Note: Thanks for the review, usagipoints! I, too, hate Jasper. ;)
One hour and fifteen minutes later:
Greg stood at the front door of the Dunston's house, waiting for someone to answer the bell. There were some whispers and then the sound of hurried footsteps. Suddenly, Matilda opened the door.
"Mr. Makov, we weren't expecting you!" she exclaimed with a pleasant smile.
"I know, Matilda, and I'm sorry for just showing up. I've come to collect Dick and take him home."
"What?!" she nearly yelled. "But he just barely arrived!"
"It's been four days," Greg responded, slightly surprised at her tone.
"Yes, of course, I'm sorry, it's just very unexpected," the woman replied, her tone much calmer. "I'll have Jasper go get him, he's been playing in his room. Have a seat."
She motioned to the chair just as Jasper walked into the room.
"Jasper, honey, Greg is here to take Dick home. Go get him, would you?"
The man's eyes widened but he quickly turned away, hoping Greg hadn't noticed the expression. He slowly walked down the hall, trying to figure out how he was going to get Dick to agree to stay silent.
Dick was still slumped against the wall, one arm across his ribs and the other hanging uselessly at his side. He didn't even react when Jasper strode in. Crouching in front of the boy, the man snapped his fingers until he saw the light-blue eyes focus on his own.
"Mr. Makov is here to take you away," he snarled. "But there's nobody in this world who cares about you so you're going to wish you were staying here. Remember this: wherever you go, I will be able to find you. Whatever you say, I will find out. Your disrespect led to what happened; it's all your fault. If you say anything to anybody, or let anyone see any injury, I will know. And I will come get you and you will wish you had never been born. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, sir," Dick said, fear filling his voice.
"And we will know if you don't apply the lessons on being polite, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you will be respectful to everyone, right? You'll call them what they deserve to be called, right? So that I don't have to find you, okay?"
"Yes, sir. I will always use the right words, I promise."
"And what are you?"
"Um, Dick Grayson, sir?" the boy questioned, slightly confused.
"Not who," Jasper growled, "what?"
"Cir…circus, uh…" he couldn't finish, it hurt too much.
Jasper grabbed Dick's upper arms and lifted him into the air. Pushing him against the wall, he glared into the boy's face and repeated his question.
Someone was sawing his shoulder with a sharp knife. Colors were swirling around the room and Dick didn't know which way was up. Too much was happening and his brain refused to handle it so it shut down. Memories disappeared, people got lost in the fog, and the only thing Dick knew was that he needed to be polite.
"Tell me what you are!" Jasper commanded softly.
The boy also remembered this, so he answered, "Trash, sir."
Putting him on his feet, Jasper whirled Dick around and grabbed the hand of his uninjured arm. The man led the boy down the hall and into the family room. Greg stood up when they entered.
"Dick, I'm here to take you home."
Greg didn't receive the reaction he expected. The ten-year-old looked up at him but said nothing. And there was no relief or happiness in his eyes.
Matilda bent down and gave him a gentle hug.
"I'll miss you, Dick," she said but then, in his ear, she whispered, "you rude, idiotic, piece of filth."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied softly.
"Well, Dick, are you ready?" the social worker asked.
The ten-year-old nodded, wondering where 'home' was. Greg held out his hand and Dick slowly slid his much smaller one into it. The man smiled at him and they walked out the door. When they arrived at Greg's car, the man opened the back door and put a hand on Dick's back to guide him in. The boy flinched noticeably and stiffened. Greg furrowed his brow, slightly concerned with the reaction, but Dick immediately relaxed.
And then they were on their way to Wayne Manor. At the first red light, Greg looked in the mirror and studied the boy. Dick was staring straight ahead, his face blank and his eyes empty of emotion.
"You okay, ki…Dick?" Greg asked, a little concerned at the lack of expression.
"Yes, sir," the boy whispered.
"I'm taking you home. To Bruce and Alfred. You understand that, right?"
The pause was a beat too long. Greg instantly knew Dick was lying when he responded.
"Yes, sir, thank you."
The light turned green and Greg shook his head. He hadn't heard the boy speak above a whisper since he had dropped him off at the Dunston's house. But Dick didn't seem mad, like he had before going to live with the Dunstons. And why had he lied about understanding where he was going?
"I can listen while I'm driving," Greg said casually, "if you have something you want to say."
Silence.
"You don't seem too excited to be going back."
Silence.
