Note: Thanks for the reviews, Rollerparty and LlCS! :)
One week later:
Dick was almost completely pain free. He was taking showers without supervision, and painting Alfred's drawing with Bruce, and carefully beginning to practice his defensive maneuvers again. The only thing missing was tumbling, and he was very impatient with his lack of progress in that area.
"It's not going to happen if you force it," Bruce commented.
They were in the gym, taking a short break from painting. Dick was arched in a bridge, his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing slightly erratic. He had been in that position for several minutes, begging his body to accept and work through the pain that came from bunching together the still-slightly-painful wounds.
"It's going to take longer if you don't heal properly before doing some things," the man remarked casually.
With a huff of impatience, Dick lowered his body down and sat up.
"But it's been nearly a month!" he stated. "I'm young, I'm supposed to heal quickly!"
"Where did you hear that?" Bruce asked.
"The doctor, a long time ago, after Michael. I was waking up and he was talking to you."
"Hmmm," the man murmured, remembering the exact moment and words. "He said it would take time."
"He also said my body was strong."
"That doesn't mean you can force yourself to heal quickly. Dick, it's only been nearly a month. Only is the key word – a month is not a very long time for what you went through. You're impatient, and I can understand why, but at least you can do almost everything else."
Alfred walked in and quietly stated, "It's the Batphone, sir."
"Don't do anything unhelpful while I'm gone," Bruce lightly commanded while nodding to acknowledge the butler's words. "In fact, maybe you should go read a book or something."
Dick mumbled something but got up and left the gym. He climbed the stairs, heading for his room, a shower, and a change of clothes. It wouldn't exactly be prudent to sit on the furniture with paint all over himself.
Bruce, meanwhile, headed to his study.
"Yes, Commissioner?"
"Batman, there was a breakout!" the commissioner exclaimed.
"Who?" the hero demanded.
"Scarecrow and Poison Ivy!"
"Unusual combination," Batman murmured thoughtfully. "I'm on my way."
Bruce hung up the Batphone, twisted the switch and slid down the Batpole. Upon arriving in the Batcave, he immediately went to the Current Criminal Activity Bat-Disclosure Unit. He pressed some buttons and twisted some knobs then impatiently waited.
Ding.
A card slid out of the exit slot and Batman studied it, slightly surprised. Somebody had missed – either deliberately or accidentally – a villain. Mr. Freeze was also in town.
"Working together or going their separate ways?" he asked the empty Batcave.
"It will be easier to know that if both Alfred and I are watching the cameras."
The young voice came from behind him. Apparently, the Batcave wasn't as empty as he had thought. Dick did have a point. If the three villains separated, it would be difficult for Alfred to keep tabs on all three.
"Fine," Batman growled as he turned around. "But all you do is sit here," he pointed to a chair in front of the Bat-camera Receiving Machine, "and watch."
Hiding his grin of satisfaction, the boy saluted then said, "I'll probably have to use the Bat-communicator."
"Yes," the Caped Crusader grumbled. "But that's it. This chair, the Bat-communicator only if absolutely necessary, and then back to this chair. No compromises, I'm already allowing too much. And this is the only time you will be doing this."
"Sure," Dick stated agreeably.
Because next time I'll be going with you to find them.
Alfred had already opened the lines to all the cameras – both the city ones and the Bat ones – so Batman carefully looked through every picture.
"The Gotham City Greenhouse butterfly exhibit, an ice cream parlor by Gotham Elementary, and a movie theater," he commented.
"But don't you think it's strange that Mr. Freeze is at the exhibit, Scarecrow is at the small ice cream parlor and Poison Ivy is at the movie theater?" Dick asked.
"Yes," Batman murmured, his head tilted to the right and brow furrowed in concentration. "What's the connection?"
"Who are you going after first?" the boy inquired.
"Poison Ivy, more people at the movies."
"The butterfly exhibit is closed for renovations, Master Batman," Alfred remarked.
With a short nod, Batman whirled around and strode to the Batmobile. He started to climb in but then looked back at his ward and butler.
"Sit," he commanded, and Dick sat down.
Nodding again, the Caped Crusader climbed in and took off.
Twenty minutes later:
Batman arrived at the movie theater, only to find it completely deserted. The Bat-communicator beeped and he opened the line.
"Scarecrow left the parlor and is headed in your direction," Dick said, his young voice sounding tiny. "You have around ten minutes, he's in a Mustang and going fast."
"Thank you," the hero responded.
"Batcave out," came the reply.
With a slight grin, Batman started to climb out of the Batmobile. Of course Alfred would allow the boy to use it. But of course it would be just one time. The butler would see the danger in allowing the boy to get used to doing that and would obviously be the one speaking with Batman from now on.
The Bat-communicator's line was still open and Dick suddenly said, "Mr. Freeze on his way now, too. ETA twelve minutes and forty-two seconds."
