A/N: I realized I hadn't added a title for this chapter. I added it here.

/

Between Father's and Sons

By

AJ

Part 10 – No Escaping From the Past

Exhaustion set in and Dick Grayson fell into a more natural sleep. His body would mend but his emotions were still in turmoil. The case that he stumbled upon had his mind reliving memories and those memories turned into nightmares that he hadn't had in years. It started with the circus. The ring master, Pop Haley made the introduction. He remembered as if it was yesterday. The crowd exploding with applause as he and his parents entered the big top and entered the ring, his father splitting off and climbing up the rope to the catcher's platform, he and his mother climbing the ladder to their platform. He remembered being nervous as he went first and his mother's words of encouragement.

"It's all right my little Robin. I'm right here with you. You've been practicing for months. You will do well."

And he did more than well. The quadruple death drop had rarely been accomplished. Only two others had done it, and they were adults. He would be the youngest to ever complete it. He followed his father's advice, closing his eyes and allowing his senses to do the work, letting him know when to reach out. His father's words also played in his head.

"Remember, when you are in that tuck, you're spinning too fast to see anything. If you try to look it will throw you off, so don't."

Feeling his father's hands connect with his, and the eruption of the audience as his performance, his part came to an end he felt an elation that he could not be describe. He stated to swing back toward the safety of the other platform, but instead he suddenly flies again and spins and as he drops toward the net, Dick stretched out his boy where he lands safely in the center. He moved to the edge and grabbing the net, Dick flipped to the ground. He gives the signal and the net is suddenly dropped to the ground. It would be the worst decision in his life, even though his parents had done their netless performance countless times, no one anticipated the ropes to break. And they did break, over and over again. He cried out, "NO! MOM! DAD!" but it did little good. They fell and landed with a resounding crushing blow that split them asunder, and the blood pouring out, over, and over again. The worst was seeing their eyes, the light that had been there, the pride, and the love, all gone in an instant. Never had he thought that love would ever be recaptured. In the silence of the recovery room tears streamed down Dick's face and silent sobs racked his body. The feeling of being alone crashed down on him.

Then from the blood rose up the image and the eyes of another, the self same eyes that understood and he didn't feel alone. He owed his life and had freely given his love, but the eyes grew cold and hard, the love that had been there, the pride, was once again lost, but the figure had not died, but simply turned his back.

"No, please, don't. I am dedicated, why can't you see that? Why? Please, don't turn away."

But the figure faded into the darkness leaving the young man to shiver in the cold. Dick tossed and turned and put his hands to his face and once again cried out his anguish. He was wishing this had all been a bad dream, but he knew that it wasn't. It was too much for the young man, too much. He couldn't bear to hear those cold eyes staring at him one more moment. Pulling the IV from his arm, the young man slowly, but shakily rose from the bed and once more tore the red vest from his body and the green gloves from his hands and dropped them on the floor. He stumbled out of the recover room, through the medical suite, and out into the medical bay in the cave. He continued to move through the cave where several vehicles were parked. The one vehicle he searched for through his misty eyes wasn't there. If it was he couldn't see it through his tears. His eyes landed on another, one he remembered well. It was now covered in dust. It had only been a few years since last he road in it, but it was now a thing of the past. He caressed the long black fender remembering.

'No, it's all gone,' he thought. 'I don't belong here any more. I should not have come. He probably won't help me now anyway. Death would have been preferable to this.'

The young man started to once again head down that tunnel that would lead him out into the night, not caring that blood once again started running down his leg. He would not get very far. Still in the garage, his legs refused to carry him further and though he fought to stay alert, his body once again betrayed him and he was falling, falling into the darkness away from the pain and the anguish and hopefully home to the two people he once loved.

/

Alfred Pennyworth was a man of great patience and fortitude. He appeared to be the perfect gentleman's gentleman with one exception. He was a man of deep feeling. He not only cared for the wellbeing of his charges, he loved them as family. To lose one would certainly break his heart, but to lose both would nearly destroy him completely. And yet for the sake of the world, he would carry on. And he certainly did carry on, 'though a bit sadder this past year,' he thought. And now, that a certain young man had returned he felt his spirit lighten just a bit. With a lighter heart, Alfred went down to check on his younger charge. It was about time to give the young master another round of the medications. It was also time to change his bandages. The poor boy had been through a lot within the past 36-48 hours. It was a wonder that he was alive. Alfred though recognized in the young man a strength of spirit that matched his other older charge. 'If only they weren't such stubborn mules,' he thought. 'Without the other . . .'

