Next chapter! The reason for such a late update was because I had writers-block. It's sucks. 'Nuff said. And I sat in front of the computer for two hours just thinking of something to write.

Warning: The 'K' key really doesn't work on my mother's keyboard so if you see a word that should have a K and doesn't, please don't point it out. It wors if I press it really hard though… I'm just lucky right now…

Also, I use a curse word in the first part! Please forgive me! Okay, I actually used a few curse words. Rating on this is going up to T but only because of MINOR language.

Oh and thank you CHiKa-RoXy for a wonderful idea! THANKS!

Warning: This chapter is going to be very heartwarming… grab a tissue. And there is a MAJOR fight scene.

From the outside looking in you can never understand it. From the inside looking
out you can never explain it.- Greek Quote

Chapter 11:

For the past week since finding out, Dick stayed secluded and locked up in his room.

The now soft-spoken boy did not come out for meals; merely opening his door fro food and drink when Alfred offered it to him. The butler tried to get him to come out, coaxing him with kind, gentle words of going out into the gardens or eating something with Bruce. Dick prominently refused the offers. Bruce came often to check on him, but the boy simply ignored the man at his door; seething in his new discovery.

Both Alfred and Bruce new that the young acrobat would come out eventually, his outspoken demeanor would shine through, he couldn't handle not being near people. But, sadly enough, for now he seemed to be driven to stay in his room. Neither Diana nor Clark could get him to come out either and eventually (meaning by Wednesday) they gave up by telling Bruce to give him time. Giving time required having patience.

Bruce Wayne wasn't exactly the most patient man, when he told people to do something he expected it to be done ASAP. So, right now, dealing with a boy who was used to people being soft and kind and gentle and patient with him… Bruce was absolutely clueless. Of course, he remembered how his mother was to him; speaking in hushed tones when he was scared or sad. But how could he, the damn Batman, show kindness to the boy?

Apparently according to Alfred at least, he'd done a good job… slightly. But even then so he hadn't been there for Dick like he wanted. Busy as Batman or as Bruce Wayne. He had work with the League and civilian work in Gotham. He'd stay home as much as he could with the boy when League things came up but other than that, he would have to leave.

"Sir, would you perhaps go up and invite him for dinner? He hasn't eaten any lunch; I'd rather not let the young Master starve," Alfred's voice pierced through Bruce's thoughts and the younger mans head snapped up from the newspaper he was reading about a robbery; one that he would solve tonight… hopefully.

"Huh? Oh, uh, sure. Alfred…" his voice faded and the butler gave him a look of pity.

"I know Master Bruce, I'm sure he'll come around eventually."

Bruce nodded and stood up from the dining room table, the massive oak wood chair slid back against the wood floors with a short screeching noise. Alfred shot Bruce a hard accusing look, but the man merely ignored it as he slipped out of the Dining Hall and toward the Grand Staircase.

He had no idea (something which he hated) about what to say. Or if Dick would even open the door to let him in. He trudged up the staircase, gripping the silk like handle with hard hands. The paintings he passed seemed to taunt him; their bright mixture of colors with darkened clouds and rays of sun matched the exact mood of the house.

He turned down one hall and then went up another stairway, passing the paneled walls without even really noticing what was going on. His legs steered him without a thought toward the boys door, the soft wood gleamed in the grey light that flooded through windows, their mixture of grey and brown creating a soft effect of restfulness. He heard rain pattering down on the windows with small pining sounds, yet didn't acknowledge it. He heard thunder, but didn't hear it. He saw the lightning, but didn't see it. All his thoughts were on Richard.

His son.

Of course, Bruce thought of him as a son. Dick was going to be as close as he would get. He knew he would never legally be his son, Dick wouldn't allow it, and neither would Bruce. He knew that if he offered to adopt him one day, Dick would refuse. His ties to his parents were to big for that.

He reached toward the door, eyes trained on the iron handle, but then remembered that it was locked. He sighed for Dick, wishing that he hadn't found out. He wasn't supposed to. He couldn't.

But he did,a voice reminded him in the back of his head.

Shut up, he told it and then knocked loudly on the floor.

For a few short moments, there was nothing. The rain was the only sound as it echoed through the narrow halls, the reverberating sound rang through his thoughts and he waited, hoping, that the door would at least crack open.

But, alas, no such luck. Not even the sound of feet moving on the bare wooden floor came through. Bruce sighed, knowing that his small chance of hope was feeble, but once again knocked on the door. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. But nothing happened and then…

With a small whoosh of wind Bruce saw blue eyes peek out from behind the door, which was now slightly ajar.

"Bruce? Can you come in?"

