Note: Thanks for the comments, Rollerparty and LlCS!
Rollerparty - you are either too smart or I'm too predictable. ;)
LlCS - you kept your hopes up and it's paying off! :)
The name changes (Batman to Bruce and Bruce to Batman) are completely intentional. I didn't forget who I was writing about. :-)
One hour and fifteen minutes later:
Greg stood at the front door of the Dunston's house, waiting for someone to answer the bell. There were some whispers and then the sound of hurried footsteps. Suddenly, Matilda opened the door.
"Mr. Makov, we weren't expecting you!" she exclaimed with a pleasant smile.
"I know, Matilda, and I'm sorry for just showing up. I've come to collect Dick and take him home."
"What?!" she nearly yelled. "But he just barely arrived!"
"It's been five days," Greg responded, slightly surprised at her tone.
"Yes, of course, I'm sorry, it's just very unexpected," the woman replied, her tone much calmer. "Oh, here he is now!"
Dick entered the front room, Jasper right behind him. The boy's clothes had dirt all over them, as did his arms and legs, and he was staring intently at the ground. Greg immediately noticed a thin strip of something white in the boy's hair but decided to let it go for now. He would ask Dick about it after they left.
"Dick, I'm here to take you home."
Greg didn't receive the reaction he expected. The ten-year-old looked up at him but said nothing. And there was no relief or happiness in his eyes.
"Uh, well…okay," Jasper stammered. "Dick, let's go get your suitcase and change you into some clean clothes. We're going to miss you; we've had so much fun, right?"
"Yes, sir," Dick replied softly.
Man and boy turned around and left. Matilda pointed to the chair Greg had occupied during his previous visit as she sat on the couch.
"Why is he so dirty?" Greg asked conversationally.
"He's been playing outside all day. Dick is very active; it's easier for him to get all that energy out in the back yard. We don't have much room in the house, as you know."
"I'm sure he loved it."
"And," Matilda continued, "we don't have grass, so the breeze from his running kicks up the dust. I'm sure you know how little boys like to get dirty," she stated with a slight grin.
Her grin was forced, and a little seed of doubt began wiggling in the back of Greg's mind. But, the Dustons were rather poor and Dick was very active. Matilda was probably just embarrassed that the boy was so messy when his social worker was in the house.
Jasper and Dick, meanwhile, were in Dick's room. The man had ripped the shirt and shorts off the boy, growling at him to remain quiet, and shoved him against the far wall. Holding the slim shoulders against the hard surface, he leaned down until his face was an inch in front of Dick's own.
"You will let the marks of your punishment fade without telling anyone about them. After all, it was your own fault that you have them. All those bad choices and rule-breaking decisions. You don't want anybody to know how disobedient you are, right?"
"No, sir," Dick replied, fear woven through the words.
Jasper grabbed the suitcase from the shelf and pulled out a shirt and pair of pants. He tossed them at the boy and impatiently waited for him to get dressed. It was taking too long, so the man 'helped' by yanking the shirt down and roughly pulling the pants up.
Two unbidden tears of pain rolled down Dick's cheeks and Jasper snarled, "Don't even think about crying. I've got a belt right here and I'll give you something real to cry about. Is that what you want? You want your last memory of us to be punishment because of another bad choice?!"
"No, sir, I'm sorry," Dick replied with a sniffle. "I won't cry, I promise."
"You get out there and tell him all the wonderful things we've been doing. How we've taken such good care of you and you loved your time here. And then, when you're in that car, you don't answer any of his questions negatively. You know I will find out if you do and you'll be in a lot of trouble. Understand?!"
"Yes, sir."
They returned to the living room. Jasper had the boy's suitcase in his hand and he gave it to Greg.
"Well, Dick, are you ready?" the social worker asked.
"Yes, sir, but I just want to say something first. If that's okay."
Greg nodded and Dick turned to face the Dunstons.
"Thank you for taking care of me," he stated. "I learned a lot about…many things and I'll never forget what you've done."
Dick wanted to glare at them, to raise a clenched hand and swing it across the face of Jasper and then into the stomach of Matilda. But that wouldn't make Bruce and Alfred – or his parents – proud, so he gave them a tight smile and turned around.
"Thank you again, Jasper, Matilda, for taking him on such short notice. I really appreciate everything you've done, and obviously Dick does, too."
Dick remained silent so Matilda quietly cleared her throat.
