Note: This used to be chapter 10 so there's nothing new in here. :)
Five months (and many physical therapy appointments) later:
"Richard John Grayson!"
Dick looked down at his guardian sheepishly.
"We talked about this chandelier the last time you got stuck up there! I distinctly remember saying it was off limits!"
"Master Dick, not again!"
"It's just…it swings!" Dick exclaimed. "I miss swinging."
He sighed and his expression, so full of guilty excitement three seconds ago, fell into sorrow.
"Do you want a trapeze in the gym?" Bruce asked gently.
The sadness was replaced by astonishment.
"You would do that for me?!"
"Of course, chum, if that's what you want."
"That would be amaaaaaaazing!"
Dick opened his arms wide and tipped himself backward. Both men jumped into action – Bruce readying himself to catch the boy and Alfred grabbing a pillow to cushion whomever landed first.
"MASTER DICK!"
"DICK!"
The young aerialist hooked his knees around one of the arms of the chandelier and began swinging. Two surprised faces stared up at him; last time he had tried that he had fallen. Arching his back, Dick unhooked his knees and grabbed a different arm with his hands. He slowed his swing and waited until he was directly over Bruce.
"Did I scare you?" he grinned impishly as he glided into the man's open arms.
"How are your knees?" Bruce asked, his eyes narrowed in anger but twinkling with a tinge of amusement.
Dick shrugged out of Bruce's grip and landed lightly on his feet. He jumped up and down a few times, bringing his knees up to his chest while in the air.
"Great!" he exclaimed as he jumped into a backflip.
"Are you ever going to tell me where they went?" the nine-year-old asked before jumping into another backflip.
"I don't know where they went, Dick. All I know is that they decided to move to a place where Michael could have better training. After he gets out of prison, of course."
"With a little persuasion from Bruce Wayne or from Batman? And, uh, how long?"
"You could say it was a little of both. Two years, kiddo, and you have no reason to worry about him anymore. I doubt you're ever going to hear about him again. Gymnasts who haven't fully trained for two years because they are in prison rarely go on to become any kind of star. In fact, I've never heard of one who has."
"I'm never going to be able to pay you back," Dick stated tentatively.
He was suddenly staring at the ground and shifting his weight from side to side. The abrupt change of subject startled Bruce, as did the subject itself.
"Nobody has ever said anything about that, chum. Why would you think that?"
"Well, it's just that you always take care of everything – Mr. Jerkins, Dirk and his family, getting me a trapeze, plus everything you've done before this. I can't…I've been thinking and thinking but I haven't found a way. You didn't have to do any of this, you could have just let me go with the lady at the circus. I'm just an orphan, Bruce, and I don't deserve any of this."
Both Bruce and Alfred were shocked. They had known that Dick was struggling to regain some of his confidence after everything Mark Jerkins had pounded into his head, but they had also thought he was past this kind of thinking.
Bruce had no idea what to say. Alfred was staring at him, waiting for him to reassure the child. But the younger man stayed silent and the butler sighed.
"Master Dick, that is what a good guardian does – he takes care of things. There is no reason for you to have to pay him back for anything."
"Would you have felt like you had to pay back your parents?" Bruce suddenly blurted.
"Uh, no, of course not," Dick whispered. "But they expected me. I was just kind of thrown at you and it was only supposed to be for a night or two."
"You weren't thrown at me, Dick, I offered!" Bruce exclaimed. "And I've told you before that I will always want you to stay!"
"I'm just tired of it," the boy mumbled. "Why can't people just be nice?"
"Oh, dear," Alfred murmured.
"What's going on now, kiddo?" Bruce asked, a slight edge of anger in his tone.
"I…it's stupid. But I told you I would tell you so, uh, okay."
"Nothing that happens to you is stupid," the man nearly growled.
Dick glanced up at his guardian when he heard that tone and then quickly dropped his eyes again. He shouldn't have brought it up. Now Bruce was mad and it was Dick's fault again.
