"I want to make something clear to you right now," Dick's social worker snarled once they were safely away from the cemetery and enmeshed in traffic. "No matter what Mr. Wayne might have led you to believe, and no matter what that devious little brain of yours might think it's cooking up, there is no way that one of the richest men in the country wants anything to do with a thieving Gypsy like you. He was being polite today because it's good for his image, nothing more."

Trembling with cold in the backseat, Dick flinched. "Please don't call me that," he whispered. "It's…it's not a nice word."

Had they not already been stopped at a red light, the woman in the driver's seat would have slammed on the brakes. Robbed of that dramatic gesture, she stared at him in the rearview mirror with slitted eyes. "…What did you just say?" she asked dangerously.

"I…" She heard me. She just doesn't care. Don't make her angry, he advised himself. "…Nothing," he bowed his head.

"I didn't think so," was sneered back. "When we get back to the Center," she went on smugly, "I've been told that you're switching rooms."

"…Switching rooms?" His eyes widened. "How come?"

"Because the police and the housekeeping staff are busy trying to clean up the mess your roommate left them. The room is uninhabitable right now."

"…I don't understand," he breathed slowly. "What's wrong with Caleb? What…what 'mess'?"

"None of your business."

"But didn't they-"

"What did I just say?"

"…Sorry," he apologized, lapsing into silence. As unfamiliar buildings flashed by, distorted by the rivulets of rain coursing down the windows, he pulled his knees to his chest and tried to warm up. I wish she'd turn the heat on back here, his teeth chattered as he stared outside. But if I ask, she'll get mad at me again. Knowing that, he simply wrapped his arms around himself and suppressed a cough when his throat began to tickle. I hope Caleb's okay, he frowned. I guess he must have told me to go to the infirmary because he was planning whatever it is that he did…still, why would he make a mess? I hope he didn't get in too much trouble for whatever it was that he did…

His thoughts moved on to the CPS agent's words about Bruce. …She can't be right about him, can she? he wondered desperately. I mean…he's been so nice…and he came to the funeral, which he paid for, and he stayed with me afterwards, and…I dunno. He seemed like he wanted to ask me something, but couldn't for some reason. Some people have a hard time saying what they really want to, mom says…said, he gulped as he corrected himself. Maybe he's like that. Maybe there was something important he wanted to talk about, and he just couldn't. But if he wanted to ask me something like that, that means it can't have been just an act, right? He must…he must really like me?

Not even his best logic could quite convince a small part of him that the social worker's assessment was incorrect, however. If someone who understands doesn't want anything to do with me, no one else will, either, he realized. …She'll probably leave me at the Center for the rest of my life if no one takes me in. And if she keeps telling people I'm a thief, who would want to bring me home? I can't blame them. I just wish she wasn't so mean, or at least not a liar. I've never stolen anything in my life!

His chill and worry were only sufficient to override his utter physical exhaustion for so long. Before they were even halfway to their destination, his eyes slipped closed and his head fell forward. Although no full nightmares interrupted his dozing, a half-dozen strange specters lurked at the edges of his mind, poking their heads in just long enough to make him twitch before they retreated. When the car came to a rough halt in front of the fence, he awoke feeling as if he hadn't slept at all.

Ugh, my head hurts, he groaned silently as he climbed out and began the trek inside. The rain had stopped here, but the sidewalks still bore large puddles to mark the passage of the storm. I think I really do need to go to the infirmary. Not that I can tell her that, he glanced over at the woman striding along slightly behind him, her fingers pinching the collar of his soaked jacket as if he might try to flee. Miss Linda. I bet she'll listen. If I can just find someone who will get her for me…

Inside, the agent left him sitting in the lobby under the uninterested eye of the same gum-chewing girl who had buzzed them back on his first day at the Center. "You will stay in this seat," she instructed him sibilantly, then disappeared down the corridor. "Watch him, Meredith," she snapped her fingers at the receptionist as she passed. "He's a sneaky one."

