Holding the rail firmly, Dick moved a shaking leg forward and down to the next step. His leg wobbled when he put his weight on it but thankfully held. Moving his hands forward one at a time, Dick moved his other leg to the next step. Dick paused to catch his breath and give his body a chance to rest. Looking up, he counted the steps he'd already managed. Thirteen. Only another sixteen to go.

Facing forwards again, Dick gripped the rail as tight as his weak hold could manage and moved his left leg forward. As he shifted his weight to lift his right leg, the left one gave out beneath him. Dick's body lurched forwards in a free fall even as he scrambled for the railing, his heart jumping in his chest. His hands missed their goal, and his body tumbled down the steps, landing with a heavy thud at the bottom.

"Dick!" The frightened yell could be heard from six rooms away.

Dick straightened out his limbs and tried to catch his breath. Nothing hurt too bad, except maybe his pride. But he figured he'd survive that. He was just grateful the stairs were carpeted.

Bruce rushed into the room and knelt by Dick. His hands roamed over Dick frantically while Bruce berated Dick worriedly. "What were you thinking? You're supposed to be in bed. The doctor said you could only leave the hospital if you promised to stay in bed for a week. You're still too weak from the blood loss. What were you thinking!"

Dick feebly pushed Bruce's hands away. He wasn't injured; there was no reason for Bruce's panic. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he all but whined. Bruce had been mother-henning him since before they'd even left the hospital. "I just wanted to move around a bit."

Bruce finally stopped his anxious fretting and helped Dick to sit up. "The doctor said you had to stay in bed for at least another week."

"I know," Dick groaned, falling back dramatically to lie on the ground again. "But it's so boring!"

Bruce chuckled a little.

Dick smiled up at him. He liked Bruce's laugh. Making theatrical hand gestures, he continued, "I'm not meant to lie around all day. I was almost born on the trapeze. Literally! Mom told me her contractions started right after they finished a performance. She wasn't performing, of course. But she was helping Dad from the platform. Dad said even then I refused to stop the show for anything."

Dick's smile wavered. He hadn't really talked about his parents except for a few short conversations with Bruce here and there. It was kind of…nice talking about them again. And that made him feel guilty.

Dick sat up and looked at Bruce. "Is it bad to think about them…my parents, I mean…and be…?" Dick paused and looked away, unsure if he should continue. Would Bruce be disgusted by him? What kind of son could be happy about his parents after they died?

Dick almost jumped when Bruce enfolded Dick's hands in his own. "Happy?" the man finished for him. Dick's eyes returned to Bruce's, stunned, guilty. "Dick, it's perfectly normal to be able to look back and be happy. Do you think your parents would want you to be sad whenever you think about them? No. They'd want you to remember the good times, to remember the best of them and be happy." Bruce tilted Dick's head up with a hand to his chin. "Do you understand that, Dick?"

Slowly, Dick nodded his head.

"Good. Then how about we stand up because I have something to show you." Bruce got on his feet before holding his hands out to Dick. Dick grasped them and let Bruce pull him up. They slowly made their way through the hallways, Bruce hovering like the helicopter parent he was quickly becoming. He even had his hand on Dick's back in case he stumbled.

Bruce had been so attentive to Dick since he had woken up in the hospital. It made Dick feel…he didn't know… He was confused. Was Bruce only acting like this because of Dick's incident? Did the man only care because he felt responsible for pushing Dick to that edge? Dick didn't think that was it. Bruce had been nice before the incident. He had cared about Dick before it happened. Then did Bruce truly care about him like the man said? Dick wanted to believe that so badly. He wanted Bruce to care about him…love him… Perhaps…, he thought, looking up at Bruce, like a son…

Dick's mind simultaneously craved and rebelled against that thought. His heart wanted it like nothing else. But his mind protested the grave betrayal to his parents such a thought implied. How could he even think something like that? They would be so hurt and disgusted if they knew what he was thinking.

They would be hurt and disgusted by a lot of things I've thought and done. Dick pulled at his sleeves the smallest bit, unconsciously trying to make them cover his forearms more than they already did.