"Yes, sir, I do," the boy instantly stated.
Greg held out his hand and Dick slowly slid his much smaller one into it. The man smiled at him and they walked out the door.
"Bye, sweetie!" Matilda called. "I'll miss cooking with you!"
Dick ignored her but then heard Jasper cough roughly, an obvious signal.
With a glance back, Dick softly stated, "Thanks."
They arrived at Greg's car and the man opened the back door. He put a hand on Dick's back to guide him in. The boy flinched noticeably and stiffened. Greg furrowed his brow, slightly concerned with the reaction, but Dick immediately relaxed.
And then they were on their way to Wayne Manor. At the first red light, Greg looked in the mirror and studied the boy. Dick was staring straight ahead, his face blank and his eyes empty of emotion.
"You okay, ki…Dick?" Greg asked, a little concerned at the lack of expression.
"Yes, sir," the boy whispered.
"I'm taking you home. To Bruce and Alfred. You understand that, right?"
"Yes, sir, thank you."
The light turned green and Greg shook his head. He hadn't heard the boy speak above a whisper since he had dropped him off at the Dunston's house. But Dick didn't seem mad, like he had before going to live with the Dunstons.
"I can listen while I'm driving," Greg said casually, "if you have something you want to say."
Silence.
"You don't seem too excited to be going back."
Silence.
"Do you have something you want to tell me, Dick?" Greg asked gently.
"No…sir," the boy replied hesitantly, just barely holding back the tears that were threatening to fall.
He wanted to tell Mr. Makov everything: the rules, the punishments, the chores, the sunburn, sitting in the sun all day with no food or water, the basement, the porch and everything else. But Jasper's voice was ringing in his ears – nothing negative about his time with the Dunstons. Perfection, that's what his life had been while living with them.
"Okay," Greg sighed. "We have a while, if you ever do feel like chatting."
Dick nodded then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. As they were traveling over Gotham's uneven streets, Greg noticed something. The boy winced almost every time they hit some kind of bump. And it wasn't a small reaction. It was a 'hold your breath until it's over' type of reaction. There was a quiet 'whoosh' of air after every wince and by the time they were passing through downtown Gotham, Greg was very concerned.
The man pulled into a parking lot, stopped the car and turned to look at the boy. Dick lifted his head and opened his eyes, expecting to see the social services building or Wayne Manor.
"Talk to me, Dick. What's going on? Is it because of me?"
"No, sir."
"I need to apologize to you. I've done everything wrong; I shouldn't have even taken you away that night we met. There are a lot of things I've learned during this investigation. But there are more that I've learned over my seventeen-year career. And this is one of them: kids who have been crying to go home are usually excited when I tell them that I'm taking them home. You've been crying, but you aren't excited. What's going on?"
"Nothing, sir, I'm fine."
"You're not, Dick, I can see that. Do you already miss the Dunstons?"
"NO!" Dick nearly yelled. But his voice immediately dropped and he whispered, "I mean, um, yes, sir."
Greg was startled at both the reaction and the abrupt change. It was the first time he had been able to hear the boy without straining his ears. Dick was emphatic about the 'no' but had instantaneously changed his answer in a much more submissive voice. Greg decided to try again.
"That's a bit confusing; maybe I misunderstood. Do you miss the Dunstons?"
The man watched a single tear slide out of the corner of Dick's left eye.
"Yes, sir, I do."
"No, Dick, you don't," Greg stated firmly. "You were doing fairly well at hiding it until that tear slipped out. Do you want to go to my office and talk about it?"
"No, sir, I didn't mean…um, it was great there and, uh, I'm fine. I don't need to talk, sir."
The hurried explanation had stumbled out of Dick's mouth at a rapid pace, slightly shocking Greg. Something had happened between the time he had dropped Dick off with the Dunstons and the time he had picked the boy up today.
"What happened last night, Dick?"
"What?" Dick asked, his eyes wide and his voice apprehensive.
"Last night, I heard there were some problems in the neighborhood."
The pause was a beat too long. Greg instantly knew Dick was lying when he responded.
"I was asleep, sir."
"Dick," the man sighed, "you are completely safe in this car. Nobody, not the Dunstons or Bruce or Alfred or anybody will ever know what we talk about right now unless you decide to tell them yourself."
Complete silence again. Dick began studying his hands.
"Dick?"
"Can I go home, please, sir?"
"Of course," Greg replied, starting the car.
