Rollerparty, you're awesome! :)

The next morning:

"Sir, we should take him to the hospital!"

"It would be the second extended hospital stay in six months, Alfred! Do you want him to be taken away from us?!"

"Of course not, sir, but his fever hasn't gone down in four hours! Would you rather risk his life, Master Bruce?!"

The two frustrated men were yelling at each other. Alfred's normally calm, soothing, reassuring tone was full of irritation. Bruce was furious at everyone: himself, Oliver, Jerkins, Batman, the guards at the State Pen and Commissioner Gordon – although that man hadn't done anything except deliver bad news.

Dick was lying motionless on the soft bed in his own bedroom. His skin was scalding hot, sweat was glistening on every inch of his body, his heart was racing and his breathing was erratic. The fever had reached 104 before slowly receding to 101.7 but now it was back up to 103. And it hadn't changed, even after he had been given fever reducers and both men had washed his entire body with several cool washcloths.

"Broken bones, bruises everywhere, we might as well just give him away if we take him to the hospital!"

"A nine-year-old boy's life is at stake, Master Bruce!"

"Our nine-year-old boy, Alfred!"

"Br'ss?"

The exhausted voice of Dick Grayson stopped their argument.

"I'm here, chum," Bruce whispered, dropping to his knees by the boy's bed.

"Can you…can Alf…can…"

"Shhh, kiddo," Bruce commanded quietly as he softly ran his hand over Dick's forehead.

Alfred already had the thermometer in his hand. Into the boy's mouth it went and out it came two seconds later: 102.

"Ho'd fin' me?"

"You're not going to believe this," Bruce responded, "but Mark Jerkins called Principal Maizer who called Commissioner Gordon who called Batman."

"Mr. J'ins?!"

"Yes," Bruce stated, chuckling at the disbelief in his ward's voice.

"Broken…"

"Alfred took care of everything, chum. Your leg doesn't need a cast, thankfully, and your forearm was a clean break so it doesn't require surgery – again, thankfully. He wrapped your ribs and put some ointment on your bruises. The small cut on the side of your head has been stitched up and now you're awake."

Dick was struggling to keep his eyes open. Alfred put a cool washcloth on the boy's forehead and Bruce wiped away the moisture on his face with a dry towel.

"Go to sleep," the men murmured at the same time.

But it was unnecessary, because Dick was already in the depths of a healing sleep.

Several hours later:

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Both Bruce and Alfred rushed into Dick's room. The boy was thrashing around, his legs tangled in the sheets and blood seeping from one of his wrists. Bruce arrived at his bedside first and he immediately grabbed his ward's flailing arms.

"Dick, chum, calm down! We're here, it's just us, you're okay!"

The light-blue eyes flew open and Dick sat straight up, gasping for air. His eyes, wild with terror, began darting around the room, seeing everything and nothing at the same time.

"Okay, kiddo, you're okay," Bruce stated softly, pulling the boy into a gentle embrace.

"Never safe," Dick mumbled. "Never going to be safe."

"Hey, let's not think that way."

"Teach me."

"What?"

"Teach me how to protect myself."

Dick carefully pushed his way out of the hug and stared into the dark-blue eyes of his guardian.

"I don't know, chum…"

"Please, Bruce, it will help me. I know it will. Think what could have happened if I had been able to fight my way out of Michael's grasp. Or if I could have blocked…some…hits…"

His voice trailed off at the look at Bruce's face. The man was unintentionally glaring at the boy and thinking that he might not have even found out about the situation at school if Dick had been able to 'block some hits'. But his ward did have a point. Perhaps with some training, he could have escaped from Michael without getting his kneecaps shattered.

"Never mind," Dick muttered.

"I'll teach you some basic things," Bruce acquiesced. "Enough so you can defend yourself if the need ever arises again. Which it won't," he added quickly.

"I don't want to be scared my whole life, Bruce."

"Which is part of why I just agreed. You are one of the bravest people I know and adding a few defensive skills will give you some confidence."

