Batman arrived at the circus grounds just in time to see a bullet tear through the skin of his ward's shoulder. He was too far away, not even a Bat-a-rang could save Dick if the man shot again.
But the two were talking – sneering – giving the Caped Crusader time to run closer. He wasn't even trying to be stealthy but neither the man nor the boy noticed his presence. Or, if they did, they chose to ignore it.
There was the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked and Batman quickly pulled a Bat-a-rang out of his utility belt. He immediately threw it and was relieved when the weapon flew out of the man's hand. But then Dick picked it up, and Batman froze.
Quickly regaining his wits, the Caped Crusader loudly but calmly stated, "Dick, you don't want to do this. He's not worth it, I can arrest him and give him to the commissioner. The police can handle…"
"Like they did on that night?!" Dick snarled.
He glanced at Batman, who was slowly walking towards him from the side.
"They've handled it so well for a year!" the ten-year-old snapped sarcastically. "And yet I'm going to be the one to take him down!"
"No, you're not," the hero said quietly as he approached.
"STOP!" Dick yelled. "Stay there, Batman, or I will shoot!"
"You couldn't shoot me in a million years!" Mack taunted. "You're too weak."
"I'm not WEAK!"
Batman had stopped walking and was ten yards away from the boy. Ignoring the words from Mack, he focused solely on Dick and continued speaking.
"You're right, Dick, you're not weak. You are stronger than this. Shooting him won't bring them back. Put the gun down, kiddo."
The nickname from Bruce Wayne didn't make an impact on the boy like Batman had hoped it would.
"Both of you need to shut up!" the ten-year-old growled.
Batman took another step and Dick glanced at him, a dark glare radiating from his eyes.
"I said stop."
"I'm not going to allow you to do this," the hero stated, continuing his slow stride toward his ward.
"I can fire before you get here."
"But you won't."
"You don't know that!"
"Put the gun down, Dick."
"He killed them!" the boy yelled as tears began coursing down his cheeks.
"But they wouldn't want you to do this."
"Turn that gun around before you fire and you can be with them!" Mack stated, a touch of fear in his voice.
"Shut up!" Batman growled in the man's direction.
"NO! I'm not the one who should die!"
"Neither is he," the Caped Crusader said calmly as he slowly stretched his hand toward the gun.
"NO!" Dick yelled again.
Batman carefully wrapped his strong hand around the gun. Dick instantly gave in, releasing the weapon and dropping to the ground, sobbing.
Mack, assuming the hero would stay with the boy, turned and fled. But Batman had already begun the chase. With a quick glance back at Dick to assure himself that the boy wouldn't do anything stupid, the hero dropped the gun as he ran. It was a safe ten yards away from the human heap of misery, who wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
Three seconds later, he tackled Mack from behind. The men tumbled to the ground. Mack's head hit a rock, knocking him out, so all Batman had to do was put Bat-cuffs around his wrists. Then he whirled around and sprinted back to his ten-year-old ward.
"I'm…sorry…I'm…sorry…" Dick was saying over and over, a sob of anguish between each word.
Batman knelt down and noticed the blood running down the boy's arm. He quickly enveloped it in Bat-wrap. Dick lifted his head and gazed sorrowfully into the eyes of his hero.
"I don't…feel good," he whispered.
Suddenly, he rolled away from Batman and promptly threw up. The Caped Crusader was instantaneously by his side again. Using a Bat-towel, he gently wiped the blood, sweat, tears and dirt off his ward's face.
"We need to get you out of here," he said softly. "Alfred already called Commissioner Gordon. They'll be here soon."
"But won't…won't they need my, uh…statement?" Dick asked, his voice full of grief.
"They don't even know you're here. I'm going to make sure that Mr. Mack thinks he was attempting to kill me. He won't remember your presence. But, in order to do that, I need you to sit in the Batmobile. And stay there. Okay?"
Dick nodded and carefully stood up. Dizziness assaulted him and he swayed. He would have fallen to the ground if Batman hadn't been standing right next to him.
"How do you feel, kiddo?"
"Dizzy, tired, my arm hurts and I think someone is pounding a nail into my head. And I really think I'm going to throw up again."
