd assumed while taken hostage. After going five days without letting out any sort of laughter or lashing out, Alfred decided to give him a chance to prove himself. So seeing him curled up and covering his eyes from the world was not at all what he had expected.
Alfred fixes the boy with a scrutinizing stare. He squirms on his bed. "I must insist you eat, sir. If you are to feel well, starving yourself is not the way to do it."
"… I hurt them, Alfie," comes the quiet response. " I… he's here, Alfie, he's always here, always watching…" He shudders violently and peeks up at the butler through his parted fingertips. "Always laughing…"*
Alfred blinks again. He takes a few steps forward until he's right in front of the teenager and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, the other hand putting the platter of food on the small table next to the bed. Dick flinches as though expecting to be hit. "I beg your pardon?"
"… Joker… he's here right now, whispering in my ear, laughing, telling me I'm just as bad as he is. That we're both the same!"
His shoulders slump. It's time to get some outside help. "Master Dick-"
"I can never return to normal, Alfie… you know this. I can never be the Batman. He doesn't kill. He doesn't give in…"
His gaze hardens and he removes his hand from the teen's shoulder. He waits patiently until Dick looks up at him. "The bloody hell do you think you are saying, sir?"
Now he has Dick's full attention. Never had the boy ever heard a cuss word leave the butler's mouth. But Alfred isn't done speaking. "Someone can represent what he stands for. The ideals that made Batman: justice, consequence, and ironclad resolve to protect , and there is none other has the wherewithal to uphold those ideals than you, Richard Grayson."*
"I've tried to change for him, Alfred. Look where that got me." He huffed and gestured to the barren room. "I tried so hard to prove to him that I could lead the team that-"
"You don't change for someone else. You change for yourself."
Dick smiles softly and eats his food in thoughtful silence. When Alfred leaves, he covers his eyes again.
oOo
Month: 10
Day: 6
Dick?
…
Dick, it's me. Dinah Lance.
…
Alfred called me in. He said you never remove your hands from your eyes. Why is that?
… he's here…
There's no one here, Dick.
Yes there is…
… Okay… who is here? Can you see them?
No…
Then how do you know someone else is here?
I just know…
Are they saying anything?
No…
Dick, there's no one else in here but me, I promise.
… Swear it?
I swear it.
…
All right, so how are you feeling?
…
Shrugging isn't an answer. How are you feeling, Dick?
… Okay, I guess…
I see… what are you doing?
Just… laying here…
Then why are you covering your eyes like that?
… He'll see them…
Who? Who will see your eyes?
… Have to protect everyone… can't let him see me…
'He'? Who is he?
… Him…
Alright, can you see him right now?
…
There's no one in here but us.
… I know…
Then why are you covering your eyes?
Can't take the chance…
What chance?
… Dunno what's real…
Dick…
… You're not real, are you…?
… Of course I'm real, Richard-
Don't call me that…!
I'm sorry.
… Only seven people get to call me that… and five of them are dead…
I'm sorry, Dick. I didn't mean to upset you like that.
…
You don't need to hide in a corner, Dick… There's no one here but us. You trust me, right?
…
You can't spend the rest of your life hiding behind your hands like that.
…
Okay. How about we go back to talking about-
No…
No what?
… No more talking… I don't want to talk anymore
How about we make a deal?
…
If you move your hands from your eyes for twenty seconds, I will leave you alone for the rest of the day.
…
Take your hands all the way away- good, just like that. I'll count, okay?
…
One… two… three… four… five… six… sev-no, Dick, you can't turn and face the wall. That's still hiding. There you go, just look right at me. Seven… eight. Nine…
Oh, god, please…
Ten… eleven… twelve, see? Is this all that hard?
…Yes…
Almost there… thirteen, fourteen, fif- no, you have to keep your eyes open… fifteen…
Make it end, please…
Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen, almost there… nineteen… twenty! See, was that all that-
Yes, god yes… now get out… please just get out…
I will, but, Dick, did anything happen at all? Did you see 'him?'
… not this time…
Did you expect him to?
…
You don't have to hide.
…
Right, no more talking. I'm leaving…
…
Dick?
…
It's okay,Dick. Everything is going to be okay, you don't have to cry… it's okay…
oOo
Month: 11
Day: 12
"Hey, chum," Bruce greets his ward. Dick hardly glances up from his nightstand. Colored pencils lay strewn across the wood. "What're you drawing? Mind if I take a look?"
Dick shrugs and rolls his chair back some to give Bruce room.
Bruce swallows hard. It's a drawing of Batman and Robin with many shadowed figures behind them of what could only be Gotham baddies. "Dickie, about Robin-"
"I know," he cuts it. Bruce stares in shock, surprised that he isn't going to fight against it. "I agree. Heroes aren't murderers," he growls, turning his head to glare at the ground.
"That wasn't your fault."
"It was entirely my fault, Bruce! I should've…"
"What?"
