Note: Sorry for the short chapter.

The next day – Gotham Elementary:

Dick was in front again. His legs were strong, his whole body was strong, and he hated losing. But, he remembered saying that he would just let the other boy win. So, Dick pulled up slightly and allowed the kid to catch up. Dirk – Bruce had told him that was the boy's name – was gasping and probably wouldn't win if Dick didn't slow down even more.

Rolling his eyes and internally growling, Dick began jogging. Dirk laughed at him as he passed and Dick narrowed his eyes but kept his pace steady. Soon three other boys had whizzed by and Dick realized that if he let everyone beat him, Dirk would catch on to his plan.

Speeding up, Dick easily caught up to and passed the three, leaving only Dirk in front of him. He was closing the gap quickly so he pulled up again. Dirk made it to the gym first and Dick silently growled again.

"Slowpoke!" Dirk crowed in delight.

"Good race, nice finish," Dick stated, his voice polite but the words outlined with anger.

It was the nearly inaudible trace of anger that only Bruce, Batman and Alfred would be able to hear. Dick didn't want to do anything to make the other boy upset. Batman hadn't told him about Dirk's home life; the hero hadn't even brought the subject up. So, apparently, it was Dick's job to control the problem. And he could, as long as he let Dirk win.

"Why are you so slow now?" Dirk suddenly asked.

This was a question Dick had never contemplated having to answer. He didn't have an answer but his mind was as quick as his legs.

"I'm not getting very much sleep," he mumbled.

Turning around, he walked toward the drinking fountain on the other side of the gym. Dirk followed and, just as Dick bent down to take a drink, shoved the smaller boy aside.

"Winners first," he declared.

Shrugging, Dick walked away again. The less he said and did, he figured, the better. An upset Dirk was a slightly violent Dirk and Dick wanted to avoid that situation.

"Hey, my older brother's picking me up today," Dirk suddenly stated from behind Dick. "He's a gymnast, pretty good, going to Nationals in a couple of months. You want to meet him? Didn't you do some gymnastics stuff in the circus?"

Dick, surprise in his eyes, slowly turned around to face Dirk. So, a happy Dirk was a friendly Dirk – that was good to know. And Dick knew about Michael Wickers. Anyone who was even remotely associated with gymnastics knew about the twenty-year-old. Nationals, two months away, were the lead-up to Olympic Trials two weeks after that. And Dick knew that Michael Wickers was the favorite to win.

Now it was anticipation that filled Dick's eyes.

"Sure!" he exclaimed quietly. "I'm…that's really cool that he's your brother! He won't mind meeting me?"

That's how Dick always felt now. Everyone should be asked first because many people didn't want to meet a circus freak. Bruce had declared that Dick wasn't, and the boy trusted his guardian, but Mark Jerkins had shaken his confidence in himself. How many other people thought of him like that? It was always better to ask.

"No, why would he? It's not like you're some poor beggar kid."

"Okay, cool, thanks!"

Dick was elated for the rest of the school day. He was going to meet the guy who had won Worlds two years in a row! The Flying Graysons, while looking for new material, had seen Michael Wickers compete when the man was just a fourteen-year-old kid. Michael was so good, even back then, that Dick's parents had modified and incorporated some of his skills into one of their routines.

The youngest of the Flying Graysons had been only three at the time but his parents followed the career of the budding gymnast who had unknowingly provided them with fresh material. He had a new skill every year and a couple of times those new skills had given the Flying Graysons inspiration for their ever-increasingly-athletic routines.

And the meeting was better than Dick could ever had imagined. Somehow, Michael knew about Haly's Circus and the Flying Graysons! He, too, had received inspiration from them and seemed very pleased to meet Dick. They talked for nearly fifteen minutes before Dick realized that he had missed the only bus that went by Wayne Manor.

"Bruce is going to be so mad at me," he muttered softly.

"What?" Dirk asked.

"I…the bus is gone."

"Hey, no worries, kid. I'll give you a ride. Wayne Manor, right?"

With stars of ecstasy in his eyes, Dick asked, "Are you sure? I can call Alfred."

"Nah, I got you. Let's go."

"Okay, thanks!"

Michael opened the back door of his fancy, spruced-up car and bowed.

"Climb in, good sirs, if you please," he said formally with a slight grin.

Dirk waved Dick in so the young aerialist climbed in first. With a glance at his older brother, who was now smirking condescendingly, Dirk scrambled in the car and situated himself.

"This car is awesome," Dick declared softly.

"Well, my family has money, too," Dirk answered defensively.

Dick glanced sideways at the other boy, confused at the tone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything…"

"I know, whatever," Dirk interrupted. "Home, James!" he shouted at the front seat with a grin.