Bruce stared at Dick for a few moments but then snapped out of it. He gave a faint nod and the door opened slowly. The rain began to beat down faster as Bruce stepped in the grey lit room, light streamed through the velvet curtains. The curtains were drawn open, letting the room flood with light. A desk off to the side was littered with papers, some crumpled and some were smoothed over the wood. Bruce only got a quick glance at them when a hand wrapped around his large one and a small force began to pull him toward the bed.

He looked down, slightly surprised, wondering why all of a sudden Dick was suddenly being, only a tad bit, more interactive. He was forced to sit down on the bed and Dick sat next to him. For just a few moments neither said anything, just listening to the rain and to the nothingness that echoed and reverberated through the room.

"Bruce, I wanna talk," a very small but diplomatic voice said beside him. Bruce almost barked a laugh at how much Dick sounded like those politicians' on TV; all business. Honestly, the voice didn't fit the boy at all. When he had first met Dick, the boy was happy and full of life and this political/diplomatic voice didn't fit him.

"Alright," Bruce replied, "then lets talk. What do you want to talk about?"

Dick turned to look at him, blue eyes piercing into his, almost as if Dick were looking into his eyes into his soul, as if Bruce's eyes were open doors.

"Zucco."

Two days earlier, once week after Dick found out; March 28th 2:46 A.M, Gotham City

Batman lay low from his position on a roof.

His covered eyes stared down coldly on the bar that was across the street. He had had a lead that this was a place Tony Zucco generally 'hung out' as the thug he had interrogated had said. His parent's killer had never been caught and he didn't want Dick to deal with that same thirst for revenge. He knew it was boiling under Dick's skin, and when it burst in a curdling screech, it would be to late.

A warm spring wind blew back in his face and his scowl hardened. He didn't like warm summer breezes, or bright meadows, or the sun in his face. He didn't like warmth. Warmth reminded him of the way his mother would comfort him when he was scared. Her voice soft like bells, like wind chimes that blew on the houses in villages in France. His father's voice deep like water, churning like in the canals in Venice, Italy. He closed his eyes and shook his head; the need to concentrate was to great to be thinking of his past. His dead past.

His eyes trained on the dilapidated building, the red flickering sign read 'Vixens Irish Pub'. He wasn't sure what kind of Irish name 'Vixen' was, but he sure as hell didn't care. It had a dancing Beer and Wine bottle on the front, smiling as their feet flickered back and forth. The Pub was on the intersection of Dung Beatle Street and Maple Avenue, which was on the south end of the city. If Anything, Gotham City was like Chicago Mafia mixed with New York crime mixed with South Boston mixed with an Asylum[1]. Batman seemed to be the only one who could handle that level of insanity, both with the insane criminals' and with the level of the crime rates; which were, not in the literal sense, insanely high.

"Did 'ya hear? The Bat be lookin' for Zucco," a voice said below him. Batman leaned over the edge slowly, keeping to the shadows, his meticulous eye catching two men walking down the street. A car zipped by, going far over the speed limit. The two men yelled curse words, jumping out of the way as it swerved and almost hit them. A peel of laughter echoed from the car and off the buildings, high pitched and full of mean delight.

"Stupid caa'. Yeah, I heard. Poor guy; he'll never make it," the second voice snorted in laughter and both men continued walking down the road, laughing like the morons they were.

Batman scowled and shoo his head, his arm snapping out with his grappling gun and shooting it toward the nearest, highest building he could find. The hook pulled him forward with a strong force and he swung forward toward the roof of the Pub and unhooked the grappling gun; his momentum allowed him to keep moving and with the way he projected the gun, he landed on the roof with a tuck and a forward roll. Landing in a crouched position he stood up, creating a small swoosh of his Kevlar cape.

Batman turned, noticing the entrance to the roof, and moved toward it stoically, his shadow cast over the roof from the Quarter Moon. He grasped the door knob and twisted, much to his luck and none to the villains, it was left unlocked and he was able to get through without having to kick it down and have any alarms go off, which 'would have been a major bummer' according to the Flash.

Batman walked down the stairway, passing photos from the 40s, 50s and 60s of men playing pool or sitting on the bar of watching a Baseball game. If anything, it showed the history of the Pub. The pictures stopped once they started to get to hippy looking. Batman heard laughter as he approached the first floor, passing down an empty third and fourth he assumed they were off limits.

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs, made of wood, and it was left slightly ajar, allowing him to get a good look. Men crowded around Pool tables, smoking cigars and drinking, some were energy drinks and some were 'happy' drinks. The men laughed, some staggered around like they'd been spinning in circles.

Batman's eyes narrowed and he shook his head, disgusted. He couldn't help it; it was pretty bad. This was why Dick shouldn't have found out.