"Sorry," the nine-year-old mumbled again.
Alfred glanced at Bruce and cleared his throat. The younger man relaxed his expression and crouched down in front of his ward.
"Why is it that you always think I'm mad at you?"
"I'm sorry…"
"No, Dick. Why, when you start to tell me something that's hurting you, do you look at the ground and start mumbling?"
"Aren't you mad?"
Sighing inaudibly, Bruce put a hand under Dick's chin and gently lifted his face.
"Yes, I get mad when you're upset or scared or worried or feeling any other negative emotion. But that anger is not directed at you. And it never will be. I hate that there are people who make you feel this way; it makes me want to go…"
"That's why," Dick interrupted softly, his light-blue eyes burning holes into the dark-blue ones of his guardian. "I don't want you to feel like you have to beat somebody up just because I tell you something."
"Wait a minute," Bruce almost snapped. "Are you telling me that you think you should have just let everything at school continue to happen so that I wouldn't get mad?!"
"Master Bruce," Alfred warned quietly.
"No, Alfred, I need to understand this. You would rather be hit by that criminal," Bruce spat the word in disgust, "than see me upset?!"
"It's just, you were usually happy around me and I was scared that it would stop. I didn't want to give you a reason to want me to leave. He just kept saying that over and over, that you were going to be tired of me soon."
"I thought we were past this, chum," Bruce stated, his voice much calmer. "He's an idiot and was feeding you lies."
"We are past this!" Dick exclaimed, his voice slightly guilty.
Raising his eyebrows skeptically, Bruce said, "From what you've been saying, I seriously doubt that. If we are past this, why are you still thinking this way?"
"Because you guys are the only ones who think I'm an okay person!" Dick snapped, surprising the men with his tone. "Everyone else thinks I'm a freak and last week some kid said I was your toy and I don't even know what that means! And he said you were probably tired of whatever it is that I'm doing because I look too stupid to be good at whatever he was talking about and I guess I am too stupid because I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!"
Bruce, who was still crouching, instantly jumped to his feet. Turning around, he slammed his fist into the door, making a dent that wouldn't easily be fixed. Would there ever be an end to this?! And now they had moved on to more than just calling the boy a circus freak or a nobody or whatever else they had called him. Now he was a 'toy'.
"Master Dick," Alfred said as he crouched down, "you are much more than 'okay'. You are the happiest, brightest, most intelligent child I have ever known. Even after everything that has happened, and apparently is continuing to happen, you are maintaining an outward cheerfulness that not many people could do.
I know you are hurting inside, young sir, which is why we want you to feel safe enough to tell us what's going on. Master Bruce is easily angered, yes, but only because he hates what is happening. He hates that he can't just fix everything without you having to go through it. And he feels that he's not good enough for you."
"Not good enough for me?!" Dick shouted. "I'm not good enough for you guys!"
Bruce punched the door one more time before turning around. Shoving his rage to the back of his mind, he took a deep breath. But he was interrupted before he could even begin.
"And I don't even know what I'm not good enough at because nobody will ever explain it to me! They just laugh and walk away and I feel like an idiot all the time!" Dick yelled, throwing his arms in the air to accentuate his frustration.
Alfred slowly stood up and Bruce grabbed his ward's hand.
"Let's go into the living room," he stated, a tinge of fury still outlining his voice.
"I'm sorry," Dick said timidly.
Bruce sat on the couch and pulled the boy down with him. Alfred, deciding this was a conversation between ward and guardian, left to prepare dinner.
"I don't know how else to say this to you, chum. I have never, never, been mad at you. Not even when you risk your safety by trying to get down from a chandelier after being stuck for ten minutes."
He tried to grin but the attempt failed miserably.
"Like Alfred said, I hate that I can't just fix everything. I hate that people make you feel bad all the time. And I hate that you're still scared enough that you think you can't come to me when things happen. But none of those things are your fault, chum. Nothing that has happened during these last few months has ever been because of something you did.
