THE FINAL CHAPTER OF DICK"S KIDNAPPING!

please, forgive me for any mistakes, i am sleep-deprived.

No joke.

I OWN NOTHING (except Wraith, Terrence, Jason, BlackHawk, and Blaine. :) )

WARNINGS: Blood, *GORE* (do not read if squeamish about fire-pokers), and protective family members. OH YEAH! deranged clown. :)

Batman loomed over McNash. The man was white, fat, had a long beard that stretched down over his orange jumper, and had holes in his ears from his plugs. "I dunno were da' Joker is!" he said, a bit more colorfully, mind you. "And even if I did, why da' 'ell would I tell you?"

Batman looked over to the security guards who stood in the corner- Steve. (haha. CH. 4) The man had worked there for a few years, so he knew the signal. Turning to the corner, he plugged his ears. Everyone behind the one-way glass did the same.

In one swift movement, Batman had McNash pinned to the wall, his hand shoving up and inward on the man's throat. BlackHawk loomed in the back, his grip on a bat-a-rang looking deathly.

Eyes wide, McNash gave in. "ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! I- I don't know where da' Joker is now, but I can tell you where he used ta' be!"

Bruce wanted to run to the Commissioner's office. It was past midnight, and Bruce Wayne had supposed to be there by 10PM. Now, the clock was nearing 12:35AM.

But he had to get all gussied up. He was a billionaire after all, and if his plane was delayed, he would still be dressed from his day. So, in one of his expensive suits, his hair slicked back, Bruce got into his Porsche and revved off into the night.

Dent sat back and rubbed his weary eyes, as if that would help his headache go away.

Almost ten hours had gone by, and nothing from the kidnappers had shown up- at the school, the police station, the Wayne residence.

And now, the blood from the lab was in. It was definitely Richard Grayson's. So now, they were dealing with a kidnapper that wasn't afraid to hurt his victim- the 8-year-old ward of Gotham's richest man.

Great...

No pressure there...

Suddenly, a very worry-faced Bruce Wayne burst into the brightly lit office. His eyes were wild as he ran up to Dent.

"Commissioner Dent, I just heard about Dick- oh my God- my plane was delayed and by the time I got here I-"

"Mister Wayne," Dent interrupted, "please, sit."

Bruce did. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He was laying it on thick, but hey- he was worried.

Opening his navy eyes, Bruce spoke slowly. "Commissioner Dent, can you explain to me just how this happened?" He didn't try to mask the anger in his voice.

Gulping, Dent began. "You see, Richard was waiting for his ride at school, when..."

Wraith grumbled as he sifted through the waist-high garbage. "Of course, I get put on digging through Joker's garbage for clues!"

Standing up to her full height, Batgirl grinned cheekily from him across the warehouse. Why the overflowing dumpster was in the warehouse, she had no clue. "You're a rookie, kid. Get used to it."

BlackHawk swooped into the room. "Did you all find anything?"

Wraith exclaimed, "Yeaaaaah... I found out that Joker likes Chinese food! Seriously, he hasn't been here for- what?- five months? Why is this place so important?"

"Because," BlackHawk explained while he rifled through a file-drawer, "we need to find some clues on where he might have gone next or who knows where he is..."

Batgirl suddenly gave a whoop and held up a photo. On it was the Joker, kissing the cheek of a very skinny, very voluptuous woman. She had bright green eyes, and big red lips. "The back says Dr. Harleen Quinzel. I bet she can give us some info on the bast-"

"Barb," Terrence warned. "Do I need to ask Alfred to wash your mouth out with soap?"

Sticking out her tongue at him, Batgirl dashed over to BlackHawk. Using his wrist-scanner, the teen looked up everything he could on this 'Doctor Harleen Quinzel'.

"It's kinda' a cliché name, ain't it?" Terrence asked, climbing out of the dumpster. "I mean, Harleen, like Harley and Quinzel like Quinn... This girl could be Harley Quinn!"

BlackHawk mocked shock. "Really?"