He was giving up on talking to the boy today, but he wasn't going to give up on finding out what had happened.
It was almost six o'clock when Greg pulled up to the front steps of Wayne Manor. Dick stared out the window for almost a minute before opening his door. Greg grabbed the suitcase and gently laid his hand on Dick's back again. And received the same reaction: a flinch and the stiffening of a lean torso.
"Last chance for today, Dick," Greg whispered as he crouched in front of the boy. "Are you in some kind of pain?"
"No, sir, of course not, sir."
"Okay."
With an inaudible sigh, Greg led the boy up the steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell and watched Dick begin twisting his hands together. Was the boy nervous?
"Master Dick," Alfred stated, relief in both his eyes and his voice. "We have missed you, young sir."
"Dick!" Bruce exclaimed as the boy walked in the door.
"Dick, why don't you go help Alfred in the kitchen while I talk to Bruce."
Dick nodded but both the millionaire and the butler looked at Greg quizzically. The social worker gave them a look that shouted 'something is wrong'.
"Master Dick, I've been preparing your favorite dinner," Alfred stated as he gently picked up Dick's small hand. "Shall we go check on it?"
"Yes, sir," Dick answered quietly.
Bruce furrowed his brow and Alfred looked slightly shocked. But he led the boy away, knowing that Bruce would tell him everything later.
"What's going on, Greg?"
"I'm not quite sure, Bruce. How often does he use the word 'sir' when he's speaking with either you or Alfred?"
"Never. Why?"
"Every answer he has given me has at least one 'sir' in it. Both today and when I visited him at the family's house. But never before that, so I wanted to know if he was used to doing it here. Does he tend to be soft-spoken?"
"Only around strangers," Bruce replied, his eyes narrowed. "Are you implying that something happened while he was with whomever it was he was with?"
"No…" Greg paused for several seconds. "I don't know," he continued with a sigh. "Perhaps it's just because he was nervous."
"Being thrown in a house with a bunch of strangers and no familiar faces tends to do that to young children."
"Bruce, I know I made a mistake."
"That comment was uncalled for, Greg, I shouldn't have said anything."
"I appreciate that, Bruce. I do have a request. If he says anything at all about whatever has happened – and I feel like something has happened – will you please let me know? I've never had any other children act like this after living with this particular family and it's bothering me."
"Okay, I'll keep you updated. Whatever I find out will be communicated to you as soon as possible."
"Thanks, Bruce. I would like to apologize one last time."
"He's home, Greg, that's the best apology you could ever give me."
"Take care, Bruce, and please let me know."
Greg left and Bruce strode into the kitchen. Dick was sitting at the table, staring intently at Alfred while the butler expertly sliced a block of cheese into equally-sized squares.
"Hey, kiddo," Bruce said as he walked over to his ward. "I've missed you."
The man crouched in front of the boy and stared into the light-blue eyes. There was no emotion – no fear, no happiness, no anger, no anxiety, just…nothing. Dick suddenly stood up, straight as a board, so Bruce stood up with him.
"You okay, chum?"
"Yes, sir," Dick answered quietly. "May I, um, go to my room?"
"Aren't you hungry, Master Dick?" Alfred asked in surprise.
YES!
Dick screamed the thought in his mind but couldn't bring himself to say it. He felt his carefully constructed wall cracking – the one that was holding back all the negative things he was wishing he could tell someone – and decided he couldn't let that happen. The boy knew, just knew, that somehow Jasper would find out.
"No, sir," he whispered instead and waited for an answer.
"Okay, kiddo, I'll go up with you, help you unpack."
Dick nodded and waited for Bruce to move.
"Dick? Did you, um, forget the way?"
Both men were extremely concerned. It looked like the boy was waiting for permission, or waiting for Bruce to lead him there.
"No, sir, sorry. Do you want me to go first?"
"I…"
"How about if you go together, sirs?" Alfred compromised when Bruce paused.
Dick nodded again and Bruce held out his hand. The boy slid his hand in and they walked out of the kitchen, Bruce allowing Dick to set the pace. It was fairly slow and that increased the man's concern. The ten-year-old acrobat was never slow.
Neither Bruce nor Batman missed the way Dick took a quick pause after every step up the stairs. Nor did they miss the slight hitch in the boy's breathing every time he lifted his foot to step up. The fact that he never stepped up on his right leg also didn't escape the man's attention.