"Do you have something you want to tell me, Dick?" Greg asked gently.
"No…sir," the boy replied hesitantly, just barely holding back the tears that were threatening to fall.
He wanted to tell the man that, for some reason he couldn't figure out, his torso was throbbing. Dick knew it was because of Jasper, and he knew things had happened, he just couldn't pull the memories to the front of his mind. And who were 'Bruce' and 'Alfred'? People who didn't care about him, he already knew that, but why did the man in the front seat think Dick should be excited to go back to wherever 'back' was?
Jasper's voice was ringing in his ears – everything that had happened was his fault, he was rude, disrespectful, disobedient and a piece of trash. Nobody could ever care about him.
"Okay," Greg sighed. "We have a while, if you ever do feel like chatting."
Dick nodded then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The pain in his ribs and shoulder was beginning to overwhelm his senses. And his head was throbbing now, too. It hurt so much that Dick knew someone was pounding a nail through his skull and into his brain.
As they were traveling over Gotham's uneven streets, Greg noticed something. The boy winced almost every time they hit some kind of bump. And it wasn't a small reaction. It was a 'hold your breath until it's over' type of reaction. There was a quiet 'whoosh' of air after every wince and by the time they were passing through downtown Gotham, Greg was very concerned.
The man pulled into a parking lot, stopped the car and turned to look at the boy. Dick lifted his head and opened his eyes.
"Talk to me, Dick. What's going on? Is it because of me?"
"No, sir."
"I need to apologize to you. I've done everything wrong; I shouldn't have even taken you away that night we met. There are a lot of things I've learned during this investigation. But there are more that I've learned over my seventeen-year career. And this is one of them: kids who have been crying to go home are usually excited when I tell them that I'm taking them home. You've been crying, but you aren't excited. What's going on?"
"Nothing, sir, I'm fine."
And I have no idea what you're talking about.
"You're not, Dick, I can see that."
The man watched a single tear slide out of the corner of Dick's left eye.
"I'm fine, sir."
"No, Dick, you aren't," Greg stated firmly. "You were doing fairly well at hiding it until that tear slipped out. Do you want to go to my office and talk about it?"
"No, sir, uh, I don't need to talk, sir."
The sentence had stumbled out of Dick's mouth at a rapid pace, slightly shocking Greg. Had something had happened between the time he had dropped Dick off with the Dunstons and the time he had picked the boy up today?
"Dick," the man sighed, "you are completely safe in this car. Nobody, not the Dunstons or Bruce or Alfred or anybody will ever know what we talk about right now unless you decide to tell them yourself."
Complete silence. Dick began studying his hands.
"Dick?"
"I'm fine, sir," the ten-year-old repeated.
"Okay," Greg replied, starting the car.
He was giving up on talking to the boy today, but he wasn't going to give up on finding out what had happened.
It was almost six o'clock when Greg pulled up to the front steps of Wayne Manor. Dick stared out the window for almost a minute before opening his door. Greg grabbed the suitcase and gently laid his hand on Dick's shoulder. The boy flinched away from the touch with a gasp, and Greg frowned.
"Last chance for today, Dick," Greg whispered as he crouched in front of the boy. "Are you in some kind of pain?"
"No, sir, of course not, sir."
"Okay."
With an inaudible sigh, Greg led the boy up the steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell and watched Dick begin twisting his hands together. Was the boy nervous?
"Master Dick," Alfred stated, relief in both his eyes and his voice. "We have missed you, young sir."
"Dick!" Bruce exclaimed as the boy walked in the door.
The faces were slightly familiar to him. Dick knew them, but couldn't remember why. And the old man had said 'Master' Dick, as if the boy was somehow important. But he wasn't, Jasper and Matilda had taught him that, so the ten-year-old decided that they were mocking him. Tears came to his eyes but he pushed them away.
"Dick, why don't you go help Alfred in the kitchen while I talk to Bruce."
Dick nodded – frantically wondering which one was Alfred. Both the millionaire and the butler looked at Greg quizzically. The social worker gave them a look that shouted 'something is wrong'.
"Master Dick, I've been preparing your favorite dinner," Alfred stated as he gently picked up Dick's small hand. "Shall we go check on it?"
"Yes, sir," Dick answered quietly, grateful that the white-haired man had chosen to pick up his uninjured arm.
Bruce furrowed his brow and Alfred looked slightly shocked. But he led the boy away, knowing that Bruce would tell him everything later.
"What's going on, Greg?"
