Note: As usual, thanks for the comments, Rollerparty! I have some answers to your non-questions. :) Batman has every gadget he needs, every time he needs it. If he needs to blow up a gun, he suddenly has a Bat-laser in that ever-useful utility belt. Also, this is obviously not canon compliant. Therefore, no Zucco. I don't like how it went down in the actual story so, using creative freedom, I changed it. :) Sorry if that's disappointing.
Several days later:
Mr. Mack had only spared Dick a passing greeting – hello, good afternoon – for the past few days. It was frustrating to all three residents of Wayne Manor, but there was really nothing they could do about it. So, Dick decided to be proactive.
The word problem he was working on was long and complicated, even for him. Not something he wouldn't be able to figure out on his own, but close enough to ask the tutor for help. Mr. Mack willingly worked the nine-year-old through it but, when Dick tried to engage him in a conversation about acrobatic tricks, the man shook his head and stated that he had a lot of other students to tutor. He then moved on, leaving Dick more frustrated than ever.
To top it all off, Bruce got mad at his ward for trying to make it happen. He talked about making Mack suspicious and how that would ruin what they were attempting to figure out. Dick argued back that they couldn't figure it out if the tutor wouldn't even talk to him. They were at an impasse, and nobody had any ideas about how to proceed.
Dick's birthday was coming up but he refused to acknowledge that fact. He never answered any questions about how he wanted to celebrate, he would just say that it didn't matter so there was no need for any sort of celebration. And he ignored the men when they brought up the subject of gifts. That was very uncharacteristic of Dick – he had never completely ignored them – but Bruce and Alfred continued trying anyway.
The nine-year-old never said anything, but the only "gift" he wanted was watching Mr. Mack being carted off to jail. A few injuries would make it almost the perfect present, but he would be satisfied even if that didn't happen.
Batman had no evidence and the boy couldn't even start the process of getting some. So, Dick – without thinking about possible consequences – decided to take the matter into his own hands. Little did he know, Mr. Mack was about to do the same thing.
Dick's birthday:
"Dick, I know you said you didn't want any celebration or gifts but we did it anyway," Bruce stated when his ward entered the dining room for breakfast. "Alfred is going to make whatever meals or snacks you want. And this is for you."
Bruce held out a small, rectangular package that was deceptively heavy. Dick internally growled – he really didn't care about his birthday this year – but graciously accepted the gift. His eyes widened when he unwrapped it. It was a silly thing to get all teary-eyed about, but it meant a lot to the ten-year-old.
"Did Batman steal this?" Dick asked, his tone both curious and suspicious.
"Nope," Bruce answered with a grin. "I just happen to have a few connections."
It was a sixth-grade math book. To most people, it was a stupid present. To Dick, however, it was one of the best. He had grown bored with the busy work provided by his teacher – was, in fact, extraordinarily irritated that he had to do it.
Bruce, through the always-keenly-listening ears of Alfred, had found out about the boy's frustration. It wasn't hard for him to procure the book. He was, after all, the president of the school board.
"Thanks," Dick finally said, a genuine, brilliant grin lighting up his face.
"You're welcome, chum."
"And thank you, too, Alfred."
"You are most welcome, Master Dick. We felt as you did at Christmas, young sir. We didn't want to not give you something."
"The only problem," Bruce stated, "is that you can't take it to school." Dick's face fell so the man quickly continued, "However, I've found a way around that. We'll tear pages out and make them into packets. When your teacher gives you a new packet, just switch."
"What if she notices?"
"Just wait until nobody is paying attention to you."
"That won't be hard," Dick replied, rolling his eyes. "Nobody pays attention to me during math. At least, not anymore. But I still have to turn in the packets she gives me."
"Oh," Bruce stated, disappointed that he hadn't thought of that.
"She gives me ten pages, two for each day. But I think I can do them on Mondays and then use ours the rest of the week!" Dick exclaimed happily.
"You should leave one or two pages incomplete until Friday," Bruce advised. "In case she wants to see your work sometime during the week."
"She never checks, she just slaps the packet down on my desk and never comes back during math until Fridays."
"Still…" Bruce began.
"But I will," Dick interrupted agreeably.
"Why don't you want to celebrate your birthday?" Bruce asked, abruptly changing the subject.
"Master Bruce," Alfred quietly stated reprovingly.
"I don't know," Dick answered uncomfortably. "It just doesn't seem…important, I guess."
"You do know you're important to us, right?"
"Yeah," the boy responded with a shrug. "But that doesn't mean you have to throw a party or get presents or anything."
