And here's part 2! I wasn't able to post yesterday because I went to a camp, but I'm back now and ready to write. I got hit to hard with a plot bunny, so another story may pop up at some point, depending on whether or not I decide to write the whole thing out before posting again.

I hope you enjoy!

It took five hours after dinner for Barbara to know that something was up. Actually, Dick figured that it probably took no time at all, but it took five hours for her to have had enough of it and point it out.

They were in Barbara's room, a place akin to a maze with all the knickknacks strewn about. Dick didn't mind, though. The only part of her room that actually gave him frustration were the Batman and Robin newspaper clippings acting as posters, and her sticky notes explaining what she knew about them and what she assumed because she had apparently made it her life goal to find out their identities. Dick had to give it up to her, she had a lot of points spot on. She had even documented, to the best of her abilities, Robin's 'activity rates' and figured out that Robin probably joined some sort of team or club separate from Batman. Freaky, but neat.

At least, that's what he used to think, until he realised that she was probably watching him, in which case she would soon find out that he was Robin, and then everything would go to hell. Dick didn't like the thought of being watched. He felt prickles travel down his back at the idea.

Dick was buzzing with nervous, dreadful energy. He kept himself up and active, finding things around the room to play with, making sure that he stayed on his feet. They had just migrated to her room after having played soccer with the neighbours for four hours. If Dick's theory was correct and Bruce really was slipping sleep drugs and/or poison into his food, and the Gordons were in on it and had done the same, then that meant that Dick was going to start feeling sleepy and eventually pass out. He couldn't let that happen. He didn't know what would happen if he did.

"Come off of it already," Barbara groaned uselessly. "You're acting really weird."

Leave it to Barbara for tact. "I've been acting weird for a long time now, remember?" Dick said breathlessly as he bounced on the balls of his feet, having run out of things to do. He was debating whether or not to start cleaning Barbara's floor, but he didn't want to turn his back to her. After all, she apparently encouraged the act of poisoning him. He felt that he owed her the benefit of the doubt, but he also took note of how much she had pestered him about his condition over the weeks, and knew that it was very likely for her to be conspiring against him. He kept one eye on the door.

Barbara frowned. "Yeah, but like...sad weird, not bouncy I'm-a-happy-camper weird."

Dick only shrugged, and felt a little thankful when Jim Gordon knocked on the door softly and peered in at Barbara's acknowledging call. He said something, but Dick wasn't paying attention, more focused on the traffic that could be seen through the window. He refused to let Jim know that he knew that something was up.

The door shut, snapping Dick back to attention. "My mom made sandwiches. Want me to go get some for us?" Barbara asked.

"No," Dick said, and Barbara frowned at him from her position at the door. "I don't want one."

"Yeah, you do," Barbara insisted, leaving him no room to respond as she walked down the hallway. Dick sat on the covers of her bed and bounced his leg anxiously as he awaited her return.

As promised, she brought him a delicious looking sandwich. There were two tablets beside it, given by Jim who was given them by Bruce, according to Barbara. As expected, Dick didn't eat a bite, but he did take the medicine.

As unexpected, Barbara yawned an hour later. Then, she grinned. "Hey, want to have a sleepover?" she asked. They both sat with their backs to her bed, searching hard for the weirdest titled YouTube videos to watch. Dick tried to keep as far away from her as possible, making sure he was the one closest to the door and not in the corner, and laughed whenever Barbara laughed even though he found nothing particularly funny. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he just wanted to leave, but Bruce would probably try to poison him again if he went home earlier than when Bruce called. He would have to sit vigil without letting anyone know that he was on to them.

It wasn't unusual for Dick and Barbara to have sleepovers. The Gordon parents approved of Dick, apparently, and though they didn't necessarily approve of Barbara sleeping over with boys in general, if she was going to sleep with anyone they must have decided that Dick was the best choice. Fortunately for them, Dick didn't think he and Barbara had any romantic attachments, unless Barbara loudly claiming her bed and shoving Dick to the floor in the opposite corner of the room was supposed to be flirtatious.