Bruce noticed the motion and stopped walking immediately, forcing Dick to halt. Dick looked up in confusion. They were in the middle of a hallway with no doors nearby. What does Bruce want to show me here? Dick's confusion was cleared up when Bruce held out his hands, palms up. Dick squirmed, uneasy, but nonetheless pulled up his sleeves to his elbows and laid his wrists in Bruce's palms. He'd made a promise to Bruce, and he had to live up to it.

Dick didn't look at Bruce or his arms. He knew there was nothing new for Bruce to find, so the man wouldn't be upset with him. Dick just didn't want to see the scars, the new ones. The cuts he'd made that put him in the hospital had been deep, very deep. They were uneven and unorganized. They formed ugly fault lines across his skin. Dick didn't like them or what they implied.

Bruce let Dick's wrists fall and gently stroked the back of Dick's head before replacing his palm on the small of Dick's back. They continued walking. Dick pulled his sleeves down again.

"Dick, you know we're going to have to talk about this sooner or later, don't you?"

Dick looked down to where Bruce's hand rested gently on Dick's uninjured forearm. Well, uninjured was relatively speaking. His right arm may not have been wrapped in the bandages that covered the deep lacerations on his left, but there were still rows of scars, old and new, lining the skin.

Dick was tempted to pull his arm away but didn't. He was tempted to say, "I choose later" but didn't. He was tempted to do a lot of things. Instead, he looked Bruce in the eye and nodded.

"Dick, can you tell me why you cut yourself?" Bruce's voice wasn't angry or upset. It was carefully neutral.

Dick took a breath. "It's…It's hard to…explain, really." Another breath. Memories surfaced. The pain. The chaos. "It's just…sometimes too much is happening, and everything hurts." He remembered the pain gripping him, holding him down in the darkness. It wouldn't let go, wouldn't go away. The grief and fear gagged him, choked him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. "It all just spins out of control, and I can't stop it. Too much chaos. I need to get it out!" Then the chaos began to consume him.

"Dick, stop!" Bruce grasped Dick's hands firmly, pulling them away from each other. Dick looked up from where he'd been unconsciously digging his nails into his forearm, his face twisted in pain. He'd drawn blood.

Dick looked to Bruce, lost. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," he whispered.

"Dick, you remember what the doctor said when he came in, don't you? He said you don't need the restraints, but you must stay calm. Can you do that for me, Dick?"

Dick stared into Bruce's eyes. They were so calm, so steady, like a safe harbor for him to rest in. He breathed deeply and refused to look away.

"That's it, Dick. That's it." Bruce's voice was secure, soothing. Slowly, he released Dick's hands. "Now I know this is going to be hard for you, but we need to discuss this. I want to help you stop cutting, Dick. I want to help you work through this."

Dick's heart quickened. "I…I can't stop! I need to cut. It helps me."

Bruce looked shocked. "Dick, you can't be serious. You almost killed yourself!"

"Not on purpose! I just couldn't get the chaos out. It wasn't enough. I had to cut deeper," Dick implored Bruce to understand.

"But in doing so you almost died. What happens next time it's not enough?" Bruce's eyes and voice openly betrayed the hurt and fear Bruce felt. "What if I'm not there to find you next time. You barely survived this time, Dick. And I came into the room mere minutes after you cut yourself. What happens next time?"

The backs of Dick's eyes burned as tears threatened to form. "But I need it," Dick begged.

Bruce leaned forward and took Dick's hands in his own. "You are still a young child, Dick. You have so much life in you; I've seen it. Even after everything the world's thrown at you, you refuse to break. You're strong, Dick. You don't need this." Bruce turned Dick's arms so the cuts on his forearms were facing up.

Dick looked down at his hands, enfolded and protected by Bruce's. "I don't know how to stop," he barely whispered.

Dick watched one of the big hands move to lift his chin. He found himself staring into Bruce's steady eyes again. He breathed in the calm.

"I'll help you."

Dick pulled out of the memory as Bruce led him into a room. He stopped just inside the doorway and stared.