When they made it to the boy's room, Bruce let go of Dick's hand. He had been cautious so far, but the man needed to know what his ward's reaction would be to something a little more demonstrative. So he pulled Dick into a gentle hug but immediately let go when he heard the boy gasp and felt his entire body tense.
"What's wrong, Dick? What happened?"
"Nothing, sir…I'm, uh, fine," Dick stammered, struggling to keep his breathing steady.
"Stop with the 'sir'. You've never used it before and you don't need to start. If the people you stayed with wanted you to do that then they're idiots. But you don't have to do it here. I'm Bruce, you're Dick and Alfred is downstairs."
Dick nodded but stayed silent. Bruce saw his bottom lip trembling and his eyes shining with unshed tears.
Crouching down in front of his ward again, Bruce asked, "What happened there? What did they do to you?"
"Nothing," the ten-year-old whispered as a tear escaped.
"You're lying, kiddo. Don't lie to me, just tell me. You're safe with me, right?"
"Yes, si…um, yes."
"So you can tell me, then, right?"
"No…I mean, um, ye…no."
Bruce shook his head and asked, "What does that mean?"
"I can't…I don't want to get in trouble."
It was Mr. Jerkins all over again. Dick was afraid of getting in trouble, so he wasn't going to tell Bruce anything.
"They can't do anything to you, Dick," the man said quietly but firmly. "You're here and they aren't so you can't get in trouble."
Bruce suddenly noticed the strip of white on the top of Dick's head. He put his hand up to touch it and Dick took a step back, as if he was expecting something bad to happen.
"Hold on, chum," Bruce said, grabbing the boy's wrists before he could get beyond the man's reach.
Dick's eyes widened and filled with pain but he immediately shut down the expression. Bruce stood up and, keeping ahold of the boy's wrists, led him to the bed. They sat down and the millionaire pushed up the shirt sleeves that were hiding Dick's arms.
The skin around his wrists was raw and there were light bruises. Bruce angled them to the light and then clenched his jaw in fury. Every bruise was in the distinctive shape of a link on a chain.
"They chained you up like a dog?!" he growled.
Dick flinched and ducked his head. That gave Bruce the opportunity to pull what he discovered to be a spiderweb out of the boy's hair.
"Stand up," Bruce commanded and Dick nearly jumped to his feet.
Batman studied the young body critically. His arms, legs and face all had fading sunburns. There were some small, dark spots on each forearm. Upon closer inspection, he found they were the type of blisters that only come from drops of grease or sparks from a fire on skin.
There was a very light, almost invisible bruise under his left eye. His lips were dry and his body was minutely trembling. The most concerning thing was the way he was standing. Dick was slightly favoring his right leg and he was rigidly standing like a soldier at attention.
"You look like you need a shower, chum," Bruce commented gently.
The boy nodded.
"Do you need help?"
Dick's reaction was completely unexpected. He nodded, paused, then burst into tears. The wall broke and the ten-year-old collapsed into his guardian's strong arms.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled as he cried. "Please don't tell Jasper. I'll stop crying, please don't tell him."
"I'm not going to tell him anything," Bruce whispered calmly, even as his blood began to boil. "I don't even know who he is and you can cry as long as you need to."
Apparently, crying was forbidden in the Dunston household. That thought led to another and Bruce grimaced. He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know.
"Were you…punished for crying, chum?"
"No, because I stopped! I stopped but I still had to sleep there!"
"Where?" Bruce asked through clenched teeth.
"The…the basement and it was so dark and there were no lightbulbs and I couldn't sleep and I'm so tired and I don't understand why they had so many rules and I couldn't stop accidentally breaking them because some of them were really hard to do and I kept forgetting about talking and they said I was making so many bad choices but I tried hard to be good but they didn't care and then Jasper did it so many times and he's going to know that I'm telling you and he's going to find me and I'm going to get in trouble again!"
The crying turned into sobbing as the scattered explanation rushed out of Dick's mouth. Bruce's entire body was tense with rage because he thought he knew what was coming. And if he was correct, Jasper Dunston was going to regret being born. And Matilda, for letting it happen.
Bruce easily picked Dick up and sat him on the bed. The boy curled into himself, making the man's job a little easier. He started to pull the shirt up and then noticed the dark, finger-shaped bruise on the back of his ward's neck.