"I'm not quite sure, Bruce. How often does he use the word 'sir' when he's speaking with either you or Alfred?"
"Never. Why?"
"Every answer he has given me has at least one 'sir' in it so I wanted to know if he was used to doing that here. Does he tend to be soft-spoken?"
"Only around strangers," Bruce replied, his eyes narrowed. "Are you implying that something happened while he was with whomever it was he was with?"
"No…" Greg paused for several seconds. "I don't know," he continued with a sigh. "Perhaps it's just because he was nervous."
"Being thrown in a house with a bunch of strangers and no familiar faces tends to do that to young children."
"Bruce, I know I made a mistake."
"That comment was uncalled for, Greg, I shouldn't have said anything."
"I appreciate that, Bruce. I do have a request. If he says anything at all about whatever has happened – and I feel like something has happened – will you please let me know? I've never had any other children act like this after living with this particular family and it's bothering me."
"Okay, I'll keep you updated. Whatever I find out will be communicated to you as soon as possible."
"Thanks, Bruce. I would like to apologize one last time."
"He's home, Greg, that's the best apology you could ever give me."
"Take care, Bruce, and please let me know."
Greg left and Bruce strode into the kitchen. Dick was sitting at the table, staring intently at Alfred.
"Hey, kiddo," Bruce said as he walked over to his ward. "I've missed you."
The man crouched in front of the boy and stared into the light-blue eyes. There was no emotion – no fear, no happiness, no anger, no anxiety, just…nothing. Then a lightning bolt of confusion flashed through his eyes and Bruce frowned. Why was the boy confused?
"You okay, chum?" the man asked.
Chum. That word was also familiar, but why? And why was this man in front of him speaking in such a…kind voice?
"Yes, sssir," he answered, the last word slightly slurred.
That's when Bruce noticed the bandaids stretched across his boy's forehead. And at that very moment, Dick's eyes grew cloudy. It passed, but now his eyes were darting around the room and Bruce finally remembered that Dick had a concussion.
"We need to take a look at his head, Alfred," Bruce stated, not taking his eyes off his ward. "Do you feel dizzy, kiddo?"
A memory burst through the clouds and Dick lifted a hand to touch his forehead. It was shaking, Bruce noticed, and he suddenly realized how pale the ten-year-old was. That brought back a memory for him: Dick, holding a bright-red towel against his head while blood ran down his cheek.
"Sir," Alfred's calm voice interrupted the younger man's thoughts. "I think we should take him downstairs."
Bruce nodded, his eyes narrowed in concern. Dick, interpreting the expression as one of disgust, dropped his eyes to the floor. He was a piece of trash, nothing more. The man probably didn't even want him sitting on the chair.
"I'm sorry, sir," Dick whispered, quickly standing up.
The movement renewed the pain in his torso and the boy doubled over, wheezing. Wrapping his arms around his ribs caused his collarbone to grind against itself. Dick dropped to his knees then tilted forward. His head would have smashed onto the hard tile of the kitchen floor if Bruce hadn't been crouching right in front of him, arms already outstretched.
"DICK!" the man shouted.
The boy's head lolled to the side and his eyes slipped closed.
"Downstairs, sir," Alfred commanded quietly.
Scooping the boy into his arms, Bruce raced to the service elevator. Impatiently, he waited for Alfred, who was nearly running.
They descended to the Batcave, where Bruce laid the boy on the nearest medical table. Alfred carefully pulled the bandaids off and both men clenched their jaws. The slice, although shallow, was leaking blood. Apparently, the Dunstons either didn't have medical knowledge or they just didn't care enough to try to heal it. Alfred gave them the benefit of the doubt and chose the former. Bruce didn't even consider that; he chose the latter.
"I don't think he needs a transfusion, sir. His heartbeat is steady; he just needs rest. I'm going to give him some fluids, Master Bruce."
Bruce nodded and looked down at his ward. Dick's eyelids fluttered and then the light-blue circles peeked through the lashes.
"Hey, kiddo," Bruce said gently. "You gave us a scare."
"I'm sorry, sir," Dick whispered.
"Enough with the 'sir'. I'm Bruce, you're Dick and that's Alfred," the man said, pointing to the butler.
Alfred had just opened the IV line, allowing fluids to begin flowing into the boy's body.
"I'm sorry," Dick repeated. "Bruce."
The word sounded awkward, as if the boy was attempting to say it for the first time.