"Yes, ma'am," she straightened immediately and stared at the boy. As soon as the social worker was out of sight, however, she gave a little snort, blew a particularly large bubble, and went back to the society magazine she'd stuffed under the counter when the front door had opened.

Dick just looked at his knees, sneezing occasionally. He tried to keep his thoughts empty, but too much had happened already today, and a thousand stark images barged in behind his eyes. His parents' coffins, beads of moisture plopping off of the fine scrollwork as they sank irretrievably into the earth; Caleb's look of warning, something hopeless in depths of his eyes as he bade him go to the infirmary after the funeral; the hateful twist in the CPS agent's mouth as she labeled him with the 'G' word; that funny little expression Bruce had worn for a moment in the cemetery while they were talking. …It was like he doesn't really smile much, and he couldn't quite remember how it went, the boy reflected. That's sad, too. Everything about him is just…sad. I know why that is, but…I wish I could do something to help it, especially since he's done so much to help me.

"What're you doing out here, son?" a tired voice interrupted his musing.

"Hi, Lionel," he looked around to find the janitor approaching him slowly with a broom in his hand. "My social worker told me to wait for her here," he shrugged, then coughed. "…Sorry."

"Can't help the human body," the man waved off. "You doing okay today?" he asked carefully a moment later.

"…Not really," he confessed. "It…I buried my parents a little while ago." It sounds so plain that way, he frowned. 'I buried my parents.' 'My parents are dead.' 'Someone killed my parents.' Each phrase, he noted, was a mere four words. How can four little words hurt so much? he wondered, sniffling.

"Yeah, I heard that was where you'd went." Checking to make sure that no one was approaching who might reproach him, he sat down stiffly. "…You ain't supposed to be here," he shook his head slowly.

"…But she told me to wait," Dick replied helplessly.

"Naw, I meant here here. In this place. The Center. You've done nothing to deserve it."

"…She doesn't like me."

"Shit, boy, that woman don't like herself. It's hard to do nice to others when you can't even do nice to yourself." As he spoke he straightened his fingers with a pained look and began to gently massage the bunched knuckles. "Arthritis gets real bad when it rains. Ain't so bad on days I don't work, but with the extra cleaning we've had today my hands are all knotted up."

Extra cleaning…Caleb. "Did…did Caleb make a really big mess, then?" he asked. "She said I can't go back to my room."

"…No, I reckon you can't," Lionel pursed his lips. "Poor, lost boys," Dick thought he heard him murmur.

"Is he in a lot of trouble for what he did?" he pushed further, hoping to determine if he was getting a new roommate as well as a new room.

The janitor stopped his rubbing and turned to look at the child beside him better. "I suppose that depends on what you believe, son," he said with a frown. "Some'll say he's in trouble for eternity; others, like me, we figure he'd already done enough atoning to make up for it."

He was confused, but an uncomfortable coil of comprehension was beginning to wind up in his guts. "Lionel," he breathed, "what are you talking about?"

"Ain't nobody told you yet?"

"T-told me what?!"

"…Caleb done killed himself this morning. Hung himself from the sprinkler pipes with the sheets while he was supposed to be on bed rest."

The chill that had been dancing along Dick's skin ever since he'd gotten into the car suddenly dove all the way to his bones, freezing him solid. Caleb. Why? We…we could have talked. I know I'm just a kid, but I'd have listened. So would Miss Linda. We could have helped each other, maybe. But…why?

Lionel went on, oblivious to the boy's shock. "He left a note. Real short one, pretty much just saying he was sorry, and he couldn't take no more, and that he'd been thinking about doing it for a while but there wasn't enough for a good rope with just his sheets. When he came back from being up to the hospital and saw they'd made up the other bed, I guess he decided it was his time to go."

My sheets, Dick moaned. He needed my sheets before he could do it. If I weren't here…if I hadn't come here…he'd be alive right now. A corner of his mind knew that none of it was his fault, but the rest was too busy being appalled to care. Caleb. I'm so sorry. I don't know what this place did to you, but…I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that.