"I should've known better!" he screams, grasping his hair and tugging harshly. He pulls his knees up to his chest. "I should've been better. You never would have fallen for such an obvious trap!"
"I sent you and the team on that mission," he reminds the teen. "Hey, look at me, Dickie. Everyone makes mistakes. It's how we become better. You learn, and you correct."
Dick turns his icy gaze up to his guardian. "I'm not like you, Bruce! I'm not! You would never kill anyone!"
Bruce kneels. "You were left with no choice, Dick. You're right. You're not like me. You're better than me. I became Batman because I could never get over the murder of my parents. You became Robin to honor the lives of your family. That is something I can never do because deep down, I'm not a good person, but deep down, you are. It's not who we are underneath, but what we do that defines us. I'm the one raising you, but you're the one that gets to decide what kind of man you are going to be."*
oOo
Month: 13
Day: 31
Dick lands the quadruple flip with a pleased grunt. He starts when someone starts clapping and casts a mortified glance at his legal guardian, who is sitting on the bench. Even Alfred is smiling at him. He didn't hear them come in; he'd been so focused on his workout and acrobatics.
No one says anything for the longest time while Dick slows the pounding of his heart and heaving chest. Sweat pours down his face and body. He glances at the clock. 5:28. He'd been working out for over five hours. After a year of minimal exercise, he has to work extra hard to gain back the muscle and skills lost. He'd done fairly well over the past month.
Deciding there's nothing to say, Dick sprints back to the parallel bars and uses them to fly up to the miniature trapeze. He swings, flips, and twists for several more minutes, performing feats that impress Bruce and Alfred.
This continues for several minutes until Dick's hands, which could only be covered slick with sweat, slip from the bar. He flails in the air before twisting and landing in a tumble just before he would've landed flat on his back.
Bruce shoots to his feet and hurries his way over to Dick, who is crouched over his knees, head resting against the floor while he trembles, his body shaking fiercely. Bruce crouches next to him in concern.
"Dick?" He reaches out carefully and put a hand of the boy's shoulder. Dick jerks away.
"Don't," he gasps out. "Don't- Don't touch me…"
Bruce frowns.
A long silence follows. No one speaks. No one moves except for the slowing tremors coursing through Dick's body. Bruce just watches, ready to help when Dick is ready. He leans back after a long while, his knees drawn up to his chest while he wipes his hand down his face, getting rid of some of the sweat that had formed.
"Bruce…?" he asks after a long time, refusing to meet his guardian's eyes. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, kiddo," he replies.
Dick says nothing, his eyes glazing over and staring blankly at the wall. He wonders if the teenager is imagining something else, but then Dick shakes his head and wearily looks up at him. "If… If you were sent back in time to the night my family fell, knowing everything that has happened… all the trouble I would cause… would you still have taken me in all those years ago?"
Bruce doesn't hesitate. It doesn't take anything thinking or pondering. "In a heartbeat."
He stands and offers Dick a hand. Dick gladly takes it, and Bruce glances up at the bars hanging above before returning his warm and prideful stare to his son. He smiles. "In fact, I think you could teach me a thing or two."
A bright smile grows across Dick's face, but no one is concerned. They've long missed the smiling boy that brightened their lives. It was about time he found his way home.
oOo
Month: 18
Day: 1
It is time.
After months of recuperating, recovering, training, and overcoming, it is time.
He stares at the zeta tube before him, his face grim. He hasn't seen them in so long… he doesn't know how much they've changed… they don't know how much he has changed. He's worried for this reason. The last time they saw him he was going to kill them. He can only hope they've overcome that trauma. He can only hope they were given as much help as he was.
He doesn't smile much anymore, but when he does, it is well called for. He shouldn't startle any of them at all for that reason. Things have changed… he has changed.
No more clowns, no more torture, no more murder.
He told Bruce everything that happened to him and his friends two months prior to this moment, glad that Bruce had waited for him to be ready to talk about it instead of flat out demanding.
He's proud of the progress he's made, and can only hope he can earn back his friends' trust. After all, he is still a member of the team.
Rubbing his hands off on his sweatpants for the tenth time in what felt like an hour but was actually only a minute, he slowly lets out a deep breath.
He's dressed in a blue tshirt and black sweatpants, his sunglasses locked up in his room. No more secrets. None of it. It is just him, which makes him glad that Bruce is away at work and not here, because he doesn't know if the man is okay with the team knowing their secret identities. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that he's ready to return and take whatever they have to throw at him over the whole situation.
Discretely, he wonders how much they've changed in the past nineteen months. He doubts Megan is still innocent. He feels horrible for that. He traumatized them all. He doesn't have to even see them yet to know that. But he's going to try and make up for it.
"Give me one hour, Jay, okay?"
"One hour, Dickie-bird, and that's it."
The sixteen year old lets out another deep breath and steps forward. Dick feels the familiar whoosh of the zeta tube turning on.
Recongized: Robin B01
Today is the day.