No, the weirdest thing about the request was the time. It was almost eight o'clock. Only eight. And Barbara was yawning. Dick's eyes widened as he stared at Barbara in horror. Her smile fell and she paled in alarm. "What?" she asked. "We've had sleepovers before."

"Why are you tired?" Dick demanded.

"Uhh, dad was called in at like, 2 A.M. last night," she answered, her voice pitching high at the end to show her discomfort.

Dick's nerves were starting to fray. "Why didn't you go back to sleep?"

"You know how it is. I was staying awake until he got home, but then Alfred said that you agreed to come over," she said boldly, and Dick barely bothered to take note of her defensive posture. "Dude, what's up?"

"The food," Dick hissed quietly, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, but it was difficult. His excitement was fear driven, but it was also driven by the fact that he didn't feel as empty and painfully betrayed as he had minutes before. Betrayed as he had for the entire day, because he had thought that one of his closest friends was in on a conspiracy that might have end up with him killed. No, she wasn't in on it, she was a victim of it. Just like Dick.

"The food?" Barbara glanced over to Dick's sandwich laden plate on her computer desk, right beside her own polished one. "Er, if you're really that hungry, it is yours."

Dick viciously shook his head and jumped off the bed. Barbara watched as he grabbed the full plate, and he heard her squeak in alarm as he angrily dumped it into the garbage - plate and all. "Did you just break our plate?" she demanded, anger leaking into her voice. "Hey, answer me!" She shifted on the floor, placing the open laptop with its multitude of YouTube tabs on her bed covers.

Dick shushed her frantically, waving his palms to drive his point across. Barbara looked every bit alarmed at his behaviour, shooting to her feet, but Dick was already by her side and guiding her onto the bed with a tug of her sleeve. He pushed the laptop to make room for himself so hard that it slipped through the crack between the bed and the wall, closing shut in the process, and yanked Barbara back when she lunged for it with a yelp. She shook her arm, eyes widening in shock at the amount of strength that he possessed. "Let me go!" she exclaimed, and Dick promptly did so, pulling his fingers through his hair as she set her laptop gently on her desktop. With a wide eyed stare at him, she scooted her way to the other end of the bed, nearest the door. "What the hell?" she said, just as loudly.

"The food!" Dick repeated. "It's poisoned!"

"What?" Barbara was freaked out. Dick could understand that. He tried to calm her down, because he knew what that panicked feeling was like. He had been feeling it not hours before. Dick worked to soften his voice, demonstrating for Barbara to do the same.

"They keep slipping something, this ingredient, to make us sleepy. Compliant," he elaborated, his breaths escaping in puffs.

Barbara's mouth opened uselessly, her eyebrows furrowed into a mean and confused glare. It took her a second to form words. "Who?" she demanded.

"Bruce. And Alfred. And I think they got your parents into it, because I could taste it at dinner, and-" Dick began to ramble.

"I didn't taste anything," interrupted Barbara.

"Because you don't know what it tastes like! But I do, and I could tell-"

Barbara squeezed her eyes tightly shut and took a deep breath as Dick continued to talk. "Dick. Why would they do that?" she said, a forced calm tainting her every word.

Dick floundered aimlessly for a moment, trying to conjure up a response that made sense. "Bruce, he- he doesn't want me around. I know he doesn't and you probably don't know why, but some things have been happening-"

"Like what? Dick," Barbara demanded boldly, her hands reaching up to squeeze at his shoulders. "What's been happening?"

"Things. You have to believe me on this, Barbara. Bruce doesn't want me around, he wants to get rid of me, and he knows that I can't survive without food."

"And you think he's poisoning you to get rid of you?" she hissed. "Dick, if he wanted to get rid of you, which he doesn't, he wouldn't do it with poison. Bruce is a lot of things, but he isn't a murderer. He isn't even your father, by adoption or by birth. He could just give you up to the authorities."

He wasn't a murderer, but he was close enough. Unfortunately, Barbara didn't know that. She didn't know what Dick knew. "It would look bad for him," Dick countered.

"And having a kid under his guardianship die wouldn't?" hissed Barbara. "And why would he want to poison me?"