The millionaire stood up, turned around and took a deep breath. He needed Alfred, he wasn't sure he could handle this without scaring his boy, who was already terrified. The butler, having heard the crying from all the way in the kitchen, was standing just outside the door. Alfred walked in when his eyes connected with those of Bruce.
"I'm strong," Dick whispered through his tears.
Bruce turned back around as Alfred joined him. Dick was kneeling on the soft bed and grabbing the bottom of his shirt with both hands.
"Before I show you, I need you to, um, promise me that Batman won't…"
"No," Bruce interrupted flatly. "No promises, Dick, not if I see what I think I'm about to see."
"He can't find out," Dick said, his voice slightly panicked.
"Master Dick, Batman will be discreet. The man will not know that Batman is visiting him because of you."
"Mr. Makov said every other kid was fine. He'll know and he'll find me!"
"No, he won't," Batman growled, "because he'll be in a body cast."
It was Bruce who was trembling now, his hands balled into fists and his jaw clenched. Dark, unyielding fury was filling his body and he hadn't even seen the evidence yet.
"Master Bruce, please step outside," Alfred commanded quietly. "I'll take care of Master Dick while you call Mr. Makov. I have a feeling he will want to see this."
"Alfred, I…"
"Out, sir, and do it now."
Alfred's voice was firm and his tone demanded compliance. He was not going to allow Batman to see Dick's body until he was sure the man could handle the sight without exploding.
"Al…"
"The study to call Mr. Makov and then the gym to beat some sense into one of those dummies. Do not come back in here, sir, until I allow you to do so. Tell Mr. Makov that there is something he needs to see immediately. There is no room for compromise here, Master Bruce. Do as I say and do it now."
Batman growled but Bruce turned around and stalked out the door. He stormed to his study, looked up the man's personal number and dialed.
"This is Greg."
The man sounded tired. Bruce didn't know why and, really, he didn't care.
"This is Bruce. We would like you to return to Wayne Manor as soon as possible. There's something you need to see."
"He talked to you?"
"Yes and no but this is something you need to see for yourself."
Bruce's tone was full of anger but Greg recognized that it wasn't directed at him. And the word 'see' filled the social worker with dread.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes, Bruce."
They hung up and Bruce immediately sprinted to the gym, where he set up a punching dummy and began fighting it like it was the Joker.
Dick, meanwhile, was in the process of attempting to carefully pull his shirt off. It wasn't working but he didn't want Alfred to help.
"Master Dick," the butler said softly, "I'm going to see everything anyway. It might be less painful if you allow me to help, young sir."
There was a long pause and Alfred watched the wheels turn.
"Okay," Dick finally agreed, turning around so his back was to the man.
Alfred thought it was going to be bad with the way Dick had been acting but he could never have imagined that it would be this bad. He held back a gasp of horror as he gently pulled the shirt over the small head.
Dick's entire back was a mixture of blues and purples. The welts were bright-red and slightly raw at the edges, a result of the material of his clothing constantly swishing over them. Alfred, too, noticed the shape of several large fingers on the back of Dick's neck and was suddenly extremely relieved that he had sent Bruce away.
"I tried to tell you when I called," Dick said softly.
"Yes, Master Dick," Alfred responded, his voice even but his body full of anger. "Is that when this happened?" he asked, lightly touching the boy's neck.
"He yanked me away from the phone."
"Do you want to talk about it, Master Dick?"
"No, because I'd rather just say it once. I'm going to have to tell Mr. Makov, right?"
"Yes, young sir."
"If Jasper finds out…"
"I'm quite positive that Jasper will be going to jail, Master Dick. You need not worry about him anymore."
"Batman's going to kill him when he sees this."
"Which is why I sent Master Bruce out of the room. I need to talk to him before he sees this, young sir, so do you mind excusing me for a few moments?"
"Can you do anything to make it stop hurting so much?"
"I'm afraid not, Master Dick, but only because Mr. Makov needs to see it. After he has left I will do my best to take care of the pain."
"Okay, I guess you should talk to Bruce."
"Give me five minutes, Master Dick. If I'm not back in five minutes, go lock yourself in the bathroom."
"What?!" Dick exclaimed, turning around to face the butler.
"If I can't stop a raging Batman, I cannot allow him to see you. However, I'm quite sure I will be able to calm him down. The bathroom is just a precaution, young sir."
"Okay," Dick agreed, his voice somewhat skeptical.
"Trust me, Master Dick."
The boy nodded and Alfred left.
