Three days later:

Guardian and ward were in the living room, each immersed in a thick book.

"Bruce, is it hard to be Batman?" Dick abruptly inquired.

Bruce thought for a few minutes before replying. It was a somewhat complex question and required a complicated answer. And he had to figure out how to put it in child-friendly terms.

"Yes and no," he finally said. "It's difficult to see all the evil in the world, especially in Gotham City. But it's satisfying when I thwart the carefully-planned crime of a villain. And catching the criminal before anything happens, before any innocent person gets hurt, is like a breath of fresh air. However, there are times when I don't get there quickly enough and then it's like a cloud of smog settles in my chest. Sometimes it hurts to breathe, knowing that if I had been a little faster, arrived a little sooner, the crime could have been prevented. But because I didn't, someone has been robbed, or assaulted or sometimes something worse."

"Oh," the boy stated and then returned to reading his book.

Several minutes later Dick asked, "Did you not have a place to change into Batman?"

"What do you mean?" Bruce replied, a little confused.

"On that night, did you come help me because there was no private spot for you to become Batman?"

I don't know because I didn't even think about it.

How was he going to give that answer? Instead of Batman going after the killer, Bruce Wayne had gone to the little clump surrounding a newly-orphaned nine-year-old. But Dick wouldn't understand why he had chosen to do that.

"Bruce?"

"I…"

There was a long pause. Dick waited but was becoming impatient. It wasn't a hard question to answer.

"Bruce?" he said again.

"Batman didn't make an appearance because Bruce was drawn to you. I wanted to help you. I didn't even think…I mean he was…and you were…"

"Are you saying that you didn't even try to become Batman?!"

With a sigh of regret – he really didn't want to say this – Bruce answered, "Yes."

"But…you're Batman! You're supposed to catch criminals! Was the man who murdered two innocent circus performers not important enough to go after?! He killed them!"

"No, I mean, yes, of course he was important. But, I guess I felt that you were more important. And Miss Jameson was ready to take you away, remember? I saved you from going to the detention center."

"You didn't even try," Dick whispered, grief in his voice.

"But you were on your way to a place for delinquent children! You could have been beaten, or even killed!"

"You didn't even TRY!" the boy yelled.

"Dick, I…you needed a place to go! If Batman had gone after Mack, you might not even be here right now! And the criminal is in jail now anyway!"

"Because of ME!" the ten-year-old practically roared.

"Dick…"

"The police didn't do anything, Batman didn't do anything, the only reason you caught him was because of ME!"

"If you saw a boy who had just lost his parents, what would you do?!" Bruce shouted. "Would you just say 'who cares, I'm going after the criminal instead'? I highly doubt it!"

"But you didn't know she was going to take me there! You could have caught him, right then, and I…"

"STOP!" Bruce thundered.

Dick was shocked into silence.

"I did what I did and it was over a year ago," the man stated, struggling to calm down. "You need to let it go."

"Like you let yours go?!" the boy demanded heatedly.

"This is not about me!"

"Only because there was no Batman back then! Batman would have gone after the man who killed…"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Bruce thundered again. "I don't know what Batman would have done back then but it's a moot point because there was no Batman! You need to think about what you're saying, Dick, before you continue!"

Just then the doorbell rang. Alfred had gone to town to buy groceries so Bruce was the one who had to answer the door. Taking a deep breath, the man stood up and walked away from his ward.

Whoever it was pounded on the door and yelled, "Open the door now!"

"I'm coming," Bruce grumbled.

He opened the door to a tall, muscular man in a suit and tie. The man was frowning and there was a briefcase by his feet. It was lying on its side, as if he had just dropped it there.

"I need to see Dick Grayson. Immediately," the man commanded.

"And who are you?" Bruce snapped.

The man pulled a small, black ID folder out of his inside jacket pocket. When he flipped it open, Bruce paled noticeably.

Greg Makov, Social Services.

"I'm the boy's new case manager. Please either take me to him or bring him to me."

Pulling the door all the way open, Bruce motioned Greg inside. The man grabbed his briefcase and walked in. Bruce led him to the living room, where Dick was engrossed in his book again.