"Very specific. Now go sit down," Batman growled.
"Batcave out."
Shaking his head, the boy had probably begged Alfred for one last time, Batman strode into the lobby and stopped, carefully examining his surroundings. Nobody was in plain sight; no villainess, no henchmen, no patrons.
The Bat-communicator in his utility belt beeped and Batman sighed. He took it out and pressed the button.
"Scarecrow nearly there, the Mustang is faster than I thought. Sorry. No sign of Poison Ivy outside, what about inside?"
"I haven't had time to check," the hero growled. "Go. Sit. Down."
"I am sitting down!"
"In front of the machine where I told you to sit."
"But this is more fun!"
"I'm trying to find and capture a villainess before two villains get here."
"Um, Scarecrow just parked in the back. Robin out!"
"Robin…?"
But the Bat-communicator had gone silent. As Batman put it away, he pondered the thought that Dick had just given himself a nickname. This was definitely not good. He never should have let…
The thought faded as a sickly sweet perfume filled the air and the sharp prick of a thorn darted into his neck. And the last thing Batman saw was the familiar mask of Scarecrow coming toward him.
The Batcave:
"Robin, Master Dick?" Alfred inquired, frowning.
"Well, yeah, don't you think Scarecrow or Poison Ivy was already in there? I couldn't say my real name!"
"Batcave would have been just fine, young sir. That's what you've been using."
"But Robin sounds cooler."
"Be that as it may, Master Dick, you do not have an identity to protect. There is no reason for you to worry Master Batman by giving yourself a nickname. From now on, please use 'Batcave out' as I taught you."
Dick sighed and said, "Fine. But Robin is still cooler."
"Why 'Robin', young sir?"
"It's what my mom used to call me. I'm…I was…her little robin."
"Ah," Alfred replied.
"You know, because we were always flying and birds fly."
"I understand, Master Dick."
"I don't know why she chose to use a robin, though," the boy continued. "Maybe because my hair is dark and I'm small?"
"Perhaps."
"Oh, well, it's over, right? I should just let it go, it's not like I'll ever hear…"
Dick stopped and quickly wiped a small tear from his eye before Alfred could see it escape down his cheek.
"I shall talk to Master Batman, young sir," the butler, who always noticed everything, stated sympathetically. "Perhaps Robin would be a good code name. But please don't use it anymore until I talk to him, Master Dick."
"Okay," the boy said with a shrug. "He already said he's not going to let me do this anymore so a code name doesn't really matter."
We shall see, you intelligent, persistent young man.
The basement of the movie theater:
Batman slowly opened his eyes, only to see three villains staring at him gleefully. He was freezing but determined not to show it. Glancing down, he saw why: his entire body was encased in a block of ice. His head was the only thing not covered.
"Your utility belt is over there," Scarecrow said, pointing to the wall on the other side of the room. "We don't want you cheating."
"What do you want?" the hero growled, glancing at his yellow belt hanging from the ceiling before returning his Bat-glare to the villains.
His teeth were chattering; he couldn't hold that back no matter how hard he tried. Batman wondered how long he had been like this.
"I thought my new plant was stronger than half an hour," the melodious voice of Poison Ivy floated through the air, as if she had read his mind. "We just barely got you here and iced up in time. You're quite difficult to move, what with all those…muscles," she murmured appreciatively.
"No matter," Scarecrow said. "You have no way to get out since you have no utility belt. And my new concoction will work just fine. I know you have some kind of Bat-pills that you usually take to stave off the effects of my gasses. But, aren't those also in your utility belt?" he ended with a chuckle.
"What do you want?" the Caped Crusader growled again.
"What every villain…"
Poison Ivy delicately cleared her throat.
Rolling his eyes, Scarecrow continued, "and villainess wants. Your death, of course!"
"We can rule Gotham City without you," Mr. Freeze chimed in.
"Commissioner Gordon has a fine police force," Batman retorted.
"Oh, yes, of course," Scarecrow replied sarcastically. "We are so very wary of being caught by them."
Batman remained silent and all three villains frowned.
"Don't you want to know what we're going to do?" Mr. Freeze asked.
"It doesn't matter," the hero responded. "I always find a way to escape, as each of you well know. Do what you want; it will give me that many more reasons to arrest you."
"Well, aren't you the brave one," Poison Ivy giggled with a grin.
"Not so brave after this," Scarecrow stated matter-of-factly. "This gas," he held up a vial full of green clouds, "will bring your greatest fears to life."
"I've already gone through that," Batman snapped.
"My other ones, yes," Scarecrow replied. "This, however, is brand new. And, as I said before, you have no way to get to your utility belt with all its wonderful gadgets and pills."
"You're going to be scared and struggling to escape," Mr. Freeze commented.
"Which will lead to you pounding your fragile head on this solid block of ice, I'm sure," Scarecrow added.