"Yes, sir," Michael stated as he pulled away from the school.

Dick began looking out the window after ten minutes had passed. They should have been to Wayne Manor by now, especially since Michael obviously didn't care about speed limits or red lights.

"Um, I think you missed a turn," Dick said.

He was unfamiliar with this area and it was a bit unsettling.

"Scenic route," Dirk replied.

Wayne Manor:

A worried Alfred was on the phone, waiting for Bruce Wayne to pick up. Dick was almost an hour late. There had been no communication from the school – Alfred had called the front office after twenty minutes but had been forced to leave a voicemail.

"Alfred?"

"Master Dick is late, Master Bruce. The bus stopped by but he didn't get off and apparently the bus driver doesn't care because he left after waiting less than a minute!"

"WHAT?!" Bruce yelled in Alfred's ear. "Did you call the school?"

"Of course, sir, but there was no answer so I had to leave a message. I'm planning to call them again right after our conversation."

"Wickers," the younger man growled.

Alfred gasped in dismay. Bruce had told him the situation but neither of them had imagined that the young man would be bold enough to take the boy from school!

"But why would he go with him?" Bruce asked, talking to himself. "It's not like Dirk is his best friend or anything. What would prompt Dick to miss the bus?"

"I have no idea, Master Bruce," Alfred replied. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm coming home, Alfred. Be there in ten minutes."

"Sir, it's rush hour."

"And I have a helicopter," Bruce retorted, although there was no anger in his voice.

There was suddenly a dial tone in the butler's ear. He replaced the phone then sat down on the nearest chair. If Dick was with the Wickers boy….

A small forest just outside Gotham City limits:

Now Dick was worried. He knew they had left the city but he had no idea where they were. But then they exited the forest and now he knew their exact location.

There was a large circle of dirt with short weeds growing throughout. The weeds were longer outside the circle, although some of them were flattened. Dick could see, in his mind, the exact position of each bright booth. He could see trailers and cars and animal stalls and a big tent. They were at the circus grounds, where his life had been torn apart just three and a half months ago.

"Why are we hear?" he whispered, his voice full of deep sorrow.

Nobody answered and the door beside him was suddenly thrown open. Michael grabbed Dick's left arm and yanked him out of the car. The boy stumbled and was thrown to the ground. He started to get up, intending to run away from one of his heroes, but the gymnast had the advantage of already standing up.

Putting a heavy foot on the small chest, Michael snarled, "Leave my brother alone."

"Didn't…do…" Dick gasped as he grabbed the man's ankle and tried to pull off the weight of a strong gymnast.

The foot pushed down harder and they both heard the 'crack' of a bone. Dick couldn't breathe and his vision was becoming blurry. And then the weight was unexpectedly gone and Dirk's face appeared above him.

"You let me win," Dirk snarled. "I know you did because you blew by the other guys who passed you. Admit it."

Dick didn't want to admit anything but he also wasn't going to lie. He gave a small nod and watched Dirk's snarl turn into a smirk.

"You're a showoff and you brag too much."

Then the boy's face disappeared and Michael's looming body replaced it. He bent down and grabbed Dick's upper arms then pulled him up. Dick was expecting to land on his feet but was instead lifted in the air.

"Why are you bullying my brother?" the man growled, staring up at the terrified face of the nine-year-old.

Without waiting for an answer, he threw Dick across the weeds. The boy landed hard on his right side and couldn't breathe again. Michael was already there and this time he was holding something.

"You can't win if you can't run," he snarled.

Dick watched the tire iron go up above Michael's head.

"Please," he wheezed, horror filling the word. "I won't run anymore. Please don't."

"Too late."

The tire iron whistled as it flew toward Dick. Shutting his eyes that were already leaking tears, the boy waited for the pain to begin. The metal hit his left kneecap and Dick screamed as the bone shattered. Michael strode to the other side of the boy's body while Dirk rolled him onto his left side.

Dick already knew what was coming.

"Please," he whispered, agony filling the word this time. "Please, no," he whimpered as Michael raised the tire iron again. "Please," he tried one more time.

But both Michael and Dirk just laughed and then Michael shrugged.

"Maybe this will teach you not to bully people," he stated.

The tire iron whistled through the air again, shattering his right kneecap upon impact. Dick's scream was silent this time, the pain overwhelming his vocal chords.

And then they were gone. Dick lay on the dirt, panting, sobbing in pain. Nobody knew where he was and the sun was on the western horizon. He should have known – Dirk had never been even remotely friendly. But meeting Michael had been irresistible. This was all his fault again; everything was always Dick's fault.

"Bruce," he groaned softly, and then, "Batman."