Terrence, not getting it, nodded excitedly. "See? I'm already a great detective!"

The two older heroes just rolled their eyes.

"Here!" BlackHawk exclaimed, opening up a file. "Let's see... Harleen Quinzel... twenty-four... used to be model... psychiatrist... -Wait, how the heck do you go from model to psychiatrist? Whatever..." He skimmed over the files, then grinned. "Harleen Quinzel lives at seventeen-fourteen Mockingbird Drive in Gotham!"

BlackHawk mounted his bike, a sleek black motorcycle with bright white wheels, and revved it up before 'flying' off into the distance.

Grumbling, Wraith climbed into Batgirl's side cart. "Hey," she said as she drove off, "I don't like it, either. You totally cramp my style!"

He woke up hungry. His stomach was so empty, that he wanted to puke. "Ugh..." the boy moaned as he sat up, rubbing his lower back. "Bruce's beds are much comfier."

Blinking harshly, Dick saw that there was a lot of light bleeding in from the hallway. He stretched and stood before doing a few stretches. Gotta keep fit if I'm gonna escape!

After doing several push-ups and crunches, the boy practiced several back-flips and front-flips. But he regretted it soon. Now, he was thirsty, and the sink didn't have any water.

Weren't they going to give him any food?

As if on cue, the door opened. In stepped the evil clown, holding a pair of rusty scissors. Dick gasped inwardly and scurried up against the wall. Joker pinned him to it with his foot. "Aw... Don't worry, Boyo! I'm just gonna get a piece of- ah!" he exclaimed as he snipped a long piece of dirty black hair from Dick's head. He ruffled the boy's hair, then looked down at the scissors, his foot still on Dick's throat, pinning him to the wall.

"Ya know..." he drawled, "it might be more convincing to get a bit 'o blood with the hair, Boyo... Wadda 'ya think?"

At Dick's scared expression, Joker howled with laughter. Then, quick as a snap, he sliced the rigid scissors across Dick's cheek, making a thin but long slash from his earlobe to the corner of the boy's lip. Too shocked to cry out at the stinging, searing pain, Dick only looked up into Joker's eyes fearfully as the clown brushed the hair into the blood on the scissors. "Alrighty! Now, Boyo, I'm gonna let ma' friend, Harley-boo, play with 'ya for a coupl'a minutes, okay?"

And he left.

Then, in came a woman dressed up as- well, a Harlequin. A very vixen-y Harlequin.

She held a sledgehammer in her hand. "Let's make showr you can'a ged out, righty, bubba?"

Laughing, she brought the hammer down right where Dick's ankle was.

Was, being the key-term there.

Now, it was on Harley's nose.

She screamed as blood spurted from the broken appendage. (Is a nose an appendage?) She glared at Dick, blood splattering all over her costume. He could hardly understand what she said, with her 'Jewrsy' accent and a bloody nose, but he knew it wasn't nice.

Then, Dick saw that the door was open just a crack.

He bolted for it, but Harley was right behind him.

Just as he reached it, the door slammed shut. "Nu!" the boy screamed and began to pound it with his tiny fists.

Harley chuckled as she cocked her hip out. "Well 'den, Boyo... Ye'd ain't getting' oubt any twime swoon!"

Dick looked up at her, his fear replaced by annoyance.

She was taller than him, and she probably weighed more... Could he take her?

"When your opponent has the weight and height advantage, you need to use your size to your advantage. Jump about, annoy them, even. Dodge, throw things, try to knock them out with long-distance attacks. Then again, if you have nothing to throw, you can always go your acrobatic way, Dickie, and do what you did to Jason."

Jason called over the chittering of bats, "I HEARD THAT!"

Bruce chuckled, then got into a fighting stance. "Alright, Dickie, come at me."

"Come at me, Boyo!" Harley taunted, sticking out her cherry-red tongue. "Come on, Boyo! You can't take me-AAUGH!"

