The next morning:
"Dick," Bruce began when his ward walked into the dining room.
"Sorry about last night," Dick quickly stated. "I was rude and disrespectful. Sorry."
Bruce blinked in surprise then shook his head.
"I'm sorry, too."
"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. I'm going to be late for the bus. See you after school!"
"But Dick…!"
The boy, however, was already gone. He had come in, grabbed a slice of bacon, and raced out before Bruce could say anything about lifting the ban. Which is what the man had decided to do. There would never be a Robin, but there could be a young boy in the Batcave, helping an old man help Batman.
Gotham Elementary – noon:
Dick, in his eagerness to learn soccer, had forgotten about his lunchtime date with Jimmy. And the ensuing argument hadn't allowed the thought to re-enter his head. So, he was completely surprised when two of Jimmy's friends grabbed his arms and led him toward the far backstop.
Shoot, I don't have a plan.
That's what Dick was supposed to do last night – craft a plan to get an injury, but not a very serious one. And he had neglected to do so after everything that had happened.
"I can get there myself, you know," the ten-year-old said, trying to stall.
"Too slow," one of the sixth-graders replied with a smirk. "Your legs are too short to get you there before the bell rings."
Jimmy was already waiting, and he was holding something. As Dick was shoved toward the older boy, he glued his eyes to the object, hoping it wasn't some kind of weapon. When he saw what it was, he almost burst out laughing.
"You brought a…plastic knife," Dick commented, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.
"More than you got," Jimmy retorted. "Let's go, Grayson, you and me."
"Just you and me," Dick declared. "Tell your backups to leave."
"You think I need backup against you?!"
Everyone but Dick began laughing. Jimmy waved his hand and his friends moved to the other side of the backstop. If they wanted to help, they would have to run around the metal cage, giving Dick plenty of time to prepare.
Jimmy didn't waste time and Dick wasn't ready. But the older boy led with the plastic knife, jabbing it into Dick's side. His acrobatic body was lean, but Dick was deceptively strong, including his abdominal muscles. The knife hit his obliques and snapped in half, leaving a disappointed Jimmy staring at a smirking fifth-grader.
Dick Grayson was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Throwing the first punch meant starting the fight, which meant out-of-school suspension. Defending himself, however, wasn't as serious. So, he dropped into a defensive position and waited for the older boy to strike.
And Jimmy did. He swung wildly at Dick's face so the ten-year-old raised his left arm to block the attempted right hook. Jimmy's meaty fist hit his bicep and Dick knew he was going to have a good-sized bruise. The older boy was strong; stupid, but strong.
Jimmy growled and swung again, this time heading for Dick's stomach. Dick stepped to the side and gave Jimmy's back a gentle nudge with a flat hand. That, along with the awkward follow-through, led the older boy's head straight into the wire of the backstop.
When Jimmy turned to face Dick, the younger boy was disappointed. Jimmy had a head wound, and there was a trickle of blood snaking its way down his cheek.
"Head wounds bleed a lot, Jimmy," Dick remarked. "You might want to stop right now and go to the nurse."
"You're an idiot," Jimmy snapped, shaking his head to clear the tiny clouds that were dancing through his mind.
Droplets of blood flew through the air and Dick stepped back with a grimace. The only blood he wanted on his body was his own. And he still didn't know how to make that happen.
He ducked as Jimmy threw another punch, not wanting a visible black eye or some other type of facial injury. The older boy went for an uppercut with his other hand and Dick twisted away before the fist could connect with his chin.
"You look a little dizzy, Jimmy," Dick stated as he took a step away from the wobbly kick that the older boy threw at him.
And that was Dick's mistake. The gaps between chains in the backstop were just large enough for the hands of sixth-graders to fit through. One of Jimmy's friends reached through and grabbed the back of Dick's t-shirt, pulling him roughly against the fence.
Two other friends grabbed his arms, and now Dick was in a rather unfortunate position. His torso was wide open for an attack, as was his head. The only thing he could do was kick, and so he did. As Jimmy advanced, Dick braced his body against the fence, lifted both legs and shoved his feet into Jimmy's chest. The older boy stumbled back and fell to the ground, gasping for the air that had been knocked out of him.
Jimmy had more than just the three friends that were holding Dick. Three other sixth-graders raced around the backstop. Two of them went to Jimmy, and the other slammed his large fist into Dick's stomach. Now it was Dick who couldn't breathe, and he couldn't curl into himself to try to ease the pain.
Jimmy was up again, hands on his knees and wheezing. All three friends came at Dick this time. The ten-year-old lifted his right leg and threw himself into a windmill kick, his left leg cleaning up the damage from his right.
Friends one and two fell to the ground – the first taken out by the right leg and the second by the left. The third friend jumped back when he saw that happen, causing Dick's legs to harmlessly slide past the older boy's beefy body.
Dick had expected some cheating, but not the kind that involved six of Jimmy's friends. The thought that this had been a bad idea crossed his mind, just as Jimmy's right fist slammed against his left cheek. He braced himself against the fence and lifted both legs again, intending to do to the last friend what he had done to Jimmy.
Jimmy's friends were a little bit smarter than their leader. All three pairs of hands that were holding Dick against the fence opened. Dick had no way to catch himself since his legs were shooting out in front of him. He slammed onto the ground just in time for Jimmy's foot to hit his jaw.