The walls and floor of the large room were padded with blue gym mats. On the opposite side of the room were two tall poles with ladders climbing up to the platforms that topped them. Between the two metal poles, hanging from the ceiling, were two swings. Underneath them, stretched between the two poles, was a safety net. In front of the trapeze equipment, closer to where Bruce and Dick stood, was a set of rings hanging from a large metal frame that nearly reached the ceiling. To the side of the rings was a row of padded pillars. Directly in front of Bruce and Dick was an open space. All the equipment was brand new.

Dick stared openmouthed at the room. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what he was seeing. When he finally found his voice, he asked, "What…is all this?"

Bruce smiled down at Dick. "This is your alternative."

"We need to find you a safe alternative to cutting. Give you something healthy to replace it with that still helps you deal with your emotions."

Dick stared at Bruce, unsure. "Like what?"

"You can come to me and talk. You can blast music really loud. Dr. Leslie suggested drawing lines on your arms with a red pen when you feel the urge to cut. You can keep a rubber band around your wrist and snap it when you want to cut. Or you can do something that makes you happy."

"Like what?" Dick repeated.

"I don't know. What did you use to do for fun or when you were upset?"

Dick thought back to before. He had loved to do everything when he was younger. It was all an experience, and every experience had value. But there had always been one thing that made Dick truly happy. Unfortunately, that part of his past was gone and not coming back. "I practiced my acrobatics."

Dick expected Bruce's face to fall at the impossibility of Dick's words. But instead, the man took on a thoughtful expression.

"There's room for more additions if there's anything you think is missing. And you can change whatever you want. Of course, you can't use any of the equipment until you're back on your feet, though."

Dick grinned. "I'm on my feet now."

Bruce laughed and steadied Dick as the boy wobbled. "Maybe you should wait for a little more secure of a footing first."

Dick slowly moved through the room on his own, his steps still unsteady. His hands reached out to touch the equipment as he went. This was all so unbelievable he didn't know what to think. He didn't understand how Bruce had managed all this, especially without him noticing it. Dick was really touched that Bruce would do this for him, that he would go to such lengths for Dick. He didn't think anyone had ever done something so nice for him. At least not for what felt like a very long time.

At the same time, being in this room reminded Dick so heavily of his parents and his old life. It was almost painful. Dick breathing was choked slightly by the lump in his throat. But there was also a feeling of nostalgia, a remembrance of happy times. Dick didn't know what to do with the emotions resting within him.

He came to a stop in front of the trapeze. Memories flashed. His heart stuttered. This is where Dick's parents had died. This is where Dick's life had ended. Did he really want to return to the trapeze? Could he? Dick stared hard at the trapeze for a long time. But in the end, there was only one answer. He was a Grayson, after all.

Dick turned to look at Bruce, still standing in the doorway. As quickly as his shaky steps could take him, Dick made his way to the man and wrapped his arms around Bruce's middle. "I love it. Thank you, Bruce."

Bruce was stunned for a moment but recovered quickly and wrapped his arms around Dick's back. "You're welcome, Dick."

Over a week passed, and Dick was soon well enough to go back to school. The Academic Assessment Exam wasn't for another week-and-a-half, so Dick was still learning things he already knew in all his classes. But he didn't mind it as much anymore. It was certainly better than lying in his bed all day. Also, the teachers and most of the students had stopped staring at him so openly. Dick was glad Bruce had somehow managed to keep Dick's incident away from the press because the last thing Dick wanted was for everyone to be looking at Dick like he was crazy or suicidal or something.

A lot of the bullying had stopped, too. Dick figured that was because of Bruce. They'd had a talk about the bullying when Dick was still in the hospital and under the influence of the "Thou Shall Not Lie In Front of Peanut" rule. Apparently, the doctor had told Bruce about the bruises on Dick's torso. Bruce had put two and two together. Although, where Bruce got the second "two" from, Dick had no idea. The man was like a detective or something. But that was beside the point. Bruce had asked Dick about it, and Dick had had to tell him; Peanut had been in the room.

Bruce hadn't been angry or upset, as Dick had expected. Well, the man had been angry and upset, but not with Dick. After their conversation, Dick had the delight of listening to Bruce chew out that hated principal of Gotham Academy over the phone for almost an hour. Dick had smiled the entire time.

Most of the bullying––at least much of the outright, physical stuff––had stopped. Most of it was just taunting and verbal jabs now. The things they said still hurt, but at least now Dick was on a fair playing field and able to fight back in equal measure. And he excelled at this game.

