Author's Note: I am always impressed by how quickly love follows hate. Once again, we got some haters at around the same time we usually do, the two month mark. Yes, we took a long time to update, we're very sorry about that, but we've told you before this story isn't getting abandoned, and really, making me dread reading reviews isn't helping your cause. I hope this chapter makes it up to you; it's not long but it's good, and got passed back and forth a few times so it really is a collaboration, more so than usual.

Chapter 38

Bruce didn't even seem to notice that Dick had stopped, and almost pulled the boy over when he kept walking. Dick twisted his neck free of the grip and only then did Bruce stop to look at him, puzzled.

"Is something wrong?" the billionaire asked in a tone that could have been confused for concern, but that Dick had enough experience to know was only curiosity. Bruce had beaten all resistance out of his ward personally; there was no possibility of refusal here.

Dick turned his frightened green eyes up to his guardian, one foot creeping behind him, ready to run. He tried to speak but his fear choked the words. "... Wrong," was all that came out.

"Excuse me?"

Dick cleared his throat and tried again, his skin prickling and body shaking. "This is wrong."

"What's wrong?" Bruce's voice had dropped a pitch, and he turned his imposing body to face Dick, blocking the corridor with his arms folded like a bouncer. The air changed as the billionaire grew suspicious. His face grew cold and intimidating; Dick had seen it before, had caved before in order to escape the beating it promised.

"This. What you're doing. It's wrong, you can't do this." Dick's voice was still weak, and he began to step backwards, trying to put space between him and Bruce so that he didn't have to crane his neck to look at him. He wanted to be out of arm's reach, to have room to run if he had to, a head start. Bruce followed with one self-assured stride.

Dick didn't want to look at Bruce's face that sent adrenaline flooding through his veins and set his instincts screaming to take the words back and just go along with what was happening to avoid the pain, but he couldn't look away. He couldn't afford to miss the fractional change in expression that would come before the lunge, that split second when he would have to run. A small part of his brain was frantically searching the manor for a hiding place, but it hadn't found one yet.

"What am I doing, Dick?" Bruce asked, and petrified the boy even more.

Was Bruce going to deny what he'd done? What could Dick say then? All his words were useless and he would feel like a fool. It was so clever, so calculating, it was almost like Bruce had experience. Was this how the man got what he wanted in the boardroom?

Dick continued to retreat slowly, his arms feeling for a clear path behind him. He knew the stairs were coming up, and he also knew Bruce would not allow him to reach them, but when would the man act? Where was the tipping point? Bruce took another step after him.

"You're... You're r-raping me..." Dick squeezed out, terrified and staring up at the monster stalking him out of the dark shadows. He swallowed but his throat wouldn't clear, and his legs felt so weak he thought he might collapse before he could get to end of the hall.

The man's eyes narrowed and dulled. His arms slipped to his sides and drew the boy's gaze with their movement. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I said, you're r-raping me. It's wrong. You can't do this anymore. I won't let you- I don't want to do this anymore! It's illegal!" As the words came, Dick began to believe in them himself, he began to hear Richard's words in his. He was right! This was right!

"Illegal?" Bruce growled. "Illegal? I took you into this house-"

"That doesn't make it right!" Dick cried, interrupting his guardian for what felt like the first time in all his days at Wayne Manor. He could feel the cooler air from the lobby tickle his ear and he balled his hands into fists. Rage flavoured his pulse now, all the anger and hate that had been building inside him for months was coming undone.

"You- You think you can do whatever you want, but you can't! You think just because you're rich-!" Dick swallowed and tried to get himself back under control. He needed to be in control. He stopped retreating.

"If you let me go... If you never touch me again, never come near me, never... never..." He swallowed again and realised he felt nauseous. He'd almost panicked there, but he pushed it all back down and continued. "I won't tell anyone. I'll just go away, no one will ever know. I won't tell the police, or... or the press..."