I know you feel like it is, that every time I get mad it's because you told me something that I don't want to hear. But that's the only way I know how to react. I grew up angry, I'm angry at all the injustice in this world, I'm angry that there are criminals and villains and people who hurt children but I'm not angry at you."
"Is that why you became Batman?"
"That's part of it, chum, but not even Batman can make everything fine for everybody. People will still be mean, criminals will still roam the streets and there will always be injustice."
"What does it mean?"
"Well, it means that even though I sound mad…"
"No, not that," Dick interrupted. "Why do people call me a 'toy'?"
"That is a conversation that we should have when you're older, kiddo."
"But they'll just keep laughing and I'm always going to feel stupid!"
"You are far from stupid, Dick, but it's something that innocent nine-year-old boys shouldn't have to hear."
"So, what do I do when they say it to me and then laugh because I'm confused?"
"It's going to be hard but you have to ignore it, chum. Just know that because they say that, they are more idiotic than they're making you feel. They don't know you and they don't know me so they have no idea what they're talking about."
"Okay."
"Please, Dick, please always remember that you can come to me with anything, anytime. Especially if it's something you can't control. I can't fix everything, but I'll do my best to try to make it better for you."
"And you're not mad at me, you're just frustrated and you hate the things that happen."
"Yes, kiddo. Now, is there anything else I should know about?"
"Um, nobody's been violent?"
"Okay, that's something good to know," Bruce stated with a quiet chuckle. "Is there any way for me to help you with the kids who are calling you names?"
"I've, uh, been thinking about that, too," Dick admitted with a small, hesitant smirk. "What if Batman came to see me at school?"
There was a long pause and Dick quickly backtracked.
"I mean, that's a silly idea, why would a hero come talk to a kid, Batman's too busy and people would wonder why he's talking to me and…"
"I'll think about it," Bruce responded, surprising both of them.
"No, don't, it was a stupid idea. Just forget it."
"Perhaps Batman can come give a presentation and then take time to talk to some of the kids after presenting."
A grin lit up the boy's face. It was the same grin that Bruce used to see almost every day when he came home. The grin that had been absent for some time, although Dick had been doing a good job faking it.
"That's what I like to see," Bruce said with a grin of his own.
"Do you want to play a game while we wait for dinner?" Dick asked.
"Sure. What do you want to play?"
"WAR!" the boy yelled gleefully then ran to desk on the other side of the room to grab the deck of cards.
One week later:
Principal Mercer had been fired the day after Mark Jerkins had been arrested. Batman was on very good terms with the new principal, Jack Maizer. So, when the Caped Crusader asked if he could come give a presentation on heroes, the principal had no qualms and quickly agreed.
Batman was almost finished with the presentation. He wanted to end with something that was now very important to him.
"There are many types of heroes and not all of them are super. As we talked about, police officers, firefighters, teachers, and many other people can be called heroes. There is one group we didn't talk about, however, and this group is one of the most important: kids.
Kids can be heroes, too. When you see someone being mean to someone else and you stand up for that person, you're a hero. When you refuse to pass on some gossip that you know isn't true, you're a hero. And when you ignore what other people are saying about you and refuse to retaliate," here Batman found Dick's eyes and connected them with his own, "then you are a hero. I know for a fact that there are heroes in this very room and you probably don't even know about some of them. Be nice, make good choices, stand up for people who are being pushed down and you will be the best hero you can be."
The applause was deafening. Kids were instantly yelling out questions, even though Principal Maizer had said there wouldn't be a question and answer period. He walked across the stage, shook Batman's hand, and took his place at the microphone.
"Teachers, the lower grades will now return to their classrooms, where Batman will make a brief stop before he leaves. All fourth, fifth and sixth grades are to go to the playground, where Batman will spend a few minutes answering questions. Row by row, starting at the back."