"Who wanna hear a song!" a man yelled, having climbed up onto a table. A beer bottle was gripped tightly in his hands and a sly, cocky smile grazed his face.

A few of the men cheered, pumping up their fists and the few more sober ones turned around and continued to play their games. The man on the table let out a whoop of laughter and almost fell down onto the wooden floors. And then he began to sing, his rough, coarse voice rang throughout the Pub.

"A yellow bird, with a yellow bill; was sitting on, my window sill! I coaxed it in, with bits of bread; and then I smashed, his little head! The moral of, the story is; if you like bread, then watch your head!"

All of the men cheered, lifting up glasses full of the brown/bronze liquid and cheering, letting out whoops of contained laughter. The air reeked of nasty breath and sweat. The flickering lights in the room where the men where situated seemed to grow fainter.

Batman looked around the room, hoping to spot Zucco. Seeing nothing, he sighed, thinking of how this would go 'the heard way'. He slammed open the door and threw out five smoke pellets. They exploded the grey gas moving through the room. People began to cough and a man called out when he saw Batman dash into the smoke, but he fell to the ground.

"The Bat!" another called out and lunged at Batman; he dodged and his elbow came back down on the mans back, causing him to fall on the ground. He kicked him in the ribs and heard a small cracking sound and a cry of pain. Another man came out and this time Batman recognized him; it was the man who sung the bird song. The man grinned, showing yellow teeth, and slid his sleeves up his arm, showing muscles that showed he could have been on steroids. The Bird man threw a fist and Batman dodged it, his cape billowing after him. Bird man growled and spun around, only to be greeted with fists of fury. Batman jabbed at weak spots and then walked over the now paralyzed man who lay on the floor; his eyes wide and regretting his decision.

Men had already scurried from the building, some running out the front and some running out the back and some out the stairs. A few were hiding and as the smoke clear Batman loomed over the entire room.

"Zucco. Where is he?" he snarled, his voice echoed around the room and entered everyone's thoughts. Men tried to keep themselves hidden the shadows, but the shadows obeyed only one man. That man just happened to be their enemy.

He snatched a scrawny man, the bartender, who had been attempting to scurry away and threw him up against the wall. "Where is he? Where is Zucco?" he growled, voice low and deafening.

The man whimpered and gulped, turning his foggy green eyes toward the floor. "I… I don't know!"

"Not. Enough. DAMMIT ANSWER ME!"

The man shrunk back, and squeezed his eyes shut, the brown jacket Batman was gripping seemed to shrink and choke him. He blinked and gulped once more before speaking, "He… he was here a few days ago; Said he was going to an old hideout. I swear that's all I know!"

"You're lying. Answer me!"

"Dawnos! Andrew Dawnos! That's all he gave me! He said a man named Andrew Dawnos could give him a place!"

Batman threw him against the floor and shook his head, thinking of how pathetic it all was. But now he had a name. A lead. Something he could use to track down the Grayson's killer.

Their murderer.

Present Time

Bruce blinked, wondering how this had come up.

Dick had gone from probably loathing him to wanting to talk about his parents killer with him. He wasn't sure if Dick trusted him, but he needed someone to go down the broken road. But talking about it didn't help like people said it did, it brought back images, memories. Pain, loss, happiness, joy, and pain again. A desperate need to get them back, to go back to your former life and stay there. Basking in what used to be.

"Dick, about Zucco-"

"I know you're going after him. Don't; that's a job for me," the boy almost growled, his voice low and deep as he looked at Bruce through thick lashes. His blue eyes stared up at him with an unlimited amount of emotion. One could see his hate for Zucco, how much he despised him when the name was brought up. The way that he would shake with anger when he would think of the man. Bruce vaguely wondered if this was how he had acted when he thought about his parents killer, the man who ruined a child's life. The man who was never brought to justice.

"Dick, there was this…. quote that my mother would tell me sometimes, before she died," Bruce started but then hesitated, unsure of what to say now. Should he continue? It wasn't like he could back out now. The rain battered the windows, fading in and out of his hearing. He remembered his mothers soft voice as he lay in bed one night, the covers pulled up to his chin and eyelids slowly fluttering shut, only to snap back open when the realization that he was falling asleep came on.

Bruce looked straight at his son, who was still staring at him, and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Dick didn't protest but his body stiffened. "You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go... So be sure when you step, step with care and great tact. And remember that life's A Great Balancing Act. And will you succeed? Yes! You will indeed! (98 and percent guaranteed)."