His words died away as he watched Bruce's face. The man had pulled up straight, his arms had relaxed, and his blue eyes watched calmly from beneath their lids. But worst of all, a faint, crooked smile was tilting Bruce's lips.

"Dick..." he said, his low voice whispering to the boy as if from the very walls of the manor itself. "Are you threatening me?"

The tone was enough. "No! No! I'm just saying... Bruce, I'm just saying... If you make me... There are marks all over me..." He twitched his arms out in front of him as if to demonstrate, but of course there wasn't anything visible there, they were all under his clothes. "You... You... hurt me... and, I never did anything... but if you do this, if you don't let me go right now, I'm going to tell, I will, I swear to God, I'll tell, I'll tell everyone until somebody believes me, so just, just let me go. Let me go, and I won't have to..."

Dick's words faded away. The smile was gone from his guardian's face. A silence expanded between them as the boy waited to see what the man would do, muscles still coiled to run if he had to.

Bruce's right hand lifted from his side and slowly, almost as if he was still thinking about it, turned palm up between them, fingers curled slightly, ready to catch and hold. Bruce's eyes opened further to look at the boy, who had stopped breathing as he considered the offering. He knew what it was: acceptance would mean pain - oh yes, there would be pain, and punishment - but that would be it. Tonight, inside that room, he would be set on fire, but he would be allowed to wake up in his own bed in the morning and continue on as if nothing had changed. Refusal... If he refused the offer, Dick didn't know what would happen.

The boy stepped back, his shoulders aching with the stress of holding still for so long.

"Dick," the man spoke with a sharp clip of finality, freezing the boy where he stood. "Take my hand. You know what I can do for you."

Money. Fame. Prestige. The key to the city. Gotham on a plate. Anything and everything he could ever want. This was what Bruce could offer him, and Dick knew it. He knew that if he stayed, his opportunities were limitless. He would be set for life. But Dick also knew that he wouldn't survive long enough to use any of it. He would die first – maybe not physically, because he wouldn't be surprised if Bruce could bribe Death himself for an extension on his ward's life, but emotionally, psychologically. Dick Grayson would be gone, the child his parents raised would be gone. The son his mother gave birth to, the son his father was proud of, would be dead. If that son was to live, if his parents were to survive in any way in him, he had to fight. He had to resist and never give up, never make a deal, never sell his soul for all that Bruce could offer him.

Dick looked at the hand in front of him, and slowly, without taking his eyes away, jerked his head to one side, then the other.

Bruce closed the distance between them in hurried frustration, his movements quick and surprisingly light and agile. Dick scurried away just as fast, almost slipping over in the process of avoiding that reaching hand. Lightning flashed in Bruce's eyes before he regained his composure.

"Dick," he began again. "I am giving you one... last... chance. Stop this nonsense."

His face was thunder, but Dick was resolved to his fate now. A cold peace blossomed in him like death. As he thought about what he was doing, a hysterical panic took hold of his body for a second, sending violent shivers up and down his spine. He shook his head with more conviction now, and looked away from the hand to his guardian's eyes.

"No," the boy insisted. "Go fuck yourself, you're not all that."

Before the last word was even out of his mouth, Bruce dove for him. Hands closed about his arms like moving stone, and Dick twisted and thrashed. He threw his head into his guardian's face but he was too small to connect and hurt him. He kicked violently between the man's legs, but his foot only gouged Bruce's thigh. A fist slammed into his jaw, turning it instantly numb and making Dick think it had dislocated, until he decided he didn't care anyway. Go on, tear me apart, he thought. I don't want to be awake for this.

Bruce was trying to drag him back to the forbidden room for whatever godforsaken reason the billionaire had for choosing that room as his dungeon in the first place, but Dick's thrashing was making it difficult as Bruce had to keep adjusting his balance to hold him. The boy dug his heels into the carpet, hoping to tear it.