The kids filed out of the multi-purpose room in a surprisingly orderly fashion. Even the little kindergartners were polite and fell into line quickly. Batman was very impressed.
It took the teachers less than seven minutes to get everyone out. Principal Maizer thanked Batman and said he would be back in a few minutes to walk the hero around to the classrooms of the younger children. Nodding, Batman walked out the side door and into the bright sunlight.
He was instantly surrounded by a large circle of clamoring kids. Everyone wanted to talk to him, or touch his utility belt, or feel his cape. Almost everyone, Batman noticed as he glanced around. Dick was standing off to the side, staring at the ground. His small hands were clenched into fists and his entire body was trembling. With fear or anger? Batman decided to find out.
There was a tall, chunky kid next to Dick. His mouth was moving and he was waving his hands around. Batman strode toward the two boys, fully expecting to hear something about Dick being a freak or a charity project or something like that. What he heard instead made him growl out loud.
"…probably tired of that. What part of you is he going to use next?"
"Leave," Batman commanded harshly.
The taller boy looked up at the looming figure of the Caped Crusader and then took off. All of the other kids stopped moving, and even talking, wanting to hear what the hero was about to say to the boy from the circus.
"I know what it means now," Dick stated softly in a shaky voice. "He made it very clear, with lots of details."
Batman went down on one knee in front of the nine-year-old but knew he couldn't do anything more than that. He wanted to pull Dick into a hug and wipe away the tears that the boy was somehow holding at bay. And he wanted to follow the other kid home and talk to his parents. But he chose to speak, instead.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly that none of the other completely-silent kids could hear. "I made a mistake; you shouldn't have had to hear it from him."
A tear slid down Dick's cheek and Batman had to struggle to refrain from wiping it away. He internally yelled at himself as Dick slid his small hand across his own face to erase the evidence.
"Can we talk at home?" the boy asked, his voice almost softer than that of Batman.
"Of course, ch…."
"No identifiers," Dick chided with a sniffle and the flash of a smirk.
"I have to go see the smaller kids. You'll let me know if he comes back, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I'll see you later."
Dick nodded with another sniffle and Batman stood up. It was the hardest thing he had to do today, but he did it anyway – turned around and walked away from his ward. His innocent, nine-year-old boy who now knew more about a certain subject than any child should ever have to know.
Principal Maizer met him at the side door and led him away on the short tour. Several other kids walked up to Dick and began asking questions.
"What did he say? Why was he so quiet? Do you know him? What happened? Are you crying?! What makes you so special?"
Fortunately for Dick, the teachers were calling their classes together in order to take them back to class. Unfortunately, the boy who had just given him detailed knowledge was in his class. Dick braced himself for some more details but the kid ignored him and got in line. Sighing in relief, Dick followed his teacher and the rest of the day was uneventful.
The dark-haired man watched the kids on the playground. They were all circled around Batman, clamoring for his attention. Except for two. Picking up his binoculars, the man zoomed in on the two boys that were completely ignoring the Caped Crusader.
"Johnson and Grayson," he murmured, picturing the class photos that lined the bulletin boards in the school.
There was movement in his peripheral vision so he widened the circle. Batman was standing in front of the two boys but one – Johnson – ran away after less than five seconds. Now the hero was kneeling on the ground in front of the other kid – Grayson. He was speaking to the child and the dark-haired man wished he could read lips.
Nobody else was moving and all the kids were leaning toward the pair as if the wind would carry the words to their small ears. Shaking his head, the man chuckled quietly. Kids were so much fun. But he was here for one, and apparently he had found him. Grayson had to know Batman in order to be speaking to him one-on-one, right? Batman was kneeling, was at the boy's level and was obviously talking so quietly that only the boy could hear.
With a slight smirk, the man put his binoculars back in their small case. He quietly left the shadows of the alley across from the school, heading toward his car and his new boss.