They had been slowly walking toward the Batmobile, Dick leaning heavily on the hero, but they stopped as soon as he said that.
Pulling a little blue pill out of his utility belt, the Caped Crusader said, "Chew this up, it will help with that. It's also going to make you a little sleepy, but I need you to stay awake."
"Is it bad if I fall asleep?"
"I think you have a concussion, so I need you to stay awake."
"That didn't answer my question."
With a sigh, and a slight grin at the intelligent reply, Batman stated, "It could be bad."
"Then don't give me the pill because I'm already sleepy."
"Okay," the hero agreed. "Let's get you to the Batmobile."
They continued on but, just before climbing into the vehicle, Dick pushed Batman away. Grabbing his torso, the boy dropped to his knees and threw up again.
"Sorry," he said breathlessly when the heaving stopped. "Maybe I should sit out here in case it happens again."
"I'm not going to allow you to sit on the hard ground with the way you're feeling. The Batmobile is washable. If it happens, it happens."
"But…" Dick began.
Batman, however, had already gently scooped him up. He situated the boy in the passenger seat then, noticing the sheen of a layer of sweat on the small forehead, removed his glove. The Caped Crusader placed his hand on the boy's brow and frowned.
"Fever?" Dick grumbled.
"Yes, and a pretty high one from the heat radiating off your head."
Batman grabbed the Bat-blanket from the backseat. He wrapped it around the ten-year-old then looked straight into the light-blue eyes.
"Keep this on, stay right here, keep your eyes open and do not look over at Mr. Mack. I need him to forget you were here and that won't happen if he sees you."
"Okay," Dick whispered as his eyes slid closed.
"No, chum, you have to stay awake!" Batman commanded loudly.
"Awake," Dick repeated as he struggled to open his eyes. "Right, awake, sorry."
"You think you can do it?"
"Will you hit me so I can?"
"What?! No, you can do this, you're strong, remember?!"
"Yeah…I'm just so…t'rd."
The light-blue circles disappeared again.
"Dick. Dick! Open your eyes, kiddo!"
Batman only received an incoherent mumble in response.
"I don't want to do this, Dick. I told you I would never hit you. Come on, wake up for me. I can't…I really think you should open your eyes!"
Soft gibberish was all the hero received this time. Grabbing the boy's uninjured shoulder, Batman roughly shook it. There was no response so, against his better judgement, the Caped Crusader grabbed the shoulder with the bullet wound. He tried gently shaking it but then gave up and violently shook both small shoulders. Dick's head fell to the side.
"No, come on," Batman murmured angrily. "Open your eyes."
It was useless; obviously Dick wasn't going to wake up no matter how hard the hero shook his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," the Caped Crusader whispered as he pushed down on the bullet wound with his thumb.
Dick's entire body involuntarily shuddered. But that was it – no opening of the eyes, no gasping in pain, not even a quiet groan.
"I can't do this, I can't hit you into awareness. Wake up!"
The last sentence was a loud command but again he received no response.
"Alfred is going to kill me," Batman muttered. "You better wake up because I can barely bring myself to do this once."
He tried to do it gently instead, lightly patting the boy's left cheek, which was facing Batman. But he knew that wasn't going to help. Batman was going to have to slap Dick Grayson, even though Bruce Wayne had said he would never hit the boy. However, the hero knew it was either a slap or a coma, and he wasn't going to allow the latter.
Reluctantly, he raised his right hand and brought it down hard on his ward's left cheek. That was going to leave a bruise, he could already tell. But Dick's eyes snapped open and pain flashed through them.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Batman immediately said. "I didn't want…"
"Did you just slap me awake?" Dick interrupted incredulously, his eyes open wide in astonishment.
"I'm so sorry…"
"I can't believe it!"
"I know I said I would never hit you but I couldn't let you stay asleep because you have a concussion and I don't know how severe it is so I can't take the chance that you might go into a coma and you wouldn't wake up even when I was roughly shaking your shoulders in fact you stopped responding to that so I couldn't really think of anything else to do and…"
"Stop," Dick commanded, interrupting the rambling explanation rushing out of Batman's mouth. "I'm not upset, I understand. And Batman doesn't ramble so just…stop."