"You really take yourself for granted, kiddo. I could celebrate every day, just because you're here."
"But then wouldn't you be celebrating their…that night?"
"No," Bruce was suddenly flustered. "I didn't mean…you really are the most intelligent child I've ever met."
"And exactly how many kids have you met, Bruce?" Dick asked with a smirk.
"Uh, Dirk and Michael and that kid on the play…"
"Master Bruce!" Alfred exclaimed, his tone still reproving.
"Do you think before you say some things?" the boy queried, amusement dancing in his light-blue eyes.
"So, um, what do you want for dinner?" Bruce inquired hastily. "And do you want cake or ice cream or both or something else or…"
"Okay, Bruce, calm down," Dick interrupted with a laugh. Glancing at Alfred, he stated, "Whatever is easiest for you. It doesn't have to be anything special."
"My word, Master Dick, you can be difficult at times," the butler responded with a slight grin. "I suppose we'll just have to surprise you, then, young sir."
And surprise him they did. The cake, although small, was a perfectly shaped bat. It was chocolate – which, surprisingly, Bruce had discovered was the boy's favorite – and the frosting was made of whipped cream.
Dinner was an all-out affair. Alfred used the special occasion china and, for that one night, sat down and ate with his boys.
And finally, just before bedtime, the men gave the boy one last gift. It was a picture frame that opened like a book. Inside were two very different pictures.
The first one was extremely familiar to Dick. It was the official Haly's Circus photo of the Flying Graysons. But it wasn't the formal one, that one was in Dick's photo album. This was the silly shot, the one where his parents were kissing while he was staring up at them with an expression of amused disgust. His mother's hand was on his shoulder and his father's hand was slightly blurry as it ruffled Dick's dark hair. It was one of the last photos his family had taken together.
The second picture was a complete surprise. Somehow, Alfred had found a way to take a picture of the three of them without anybody else noticing. Bruce and Dick were heavily involved in what was probably a game of War – the boy's favorite card game. Although their faces were mostly profiled, the photo captured the twinkle in the man's eyes and the laughter dancing through those of Dick. Alfred, meanwhile, was standing between them but back a few steps. He looked every inch the proper butler, except for the slight smirk on his face. There was a hint of merriment in his eyes that came from knowing he had just captured their first family photo.
"Thanks," Dick whispered, tears shimmering in his eyes.
"You're welcome, chum," Bruce repeated his words from earlier in the day.
"You are most welcome, Master Dick," Alfred repeated his words at the same time. "And now it's off to bed, young sir. You do have school tomorrow."
Bruce settled his ward in bed and then said, "Good night, kiddo. Sleep well and dream of chocolate cake."
Dick laughed, snuggled under the covers, and promptly fell asleep.
Bruce went downstairs and then into the Batcave. It was high time Batman confronted Mr. Mack. After finding the man's address, the Caped Crusader climbed into the Batmobile and headed twenty minutes south.
The man wasn't there when Batman arrived. So, the hero waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. He finally gave up at 4AM and returned home, extremely irritated.
Alfred was still in the Batcave, awaiting his charge's return. He was dozing in the chair by the Bat-computer and Batman felt bad that the butler was still there because of him.
"There is no cause for concern, sir," Alfred stated.
He had opened his eyes and seen the regret that had just raced across the face of the cowl-less Bruce Wayne.
"I would much rather be down here dozing than upstairs, Master Bruce," the butler continued. "For up there, I would undoubtedly be wide awake, wondering if you had returned. You, sir, are more important to me than you will ever know. And I will be able to take a short nap this morning, sir, seeing as Master Dick has school and you have work."
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce replied. "I could never have done – could never do – any of this without you."
"Did you talk to the man, sir?"
"No," Bruce growled. "He wasn't there when I arrived and he never showed up."
"That's strange," Alfred murmured.
"I'll just have to try again tonight, I guess. Maybe he'll at least talk to Dick today."
"On Mondays Master Dick has math in the afternoon, sir. I shall observe through the Bat-cameras."
"But make sure you get some rest, Alfred. You both need and deserve it."
"Of course, Master Bruce, thank you."
That afternoon:
Dick walked in the door, gave Alfred a cursory hug then stomped away, heading for the gym. The butler was surprised – Dick almost always did his homework before doing anything else. Alfred silently walked down the hall, stopping just outside the entrance to the gym and listening carefully. There was the rhythmic pounding of a dummy being attacked and Dick – to Alfred's astonishment – was snarling. He had never heard that tone from the boy.
"Why can't I just be dumb! Then he would have to help me! And why won't he even talk to me anymore?!"