"What happened, Dick? What did they do to you?"
"Why are you talking to me?" Dick asked, ignoring the questions.
"Why shouldn't I talk to you, chum?"
"It's not nice to make fun of people, sir."
"What?! I'm not making fun of you. Why would you think that?"
"Sorry, I shouldn't…you're right, sir, of course."
"Dick, stop saying 'sir'!" Bruce commanded loudly.
"Master Bruce," Alfred cautioned.
"What?!" Bruce exclaimed, lifting his eyes to his butler.
"Your tone, sir," the butler stated, a warning in his eyes.
"Circus trash," Dick whispered, causing Bruce to look down at him.
"Jasper's right," the boy continued softly. "That's…I'm…noth, um, nothing."
"Okay, chum, that's enough," Bruce nearly snarled. "Those people are idiotic and I need you to forget everything about them."
"They're the only people I know," Dick whispered, closing his eyes in shame.
That froze Bruce in his tracks. Alfred widened his eyes in shock.
"You don't…know us?" Bruce asked incredulously.
"You're Bruce, I'm Dick, he's, um, Alfred? And the guy who brought me here is somebody whose name I can't remember?"
"Mr. Makov, young sir," Alfred supplied gently.
Opening his eyes, Dick carefully sat up.
"I'm not worth any of this," the boy stated firmly. "I'm just a piece of trash, like they said. I shouldn't even be here."
The men were so shocked that they didn't even react when Dick yanked the IV needle of his arm. He rolled off the table but that was as far as he got, his ribs and shoulder causing him to collapse to his knees. Bruce shook himself out of his stupor and snatched the boy off the ground.
"What are you thinking?!" he demanded, placing him back on the table.
"Bru…Bruce?"
Confusion filled Dick's voice as memories began forming in his mind. This man in front of him was Bruce, and the one behind him was Alfred.
"Do you think I'm circus trash?" the ten-year-old asked quietly as a tear slipped down his cheek.
"Of course not, chum. Did they tell you that?"
"I forgot you," Dick admitted softly, his voice full of shame.
"You've been through a lot."
"He's going to find out, he can't find out!" Dick suddenly exclaimed.
"Nobody's going to find out anything, kiddo," Bruce replied.
The man clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists. Dark, unyielding fury began filling his body. Jasper Dunston was going to regret every second of the last five days.
"Sir, Mr. Makov needs to know about this," Alfred remarked, interrupting Batman's thoughts about what he was going to do to Jasper.
Silence reigned and the butler made a decision.
"Master Bruce, please return to the Manor," Alfred commanded quietly. "I'll take care of Master Dick while you call Mr. Makov."
"Alfred, I…"
"Out, sir, and do it now."
Alfred's voice was firm and his tone demanded compliance. He was not going to allow Batman to see Dick's torso until he was sure the man could handle the sight without exploding.
"Al…"
"The study to call Mr. Makov and then the gym to beat some sense into one of those dummies. Do not come back down here, sir, unless I allow you to do so. Tell Mr. Makov that there is something he needs to see immediately. There is no room for compromise here, Master Bruce. Do as I say and do it now."
Batman growled but Bruce turned around and stalked to the service elevator. He stormed to his study, looked up Makov's personal number and dialed.
"This is Greg."
The man sounded tired. Bruce didn't know why and, really, he didn't care.
"This is Bruce. We would like you to return to Wayne Manor as soon as possible. There's something you need to see."
"He talked to you?"
"Yes and no but this is something you need to see for yourself."
Bruce's tone was full of anger but Greg recognized that it wasn't directed at him. And the word 'see' filled the social worker with dread.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes, Bruce."
They hung up and Bruce immediately sprinted to the gym, where he set up a punching dummy and began fighting it like it was the Joker.
Dick, meanwhile, was in the process of attempting to carefully pull his shirt off. It wasn't working but he didn't want Alfred to help.
"Master Dick," the butler said softly, "I'm going to see everything anyway. It might be less painful if you allow me to help, young sir."
There was a long pause and Alfred watched the wheels turn.
"Okay," Dick finally agreed. "Just, please, my shoulder…"
"Of course, young sir, I will be as gentle as possible."
Carefully, the butler maneuvered the shirt up and over the boy's head. He did his best not to jostle the injured shoulder but he knew, from the sound of Dick's wheezing, that any small movement caused pain.