"I'm sorry," the hero repeated.
"Hey, it's the least violent thing that's happened to me so don't worry about it."
The sentence was accompanied by a small smirk. Batman was frowning and Dick could see the anger that he knew wasn't directed at him.
"Really, Batman, it's okay," he said softly.
"It's not," the Caped Crusader growled. "I told you…"
"No," Dick immediately interrupted. "Bruce Wayne told me, not Batman. You did what you had to do so let it go."
"Why are you so darn smart?" the man mumbled. "Finding a loophole to try to make me feel better."
The words were soft but the boy heard every single one.
"Did it work?" he asked, the smirk turning into a grin.
They heard sirens in the distance and Batman realized that he hadn't wiped recent events from Mack's memory.
"I'll be back, kiddo. Please stay awake for me."
Dick nodded and the Caped Crusader raced away. He retrieved the gun from where he had tossed it and wiped it clean with a Bat-towel as he ran toward Mr. Mack. Crouching, he shook the man awake and immediately used Bat-nesia spray on him. As the disoriented man tried to recover, the hero placed the gun in one of Mack's hands and rubbed his fingerprints all over it. Now Dick's were gone and Mack's were everywhere.
Tossing the gun to the side, in full view of any policeman, Batman began taking stock of Mack's injuries. He didn't care about the man but he also didn't want him to sink into the depths of unconsciousness.
"Bruise on the chin, dried blood on the head, lump on the other side of the head, fresh blood on the hand, slight wheezing sound with each breath."
Dick really does have some power. What happened to make the man wheeze like that?
The hero couldn't ask Mack what happened because it involved Dick. Mentally shrugging – he would watch the tape from the city camera later – the Caped Crusader stood up and awaited the arrival of the commissioner.
"What am I doing here?" Mack suddenly grumbled.
"You just confessed to killing the Flying Graysons," Batman growled.
"I…what?!" the man screamed. "Why would I do that?!"
"Because you committed the crime, idiot," the hero snarled. "I figured it out, although fortunately for you it took me a while, but now we're here and you confessed."
"Why would I confess here?! How did I – we – get here?!"
"You attempted to kidnap someone but it didn't work out. I followed you here and you shot at me. The bullet missed and my Bat-a-rang sliced your hand as it ripped the gun away from you."
"Was it the Grayson kid?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"If I were to kidnap anyone, which I doubt I did, it would have been him. He's part of them and a ridiculously talented acrobat. That's my spotlight he took. I should have killed him, too, but there were so many people bunched around him, attempting to help him. Stupid but lucky kid. If I had taken a few more shots…but I didn't even see him until he was down there with the other performers. Stupid kid," he repeated.
The last half of the monologue was whispered, as if the man was talking to himself.
Batman's hands were balled into fists and his jaw was clenched in fury. He really wanted to just start beating the guy, but police cars were pulling up, their lights shining directly on the pair. At least Mack had confessed directly to him, so he didn't have to lie about receiving an admission of guilt.
"Again, I don't know what you're talking about," he growled instead. "But you should know that you're lucky Commissioner Gordon is here. If he wasn't, you would be a bloody, unconscious pulp of flesh."
"He's threatening me!" Mack yelled at the policemen walking towards them.
Before he could say anything else, Batman whipped around and stalked toward the commissioner.
"Did you threaten him, Batman?" Commissioner Gordon sighed.
He fully expected a growl of irritation or a Bat-glare or something similar. Instead, to his great surprise, he received a confirming nod.
"He confessed to killing the Flying Graysons. What am I supposed to do, thank him?"
The words were quiet, but the tone was full of rage. And the commissioner completely understood. They had been searching for this specific killer for a long time. In fact, he realized, for exactly a year. And Batman, as Commissioner Gordon knew from their experience with Mark Jerkins, became furious when something terrible happened to a child.
"Thank you, Batman. I'm sure Bruce Wayne will be relieved to know that this particular criminal has been captured."