Dick looked away and gave a small smile, his blue eyes watering. "Thank you Bruce, mamă used to say that when I was youngerer. She would make silly voices and laugh and smile when I was tucked up in bed… but…" his voice faded and he slipped off the bed and running toward the desk. His striped blue pajamas were slightly to big and fell over his feet. He had a pair of white socks on and a few feet from the desk he slid over, posing quickly and then grabbing a piece of paper from the desk. He spun on his heels and ran back over, slipping over the polished wood. He sighed deeply once he reached Bruce and then hand the piece of paper, which was faced down and grabbed his hand. Slipping the piece of paper into his hand he took and step back and put his hands behind his back.

"Whats this?" Bruce asked, glancing down at the paper in confusion.

"Something. Am făcut acest lucru pentru tine... I mean I made this for you," Dick said, giving Bruce a small smile.

Bruce frowned and slowly turned the picture over. It was a picture of the Iris flowers that were given to him in front of a pencil drawn moon. All of it was in pencil, shaded and evened out along the thick drawing paper. The two flowers were almost perfectly proportioned on the stems, the wrinkly leaves lay over the shining pot.

"Did you… draw this?" he asked in disbelief, surprised that a seven year old could draw so well. Dick nodded and stared down at the floor in what looked like to be shame. He shifted nervously but Bruce could tell he wasn't lying when he told him that he drawn it himself. Then what was wrong?

"Yes… Bruce?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks… for going after Zucco."

It was to bad that Bruce couldn't tell he was lying. When Richard was determined to do something, he was going to do it.

April 1st 8:00 P.M Gotham City Memorial Graveyard

Dick stood over his parents graves, two red roses over his mother and fathers headstones.

Mary Grayson

Beloved Mother and Friend

A true Flying Grayson

His eyes wandered over to his fathers and his eyes scannd over the gravestone.

John Grayson

Beloved Father and Friend

Always believed in flying

A tear rolled down his cheek and he closed his eyes, turning away slightly. His hands were crossed in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out and he snapped it shut, unsure of what to say. Yet unspoken words hung in the cool, crisp April air. He smiled, thinking of old times. Times of joy, happiness. Not of regal, looming, dark essences.

He sighed and thought about they're last day together; how Zucco had taken it all away from him. His fist clenched with fury and he turned away. For two minutes he stood so, with his back toward their graves. And then he relaxed and turned back toward them, tears falling free. He fell to his knees, shaking in sadness and anger. His eyes were closed tight, trying to get away from a reality he was forced to live in.

"I… I miss you," he whispered, voice soft and gentle but empty and for lone. A whispered wind passed by, blowing his ebony hair away from his face, cooling the tear tracks on his cheeks.

He stood up shakily and stared at the stones with a seemingly lost gaze.

"Zucco… he's going to pay. And I'm going to make him."

One Week Later 2:36 P.M

Dick's blue cobalt eyes snapped open, instantly being greeted with the top of his canopy bed.

His eyes narrowed and he threw the covers of himself; defiance radiated off him like waves. His bare fit his the polished floor and he moved toward his dresser, the empty space between the bed and it was as big as his former abode. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the costume his mother had made him for their show. A red tunic top and green pants. A black circle with a little yellow 'R' decorated the right side of the red tunic. He smiled slightly and then put it back in; just a small remembrance to his mother. Pulling on jeans and a t-shirt he quickly threw off his pajamas and dumped them on the floor.

Once finished he moved toward the door and carefully twisted the iron handle, pulling it open to only be greeted with a dark hallway. He stepped out and carefully then closed the door behind him, blue eyes bouncing back and forth down the hall.

He crept down the hall, keeping to the shadows, and moved carefully down the staircase; his soft footsteps made no sound. He moved over the marble floors like soft, cool ocean winds that danced over the sand at midnight. He walked up another staircase and down the hall to the grandfather clock with the Batcave underneath. Walking past a tapestry he smiled, remembering when he had hidden behind it. The velvet chair was still there and the Gotham Skyline flowed through the window, the moonless night allowed darkness to seep into the corners.

He walked toward the clock and pulled the pendulum down. The clock fell through the floor, not literally, and the steel elevator appeared. Dick rushed in, hoping the sound wouldn't wake Alfred or Bruce, and waited for the door to close. The elevator rushed down toward the naturally made cave under Wayne Manor much faster than a regular one. Once it opened, Dick walked out, glancing around to make sure Bruce wasn't there, or Batman. Finding nothing, he surged toward the Batcomputer.

A few files were already open and his eyes scanned for a file. Zucco. There it was, sitting on the bottom left hand side of the screen. His eyes narrowed and he clicked on it. The file opened and it showed a picture of Zucco. Notes that Bruce had written popped up. As Dick studied them his eyes narrowed further. Clicking out of the file, he stood up and walked toward the Weapons Arsenal. Picking out a Batarang, he walked back toward the elevator; names and addresses in mind.

Along with anger and revenge.

…

My explanation/excuse: I had writers block.

Review?

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies. - Aristotle