"So many times that you'll die," Poison Ivy chimed in. "And it will be your own fault."
"This half-baked plan won't work," Batman growled. "First, I can control myself and negate any effects from your gas. Second, even if it's difficult for me to do that, I can control myself enough to ride it out and not struggle. Third, you three could never work together for long. Soon you'll be fighting for control of the city, although none of you will ever be able to do that. As I said, Commissioner Gordon has a fine police force. And, since I'll still be alive, I'll help them and you'll go back to prison where you belong."
"Good luck," Mr. Freeze stated as he and Poison Ivy turned toward the stairs.
Scarecrow waited until they were gone before uncapping the vial.
"Happy hallucinating," he said, placing it on the top of the ice, right under Batman's nose. "I'll be back later to see you in all your bloody glory."
He, too, turned around and left. Batman bent his neck forward, attempting to push the vial away with the top of his head, but it didn't work. Resigning himself to a few hours of fighting some fears, the hero closed his eyes and shut down his body. The ice was cold and he needed to conserve his energy.
The Batcave:
"Um, Alfred?"
Dick was sitting in front of the Bat-camera receiving machine, frowning.
"Yes, Master Dick?" the butler responded, walking over to join the boy.
"The three villains are leaving together. Something's happened to Batman!"
The ten-year-old's voice was almost frantic. Batman was in trouble and didn't have anyone to back him up! If he had a partner, or even a sidekick…
"Master Dick," Alfred the mind reader stated reprovingly. "Discontinue that line of thought immediately. Neither Master Batman nor I will allow you to go out and try to help him."
"But…"
"Master Batman has been able to escape from more traps than you can even imagine, young sir. The villains never kill him outright, they want him to go in the most painful way possible. He will be fine, Master Dick. He may come home a little worse for wear, but he will be fine."
"But what if he doesn't?" Dick countered. "What if he doesn't come home at all? What if this time it's too much? What if he's already dead?!"
Dick's voice was rising in pitch as different death scenarios presented themselves in his mind. Batman lying on the ground in a pool of blood, Batman with a bullet in his heart, Batman unconscious in a burning building, Batman slowly being poisoned with the thorns from a plant of the villainess, Batman's entire body encased in a block of ice…
"Master Dick, Batman has a utility belt. He always finds a way to escape, just as he will this time."
"What if they took his utility belt?!"
"It does not do to dwell on 'what ifs', young sir. We must trust in him, his abilities and his resourceful belt. Please calm down, or I will have to insist that you leave the Batcave."
Dick pushed the chair away from the table and stood up. Folding his arms tightly across his chest, the ten-year-old began pacing around the Batcave. Alfred shook his head; the boy looked like a younger version of a worried Batman.
"How long?" Dick abruptly growled.
Alfred stayed silent, confusion on his face.
"How long does it usually take him to escape?"
"That depends on the trap, Master Dick."
"Have you ever gone after him?"
"Good heavens no!" the butler exclaimed. "He still has an identity to protect!"
"No matter what," Dick snapped.
Alfred took a deep breath before replying, "Yes, young sir. No matter what."
"I have homework," the ten-year-old growled, heading toward the service elevator.
"It's summer, Master Dick," the butler said with a sigh.
"Fine, I have an appointment in the gym."
"Please remember what Master Bruce said before he left. Please, Master Dick, don't do anything to aggravate your wounds that are almost completely healed."
"Whatever," Dick grumbled as he disappeared.
Alfred quickly went to the Bat-communicator and opened the line.
"Batcave to Batman."
He received no answer so he tried it two more times. Still nothing. The butler sighed and sat down.
"Please come back soon, sir," he whispered to the air around him.
The basement of the movie theater:
Batman was in the throes of one of his worst fears. He had done his best to stay calm and keep his mind clear but Scarecrow's new gas was strong. The hero had succumbed to the effects after only ten minutes.
Dick was dead. He had been tortured and thrown into Gotham Harbor. Batman hadn't made it in time, he had failed. His ten-year-old boy was dead because Bruce had argued with him and then a social worker had taken him and he had gone to a villainous family and they had tortured and killed him without hesitation.
It was all Bruce Wayne's fault. He would never forgive himself; in fact he now hated himself. And Batman was going to take care of the people who had done this. They were going to pay a heavy price. Dick was dead, he couldn't be disappointed in Batman's decision.
And then a very pale-looking Dick was suddenly in front of him, yelling at him for failing to rescue him. The boy began telling him every single tiny detail of what had happened and was now crying because it was about to happen again. Batman couldn't move, he couldn't run to Dick and pick him up and keep him safe. So, he began to struggle.
Dick needed him. Batman didn't even notice the pain that was radiating from his head. He didn't notice that his body was almost entirely numb, or the fact that blood was streaming down his face. All he knew was that Dick was going back to a house full of villains and Batman was being stupid enough to let it happen.