By the time the butler arrived at the gym, Bruce had shredded two dummies and was working hard on the third. Pictures were flying through his mind, images of bloody lash marks and broken ribs and Dick sitting in a yard chained up like a dog.
"Sit down, Master Bruce," Alfred commanded.
The younger man growled and attacked the dummy more ferociously.
"I told Master Dick to lock himself in the bathroom if I do not return to him in five minutes, sir, so you should sit down."
Bruce gave the dummy one last torso-tearing punch and then dropped to the floor. He was sweating and flushed with anger.
"He didn't even move, Alfred!" Batman growled. "He just laid there, on the floor, and didn't give me a single hint when I was 'searching' for Mr. Freeze!"
"Master Dick chose to save the story for when Mr. Makov is here so I don't know the details. What I do know is that you need to see his back before the man arrives. I can't have Batman reacting to it in front of Mr. Makov. However, I will not take you to see him if you cannot control yourself."
"Is it…bad?" Bruce asked, his voice almost timid.
"Yes, sir, it is very bad. But Master Dick is being extremely strong and I need Batman to reciprocate that strength. You cannot fly into a rage, or begin yelling at him, or demand answers from him. You saw how hard it was for him to even begin talking to us. Batman needs to stay out of this, for now. It needs to be Bruce Wayne talking to his ward, not Batman talking to a survivor."
"That bad?"
"Master Bruce, I had to hold back a horrified gasp, that's how bad. With that in mind, do you think you can go to him without terrifying him?"
"I…"
"In other words, sir, can Bruce Wayne be as strong as a ten-year-old boy?"
"When you put it that way…you make me sound like an idiot, Alfred."
"That was not my intention, Master Bruce, but you already know that."
Bruce ran a hand through his sweaty hair then stood up and walked to the gym door.
"He is still worried about Jasper, sir," Alfred said softly. "And he unconsciously flinches away from a raised hand. Keep your gestures small and be sure he understands that Jasper will never be able to hurt him again, Master Bruce."
Nodding, Bruce began walking toward Dick's room, Alfred following closely behind.
Dick was at the bathroom door, ready to slide in and lock it if necessary. Alfred's words had been slightly terrifying but he trusted the butler. If anyone could calm down a hero full of rage, it would be Alfred.
Suddenly the men were in the room and Dick froze, his expressive eyes wide with trepidation. Alfred smiled at him so Dick took a deep breath and stepped away from the door.
Bruce also took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then opened them.
"Come here, chum," he said quietly.
Dick slowly walked over and stared up at his guardian. The boy's light-blue eyes were now full of trust but outlined with apprehension.
"Everything is going to be fine, okay? I'm just going to sit down on the bed and then you are going to turn around. If you want Alfred to stand by you, that's fine. You can stand as far away from me as you want. I don't want you to be afraid of me, Dick."
"I'm not afraid of you," Dick replied, surprise filling the words. "Why would I be afraid of you?"
"Well, you've noticed before how I act when something happens," Bruce stated as he backed up and sat on the bed. "I don't want to scare you, or have you think that I'm mad at you."
"Bruce," Dick stated calmly, "now I know what 'mad' looks – and feels – like. You get frustrated because you can't stop everything bad that happens to everyone. But you don't get 'mad' like other people do."
"I do get mad, Dick."
"I know," the boy sighed, "but only when you see or hear about an injustice. You don't get mad because I break a rule, or answer a question wrong, or speak out of turn, or whatever else. You're not – Batman is not – the bad guy. He takes down the bad guys, so I have no reason to be afraid of you."
Dick walked right up to where Bruce was sitting and slowly turned around. The man clenched his jaw but stayed silent. Alfred saw the struggle and was ready to step in if necessary.
"We're all strong," Dick whispered nervously, "right?"
The butler nodded and Bruce made a sound that could be interpreted as a hum of agreement. The younger man shut his eyes, shook his head, and reopened them.
"What did, um…what did he…"
Bruce was choking on the words and struggling to keep his voice even.
"He used a belt," Dick answered quietly.
The millionaire's entire body went rigid and he thought about going after the man at that very second. But who needed him more right now: his ten-year-old ward or a man about to be arrested?
"How many…" Bruce cleared his throat, "…uh, times?"
"Can we wait for Mr. Makov? Then I only have to tell the story once."
Bruce nodded, realized the boy couldn't see it, and stated, "Yes."
He was going to say something else but, before he could, the doorbell rang.