Dick did go at her- he ran and jumped off of her stomach, using his feet to launch himself towards the door. Grabbing onto the bars from behind his back, Dick grinned as Harley stumbled and regained her balance. Then, glaring, blood still coming from her nose, she came at him with two heavy fists. "Alright, Boyo! You asked for it-"

But he didn't let her finish. Propelling himself off of the door, Dick kicked Harley square in the jaw. She fell, and a crack resounded when her head hit the ground.

Dick gasped, eyes wide. He hadn't meant to kill her...

But she had a pulse.

Thank you, God! The little boy thought.

But... Now what was he supposed to do?

The house was tiny, like those old run-down farm houses you see on the side of the highway between Oklahoma and Texas that have been there like for-frickin'-ever! It smelt too much like cherry blossoms and mildew, and it had paisley curtains and carpets.

BlackHawk, Batgirl, and Wraith had called Alfred (he made them check in every two hours when they weren't with Bruce, anyways) and told them about Harley. The old butler sounded worried when heard about Joker and Harley. Blaine had begged for them to come pick her up to help, but Barbara had just reminded her "You're too little, angel, maybe next time."

"Good job shutting her up," BlackHawk said with a grin as he rifled through a pile of the many piles of papers laying around the kitchen.

Batgirl rolled her eyes. "You just gotta treat her like she's a princess-"

"Which she is. And, sometimes, not in a good way."

Batgirl rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Look who's talking, Mr. Ego."

BlackHawk blushed. "I do not have an ego!"

"At the Galas, yes, you do. And a girl strapped to each hip."

"What about Bruce?"

Batgirl rolled her eyes. "That is different."

"HOW!"

"'Cause Bruce's got game. You've got... lame."

Grumbling, BlackHawk went back to the papers.

After almost an hour, they still had nothing. The two grumbled as they shifted all of the papers away. Batgirl suddenly cocked a brow. "Wait- Where's-"

Wraith appeared behind her.

"OH GOD!" She jumped out of her seat. "DON'T DO THAT!"

Wraith giggled. "Right. Anyways," he crossed to BlackHawk, handing him a file, "lookie what I've got!"

BlackHawk read over the papers, then grinned at the boy before him. "Good job, Terry... This might just work..."

Harley woke up with a grunt and saw that she was in her and Joker's bed. Joker lounged next to her, flipping through PEOPLE's magazine. "Wa?" she asked, rubbing her nose. "Ouch!"

Joker rolled his eyes. "Really, Harls, you let the kid break yer nose?"

"Its nobt blike I bmet tbwo!"

Joker just cackled at her. "Oh, well. I taught the kid a lesson! No one touches my Harls!"

Harley grinned. "Tanks, Bmista' Jba!"

Bruce paced at the police station, waiting anxiously for one of three things:

1) an update from the kids

2) an update from Alfred

3) a package or letter from the Joker

Bruce kept thinking about Dick- such a small, quiet little boy when he had first come to the Mansion. Now, he was still small, yes, but his little trouble-maker, high-spirited outlook had just started to come out. Sure, it drove Bruce and Alfred over the edge sometimes, and sure, the kid had only been there for a few months, but he was family. And you don't want to get on the bad side of the Bad-Family, that's one thing every Gotham criminal should know.

Or would know by the time Batman was finished with Joker...

A female cop suddenly walked into the room. "Sir!" she shouted at Bruce, walking over casually (she must not have been on the 'Grayson case'). "This just came in for you."

She handed him a large manilla folder. It bulged a bit, showing that there was indeed something of substance inside. Swallowing, Bruce nodded with a dull, fake smile. "Thank you."

She nodded, and Bruce ran off to the Commissioner's office.

He bounded in, and Dent stood when he saw the package. "He sent somethin'?"

Nodding, Bruce sat on the other side of the desk.

So slowly that it was physically painful, Bruce opened the folder and let the contents fall out onto the desk.