With a short nod, the Caped Crusader turned away and strode to the Batmobile. To his immense relief, Dick was wide awake, softly humming a tune unknown to the hero.
"A song she used to sing to get me up in the morning," the boy whispered, assuming Batman would want the answer to his unasked question. "Kept me awake while I waited for you. Did it work?"
"What?" Batman asked as the Batmobile roared to life.
"Does he remember me being here?"
"No, but he did say…never mind."
"I think I know. He should have killed me on that night."
There was a long pause. The Batmobile was cruising across the rocks and weeds of the circus grounds, passing several police cars. Nobody noticed a young boy in the car with the Caped Crusader, and he was grateful. He actually hadn't thought about that.
"Right?" Dick asked quietly.
"Yes," Batman finally replied.
"Why did you – did Bruce – lie to me when I asked if Batman had any clues?"
The boy's voice was still quiet, but the words were outlined with betrayal.
"You saw him every day," the hero answered with a sigh. "I didn't want anything to happen. I was trying to protect you."
"Sometimes that doesn't really work out the way you envision it," Dick stated.
"That's true. I'm…sorry. I should have told you. How did you find out?"
"I stayed in the tunnel on the night that you and Alfred were having a conversation using just your eyes," the ten-year-old confessed. "I knew something important was being discussed and I knew it had something to do with me. Otherwise you would be talking out loud."
"I shouldn't be surprised. I feel like I'm telling you you're smart every day."
"That's okay, I don't mind," Dick said with a grin.
They glanced at each other and Batman immediately noticed the bruise already shining on the boy's left cheek.
"Alfred is really going to kill me," the Caped Crusader mumbled.
"He'll understand," Dick assured him, carefully prodding the cheek with his fingers. "Besides, like I said, it's the most minor injury I've had so he should be delighted with that. He'll probably be so focused on my shoulder that he won't even notice it."
"Alfred notices everything. And both injuries are on the left side. He'll definitely notice."
"Are you scared of him?" Dick teased with a smirk.
Batman didn't say anything and the ten-year-old chuckled. They were almost to the Batcave but Dick suddenly grabbed the hero's arm.
"Pull over," he choked out.
"Why…"
"Please," the boy mumbled.
Batman did as he was asked. As soon as it was safe, Dick pushed his door open and threw up again. Leaning over the edge of the vehicle enhanced his dizziness, and he almost fell face-first onto the road. Luckily, Batman had grabbed the boy's arm as soon as he bent over and that allowed him to prevent the fall.
He pulled the ten-year-old back into the seat. Dick's eyes were now bright with fever and his head was lolling around his shoulders. Blood was beginning to seep through the Bat-wrap covering the bullet wound and the bruise on his cheek was like a bright light on the now-pale face.
Batman opened the Bat-communicator and Alfred answered immediately.
"How is he, sir?"
The butler had watched the scene at the circus grounds through a city camera. He had frozen in trepidation when the man had shot the boy. Then he had covered his mouth in dismay when Dick had picked up the gun. Batman's actions in the Batmobile were blocked by the vehicle itself, so he had no idea of the boy's actual condition.
"High fever, bullet wound, concussion – he's been throwing up – bruised cheek and tired," Batman reported succinctly.
"I shall prepare for your arrival, Master Batman. Can you give me an approximate time, sir?"
"I'm speeding up so it would have been ten but now you've got five."
"I shall be ready, sir. Batcave out."
"We're almost there, chum," Batman stated loudly.
Dick mumbled a response and then threw the Bat-blanket off.
"Hot," he muttered.
Batman was going to try to put it back on, but they were almost to the Batcave. A struggle wouldn't be worth it since he was going to put the boy on a medical table soon anyway.
Three minutes later, he was cruising through the tunnel and fifteen seconds after that he had parked. Alfred was waiting by a table, various instruments laid out on a tray next to him. Batman quickly strode to the passenger side, lifted Dick out, carried him across the Batcave and put him in the capable hands of his butler.
The boy's face was slightly pink instead of pale now, the fever beginning to manifest itself through his skin.
"Cool water and a cloth, please, Master Batman," Alfred commanded calmly.