Hands were back again, this time holding him against the fence in a sitting position. Jimmy knelt down in front of Dick, grinning, and wrapped his large hand around the slim throat.
"Knew you…couldn't…do…self," Dick managed to gasp. "Need…fr'ds."
Jimmy squeezed and Dick saw black spots. Just as his vision went blurry and his lungs nearly exploded from lack of air, Jimmy let go.
"Apologize, Grayson," the older boy growled.
Dick choked out a chuckle of derision. That was another mistake, he realized, when Jimmy reached to his left and grabbed a rock.
"You said head wounds bleed a lot, right? How much can you afford to lose from your tiny body?"
Dick's eyes widened. If Jimmy hit him with that rock, it would probably knock him out, which meant they would leave him here, bleeding, and he might not be found for several hours. Which meant a trip to the hospital, not just the Batcave, if he didn't bleed out first.
"You don'…wan'…dothis," Dick slurred.
"Yeah, I kinda do," Jimmy replied. "Gotta teach you to watch your mouth. Can't do that by just hitting you a few times. Unless," he tossed the rock up in the air and caught it, "you apologize."
He knew he should swallow his pride and just do it. But Dick wasn't one to back down, even when it was in his best interest. So, he stayed silent, even while recognizing that this was what Bruce had meant about self-preservation. If that rock connected with his head, there was the slight possibility of death, which meant he was not preserving his life.
Instead of answering, Dick wrapped his legs around Jimmy's torso and squeezed as hard as he could. Jimmy gasped in surprise as the rock fell harmlessly out of his hand. The last friend on Dick's side of the backstop grabbed the ten-year-old's ankles, attempting to pry them apart.
Suddenly, Dick was free. The three boys holding him against the fence had dropped his arms and were racing around the backstop. Dick quickly released Jimmy and rolled to his right. He was on his feet before Jimmy and his friends had time to regroup.
"Five…on…one, Grayson," Jimmy wheezed as he made it to standing.
"Thought it…was just you and me," Dick retorted, his voice sounding like gravel from the strain on his vocal chords.
The older boys advanced. Dick took a step back and dropped into his go-to defensive position. He was not at all confident in how this was going to go; he had barely escaped getting his head bashed with a rock. But, just then, the bell rang.
"Lucky," Jimmy snarled.
Jimmy and his friends turned around, helped their two downed friends up, and headed toward their classroom. Dick breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. He leaned against the fence and lightly touched his throat while rubbing his sore jaw. Bruce was not going to be happy about this.
Dick was so focused on his thoughts that he didn't notice the pinch of a piece of wire slipping itself into the flesh on his lower back. Nor did he feel it retract as he pushed away from the fence. The ten-year-old headed back to class, droplets of blood leaving a nearly invisible trail behind him.
It was about an hour later that Dick discovered something might be wrong. The headache came on first, followed by a sudden wave of heat that washed down his body. That lasted for almost a minute before Dick felt himself go cold. His palms felt slick and there was something wet on his back. He touched the offending area and was surprised when his hand came back red.
Luckily, it was math time. His fifth grade teacher was the same as his fourth grade teacher when it came to math: she completely ignored him. He had already passed out of the fifth grade book last year, so she was giving him week-long packets from the sixth grade book. Dick had already completed the pages she was giving him last year, when he had received the sixth grade book for his birthday. But right now he was grateful, because if his teacher looked at him closely, she would probably send him straight to the nurse.
Dick could feel the sweat beading up on his forehead and trickling down his head. There were no more colors in the classroom, everything was gray. By the time school ended, Dick was shaky. As he stood up to leave, he noticed the small pool of blood on the ground and the droplets that were dripping from the seat of his chair.
Swinging his backpack onto the injured side – to cover any evidence of blood – the ten-year-old unsteadily made his way to the bus. The driver glanced at him then took a longer look.
"You okay, Grayson?" the man asked.
"Yeah, fine, thanks," Dick said breathlessly.
The bus driver looked at the boy skeptically. There was no way the kid was 'fine'. He had a bruise on his jaw, the left side of his face was slightly swollen, his throat was darker in some spots and he was unusually pale.
Dick was walking to the back of the bus before the driver could say anything else, though, so the man let it go. He failed to notice the streak of red on the stair handle and the small spatter of crimson on the floor.
By the time they arrived at Wayne Manor, Dick was ready to take a nap. But, he had to get all the way to the front of the bus and down the steps before he could do that.
"He's bleeding!" someone whispered as Dick walked forward.
The news spread and soon the entire bus was full of murmurs. All eyes were on him as he shuffled forward and finally made it to the stairs.
"Ten cents says he doesn't make it down without falling," a boy whispered.
"I'll take that," a boy across the aisle said and soon the bets were flying around the bus.
Dick made it down the stairs without falling and several of the kids grumbled as they dug into their pockets, searching for a dime. The bus pulled away and Dick stared at the long expanse of lawn between himself and the front door of Wayne Manor.
"Go explain or take a nap?" he asked himself softly.
The idea of sleeping won, so Dick dropped his backpack and melted to his knees. Then he laid down on his stomach and allowed his thoughts to drift into darkness.