Now Alfred knew what was going on. He had observed Mr. Mack through the Bat-cameras, as he had told Bruce he would. The man had completely ignored Dick. He hadn't looked the boy's way at all, even when he was helping the girl sitting right next to Dick.
Alfred left the ten-year-old to release his frustration on the punching dummy. He laid out a snack and Dick's homework, then went to prepare dinner. The boy was still in the gym when Bruce came home almost two hours later.
Bruce sighed when Alfred explained the situation. He had told Dick not to get upset with himself, but he also understood the boy's frustration. Hopefully, Batman would be able to get some answers tonight.
The man walked into the gym, expecting his ward to still be attacking a dummy. But Dick was nowhere to be seen. Then Bruce heard a familiar 'creak' and looked up. Dick was sitting on the edge of the trapeze platform, roughly shoving the bar away every time it returned to him.
Bruce wasn't sure how to proceed. Dick was precariously situated thirty feet in the air. The man was worried that the boy would tumble to the ground if startled. And Bruce walking in and beginning to talk would certainly startle him.
"We're never going to figure it out, Bruce. He's ignoring me now, and I don't know why. If I was dumb in math…"
"But you're not so we'll just have to be patient," Bruce interrupted.
He was astonished that Dick had known he was there. However, as he well knew, his ward was extremely observant. Almost as observant as Batman.
Dick was climbing down the ladder now. He jumped off the third rung and walked over to where his guardian was standing.
"It's four days away," he mumbled sadly, staring at the ground.
"I know, chum," Bruce replied softly. "Is there anything special you want to do?"
"Catch the person who did it," the ten-year-old whispered.
"Batman's working on it."
"Does he have any ideas, or even clues?" Dick asked, lifting his gaze to that of Bruce.
Bruce hesitated for half a second before replying, "Nothing helpful. I talked to a couple of guys a few weeks ago but I've been stuck since then."
Liar.
Dick frowned as the word raced through his mind. Batman thought it was Mr. Mack but Bruce had decided to lie about it.
"Well, maybe something will come up soon," the boy mumbled before turning around and walking away.
After he was out of sight, Alfred stepped out of the shadows near the door.
"You do realize, Master Bruce, that you just told your ward an outright lie."
"Not outright," Bruce countered. "Just one of omission."
"A lie is a lie, Master Bruce, no matter what you call it. And when, sir, are you going to tell him as you promised me you would?"
"Not this week. Friday is the first anniversary of their death. He doesn't need something else piled on his shoulders."
"Well, don't wait too long, sir," Alfred advised. "You'll lose his trust if he finds out before you tell him yourself."
Bruce nodded and Alfred returned to the kitchen. Dinner that night was subdued. Dick, after asking to be excused, quickly did his homework and then went upstairs.
Batman went to Mr. Mack's house again that night. The same thing happened – the tutor never appeared. And it happened the next three nights, also. It was as if the man disappeared between school and home.
And now it was Friday. Bruce had asked Dick if he wanted to stay home from school, but the boy had refused. He had a plan – unknown to the men, of course – and this particular date was the best time to execute it.
Dick was sure that Mr. Mack would agree to show him some more tricks on the rope. So, he was going to get the man to do it after school. Then, since Mr. Mack wouldn't be expecting it – and therefore, wouldn't be prepared to protect himself – Dick was going to beat him to a pulp.
The ten-year-old didn't know it, but Mr. Mack had a similar plan. His was a little more ruthless – death was involved – and he had also decided that this particular date was perfect.
Gotham Elementary – that afternoon:
"Mr. Mack!" Dick called as he ran out of his classroom.
The tutor had finished his day in the room next to Dick's, so the boy knew he had to hurry in order to catch up. To his surprise, Mr. Mack stopped, turned around, and waited for him.
"I'm working on a rope trick," Dick began when he caught up. "But I don't know how to get down, I always just fall. Will you help me with it?"
That was a complete lie. The only reason Dick ever used the rope was to strengthen his arms by climbing it. But Mr. Mack didn't need to know that.
"Well…" the man hesitated.
"Please?" Dick nearly begged. "I'll call Alfred to pick me up so it won't matter if I miss the bus! You're really amazing and I need help!"
"Make the call first," the tutor stated, a little flattered at the statement. "I'll meet you in the gym. If you aren't there in five minutes, I'll assume that he can't pick you up and you took the bus."
"Okay!" Dick nearly shouted before racing away.
Mr. Mack grinned. The boy had just made it much easier for the man to execute his plan. Receiving a compliment from the kid who had out-tumbled him was nice, but it didn't mean he was going to abandon that plan.