Nodding, Batman left to retrieve the requested items while the butler turned to the cabinet behind him and found a bottle of fever reducer.
"Open your mouth, please, Master Dick," he lightly demanded.
Surprisingly, the boy did as he was told. Alfred was able to easily give him the medicine. Several seconds later, Bruce Wayne returned with a large bowl and several washcloths.
"I'll start on the bullet, Master Bruce, if you'll begin cooling him."
"I don't think it's too deep," Bruce stated as he dipped the cloth in the bowl of cool water. "It's bleeding again, though."
"Thank you, sir, I can see that," Alfred replied, a touch of humor in his voice.
He had already removed the Bat-wrap and was poking and prodding the shoulder. Apparently the usually-observant younger man had missed that fact.
"Deeper than I would have hoped but no trouble, young sir," the butler murmured soothingly. "We'll have it out in a jiffy."
He was wrong. When Batman had tried to wake Dick up by shaking his shoulders and digging his thumb into the wound, the bullet had shifted. It was no longer in line with the hole, which meant that Alfred couldn't quickly remove it with the extractor.
"Perhaps some Bat-sleep, sir," the butler said softly enough that he thought only Bruce would hear him. "This is going to hurt."
"I can deal," Dick whispered.
His tired eyes were dancing with fear but outlined with determination.
"Let me do it," the boy requested.
"No, chum, this will be worse than the pain after your surgery. He's going to dig into your shoulder and root around to pull the bullet out."
"Master Bruce, I shall not be 'rooting around'!" Alfred exclaimed indignantly. "I know exactly where it is! However, Master Dick, he is correct about one thing," the butler stated much more calmly. "I do have to dig into your shoulder with a scalpel, young sir."
"You guys said I have a high pain tolerance."
"That doesn't mean you have to use it, kiddo."
"You said I couldn't go to sleep."
"Bat-sleep will not send you into a coma, Master Dick. It merely relaxes you enough that you seem to be sleeping. Your subconscious allows you to stay that way until you are given Bat-awake."
He was out of excuses so the ten-year-old sighed and nodded. Bruce, who already had the can ready, sprayed a gentle mist into Dick's face. The boy's expression relaxed and the man continued patting his face and head with the cool cloth.
"Rooting around, indeed," Alfred murmured somewhat crossly.
"Sorry," Bruce responded with a slight grin.
It took five minutes to extract the bullet. Longer than both men had hoped but at least it was out. Alfred wiped the blood off the small shoulder then wrapped the injury. After completing that task, he took Dick's temperature and looked at Bruce with a small smile.
"Only 100.3, sir. From the way he felt when you arrived, I assumed that it would take much longer than this to lower his temperature. Now, what else needs attending to?" he questioned himself softly.
"There's a, uh, bruise on his cheek," Bruce stated, guilt filling the words.
"I see that, Master Bruce, but why do you sound guilty?" Alfred asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"He wouldn't wake up!" the younger man exclaimed. "I shook his shoulders, I did everything I could but he eventually stopped responding altogether! It was the only thing I could think of to try next!"
"Did you…hit him, sir?!" Alfred demanded, his voice full of disbelief.
"I…yes, I slapped him."
"Hard enough to leave this," the butler growled, pointing to the now-purple bruise that resembled a handprint.
"I tried patting him first. I even dug my thumb into his injury! I couldn't let him sleep, Alfred, what if he fell into a coma?!"
The butler took a deep breath before replying. He was angry but also understood why Bruce had done it. And he remembered the one time he had been forced to slap Batman into awareness. It had been a last resort for him, and he knew it had been for Batman, also.
"I would have done the same thing, sir, if it came down to it. A bruise is better than a coma, but it does upset me that he was injured enough for you to have to do that."
"I wouldn't have…"
"I know, Master Bruce. How did he feel about it when he realized how you had woken him?"
"He smirked at me," Bruce mumbled. "And he immediately told me to let it go. How did we get so lucky, Alfred? After everything that's happened he's still so…forgiving."
"He is a remarkable child, Master Bruce."
The men stared down at the bruised but peaceful face of the young boy.
"We should wake him up," Bruce eventually commented.