The front of Dick's torso was mottled with bruises. Alfred guesstimated at least three minutes worth of fighting. Had Dick been able to defend himself? If he had, the fractured collarbone – that the butler of course immediately noticed and evaluated – would have taken most of the fight out of him.
"The man is right-handed," Alfred murmured, noticing that almost every major injury was on Dick's left side.
"I do…don't feel…"
The butler swiftly snatched a trash can off the floor, just in time for Dick to throw up into it.
"Severe concussion, then," Alfred remarked. "Look right here, Master Dick. Please follow my finger."
The butler held up a finger and moved it side to side then up and down. Dick's gaze was all over the place; rarely was it on the finger.
"I…I can't find it," he softly exclaimed, dismay in his voice. "I'm sorry!"
"There is no need to fret, Master Dick. I'm merely checking your symptoms and you have nothing to be sorry about."
"It hurts, Alfred. Everything."
"Do you want to talk about it, Master Dick?"
"No."
The answer was immediate and had a tone of finality.
"You're going to have to tell Mr. Makov, young sir."
"If Jasper finds out…"
"I'm quite positive that Jasper will be going to jail, Master Dick. You need not worry about him anymore."
"Batman's going to kill him."
"Which is why I sent Master Bruce out of the room. I need to talk to him, young sir, so do you mind excusing me for a few moments?"
"Can you do anything to make it stop hurting so much?"
"I'm afraid not, Master Dick, but only because Mr. Makov needs to see it. After he has left I will do my best to take care of the pain."
"Okay, I guess you should talk to Bruce."
"I'm sure he'll be in the gym but, just in case, I want you to stay here. It might be…safer, young sir."
"Safer?!" Dick exclaimed.
"If I can't stop a raging Batman, I cannot allow him to see you. However, I'm quite sure I will be able to calm him down. Staying here is just a precaution, young sir."
"Okay," Dick agreed, his voice somewhat skeptical.
"Trust me, Master Dick."
The boy nodded and Alfred left.
By the time the butler arrived at the gym, Bruce had shredded two dummies and was working hard on the third. Pictures were flying through his mind, images of broken ribs and an old man using a young boy as his personal punching bag.
"Sit down, Master Bruce," Alfred commanded.
The younger man growled and attacked the dummy more ferociously.
"I told Master Dick to stay downstairs because it might be safer, sir, so you should sit down."
Bruce gave the dummy one last torso-tearing punch and then dropped to the floor. He was sweating and flushed with anger.
"Safer?! What happened?!" Batman growled.
Ignoring both the exclamation and question, Alfred continued, "Master Dick chose to save the story for when Mr. Makov is here so I don't know the details. What I do know is that you need to see his torso before the man arrives. I can't have Batman reacting to it in front of Mr. Makov. However, I will not bring him to you if you cannot control yourself."
"Is it…bad?" Bruce asked, his voice almost timid.
"Yes, sir – two broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, a swollen jaw, a black eye, a very severe concussion, and his torso is quite colorful."
"How severe?" Bruce interrupted.
"He couldn't even follow my finger and he threw up. Sir," Alfred sighed, "there was nothing for him to throw up. He hasn't eaten for a while, I think."
"That son…"
"However," the butler quickly interrupted, "Master Dick is being extremely strong and I need Batman to reciprocate that strength. You cannot fly into a rage, or begin yelling at him, or demand answers from him. Batman needs to stay out of this, for now. It needs to be Bruce Wayne talking to his ward. Do you think you can see him without terrifying him, sir?"
"I…"
"In other words, sir, can Bruce Wayne be as strong as a ten-year-old boy?"
"When you put it that way…you make me sound like an idiot, Alfred."
"That was not my intention, Master Bruce, but you already know that."
Bruce ran a hand through his sweaty hair then stood up and walked to the gym door.
"He is worried about Jasper, sir," Alfred said softly. "Please try to reassure him that Jasper will never be able to hurt him again, Master Bruce."
Nodding, Bruce walked to the living room while Alfred returned to the Batcave to retrieve the ten-year-old.
Dick was pacing nervously. Alfred's words had been slightly terrifying but he trusted the butler. If anyone could calm down a hero full of rage, it would be Alfred.
"Come with me, Master Dick, all will be well."
Nodding, the boy walked toward the elevator and they went up to the Manor.
"He's in the living room, young sir, and I will stay by your side."
Dick timidly crept into the living room, Alfred right behind him. Bruce was leaning against the fireplace, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed. Alfred was right – Batman needed to stay out of this. For now, anyway.