"Thanks, Bruce," Dick whispered. "Will you, uh, stay? Just until I fall asleep?"

"Kiddo, I'll stay here as long as you need me to. But you need to eat something before you go back to sleep."

Alfred, who had left several minutes earlier, re-entered the room with his usual impeccable timing.

"I brought soup, Master Dick," he declared.

"Thanks, Alfred, but I'm not really hungry."

Dick's stomach suddenly growled as the smell of chicken noodle soup drifted in front of his face.

"I think your stomach begs to differ, young sir," the butler said with a smile.

Bruce helped his ward get situated and then Alfred placed the tray on a small, portable table. Dick was hesitant at first but finished the entire bowl in less than ten minutes.

"Now you can rest, chum," Bruce stated.

"When can we start training?"

Alfred, who had removed the tray and was about to walk out the door, froze. Slowly, he turned around and waited for an answer.

Bruce glanced at his butler, whose eyebrows were raised in astonishment.

"Let's not talk about that right now, kiddo. You need to sleep."

After Dick had fallen asleep, Bruce stood up and walked over to his still-frozen butler.

"Training, Master Bruce?" Alfred whispered, shock in his voice.

"Self-defense, Alfred, nothing more."

"I see," the butler murmured.

Turning around again, he walked out the door and down the stairs. Could Batman actually train a small child in basic, self-defense maneuvers? Alfred decided to make sure he was always nearby when they "trained", just in case Bruce went into Batman mode. Batman had never had to hold back when fighting and Bruce had never fought. It was going to be interesting, seeing if the man could merge the two worlds and manage to balance them enough to be able to teach his young ward.

Several weeks later:

Dick's nightmares had shifted. Instead of watching his parents fall almost every night, sometimes he would see himself in the hands of Oliver Williams, or under the strong foot of Michael Wickers.

He had tried to stop screaming or crying but nothing ever helped. He was back to apologizing every night for waking up his guardian. And Bruce, in turn, still always stated that the boy didn't have to apologize for something he couldn't control.

But things were going well at school, an unusual turn of events. Ever since Batman had knelt down and talked to Dick, alone, things had changed. The nine-year-old even had a few friends – real friends, not just kids who hung around because of his conversation with Batman.

And so Bruce had decided that now would be a good time for the boy to learn a few skills. They would meet in the gym almost every day, with a nearly-invisible Alfred always close by. Dick's natural athleticism allowed him to catch on quickly, and the men found out that he had an extraordinary ability to pay attention to the small details. He understood the nuances of correct footwork and was very skilled at reading the body language of an opponent in order to block what was thrown at him.

Of course, the movements were all very basic but still, it was rather impressive. And Bruce had been balancing himself well – always gentle enough to avoid damage but just enough power to help Dick understand the best way to hold his arm, or move his body, or whatever other defensive maneuver they worked on.

"Can I learn offense?" Dick had eagerly asked one day.

"Absolutely not," Bruce had stated firmly, and the boy had dropped the subject.

But dropping it with Bruce didn't mean he had forgotten about it. Sometimes, after Batman had left and Alfred was in the Batcave waiting for the man's return, Dick would creep down to the gym. He had secretly recorded one of Batman's training routines and hidden the tape in an unused cupboard in the back of the gym.

Dick would play the recording over and over, his movements mirroring the ones on the screen. After six or seven nights, spread out over three weeks, the nine-year-old had the entire seven-minute training exercise memorized. And these maneuvers were much more than basic. It was an extremely complicated and intricate workout, and Dick was exhausted after every round. But he also noticed that he was a little stronger than he had been before – not that he had ever been a weakling after eight years of training as an acrobat and aerialist.

One night he almost got caught. Batman had received a rather serious injury and had returned home early. After Alfred had stitched him up, both men had returned to the Manor and gone to the kitchen for a quick, light snack. That was when Dick had heard them. He had turned off the tape and was halfway up the stairs when the light from the kitchen streamed into the hallway that led to the stairs.