But then, there were also a few kids who were willing to risk getting in trouble to continue to bully Dick the old fashion way. Matthew Johnson was one of those boys. He was thirteen. Tall for his age, but still lanky. Cropped, blond hair. Light green eyes. Scattered freckles. He moved with an arrogant swagger that came from thinking that four years of karate lessons at his age (but no real fighting experience off the mat) meant that he could take anyone on.

Unfortunately, because Bruce's "No Fighting" rule still stood, Dick couldn't teach him differently. So, there Dick stood, apathetically rubbing the place on his chest where Matthew's foot had just been. "Ow. That hurt," Dick stated dispassionately.

It was a fist coming for him this time. Dick saw that it carried enough force and was aimed properly to do some damage. His body instinctively twisted out of the way. It was effortless and graceful.

It pissed Matthew off. Another fist came. Then a foot. Elbow to the head. Then fist again.

Dick dodged them all. It was all instinctual; Dick just let it happen. Is it really fighting if I'm not actually attacking? Surely Bruce can't be upset with me about this, Dick mentally gestured at the "fight."

"Hey, stop that! Leave him alone!" Dick turned to look at the person the voice came from only after assuring himself that Matthew had actually stopped.

It was a girl about Dick's age. She had long, flaming red hair and blue eyes. Above those eyes, which were narrowed at Matthew, frowned two thin eyebrows. Her face was a soft heart-shape. Her chin was up, matching the challenging stance the rest of her body took. She wore one of the school's uniform variations: a white, long-sleeved dress shirt with a black vest, the maroon tie, and a navy skirt. Her movements were sure and subconsciously fluid. She didn't have to think about it. Dick figured that she had been practicing some form of martial arts or gymnastics for many years.

She came to a halt just inside Matthew's personal bubble, her posture confident and slightly aggressive. The older boy looked afraid of her, despite the height and age difference. Dick thought that was interesting. The girl must have some sort of reputation, Dick reasoned. It was strange, though. Dick knew just about everyone on the upper end of the hierarchy at Gotham Academy, and she was not one of them. Who is she?

"Do you want to tell me what you were doing, Matthew?" she asked kindly. "I'm sure you have a great excuse for attacking Richard."

Dick smirked. He liked how neither her words nor her tone were threatening in any way, yet her message still came across loud and clear.

Matthew was a nervous, stuttering mess. "I–I was just…I mean, we were…I–" At the sight of the girl's overly nice smile, Matthew's voice stopped altogether, leaving him opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

"That's what I thought. Now, why don't you go to the cafeteria and finish your lunch before one of the faculty checks this hallway." Despite her tone, it wasn't a question or a suggestion.

Matthew fled.

As soon as the boy was out of the hallway, Dick let out the laugh he'd been holding in while watching the boy flounder. He liked this girl! Turning to him, she smiled, walked over, and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Barbara."

Dick tossed his backpack into the car and slid into the backseat, buckling up. "Hi, Bruce."

"Hi, Dick. How was school?" Bruce asked from the front seat, checking on Dick in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the parking lot. He noted the slight shift Dick made to keep the seatbelt away from a particular spot on his right pectoral. He'd have to ask Dick about that later.

When Bruce asked about Dick's day at school, he wasn't really expecting much. Bruce asked every day, and Dick never had much to say. Bruce hoped that would change after the Assessment when Dick would be in classes appropriate to his education level.

But to Bruce's surprise, Dick started off right away talking about this girl he'd befriended during lunch. The boy was talking so fast, Bruce almost had trouble keeping up with what he was saying. Bruce quickly realized that Dick was talking about Barbara Gordon. He recalled a few of the stories he'd heard from the Commissioner about the man's daughter and wasn't at all surprised that the two kids had hit it off. Bruce smiled at how excited Dick was. He was glad Dick finally had a good friend at school. Maybe things will be a bit easier on him now, Bruce hoped.

Dick didn't stop talking the entire way back to the Manor. As they pulled into the driveway, Dick finished, "But I've got to say, she's a little batty."

If you didn't laugh (or at least smile) just now, read that last sentence again. :)