Note: Thanks for the review, Flora!

The next day:

"How are you feeling, kiddo?"

"Tired."

"Well, that's understandable after what you've been through these last few days."

"Can I go back to school?"

Dick's voice was hopeful but woven with anticipated disappointment.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Bruce stated.

"But Mr. Jerkins is gone and you said the janitor went back to jail. Nobody else has ever done anything except that one kid after PE! I can handle that, Bruce, it's just a little competition!"

"I'll think about it," the man responded. "But today you're staying home."

The boy sighed in resignation. Thinking about it meant, most likely, a negative answer.

"And Batman is going to visit the school again. I need a description of the kid from PE."

"Oh, come on, Bruce! Let me at least deal with that! You and Batman have taken care of everything else."

"This is not up for discussion, Dick. Give me a description."

"Fine," the boy huffed, annoyed. "He's short and skinny and has floppy brown hair. His nose kind of resembles a pig's nose and his eyes are never happy. Maybe he's just not happy at home, Bruce. Maybe beating me in a race is the only good thing that happens! Come on, I'll just let him win all the time."

Dick had made a good point. Perhaps winning a race against the speedy Dick Grayson was the highlight of the kid's day. Or, perhaps he was just a mean kid and sore loser. Batman was going to find out, but he would observe the boy's home life first.

"I'll watch his home for two nights and then I'm going to end this," the man compromised. "If it's his regular life, I'll take care of that situation. If it's just because he loses to you, I'll have a talk with him."

Rolling his eyes, Dick stood up from his favorite chair in the living room.

"I have homework," he stated, somewhat rudely, and left.

"No, you don't," Bruce whispered after he was gone. With a slight grin and a shake of his head because of the boy's tone, the man went to his study. Batman was going to give the Bat-computer Dick's description, receive an address and go to the skinny kid's house tonight.

Dick, meanwhile, climbed the stairs and went to his room. He laid down on his bed and promptly burst into tears. It was over. Finally, he didn't have to be scared to go to school, or scared to participate in class. He could have fun learning things again and maybe even make some friends.

With his right hand, the boy carefully touched his swollen eye. Maybe Bruce was right; maybe he should stay home the rest of the week. Who would want to be friends with a kid who looked like he had just lost a fight? Dick sighed, turned on his right side and fell asleep.

That's how Bruce found him four hours later. The boy was on his left side now and the soft light from the bedside lamp was shining on his bruised but peaceful face. Bruce walked over to the bed, regretting the fact that he had to wake up his ward. But it was already past lunch time and he needed Dick to be able to go to sleep tonight.

The man noticed the dried tear tracks and wondered what had upset his boy. Was it the fact that Batman was going to take care of the situation with the other kid? Maybe he should let Dick deal with it, see if he could work it out himself. Perhaps he would give his ward a week and then, if nothing got better, step in and handle it.

"Hey, kiddo, it's time to wake up," Bruce whispered as he gently brushed the boy's dark hair away from the bruised face. Dick stirred but his eyes remained closed and he attempted to turn away from the touch.

"I know you're tired but you won't be able to sleep tonight if you don't get up now. Come on, Dick, open those friendly blue eyes."

And he did. The nine-year-old obediently raised his lids and stared at his guardian. Then he grinned, a big, genuine smile that lit up his entire face.

"I can have fun at school!" he exclaimed as he quickly sat up. "Thanks, Bruce!"

The boy's small arms were suddenly wrapped tightly around the man's torso and he was squeezing as if his life depended on it. His arms were extremely strong, Bruce realized, as they crushed his chest. They weren't doing any damage, he wouldn't even have a bruise, but the millionaire was surprised. Bruce had known that Dick was strong, but not this strong. It was impressive.

"You're welcome, chum."

Several days later:

Batman had kept his promise. He had found the boy who was tormenting Dick and had watched his house for two nights and half a day. The kid's parents obviously loved him and his two siblings hardly ever fought with him. Of course, they were about nine or ten years older than him so, really, there was very little to fight over.

The boy's name was Dirk. He was the baby of the seemingly perfect family. And he was the only one who didn't have any of his parents' or siblings' facial features. Batman had studied everything about their looks, the way they moved and how they spoke. Dirk was the only one with skin a shade lighter and the slightest trace of a midwestern accent.

His mother was a dancer, his father a former Olympic track star, his older sister a rising basketball star and his older brother a gymnast just beginning to reach his peak. Dirk was the only one who had no athletic skills – that Batman had observed, anyway – and the only one who walked with all the grace of an elephant.

Then Batman had searched the Gotham City social services records, the ones that were closed to the public but open at midnight to a crime-fighter with the right tools. Right below the name Dick Grayson was the name Dirk Grimhall. And right below the name Bruce Wayne were the names Matt and Judy Wickers. They were his legal guardians and had been for almost two years.

Neither Bruce nor Batman had ever heard of the Wickers. It was strange, especially since they lived in an almost-mansion with a butler, two maids and a cook. People like that were usually in Bruce's social circle, or at least on Batman's radar as perfect ransom targets.