"After all I've done for you," Bruce grunted. "I took you in... I gave you a home," he growled as Dick caught his neck with his skull and slammed his shoulder into the meaty torso of the billionaire. "The best school, the best food..." Dick had the impression that Bruce was talking more to himself than to the fighting teen in his arms, as if he had a checklist of what justified rape. It made him laugh, and a strange high pitched noise escaped his mouth that was a mixture of a whine and a snigger.

"You're a monster, Bruce. A fucking monster! I hate you and I wish you were dead," he told him, and it felt good to be so honest. He turned his face towards his guardian's and spat.

Another punch sent him flying into the wall, knocking the wind out of him and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. The strange laugh changed into sobs now - a transformation that was almost indecipherable - and Dick struggled to get his arms under him and see past the stars blinding him.

"I know wha' you are, Bruce..." His nose was blocked and he found it hard to speak clearly. "You- you're just an orphan, like me. You think we... we're the same," Dick shook his head helplessly, from one side to the other "But we're not. You're evil, you just won' admit it. You like to ...ah- pretend you're doing good-"

"Shut up."

"-But you're not and you know it." There was blood running down his face and he realized what caused his nose to be blocked. Blood and loose teeth slurred his words and Dick had trouble putting his thoughts into words, his sentence starting to make less sense the more he talked.

"Daddy died and... you got bored and forgot what- what's right and wrong... wanted to-"

"Shut up!"

"Mommy lef'... left you alone," at this point there were tears falling down his cheeks, mixing with the blood on his face and Dick had trouble breathing.

"...so 'ow you f-fuck little boys 'cause you think... you think- love you when nobody else will."

Dick finally managed to prop himself up and turn his face towards his guardian and look him in the face, try to see what damage his words were doing, but his eyes wouldn't focus.

"But that- that doesn't- I don't love you I HATE YOU! Makes me hate you mo' and more, I hate you! I hate you! Nobody loves you, not the people who take your picture... assholes who... who work for you, nobody! They all jus' hate you, b-because there's 'othing good about you at all! They hate you!"

Dick didn't even know what he was saying. He'd never thought these things before, and he wasn't thinking about them now. All he knew was he wanted to tell the truth, here and now, on this night, because he might not see another one. Maybe he looked pathetic and crazy, gabling and bleeding on the floor, but if only one of his words hit their mark, made that bastard flinch, Dick would smile.

Bruce marched over and drove his shoe into the boy's stomach as if he wanted it to come out the other side and tears sprang to Dick's eyes, but he kept talking – accusing – soundless, airless, just his lips moving as blood ran back into his mouth.

He rolled onto his side and cracked his eyes open, and noticed the butler standing on the steps. The old man had frozen half-way and was only visible from the thighs up, but for the first time there was a notable expression on his face: one of horror. The old man's eyes were wide and his white-gloved hand covered his mouth. He must have been drawn by the noise they were making and heard what Dick had said.

A twinge of fear went through him as the butler's reaction told him just how deep he was digging his own grave, but he pushed that away. It was too late to stop now. He had opened the box and the bodies of Bruce's parents had come spilling out as if from a coffin, rotting and stinking and hideous as the tomb yawned wide. He was shouting whatever came to his mind.

"And here's the b-butler, coming to help his master... Bet he ha' practice... Maybe lil' Brucey's... only doing what others... to him... Maybe Daddy Wayne... little boys too and-"

At the mention of Bruce's father, Alfred marched across the gap between them and slapped him harshly across the mouth, stopping his words and finally getting blood on those pristine white cotton gloves.

"How dare you besmirch the name of this house's founder? Thomas Wayne was a good man!" the butler scolded, trembling with outrage.

"And his son isn't?" Dick was glad he had managed to say that clearly at least, but his vision swung in and out of focus as he watched the old butler try to find a reply. The boy smiled, he had scored one small victory at least, but as his lips parted an alarming amount of blood trickled from his mouth to the clean carpet of the hallway. His head spun and he swayed into the wall with a hollow thud.