Dick didn't have a prepared answer for that. He didn't have a solid, real answer to any of it. But he was trained. He was trained, and he knew what he was doing, but Barbara wasn't trained so she didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know what she was up against. He did. It was his job to protect her. "You probably weren't supposed to eat the food, you-"

"These are my parents you're talking about!" Her voice rose so suddenly that Dick's neck jolted back. It was his turn to be alarmed, and his first instinct was to listen for footsteps in the hall. "I don't know Bruce, but I know my parents, and they're not trying to kill us. Stop and think, Dick! What's wrong with you?"

"Then they were bribed! Bruce is the richest man in Gotham, he has all the money that they could possibly-"

Dick was cut off as he was suddenly shoved backwards off of the bed. His arms instinctively shot up over his head, and he landed half off the edge of the mattress in an awkward handstand, before fluidly transitioning by launching himself with his arms into a backflip and landing on his shaky legs, just as he had done millions of times before.

Barbara went dead silent at the spectacle.

Both of their panting breaths hung heavy in the air. The silence was only broken by a car horn from the traffic outside, and that was what must have snapped Barbara back to reality, because she sprang to her feet and bolted for the door. Dick was faster. He glued his back to it, arms sprawled out to either wall. "No!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't matter whether or not you believe me, I still need to protect you!"

"Protect me?" Barbara croaked. "You're-you're-insane! You're freaking insane!"

"You can't go out there!"

"You're not the boss of me! Let me through!"

"No!"

"Barbara? Dick?" a panicked, alarmed voice echoed from the hall, and Dick cursed under his breath because he had been neglecting to keep their voices down. Barbara took a deep breath, so Dick promptly stuck one hand out to cover her mouth. The bone of his palm accidentally crashed into her nose, though, and Barbara stumbled back with a pained moan. Her nose was dripping blood when Dick's hand dropped as she fell out of range.

Dick's heart practically stopped, and he felt an overwhelming guilt crash over him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- I'm so sorry-"

Barbara used his momentary paralysis to jump for the door, causing Dick to slam himself back against it again, and the voice of Mrs. Gordon to let out a surprised shout. Jim Gordon's voice joined hers. "What's going on in there?" he boomed.

Dick couldn't do anything when the door was opened from the other side. He tried to hold it in place, but the door opened outwards, and Dick was forced to jump forward or fall back onto the Gordons as it swung open with a strong pull from the Commissioner.

Barbara darted past all of them so quickly that it took Dick a second to recover. Only a second, because then he was trying to run after her, until Mr. Gordon shoved himself in Dick's way. He grabbed Dick's flailing arms until Dick was sure that there would be bruises. "Dick, what's wrong?" he asked frantically.

"He needs help!" Barbara's distressed cry echoed from upstairs. Dick felt his chest ignite with something buried deep, something hurt and angry and betrayed all over again.

Wally wouldn't say that Dick needed help.

Or maybe Wally would. Who knew? It didn't matter, anyway.

But then the feeling of fear finally hit Dick as he realised that he couldn't immediately escape Mr. Gordon's hold without possibly breaking his own arms. He automatically kicked out, landing a foot square on the man's shin. "Let me go!" he shouted, anxious, attempting to shoot past the cop. Mr. Gordon let out a pained groan and fell forward, releasing one arm, but he didn't let the other go. Dick needed to get to Barbara. He needed to get to her, because she was both a victim and a witness, and if Dick was left alone with Mr. and Mrs. Gordon with no one there to watch, then he would surely be killed. They were just waiting for the right opportunity to take him down, after all.

He felt a little like a gazelle in a lion's den, knowing the intentions of the predators surrounding him, but not knowing their thoughts. He knew of the endgame, but not the journey.

"Why?" Dick screeched in anguish as Mr. Gordon finally began an attempt to restrain him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need to calm down," Mr. Gordon said as calmly as he could, which was close to not at all. He held both of Dick's wrists in one hand and drew his other arm around the top of Dick's back, trying to glue the boy to his chest. But Mr. Gordon's comfort wasn't what would calm Dick down. Mr. Gordon needed to get as far away from him as possible to calm him down.