"Dick Grayson, I assume?" Greg asked.

Dick looked up and nodded, a quizzical look on his face.

"I need you to come with me, son."

"What? Why?" the boy asked.

"I heard a lot of yelling and your guardian looks very unhappy right now. I don't think you are safe here at the moment."

"What?!" Dick exclaimed. "We were having an argument! Everybody has arguments! I was yelling, too!"

Bruce's heart was thumping so hard that he was sure it was going to explode out of his chest. This was his fault; he was the adult, he wasn't supposed to be roaring at his ward.

"And I am safe here!" Dick continued loudly. "Safer than I'll be anywhere else!"

"You don't have a choice, son. I'm taking you to my office and we'll find a suitable place for you until we have investigated this matter. If we deem Mr. Wayne to be unfit…"

"I'm not your son and I'm not leaving. Bruce would never do anything to hurt me!" Dick shouted, fear in his voice.

"Be that as it may, what I heard was too alarming to ignore. Let's go."

Dick stared at Bruce, his eyes pleading for help. The man looked helpless and frustrated. He nodded his head and Dick slowly stood up.

"You'll be back, kiddo. Everything will work out, I'll find a way to fix this," he said softly as Dick walked past him.

"I don't want to leave," Dick stated quietly to both men as several tears trickled down his cheeks. "It was just an argument."

Shaking his head, Greg led Dick out the door. Bruce watched in stunned silence as the case manager put the boy in the back seat of his car and drove away.

"Dick," he whispered despairingly.

The office of Greg Makov – thirty minutes later:

"Sit here," Greg pointed to a chair across from his small desk. "We obviously need to talk."

Dick had been quietly crying during the entire ride. His eyes were wet and red and tear tracks ran in every direction on his cheeks.

Greg handed him a single tissue and said, "I need you to tell me precisely what happened back there. Mr. Wayne sounded very threatening."

The ten-year-old didn't know what to say. He couldn't exactly tell the man that they had been arguing about whether or not Batman should have chased down the killer on that night.

"We were just having an argument," he said softly. "Would you take a kid away from his parents if they had a loud argument?

"Mr. Wayne is not your parent, this is a completely different situation. What were you arguing about?"

Dick remained silent, staring at the floor and allowing the tears to continue sliding down his face.

"I'm here to listen, son," Greg sighed. "You can tell me anything you want without having to worry about repercussions from Mr. Wayne."

Dick looked up and glared at the man.

"I never have to worry about that," he growled.

"Okay, good," the man said, picking up a pen and writing something on a piece of paper. "Then you can tell me what you were arguing about, right?"

No matter what.

Dick was going to protect Batman's identity, no matter what.

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled.

"Okay, then let's go in a different direction. Have you and Mr. Wayne ever argued like this before? Does he yell at you often?"

"No."

"No to which question?"

"Both of them."

"I see here that you were in the hospital with a very serious injury last year. Can you tell me about that?"

"I got hurt."

"Yes, that's obvious. What happened?"

"A guy hit me with a tire iron."

Greg gasped in disbelief.

"Not Bruce," Dick immediately clarified.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No."

Dick was sullen now, his voice fluctuating between fear and anger.

"If it wasn't Mr. Wayne, who was it?"

"You probably don't know him."

"We won't know that unless you tell me."

With a giant sigh, Dick stated, "Michael Wickers."

"Dirk Grimhall's older brother?!" Greg asked, astonishment in his voice.

"You know Dirk?"

"I…can't talk about that," the man stated.

Dick shrugged and dropped his eyes to the ground again.

"So, Michael Wickers hit you with a tire iron and you went to the hospital. Approximately how long did it take for Mr. Wayne to arrive? Or is he the one that brought you in?"

"Batman brought me in and I was kind of out of it since I had just had my kneecaps shattered by a rather strong gymnast."

"Oh, my!" Greg murmured as he wrote something else down. "Have you had any other serious injuries while in the care of Mr. Wayne?"

Yeah, I was beaten by my teacher and whipped by some Australian guy. Then I was shot by the man who killed my parents.

"No," Dick easily lied.