"…There's one other thing," the janitor continued.

"W-what's that?" he asked hoarsely.

"Another boy got released today. His sentence was up." He paused. "Kevin's roommate."

…No. Oh, please, no. Not Kevin.

"…Heard tell they're putting you in with him, on account of there ain't no other beds." He shifted with displeasure, a deep frown on his face. "You're in for a hard time. Keep your head down."

Footsteps approached, and Lionel stood quickly. "Ma'am," he nodded as Dick's social worker returned to the lobby.

"…Good, you don't look busy," she huffed, shoving a jumpsuit at him. "Take him to his new cell, and make sure you get his regular clothes back after he changes. Then lock him in. He can spend the rest of the day there, there's nothing else for him to do right now anyway."

"I'm just the janitor, ma'am," he said hesitantly. "…I ain't supposed to be doing nothing like this unless Miss Linda or the Director tells me to. No disrespect, but I better check with one of them."

"Linda is off-site, no doubt trying to explain how and why one of her cases took his own life. These are orders from the Director himself," she informed them. "So, unless you want me to tell him you refused to carry out his wish, take this," she shook the clothing, "and that," she jabbed her finger towards Dick, "where they belong."

"…Yes, ma'am," he pursed his lips and accepted the garment. "C'mon, now. I'll show you the way," he directed the boy to follow him as the CPS agent departed once again without a word to her charge.

A short while later Dick turned slowly around in the middle of his new room, his too-large jumpsuit hanging off of him as he took everything in. …It's identical to the one next door, he realized, except they stripped the sheets off. I guess they don't want anyone else doing what..what Caleb did. Indeed, only scratchy wool blankets covered the beds, looking unusually inviting as he coughed and felt a shiver run down his spine. I don't know which one he normally sleeps in, so…I guess I'll just hope I pick the right one, he swallowed hard as he crawled up onto a mattress. The instant he closed his eyes, he was asleep and in the clutches of one of the strangest dreams he'd ever had.

The big top looked as it had on Saturday night, except that none of the circus people seemed to be present. Peering upwards, he found that a change had been made to the show setup; rather than the trapeze arrangement – of course they can't put that up, his dream-self thought miserably, it's broken – a narrow beam spanned the two middle-height platforms. On it stood Caleb, one foot planted on either side of where a thick rope was looped around the very middle of the walkway. …Caleb? What…what are you doing?

The older boy turned slowly around, seeming to examine the crowd. The risers were full, Dick noted from the ground, and a hush fell over them as the figure over his head turned his stare onto each section in turn. When he'd looked in all directions, he tilted his head back and raised his hands in a gesture of begging.

"…Won't anyone help me down from here?"

It was a said in a whisper, but the hopelessness in the words gave them a haunting echo that carried to the furthest reaches of the tent. Yes! the boy at the base of the ladder wanted to scream as he suddenly understood what the rope was for. Don't do it! I'll help you down! Please, don't!

But his mouth refused to open. He tried to wave his arms, jump, cartwheel, anything to catch the elder's attention and make him realize that he wasn't alone, but it was no use; he had no control over his own body in this dreamscape. All he could do was watch as no answer came, leaving Caleb to let his shoulders slump before he bent down and picked up the noose. "…I guess this is what you all paid to see," he commented. "The grand finale. Well," his eyes seemed to fall to Dick, whose muscles were still locked, for just a second, "maybe not the grand finale…but an end of some kind." Then he dropped the loop over his neck, turned it around the right way, and took a deep, watery breath. "…This is a really killer crowd," he warned the air. "Nothing you do is ever good enough. So get out however you can." And he jumped.