Alfred halted as he came into the recovery room, his eyes growing wide. Near panic set in when he saw the empty bed, the IV dangling without its owner, and the boy's uniform lying on the floor. He raced out into the main cave and to the communications bay. He was about to call his older charge when he heard the sound of the current batmobile pulling into the cave.

"Master Batman," Alfred said racing up to meet the caped crusader as he exited the car.

"Sorry I'm late, Alfred. I had to stop a robbery . . . What is it?"

Alfred realized he must have looked like a deer in the headlights, a clear giveaway that something was terribly wrong.

'Is Robin all right?"

'He's gone, Sir."

"Gone? How? Where?"

"I don't know," Alfred explained about going to check on him and found the bed empty.

"He couldn't have gotten very far. We better search the cave."

They found Dick lying not too far from the older batmobile that Batman had not driven for three years. His bandages were soaked with blood.

"He's torn his sutures.

Picking him up in his arms, Batman carried Dick back to the medical bay and the recovery room. They repaired his stitches and re-bandaged the area. Alfred reattached the IV and once again added the painkiller, antibiotic, and the fever reducer.

"It looks like he was trying to leave, but why Sir?" Alfred asked.

Batman went to the communications bay and typed a code into the keyboard. A video came up on the screen showing the recovery room. It was in night vision mode. For now they could see the young man just lying on his side as before. Batman backed up the video until he noticed Dick moving around in his sleep. He pushed up the volume on the sensitive hidden microphone that recorded every sound that was made. Dick's pleas and anguish cries came in clear as day.

"He was dreaming . . . a nightmare . . . about his parents. He hasn't had that dream for a long time. What would cause him to dream about that now?"

It was apparent that the nightmare changed with the cadence of Dick's voice, the anger and disbelief, and the hurt was palpable. It was clear that Dick's life over the past year had turned for the worst since . . .

'No, this is my fault,' Batman removed the cowl becoming Bruce Wayne. An arm rested on his shoulder.

"You must ask forgiveness," Alfred said. "It is the only way that both of you will find peace."

"How can I? I don't even know how to say . . ."

"He knows that," the Butler admonished. "When has there ever been a time when he had not known?"

You're right. There's never really been a need to express it. We've done it through our actions."

"Go to him," Alfred said. "You will find the words."

Once again, Alfred's wisdom hit Bruce to his very core. Remembering the feel of Dick in his arms as he carried him back to the recovery room, it felt right. Holding his son, his child, he could not help but want to comfort him and take away the pain he had caused. The year without his Robin by his side had thrown him into one of the darkest times of his life. He wanted to deny that he needed a partner, but how could he forget the years they had together. He just wasn't Batman he was also Bruce Wayne. It wasn't Batman that dried the tears of the ten-year-old boy when he cried out for his parents in the middle of the night. It had been Bruce Wayne. It wasn't Batman who held the boy's hand when he cried over a fallen nest of baby birds that he could not save. Or even when the boy was sick, it was Bruce Wayne who wiped his fevered brow. And the night, that horrible night for both of them, it wasn't Batman that was jealous with rage, for logic told him that Robin was the leader of the Titans just as he was the leader of the JLA. It was Bruce Wayne who was jealous of Dick Grayson, jealous at the fact that Dick Grayson didn't seem to need him any more. So, it was Bruce Wayne who reacted, Bruce Wayne who fired him, Bruce Wayne who rejected him, and it was Bruce Wayne who needed to fix . . . to ask forgiveness of his son.

Because, it was to Bruce Wayne Dick came to, asking for his help. Dick wasn't in costume, but if he didn't want Batman's help, then whose help did he want? And why was Dick having nightmares about his parents? Bruce remembered at that moment when Dick came to him in his study. He mentioned Newtown and the Haven and new designer drugs. Someone was behind it all. Dick must have stumbled onto something that had shaken him to his core. He tried to stop them, but instead, Dick had returned here. He knew he could get help, not just for the injury that had been done to him, but for whatever Dick had found out. He had to know. Bruce though had to shut away the Dark Knight, the Detective. His son didn't need him, didn't want him. He wanted Bruce . . . but what could Bruce do? For now, ask forgiveness of his son and help his son to heal. Then perhaps, they could go from there.

Bruce moved to the uniform vault. Pulling off his gloves, he walked inside. Within minutes Bruce Wayne had emerged fully dressed in a set of day clothes. He moved through the medical bay and surgical suite and into the recovery room. He took the chair by the desk and wheeled it over to the bed. This time, he didn't leave. He took his son's hand and held it, waiting. Soon his tears fell freely, remembering. And then his voice softly said, "Please, forgive me."

Continues with Part 11