"Do you get enough to eat, enough sleep, do you attend school every day?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Dick sighed with a roll of his eyes. "Don't you have the papers from Miss Jameson? She interviewed me a couple of days ago."

"I'm sorry, am I annoying you, young man?" Greg asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yes, I did receive her notes. She did write that you were being rather rude to her."

"She wasn't listening to me," Dick stated, lifting his head again. "I wasn't trying to be rude, I was trying to tell her the truth. But she kept turning everything around because she doesn't like Bruce."

"Do you like Bruce?"

"Yes! He's the best guardian I could ever ask for, he's amazing!"

"Then why was he roaring at you, son?"

"I'm not your son!" Dick yelled. "Stop calling me that!"

"Hmmm," Greg murmured as he wrote on his paper again.

"Sorry," Dick mumbled.

"Do you know who Batman is?" Greg asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"What?! Why would I know that?!"

"I noticed that you were seen talking to him on the playground a while back."

"You noticed that?"

"It was in the notes from Miss Jameson."

"How did she know?"

"Apparently she kept very good tabs on you. She actually had an appointment with Principal Maizer on the day Batman gave his presentation. Tell me, s…Dick, why would Batman kneel in front of you and speak to you one-on-one?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you must remember what you talked about. It's not every day that a boy gets to talk to a hero."

"I don't remember."

"Okay," Greg sighed. "Let's talk about the night your parents died."

"Why?!"

"I need to know your emotional state," the man answered with an indifferent shrug.

"Oh, yeah, I was feeling great that night," Dick snapped sarcastically. "Wouldn't you be feeling carefree and happy if it had happened to your parents?!"

"Miss Jameson was right, you do have a temper. I have a note from former principal Mercer, who told her that you were quite the little bully when you first arrived here."

"Oh. My. Gosh," Dick growled, dropping his head into his hands. "It wasn't me," he mumbled through his fingers. "Ask Commissioner Gordon."

"Yes, I suppose I'll have to do that. So, tell me why Mr. Mercer said you were a bully."

Dick lifted his head, tears streaming down his cheeks again, and said, "My teacher hit me sometimes and Mr. Mercer didn't want Bruce to find out. So he somehow altered the school security tapes to make it look like I was trying to fight everyone."

"How long did Mr. Wayne know about this abuse before he decided to contact the school? A week, two weeks, a month?"

"He didn't know about it until I got a black eye."

"So, he didn't care enough to ask about how you were doing at school."

"I didn't tell him!" the ten-year-old yelled. "Mr. Jerkins told me not to or…"

Dick choked on his tears and couldn't continue. Mr. Makov handed him the entire box of tissues this time.

"You've had it pretty rough, haven't you, kiddo," the man commented gently. "Maybe you would be better off starting over in another city. There are several wonderful foster families in Bludhaven."

"I don't want to start over," Dick cried morosely. "I want to stay with Bruce."

"Well, for now, that's not possible. I'm going to make some phone calls to find you a place to stay for tonight and then we'll take about more permanent arrangements tomorrow."

Greg picked up his phone and called his assistant, Lisa. He spoke quietly into the phone and she came in less than twenty seconds later.

"Hi, Dick," she said softly as she crouched in front of him. "I'm Lisa and you get to come be my helper today. Sound good?"

He shook his head but she took his left hand and gently pulled him up. The motion put a strain on his still-healing bullet wound and he had to bite his tongue.

"You okay," Lisa asked, feeling him stiffen slightly. "Are you injured in some way?"

"No," he mumbled, "just sad."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

They were outside of Mr. Makov's office now. Lisa was closing the door but her eyes were on Dick. She hated when the kids cried, it broke her heart.

"I just want to stay with Bruce," Dick cried.

He freed his hand, dropped to his knees and curled into himself. Lisa immediately sat down next to him and pulled him into her arms. She rocked him back and forth, murmuring soothing words in his ears, until he fell asleep.

Lisa carefully laid him on the floor near the wall and went to get the blanket she kept in her desk for these exact situations. She smoothed it over his small body but noticed something unusual. There was a small spot of red on the sleeve of his t-shirt; the one on his left arm.