In the empty room, the restlessly sleeping child cried out as the rope pulled tight, halting Caleb's downward momentum. In the big top, he was unable to make any sound as a horribly familiar snap accompanied the breaking of the older boy's neck. He hung there, swinging back and forth slowly as a deep roll of laughter swelled up from the surrounding masses. Are you all crazy?! he gasped, staring around at them. This isn't an act, or an illusion; he just killed himself because none of you would help him! He just killed himself! But the people were amused, it seemed, and as the novelty of the first suicide wore off they began catcalling for an encore. He can't come back and do it again, you stupid people! He's…he's…Caleb's…

Caleb wasn't the one they meant to give them a second show.

…No, his eyes widened in abject terror as his feet began to shuffle to the ladder. No! he tried to fight. I don't want to! Let me go! Somebody…anybody…please!

He gained the platform without difficulty, his protesting brain disconnected from the body dragging it along, and made his way out towards the middle, where a second rope had appeared beside the one Caleb still dangled from. Just as his former roommate had done, Dick surveyed the crowd from on high. Now he could make out a few faces, Kevin and his social worker among them, both sneering delightedly. …Where's Bruce? he wondered wildly. Maybe he can save me. Maybe…maybe if he comes in at the last minute, like he did at the show…maybe he'll say something…maybe he can stop me…no one else will, I know that now…

As Caleb had, he voiced his one-sentence plea as soon as he'd inspected the entire tent. Please, Bruce, he begged as the silence remained unbroken. Save me. Where are you?

Despite the fervency of his pleas, after a few seconds his hands reached down for the noose. Please, he breathed desperately one last time, the word only leaving his lips in the real world. And then, as if he'd been pushed, he was falling.

It was only a short trip through the air before he slammed into the wall and snapped awake with a cry of pain. Hands were on him immediately, dragging him upright and shaking him. "Stop!" he cried out, half-awake and knowing only that he was cold and bearing pain inside and out. A fist connected with his left cheekbone, drawing a full scream from his lips.

"Don't you tell me to stop!" an enraged teenaged voice came, slamming him back into the concrete once more before releasing him. "Not when you were sleeping in my bed!"

"I d-didn't kn-kn-know," he sobbed, making no attempt to hold himself up. "I'm s-s-sorry…" Asleep when the attack commenced, he'd been completely unprepared for it, and his panic was exacerbated by the fact that he had never been purposefully struck before now. I wanna go home, he whined to himself, holding his throbbing eye as tears poured down his face. Mama…daddy…Bruce…someone, get me out of here. I don't want to end up like Caleb, and I don't want Kevin to kill me, either…please…

"You're going to be even sorrier if you wake me up again with your stupid baby shit," Kevin informed him. "So maybe you better just stay the fuck awake tonight so I don't have to get out of bed and shut you up."

Dick's brain fumbled with that idea. …But I stayed up last night because I didn't want to wake you. How can I stay up two nights in a row, even if I did just take a really long nap? I'm still so tired…but I don't want to get beat up…

What little warm air had stayed trapped around him during the one-sided fight suddenly disappeared as Kevin ripped his blanket away. "…I think I'll take your blanket for my inconvenience in having to chuck you out of my bed," the abusive boy judged. "Now quit your blubbering and figure out how to keep your mouth shut, or you know what will happen." With that, he tore the cover off of the other mattress, carried both blankets to his bunk, and laid down with a self-pleased smile. A few minutes later, his snoring filled the room.

Dick stayed on the icy floor for a long time before he could work up the courage to move to the bed. It squeaked slightly when he rolled onto it, and he froze, waiting for new blows to come. Kevin's breathing was uninterrupted, however. Shaking with fever and fear, he curled up and cried silently, trying to muffle his coughs when he couldn't hold them back any longer. Can't sleep. Can't. I don't want him to hit me anymore… He touched his already swollen eye gingerly. It hurts…I didn't mean to…please…

With that litany running through his head on repeat, he passed the longest night he'd yet experienced in his young life.

Author's Note: Tomorrow...Bruce SMASH! Or at least flips out in a chillingly cold manner. Happy reading!