"Not this!" the boy continued. "Why are you trying to hurt me? Why do you want to get rid of me?" His heart beat fast and painful, aching against his ribcage and lungs. Mr. Gordon was so stunned that he stopped momentarily in his movements, allowing Dick to twist his arms up in just the right way to slide out of the man's grip. He jumped back and plastered himself to the wall, which probably wasn't the best idea, but he didn't know what else to do. If he ran the other way, he would corner himself in the dining room, and Mr. Gordon was blocking the way to the hallway's exit. Smart man.

Mr. Gordon gaped, and Dick shuddered. That was right, he thought. Dick was on to him. That was right.

"Dick, what are you talking about?" Mr. Gordon asked, his confusion softening his voice.

"You and Bruce and everyone!" Dick yelled, and he thought that he should really have stopped talking, because he was giving away all the information that he knew. He was giving them a reason to kill him. To get rid of him. He knew who they really were, and what their intentions really were. "I know what you're trying to do!"

"What are Bruce and I trying to do?" Mr. Gordon demanded. Dick wasn't going to fall for it. He wasn't going to allow the Commissioner to milk information out of him as the man did with criminals. Mr. Gordon stepped forward.

Dick stumbled back, and something dropped onto the floor with a crash. A glass object, by the sharpness of the shatter. He grabbed the closest thing that he could, a dining chair, and held it out between him and the Commissioner. When the Commissioner managed to grab the leg, he panicked and threw it at the man, knowing that Mr. Gordon would duck and that might give Dick a chance to escape. The wood crashed loudly onto the wall behind Mr. Gordon, beside the kitchen entrance, where Mrs. Gordon yelped and clutched her landline.

A wave of guilt crashed over Dick again, but not for the broken furniture. The guilt was because he felt no guilt at all for his behaviour. He was causing the Gordons difficulty. But that was good, because once they grabbed him, it was all over. He attempted darting past Mr. Gordon again, but his arm was caught by the man and he crashed into the window of the wall above the kitchen sink instead, knocking over the clay plants there and a basket of strawberries. Mrs. Gordon jumped back as the clay shattered in the sink, splattered with the red of organic fruit. Mr. Gordon pressed him down with his arm twisted behind his back and Dick finally fell limp, sliding down the wall when Mr. Gordon released in surprise until Dick could curl in on himself. He was trapped. "Don't kill me," he whimpered, because what did it matter? They knew that he knew.

Dick felt like he had never trained at all. He couldn't remember anything. Even when he was confronting the Joker, he could remember what he had been taught, Bruce's commands whispering softly into his ears as a backdrop to the chaos. But at that moment, with no trust in Bruce, no trust in what he knew, there was nothing. He brought his arms up into an X to shield his head, like a helpless victim.

Then there was Mr. Gordon still standing there. He was whispering meaningless nothings in Dick's ears, muttering, sometimes grasping Dick's shoulders tightly and demanding something of him, but Dick had already begun blocking it out. He could feel himself begin to tremble, the hairs of his thighs standing on end and scraping against the uncomfortable denim of his jeans. Every part of his body was sensitive, yet numb. The sounds of sirens outside blurred with the sounds of Mrs. Gordon in the kitchen saying something into the landline and with the sight of Barbara peering down through the railing of the stairs.

And as Dick was dragged out by unfamiliar strangers, bewildered and betrayed and afraid, with Mr. and Mrs. Gordon yelling something in front of him, he saw Barbara run down. She stayed a few feet back on the front lawn, though not particularly by her own will because a man that Dick didn't recognise had a hand on her shoulder.

Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes cried and she mouthed, "Who are you?"

Woah, wait, what?

My beta reader got confused about the ending, so to clarify, Mrs. Gordon called the authorities and Dick was dragged away. Barbara doesn't know who he is anymore - to her, he's gone completely out of his mind for no reason and somehow managed to learn how to do a back flip. If my skinny nerdy friend knew how to back flip out of nowhere, too, I'd have a heart attack.