Alfred drew back as if disgusted by the sight. Bruce was standing beside him, glaring down at the boy curled at his feet, breathing hard through his nose with his fist balled at his sides.

With nothing to say, the butler ignored the boy and turned to the master. "I thought we had agreed to keep this business contained to your father's study? You promised not to defile your father's house!"

Dick was shocked to hear that tone being used between them, almost as if Alfred was in charge. That must have been how it was between them when Bruce was a child.

Bruce glanced at the old man then, the voice of his surrogate father bringing him back to the moment. "But he's fighting me," he explained, as if he were a boy himself.

Alfred twitched for a moment and looked back down at Dick, who had the sudden feeling that this man now had the power to decide his fate. For as long as he had been in the manor, Bruce had commanded Alfred who had always followed obediently, sacrificing the boy to the chain of command. But now, through Dick's resistance and accusations, the power had shifted, returned maybe to what it had been twenty years ago, when the boy-Wayne had been at the command of the old butler.

Alfred had facilitated Dick's torture, but he had not caused it. He did not seem to desire it. Now the old man was faced with a choice.

For a moment, Dick begged Alfred with his eyes, implored him to help him escape. One last chance for hope glimmered through the bars of his cage.

But the butler looked away. "Take him inside the study then. He should behave in there." With a closed expression, the old man bent and lifted Dick by his shirt front, pushing him into Bruce's hands. Then he spoke directly to wrestling boy, straightening his T-shirt as he did so. "Stop fighting and it will be over soon," he counselled. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult? Be still and it won't hurt." He glanced at his master's face, then back at the boy. "You will have to be punished, but I will see to your wounds as usual."

"Fuck you," Dick spat as he recognised his sentence being passed. The old man had chosen not to help him, siding forever with the manor and its evil master. Alfred's allegiance was unshakeable, and a stray orphan with every claim to sympathy and justice but none to the stones and stories of the walls around him would get nothing from the ever-loyal manservant.

Alfred's face closed off, the shutters coming down on his brown eyes and the blank, unseeing stare returning. His grey eyebrows drew together and the corners of his lips turned down in disapproval of the language, but he knew it was not his place to punish the boy. It was the master's, and he would let the brute do it.

"You asshole! You shit-" Dick threw everything he had at the old man as he felt himself being pulled backwards once again, out of reach of the butler who merely stood, shoulders back and arms behind him as if waiting for an order in the dining room and this was nothing more than breakfast.

Dick's words choked into grunts and screams of frustration as he fought against Bruce's iron arms, throwing his weight in every direction, but his arms were pinned and his feet off the ground. He couldn't get any leverage and he felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum, just a misbehaving infant next to his guardian. No, worse, like an insect, something small and insignificant; invisible and inaudible and of no consequence, being moved from one cage to another by an uncaring farmer.

"No! No! Alfred!" he screamed. There were still things he wanted to say. "Alfred! You did this to me! This is your fault too! Argh, let go of me! You never helped me! Don't you dare think you're innocent, I won't forget-"

The door of the forbidden room was coming close and Dick threw himself against the arms holding him hard enough to hurt. He screamed because he knew he couldn't escape the torture that was coming.

"I HATE YOU! I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN! I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL!"

His rage gave him energy and he struggled in Bruce's grip, this time trying not to escape but to wound.

Alfred was almost out of sight, his back an unforgiving wall of professionalism as he calmly headed back downstairs, not once turning to look back as Dick was dragged inside the forbidden room. The air inside was dusty and made breathing that much more difficult - the boy felt like he was drowning and Bruce was the one holding his head underwater.