Dick had to lie to Alfred, also. There was no way the butler would allow him to stay at school with Mr. Mack. Batman and Alfred suspected the man and would assume that Dick was in danger. The ten-year-old felt bad, but knew it was necessary if he wanted his plan to work.
"We had a math test – a really long one – so she asked if I would be willing to stay and help her grade it," Dick explained.
"Are you sure you want to do that on this day, Master Dick?"
The boy paused, then softly replied, "It might help take my mind off it, for a little while."
"Very well, young sir," Alfred acquiesced. "I'll come for you in an hour. Wait with your teacher please, Master Dick. I will call her when I arrive so she can walk you out."
"Okay, thanks, Alfred!" Dick quietly exclaimed before hanging up.
The butler, hearing a little too much excitement from the boy on this day, decided to watch the Bat-cameras. He took the service elevator down to the Batcave and flipped the switch on the Bat-camera Receiving Machine. Dick wasn't in view yet, but he had probably been in the office to make the call. It would take the boy at least five minutes to return to his classroom.
Dick arrived at the gym with thirty seconds to spare. Mr. Mack had already lowered a rope and set up a mat underneath. He was chalking up when Dick walked in.
"You made it," the tutor said with a slight grin.
"Yeah, Alfred said an hour, though, so I don't have much time."
"I think an hour will be just right. Go chalk up while I add another mat."
Dick nodded and Mr. Mack turned away. The boy didn't waste any time. He sprinted to the man, jumped in the air, and slammed his feet into the backs of the man's knees. They buckled and the tutor went down, landing hard on his stomach. Dick also dropped to the floor but cushioned himself by tucking into a forward roll.
The ten-year-old immediately popped up and jumped onto Mr. Mack's back. His small fists began landing soft blows on the man's neck, ears, and head. Bruce had said that Dick had power, but the boy didn't know how to move his body to engage that power when sitting on someone's back.
"You killed them!" he yelled angrily. "Why?! What did they do to you?!"
"Dick, what are you doing?" the tutor yelled back. "What are you talking about?!"
The boy was light, and the man easily rolled out of his grasp, ending up on his knees. He was surprised when he touched the side of his head and felt liquid. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were slightly red.
Dick was already standing up. He launched himself at the tutor and this time the small fists were gently slamming into the man's torso. One flew into his face and Mr. Mack growled. Since Dick already knew that he had killed the Flying Graysons, it was time to end this.
And end it he did, with a swift punch to the side of Dick's head. The ten-year-old immediately dropped to the ground, completely unconscious. Mr. Mack stood up, swooped the boy into his arms and strode out the back door. He crossed the deserted bus zone and headed for the teacher parking lot. It was full of cars, but devoid of humans. The man stomped to his car, tossed the boy in the back seat, then climbed in and took off.
The Batcave:
Alfred furrowed his brow. It had been six minutes since he had hung up and there was no sign of Dick in his classroom. In fact, the teacher was cleaning up for the day, not sitting at her desk grading tests.
A movement to his right caught the butler's eye and he turned to the recently installed Bat-camera in the gym. His eyes widened when he saw Dick using the math tutor as a punching dummy. Had the boy found out about Batman's suspicion? And, if so, how?!
That suddenly didn't matter. Mr. Mack had just knocked the boy out and was carrying him across the room. Without hesitation, Alfred picked up the Manor phone and quickly punched in the number to the office of Bruce Wayne.
"Alfred!" Bruce exclaimed, happiness in his voice. "I was just leaving! Tell Dick I'll be home early. Today was probably hard for him and I want…"
"Master Bruce!" the butler uncharacteristically interrupted loudly. "You need to take the helicopter, sir!"
"Alfred, what's wrong?" Bruce asked, a frown appearing on his face.
His butler sounded worried – no, it was closer to frantic.
"Somehow Master Dick found out. I'll explain when you get here. Just get here fast, sir. The young master's life may depend on it!"
"Alfred?" Bruce growled.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, sir, can't you obey just this once?! Mr. Mack has Master Dick!"
"WHAT?!" Bruce exploded, dropping the phone and sprinting out the door.
Ten long minutes later, the helicopter landed and Bruce jumped out. He rushed into the house, raced to his study and slid down the pole faster than he ever had before.
Alfred immediately explained Dick's phone call and played the entire tape from the gym. He hadn't seen the beginning and both men were astonished when they saw how the boy had taken the man down.
"How did he find out?!" Batman demanded.
"Does that really matter right now, sir?"
They saw the blood on Mr. Mack's head and, after watching the man punch the boy, knew there would be a good-sized lump on Dick's small head.