"What was that?" Bruce had asked softly when he heard what sounded like quiet footsteps.

Both men had moved quickly, their first thought that somebody had come to kidnap Dick. When Bruce opened the door to Dick's bedroom, he saw the boy peacefully sleeping in the middle of the bed. The man had checked the entire room and, upon finding nothing unusual, had retired to his own room.

But the next day:

"Dick!" Bruce yelled sharply.

The boy was doing his homework in the living room when the man yelled his name. Quickly putting down his pencil, Dick jumped to his feet and raced to the gym, where Bruce was watching a tape of himself – as Batman – doing a training exercise.

"Where did you get this and what is it doing in here?" Bruce demanded when he heard his ward enter the room.

"Um…what is it?" Dick asked, guilt already filling his voice.

Turning to face the boy, Bruce stated, "I told you no offense. Where did you get this recording?"

Dick shifted his gaze to the tape and then looked back at his guardian.

"I may have, um, I just wanted to, well…"

"Dick," Bruce growled.

"Ijustwanttobelikeyou!"

The sentence that rushed out of Dick's mouth sounded more like one word and Bruce had no idea what the boy had just said.

"Slower, please," he lightly commanded.

"I…"

The pause was long and Bruce was becoming impatient.

"Sorry!" Dick yelled, then turned around and raced out of the room.

"He said he wants to be like you, Master Bruce," Alfred said quietly from his usual place in the shadows. "Both you and Batman are his heroes, sir," he stated wisely.

"What?! No, I don't think that's what he said. Your ears must be getting old, Alfred," Bruce replied with a hint of amusement in his tone.

"He's right," Dick's soft voice floated in from just outside the doorway. "I just want to be like you. You're so amazing; I want to be amazing, too."

"Dick, you've got it all wrong," Bruce said. "Come in here, please."

The boy obeyed and the man beckoned him over. They both sat down on the mats.

"You're the amazing one, chum," Bruce stated. "I want to be like you, but you shouldn't ever want to be like me."

"Why not?"

"Because what I do, what Batman does, is not always the right thing to do. Sometimes I go too far, sometimes criminals get away, sometimes I lose myself in a darkness that nobody should ever have to face."

"Then why do you do it?"

"I made a promise to myself, and I always keep my promises."

"But…"

"Dick, you are the light that brings me out of that darkness. When I come home from work, you're always there to greet me. When I come home in the early hours of the morning, you're the first thought that enters my mind and the darkness retreats. I wish I could be the same way for you."

"That's a dumb thing to say," Dick blurted.

Bruce was speechless. He mentally searched through everything he had just said but found nothing even remotely 'dumb'.

"I mean, you and Alfred are the best things that have happened to me since my…since that night. You don't have to wish to be the same as me, you're already better!"

Bruce looked like he was about to disagree, which would start an argument that would circle around and never stop. So, Alfred stepped in.

"I think we should call it a draw, gentlemen. You see, young sir, Master Bruce has never been happier than he is now, so you have made him a better person. On the other hand, many children would have spiraled into something akin to what Batman calls 'darkness' if they had gone through what you have. You haven't, because both Bruce and Batman have always been there for you. That, and your naturally cheerful disposition. So, he has helped you become the best person you can be after everything that's happened to you."

"But…" both Dick and Bruce began.

"That is my final word, sirs. I have lived on this earth longer than both of you put together and I have the wisdom that comes from experience. Therefore, we shall call it a draw. And I don't want to hear any arguing about this – you are both good for each other."

"Okay," they both sighed.

Dick stood up but Bruce hadn't forgotten why they were here.

"No offense, chum, you only need to know defense."

"But…"

"Richard John Grayson, promise me that you will not record me or watch tapes of me and try to learn from them."

With a giant sigh, Dick replied, "I promise I won't record you or watch tapes of you."

I have it memorized anyway.