"I suppose so, Master Bruce," Alfred replied with a sigh. "I do hate to wake people up when they are slumbering so peacefully."
"Yes, but he can't sleep for too long."
"I know, sir. Even Bat-sleep won't prevent a coma if left too long."
"And yet you told him it was fine."
"A mere reassurance, sir."
"A lie is a lie, Alfred," Bruce stated, tossing the butler's own words back at him with a smirk.
"I shall apologize, sir, when he doesn't have to worry about things like that anymore."
"Nothing like this is going to happen again, Alfred."
"He's stubborn, Master Bruce, which can sometimes lead to trouble."
"But he's a good kid!"
"That's not what I meant, sir. He's somewhat like you, Master Bruce. He has already seen – felt – the injustice in this world. And, although he doesn't consciously show it, the fact that it occurs irritates him, just as it does you."
"There's nothing he can do about it, though," Bruce replied.
"Did that stop you, Master Bruce? You didn't have 'Batman' to look up to; Master Dick does. I shan't be surprised, sir, if sometime in the future, near or far, he wants to join you in your crusade against injustice."
"That's ridiculous, Alfred. He's seen enough evil, why would he want to go find more?"
"For the same reasons you do," the butler remarked. "Remember my words, Master Bruce, when he comes to you and offers to help."
"He's a child, Alfred!"
"I didn't say you should allow him to do it, sir. I was merely stating my opinion, based on everything I have seen this past year."
"Let's wake him up," Bruce growled, effectively ending the conversation by spraying a fine mist of Bat-awake on his ward's face.
"Hey, chum," he said softly when the boy opened his eyes.
"It's already done?" Dick whispered in surprise.
"Yes, young sir," Alfred replied as he gently placed a small package of Bat-ice on the boy's bruised cheek.
"I'm going to take you up to your room," Bruce stated. "Do you think you can walk? I don't mind carrying you."
"No," Dick replied quietly. "I can make it. I'm strong, remember?"
He grinned slightly, as did Bruce.
"I'm…sorry," the ten-year-old declared, his grin faltering as he carefully sat up. "I shouldn't have even picked it up."
"I agree," Bruce replied, "but I also understand why you did. I'm just grateful that picking it up was the only thing you did with it."
"I wanted to shoot him."
"But you didn't, and it's over. You don't have to worry about him anymore. Let's just get you up to bed."
Bruce helped Dick off the table and they slowly made their way to the service elevator.
"Still a little dizzy?" the man asked.
The boy was slightly off-balance and Bruce already knew the answer to his question. But he wanted to know if Dick would admit it, especially since the ten-year-old had just reminded them of his high pain tolerance.
"A little," Dick readily answered. "But I can walk, so it's not that bad. Why doesn't my shoulder hurt?"
"Alfred gave you some medicine."
"I'm tired. Will it be okay if I go to sleep when we get there?"
"Yes, it's been a while since you were hit. You're past the dangerous stage."
"Okay, good, because I really want to go to sleep."
"It's been a long, hard day for you, kiddo."
"Will you, um…"
"Of course," Bruce quickly agreed, already knowing the question. "I'll stay until you wake up, if you want me to."
"Just until I fall asleep is okay. You've had a hard day, too," Dick replied. "Racing across town to rescue me, stopping me from committing murder, slapping me awake," he paused to smirk in the darkness of the hallway. "And you've been glaring so I know you're worried about everything. And this time it is my fault. So, you need to sleep and you can't do that in a chair in my room."
"I'm sorry I…"
"Forget it, Bruce. I would've done the same thing to you. Mine might not have been strong enough, though, so don't get knocked unconscious unless Alfred is around."
"I'll do my best," Bruce replied, amusement filling the words.
They arrived at Dick's room and the man gently helped his ward get situated. Then he pulled his usual chair over and settled himself. He assumed he would be there for a while, the night had been very traumatic, but the boy was asleep before Bruce had even found a comfortable position.
"Dick?" he whispered.
The only response was the deep breathing of a fast asleep ten-year-old. Surprised, the man stood up and left, leaving both Dick's door and his own wide open. Just in case.