"Where would he take him?!" Batman demanded again, his voice louder than before.
"I have no idea, si…"
Batman glanced at Alfred when the man paused.
"West, sir. I took the liberty of looking up the man's license plate. This street camera," he stated, pointing to the left of where they had been looking, "just caught it."
"West," Batman growled. "He's going to take him back to the circus."
"I agree, Master Batman. And I am worried that he will do more than just take him there."
"He's going to kill him. Remind him, terrify him, and then murder him, just like he murdered Dick's parents!"
"Then why, sir, are you still here?!"
Batman glanced at his butler then raced to the Batmobile, climbed in, and roared away. The circus grounds were forty minutes away by car. The Batmobile was faster than a normal car, of course, but twenty-five minutes was plenty of time for someone to commit murder.
The circus grounds:
Dick was still unconscious when Mr. Mack pulled him out of the car. But he was close to waking up, and that's what happened when his body hit the hard ground.
"So, you figured it out," Mack snarled. "I don't care how so just keep your mouth shut."
"WHY?!" Dick demanded as he slowly stood up.
He was dizzy and felt like he was going to throw up. His head was throbbing and Mr. Mack looked a little fuzzy. But the man had killed Dick's parents, and the ten-year-old wasn't going to let him get away with it.
"I told you to keep your mouth shut!" Mack yelled.
"Just…please…" Dick's voice was suddenly quiet, "…why?"
"The identities of the performers didn't matter," the man growled. "A circus had come to town and I was tired of hearing everyone getting so excited about seeing the acrobats. Your parents," he shrugged, "wrong place, wrong time."
"And…me?" Dick whispered.
"The last of the Flying Graysons. Do you really think I'm going to watch you, a very talented acrobat, grow into what I should have been?" Mack sneered. "Grow up, join a circus, become famous…"
"I don't want to be famous!" Dick interrupted loudly, tears sliding down his face.
"You don't have a choice, you already are!" Mack shouted angrily. "The Flying Graysons were the most spectacular act in the world! You were part of that act and their legacy will grow with you, follow you around for the rest of your life!"
"But I'm not going to join a circus," Dick stated sadly. "That part…I can't…it's over."
"And then," the man snapped, completely ignoring the boy's reply, "you had to show me up at field day!"
"It was a competition!" Dick shouted. "I don't back down in a competition! And you were amazing! I had to come up with a different pass because you were so incredible!"
"I easily won that competition every year," Mack snarled, ignoring the compliment. "Then you come along, fresh out of years of training, and embarrass me!"
"I wasn't trying to embarrass you, I was trying to win!"
They were non-stop yelling now and both were tired of it.
"Let's just finish this," Dick growled.
"You want us to finish?" Mack sneered contemptuously. "I'll finish what I started a year ago. You don't stand a chance against me. I'm twice your height and probably three times your weight!"
"I DON'T CARE!" Dick screamed.
Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the man. His quickness caught the killer off-guard and Dick was able to slam his fist into a kidney. Mack arched slightly and the ten-year-old took the opportunity to smash his foot into the man's solar plexus.
Mack grunted in pain as he stumbled back. Dick's next kick connected with the man's chin, snapping his head back. The murderer stumbled again but was able to reach the gun hidden in his waistband.
"Enough!" he barked, pointing the barrel at Dick's heart.
"Taking the coward's way out?" Dick stupidly taunted. "Can't even take down a mere boy without using a weapon?"
A shot rang out and the force of the bullet hitting his left shoulder threw Dick to the ground. Blood began spilling out of the wound, but the boy ignored it. Rolling over his uninjured shoulder, Dick stood up again.
"I didn't know you had this in you," Mack growled, his tone outlined with surprise. "You've always been so studious, so quiet, so weak. Yet here we are, you bleeding from a hole in your shoulder and me with a bruise forming on my chin. That shot was a warning; the next one will kill you. But first, let's talk about the many small details from that night. I'm sure you're dying to hear them."
"I am not weak," Dick retorted, his tone dark. "You have no idea what I've been through this year. And you think a little hole in an insignificant spot is going to stop me from taking you down? You. Are. Wrong. And an idiot."
"Oh, please," the man snarled, rolling his eyes. "I have a gun. You're fast, but you can't beat a bullet. It will be in your heart before you can even begin to run!"
Something whistled through the air, ripping the gun from Mack's hand and sending it flying. The weapon landed two feet in front of Dick. Slowly, he bent down and picked it up. He pointed it at the man's chest, his mind yelling at him to shoot but his hand shaking as if he was fighting the thought.