Gently, Lisa lifted the end of the sleeve and peered inside. The spot on the sleeve came from a circle of red on his arm. Deciding to investigate further, she pulled the entire sleeve up and over his shoulder then gasped loudly. It was blood, and it was slowly leaking out of some kind of still-healing injury.

"Mr. Makov!" she exclaimed as she burst through his door. "There's something you need to see!"

Alfred arrived home only ten minutes after Dick had been taken away. Bruce was still standing in the open doorway, staring at the empty driveway with distress in his eyes.

"Master Bruce?" the butler inquired as he walked in. "Are you okay, sir? Where is Master Dick?"

"We got in an argument," the younger man said, sounding like an emotionless robot. "His new case manager came when we were yelling at each other. He…he took him away, said it wasn't safe for him here."

"Good heavens!" Alfred exclaimed.

"They're going to investigate me, decide whether or not I'm fit to be a…his…guardian. They're going to take him away, Alfred."

What sounded like a sob choked his throat. Alfred was standing in the entrance, two bags of groceries in his arms and eyes wide with shock.

"I can't fix this, I don't know how to fix this. What do we do?"

Alfred, for one of the few times in his life, was speechless. He had no immediate ideas and his mind was still reeling from the news, anyway.

"We're losing him, Alfred!" Bruce suddenly yelled, startling his butler.

"We will not allow that to happen, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, his voice calm even as his mind jumped from thought to thought. "I don't know what to do yet, but we will figure something out."

Shoving the bags into Bruce's arms, the faithful butler closed the front door and walked quickly to the kitchen. When he noticed that Bruce was still standing motionless, he took a deep breath.

"Come, Master Bruce. We need to sit down and think this through."

The two residents of Wayne Manor didn't know it, but Dick was currently in an ambulance and on his way to the hospital. Neither Greg nor Lisa could identify the wound but it seemed serious. The social worker decided it was better to be safe than sorry, so he called in a favor and an ambulance was in the parking lot within ten minutes.

The paramedics said it could be a gunshot wound but imaging was going to be necessary in order to be certain. Dick had woken up when they had been checking him and had become hysterical. He was now in the depths of unconsciousness, having been injected with a sedative.

They arrived at the hospital and Dick was immediately taken to a bed in the ER. The same long-winded doctor who had treated him almost a year ago was the one on duty. He checked the wound and said that no imaging was necessary. It was definitely from a bullet and he had received the injury recently.

"Mr. Wayne came right away when his boy was here before. Do you want me to call him?" the doctor asked Greg.

"No, we don't know the circumstances. It could be that Mr. Wayne was the one that gave him this injury."

Dick stirred and both men looked down at him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a pen in the hand of Greg Makov.

"Does Mr. Wayne own any guns, son?" the man asked.

"No," Dick mumbled. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," the doctor replied. "You've been shot."

Dick almost blurted out 'Again?!' but managed to hold it back.

"It looks to be about a week old," the doctor continued. "Can you tell us – do you remember – what happened?"

"No," the boy answered, telling the truth and lying at the same time.

No, couldn't tell them. Yes, he did remember. He remembered every second of that day. Every movement, every expression, the pain as the bullet ripped through his skin. But he wasn't going to tell them that. The fact that they knew about it was bad enough.

"Well, you must have been treated by someone," Greg stated. "Where did Mr. Wayne take you? What doctor, or hospital, or clinic?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?!" the man exclaimed incredulously.

"Mr. Makov, getting shot is a very traumatic experience," the doctor remarked quietly. "The boy is only ten."

"Why didn't you tell me about this when I asked if you had received any other injuries while in the care of Mr. Wayne?"

"I'm tired."

"That doesn't answer my question, son."

"Not your son, too sleepy, want Bruce."

"Richard…"

But Dick had already drifted off to sleep. Greg wanted to shake him awake but the doctor, recognizing the expression on the man's face, gently pushed him away from the bed.

"Perhaps having Mr. Wayne here would be beneficial, Mr. Makov."

"I'm going to talk to the man first. Then I'll decide if seeing his guardian will be beneficial for Dick's health and well-being."

With that, Greg Makov strode purposefully down the hospital corridor, heading for his car and Wayne Manor.