First, there was a photo of a little boy with dark black hair on a cot, rolled up into a ball. His shirt sleeves were ripped off and wrapped around his wrists, and a bit of blood could be seen. You couldn't tell whether the boy was asleep or awake.

What also fell out was a darkly-tinged black baggie. Slowly, the Commissioner opened it. Looking in, he turned pale before tumping out a long lock of black hair, soaked in dark red.

"Dick..." Bruce hissed.

There was also a note. On it read:

Dearest Mr. Wayne;

You may have noticed the lack of your youngest ward, Richard 'Dick' Grayson.

Well, you see, I have noticed the lack of money in my bank account!

You, only you, with five million dollars, at this location at 3AM: 1456, Westover Docks

Sharp.

Dearest Wishes,

Uncle Jack and Auntie Harls

Dent's eyes grew wide as he looked at the clock. "It's two-thirty! We need to go- NOW!"

First thing he noticed when he woke up for the third time was that he was sitting in something sticky and wet.

His eyes fluttered open to reveal a bit of blood on his nose, cheek, and lips.

Dick tried, in vain, to remember what had happened...

After he knocked out Harley, Joker came in. He was furious. He had something... What was it?... It was long and metal and sharp at one end- oh! A fire-poker...

A fire-poker?

Dick noticed that his right hand felt like it was on fire. He tested his neck and back to see if they were damaged and, after deciding that they weren't broken, he turned to see his hand- and screamed.

The fire-poker stuck out both ends of the boy's scrawny, pale hand.

Dick suddenly felt vertigo wash over his body, and he puked on the floor.

Then, he puked again after seeing that he was sitting in blood.

"A-Alright, Grayson," he said, trying to calm himself. "Just- just find out what h-h-hurts..."

Well, his hand for one. The pain was so searing, so excruciating, throbbing up his whole arm, all the way to his shoulder and pecs. His left foot hurt, too, and he realized that Joker had stabbed it. Great... Now I can't write or walk! Or fight... Crap...

Could he at least stand?

Maybe, if he got out that poker...

Dick looked at it, his eyes reflecting his soul perfectly. He almost puked again as he saw the rust mixing with dark blood. "Alright... Just- just pull."

Shutting his eyes tightly, Dick pulled.

"!"

Bruce was at the sight- an old, abandoned jail on the edge of Gotham Harbor. Several unmarked Pintos- yes, Pintos, rusty old hunch-backed ones (for camouflage, of sorts)- were all around him, hiding cops with their guns.

His large hand gripped the handle tightly.

Inside was exactly 5 million- cash.

How he had managed to pack all of that money in one case, no one knew. (Not even him.)

But now, as he approached the sight, he was nervous. Yes, the Batman, was nervous. Well, technically, he wasn't the Batman at the present time- he was the Bruce Wayne, so he had every right to be nervous.

Joker's voice blared over several speakers hooked all around the barbed-wire fence. "That's far enough, Brucie Boy. Now... send in the cash."

"Send out my son!" Bruce screamed back.

After a long moments' pause, Joker said, "No can do, Brucie."

Bruce shouted in response, "Then you can forget about your money!"

And he turned to leave-

The doors opened.

A fat, black man in all black came out, holding a dirty, bloody little boy in the crook of his left arm. In his right hand, he held a pistol, straight against the boy's head. Bruce's breath caught in his throat.

"Now, give us the money."

"Give me my son!"

Another pause.

"All together now, then, Brucie Boy!"

Slowly, Bruce and the mobster approached each other. Bruce held the case firmly at his side. The mobster had a tight hold on Dick. They reached the open gate, and the man actually dropped Dick on the ground. The boy let out a cry, and Bruce had him in his arms in an instant.

Then, the gun went off.

BOOM!

FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

Wraith leaped over the building tops, leaping gracefully, disappearing and reappearing into and out of the shadows. Batgirl swooped down below him, using her grappling hook to swing from building to building like Spiderman. BlackHawk was running in front of Wraith, at a slower pace, but the younger hero still had a hard time keeping up.