He had decided to go back for one more night and, upon reaching the boy's house, was pleased he had made that decision. Apparently, Dirk was having a bad night, although Batman had no idea why. The boy was in the process of yelling at his mother when the Caped Crusader arrived and began watching from the deep shadows of the dense trees surrounding the house.

"Why can't I have it?" Dirk shouted. "Dick Grayson has one, why can't I? Is he better than me just because he's from the stupid circus?"

"Dirk, honey," his mother tried to placate him, "there is no reason for me to think that someone from a circus is better than you. I don't know why the boy has a new backpack but his guardian must have a reason."

Yes, I do.

Batman silently answered the woman's thought. Dick's backpack had been torn sometime during the month of abuse he had endured. Bruce hadn't known about that, either, until it had broken completely on his ward's first day back at school.

Dirk was yelling again, something about the style and color, and Batman rolled his eyes. The kid was this upset about something as small as a backpack?!

"Just because his parents died while doing something cool?!" Dirk demanded accusingly. "Just because mine were 'only' in a car accident, he deserves better than me?!"

Sighing, his mother replied, "It doesn't matter how a person's parents die, sweetie. What does matter is that you have a loving family, which is better than the single millionaire playboy that the poor Grayson boy has."

Batman inaudibly growled at those words. Dick was happy and safe, that was what mattered. And now he knew the answer to the problem. Dirk was jealous that Dick's parents had died in a "cooler" way than his own. It was the stupidest reason that Batman had ever heard, and the hero had heard some idiotic explanations from people who were jealous enough that they turned into criminals.

Shaking his head, Batman turned to leave. But the next words stopped him in his tracks.

"He should have died with them," Dirk snarled at the woman. "Shouldn't someone in this 'loving' family take care of this problem for me?"

"I got your back, little guy."

The deep voice of a man joined the conversation and Batman turned back toward the house. Dirk's gymnast brother had entered the room and the Caped Crusader had no doubts about the young man's words.

He was short but muscular, as many gymnasts are, and he had just slung an arm around his little brother's shoulders.

"Michael James Wickers, you are not going to kill a kid!" the boys' mother exclaimed.

"Nah, just take care of the problem. It's obvious that Dirk is being bullied by this Grayson kid. So, I'll just rough him up a little, teach him a lesson."

"Like the one you taught those two men a year and a half ago?!"

"Hey, they killed Dirk's parents! Batman wasn't trying to solve the case and neither were the police. Somebody had to take care of those drunken murderers!"

Batman had no idea what murderers they were talking about. Car accidents happened frequently in large cities like Gotham and those were things the police took care of. Not once in his entire career had the Caped Crusader been asked to help on a case involving a car accident.

"And anyway," Michael continued, "I didn't kill them."

"Because putting them in comas and on life support is so much better," the woman snapped sarcastically. "You're lucky that Bruce Wayne donates money to Gotham Memorial, money that is used to keep people alive!"

"That's another thing!" Dirk suddenly shouted. "He's always bragging about how charitable his guardian is! Grayson throws it in my face every day!"

"We are charitable, also, Dirk!"

"Yeah, to the wrong charities!" the boy retorted.

"You do not get to decide which charities are more deserving than others!"

This was a full-blown fight now and Batman had just been given another answer to Dick's problem. But the hero highly doubted that his ward went around telling people about how charitable Bruce was, much less bragging about it. The boy paid attention to the things Bruce did, but he was only nine and things that didn't concern him were quickly dismissed from his intelligent but young mind.

"Dirk, I got it, okay?" Michael stated, attempting to calm his younger brother. "I'll take care of it as soon as I get the chance."

"Do something to his leg," Dirk growled. "He's always showing off when we race after gym. Make it so he can't run as fast."

The mother sighed again, shook her head and walked out of the room.

Batman's eyes widened. She was leaving when her boys where talking about hurting Dick Grayson?! And not just hurting, injuring him enough to slow him down for…the rest of his life or 'just' a while?

"Come on, Dirk, how am I supposed to do that? I can't just chop off his legs!"

"Break his kneecaps or something," the younger boy snarled. "Then he'll be in a wheelchair for a long time!"

"The only way that will happen is if he has to have surgery, kid," Michael said, irritation in his voice.

"So make it a…"

Dirk had lowered his voice and was now whispering in his brother's ear. Not even Batman could hear the words, even though he had shut down his other senses and was straining to catch every sound.

"…true…hospital…Wayne…open…night…idiot…"

Michael was slightly louder than his younger brother but still Batman only caught a few words. It was obvious that the man was going to attempt to put Dick in the hospital but nothing else made sense. What did "open night" mean?

Batman suddenly realized that the brothers had left the room. Turning around, he raced away toward the Batmobile. He wasn't going to tell Dick what he had just learned, but he also wasn't going to let his nine-year-old ward "take care of" the problem by letting Dirk Grimhall win the race every day. This was much more serious than that.