"You fucker!" he screamed, tears running down his face, angry beyond thought at everyone he could name. His voice cracked, turning high pitched and genderless as he reverted back to the frightened form of a child. Bruce squeezed, his muscles bending the boy's sore ribs and Dick cried and writhed in agony, unable to resist giving the man what he wanted anymore. Bruce dropped him, a boneless mess on the floor, and he turned to lock the door. Dick cried, turning his face into the filthy carpet, knowing it was no escape. He had no words left, no thoughts.

What Bruce said or did after that, he wouldn't remember. Dick wouldn't be able to say, even to himself, if it had been rape or just a beating. The rhythm that wracked his body, rocking him in flashes of pain, could have been either. Touches like cruel lightning in the most vulnerable of places, seemingly so simple, but Dick could feel the pressure on his mind as it bent and came close to breaking. Bruce remained emotionless, as if he was just passing on a lesson, one in the art of torture.

'I'm going to die,' the boy thought hopelessly 'This is it. My life ends here.'

And yet Bruce kept going, like some kind of a terrible machine and Dick's body was on fire. Matters of justice and morality were steadily being burned out of him. Yes it was wrong, so wrong, but it was happening and those arguments couldn't defend him. If he was strong he could fight, he could be a weapon of right and wrong, but he was weak. So weak he felt like his body was falling apart under Bruce's ministrations, like his skin would melt off his bones and his skeleton would continue to cry because that was all it knew how to do anymore. What was right and wrong to him? What should it matter that he didn't deserve this? All he knew was the pain and the brief moments of silence his jailer gifted him with to spend trying to crawl away, like a pathetic worm, before bloody hands caught him again and pulled him back into the pit, to show him more of pain and cruelty and evil pleasure.

It was the most brutal session Dick ever had to endure and by the end of it even Bruce was left sweaty and shaking, his shallow breaths echoing in the dark room. The beast lowered itself next to the boy and seized him by the neck to keep him from sitting up.

Bruce's face settled once again, the ripples of his demonic anger passing from the surface, exorcised at least for the moment. Dick could only shake in silent horror as the grip on his neck turned into a caress.

"This is because of the trip, isn't it?" Bruce asked, his tone concerned as if- As if he was worried about Dick, Jesus fucking Christ-

"Nno isz..." Dick responded but his mouth was all kinds of fucked up and he couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Leaving the manor is bad for you," the man diagnosed as if Dick hadn't spoken at all. His large hand was moving up and down the boy's throat in a hypnotic motion, filth from the rug rolling and grating over his skin. The short sentences, the soothing tone of voice, it really was like hypnotism, seeds of a new truth falling into the boy's mind against his will. No argument could be made.

"You'll have to stay here from now on... No more trips..." the billionaire decided in a whisper, talking more to himself than to the boy, soothing the monster inside him and reassuring it that its little pet wasn't going anywhere.

Dick let out a pained noise, shutting his eyes as more tears threatened to spill.

This was all so terribly pointless, he realized. Bruce didn't see him as a person, he didn't have the ability to hurt his guardian or even change his mind. He was just an animal to him, an object, a possession; something that wasn't responsible for its actions, something that was just there, ready to be trained and shaped into whatever Bruce wanted it to be.

The man's hand moved to the short locks, petting the boy.

"You'll stay home this week," he spoke again, gently nudging the boy's face to test the extent of the damage. The man seemed satisfied with what he saw because he moved back to the hair and continued fingering it absently.

Dick's eyes stared over his guardian's shoulder, fixed on the small point between the curtains where the moon shone through the window-glass. He thought about Batman, whether there was somebody out there who needed the hero's help more than Dick right now. Probably yes, but it still felt like he was the only one hurting in the world, that no one could be hurting more than him right then. He fantasized about Batman crashing through the window, a fierce black shadow of justice. The seal of the forbidden room would be broken, the night air, the outside world would be let in at last, and Batman would destroy the sin inside. He would vanquish Bruce's evil and Dick's pain with jagged pounding fists and heavy black boots. Bruce would know powerlessness then, he would know pain and humiliation as Dick had known them, and the boy would have justice.

Justice.