They got a call from Bruce about the hair, blood, photo, note- everything.

They had to get there before Bruce did.

Wraith was panting, now, tired and feeling weak. After all, it was- CRAP! 2:58.

"WE'VE GOT TWO MINUTES!" he screamed at BlackHawk, who imperceptibly nodded.

They kept going.

Finally, at exactly 3AM, they reached the jail.

The mobster man was right in front of Bruce, holding Dick in his arm, with a pistol aimed at the boy's head. Bruce held the case.

Suddenly the man dropped Dick. Bruce dove down to try and catch him.

The man turned his pistol on Bruce.

"NO!" Batgirl screamed and launched a bat-a-rang.

At the last second, the gun was thrust into the air.

BOOM!

The mobster flew back as bat-a-rang hit his forehead.

Bruce, holding the case on his wrist, holding Dick in his arms, ran away from the building, while Joker screeched over the intercom, "NO FAIR, NO FAIR, NO FAAAAAAIIIIIIIR!"

Dick was safe. Bruce was safe.

Their job was done...

Finally...

Well, almost finally.

The police stormed the place, found Joker and Harley, and took them off to Arkham.

It was easy-

Too easy...

BlackHawk looked over the cars, trying to catch a glimpse of Dick and Bruce.

Sure enough, there they were, being tended to by an ambulance that had just arrived. Dick looked alright- from a distance. But he was talking and moving around, even sluggishly. Underneath the mask, Jason grinned.

Dick was okay. He would be just fine...

Then, something moved in the shadows.

Jason's mask caught a glimpse of it, and the boy turned to face it. But nothing was there.

Anymore...

"Being a Wayne is hard," Dick said with a small smile as Alfred re-wrapped his hand. After getting surgery on it, the doctor said it would heal up nicely. Now, three weeks after the kidnapping, everything was back to normal- well, as normal as being a Wayne could be.

Alfred smiled and patted his charge's cheek. "Yes, it is, Master Dick."

He helped the boy off the bar chair and sent him on his way. Bruce grinned as Dick shuffled around in his cast, trying to get the TV remote from Jason. The older boy distracted Dick as Terrence rushed up behind him, trapping him in a head-lock. Barbara began to tickle the black-haired boy mercilessly, and Dick's squeals could be heard all over the Manor. Then, Blaine jumped on Terrence's back and began to beat him over the head with a pillow.

Bruce stood back, watching his wards while Alfred fixed dinner.

The butler looked up and smiled at the man he considered to be a son. "Master Bruce," he said, "something is bothering you still."

Bruce sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he rested his elbows on the bar. "Yeah, yeah Alfred, something is bugging me..."

"Well, sir, a penny for your thoughts?"

Bruce grinned. "Alfred, people pay millions for my thoughts."

"Yes, well, I can spank you, so tell me what is wrong, sir."

Chuckling, Bruce looked over to Dick. "It's Dick."

Alfred gave Bruce his signature eyebrow-cock. "What is wrong with Master Dick?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, no, no, nothing's wrong with Dick, but..." He lowered his voice. "I was so sure that it was Zucco that had him... Now, we're back to square one on catching that bast-"

"Eh hem."

Bruce smirked sheepishly. "C'mon, Alfred. You know what I mean."

Alfred shrugged as he drained the pasta. "Well, Master Bruce, all I can say is that you should enjoy the time you have with them. We will cross that bridge when we get to it, no?"

Bruce chewed on the words for a moment, then smiled and patted Alfred's shoulder. "Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred beamed in a way only an old man could. "Anytime, Master Bruce."

Bruce jumped into the fray his children had created, and Alfred rolled his eyes. "I wonder where I went wrong, sometimes..."

YAAAAAAY! Dick's alive!

Okay, I know this Ch. isn't my best, so please, no flames...

READ::::::::::::::: I'm gonna start a new series! YAY! (So now I have MTF, SHOT, and NIGHTWING (a Young Justice fic that i'm staring tomorrow! READ IT!))

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