"Master Bruce."
Bruce opened his eyes to see a nervous-looking Dick chewing on his bottom lip.
"Come here, chum," he said quietly.
Dick slowly walked over and stared up at his guardian. The boy's light-blue eyes were full of trust but outlined with apprehension.
"I'm just going to examine you, if that's okay. I don't want you to be afraid of me, Dick."
"Okay, but I'm not afraid of you," Dick replied, surprise filling the words. "Why would I be afraid of you?"
"Well, you've noticed before how I act when something happens," Bruce stated as he stared at the colorful torso. "I don't want to scare you, or have you think that I'm mad at you."
"Bruce," Dick stated calmly, "now I know what 'mad' looks – and feels – like. You get frustrated because you can't stop everything bad that happens to everyone. But you don't get 'mad' like other people do."
"I do get mad, Dick."
It was a struggle, but Bruce finally tore his gaze away from the obviously broken ribs. Dick needed him to listen.
"I know," the boy sighed, "but only when you see or hear about an injustice. You don't get so mad that something like this happens," Dick gestured to his torso, "just because I break a rule. You're not – Batman is not – the bad guy. He takes down the bad guys, so I have no reason to be afraid of you."
"Do you want to, uh, talk about it?" Bruce asked hesitantly.
"No, Jasper will know. He's already going to know I showed you! He's going to come for me and I'm going to be in trouble and he said I would regret being born and I don't want to do that because I'm glad I'm alive even though my parents died but I have you guys and I don't want to forget that but I did forget because of the basement and then…"
"Hey, hey, chum, calm down!" Bruce exclaimed.
Dick's chest was heaving, panic racing through his body.
"Nononono, he's going to know," the boy moaned. "And I'm sorry…"
Without warning, Dick stumbled to the fireplace, dropped to his knees and began gagging. There was nothing left for him to throw up but his concussed mind didn't care about that.
Bruce was by his side in the blink of an eye, Alfred close behind. The younger man pulled the boy into his arms. Dick's entire body was trembling.
"When's the last time you ate, kiddo?" Bruce asked, rage filling his body.
"I…don't know," the ten-year-old replied in a shaky voice. "Or maybe I do but just don't remember. I forgot a lot of things."
Bruce hummed in sympathy. Gently, he picked Dick up and strode to the couch. He sat down, keeping the boy in his arms. Just then, the doorbell rang. Alfred went to answer it and quickly returned with Greg Makov beside him.
Greg stared at the scene and guilt filled his chest. He had taken Dick away from this. The ten-year-old was curled in a ball, his face turned into Bruce's chest and his body trembling.
"Dick," Bruce whispered gently, "Mr. Makov is here. Do you want to tell him what happened?"
"No," came the muffled reply. "But I will anyway."
The boy sat up but his hands latched onto Bruce's arms. Greg got his first good look at the boy's torso and the guilt in his chest flooded his entire body.
"I'm so sorry," the social worker said softly, shock in his voice.
"They ignored me," Dick began. "I wasn't sunburned because I forgot to put on sunscreen. They forgot about me after telling me to go out to play. I'm sorry I lied."
Bruce nearly let out a Batman-like growl. How does one just forget a child?!
"But it was okay. I was just kind of lonely but it's not a big deal."
"Yes, it is," Bruce muttered.
"Can we talk about the bruises?" Greg asked.
Dick glanced at Bruce, who nodded and said, "I won't let him get you, chum."
Greg looked a little confused. Bruce was about to explain, but Dick began quoting. He sounded like a robot, except for the fear in his voice.
"There's nobody in this world who cares about you. Wherever you go, I will be able to find you. Whatever you say, I will find out. Your disrespect led to what happened; it's all your fault. If you say anything to anybody, or let anyone see any injury, I will know. And I will come get you and you will wish you had never been born. Do we understand each other?"
The millionaire's body went rigid. If Dick hadn't been sitting on his lap, he might have gone after Jasper right then. All three men were speechless.
"He knows my name," Dick whispered fearfully. "He knows I told you. He's going to come get me."
"Dick…" Bruce began.
The boy jumped to his feet, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'll be polite. You don't have to tell him because I'll always say 'sir' and ma'am' and I'll never be disrespectful and I'll always do exactly what you say. Sir!"
"Dick…" Bruce tried again.
"I'll write it if you want, sir. One hundred times each. Or I'll go stand against the wall, sir, and say it over and over."
"Dick…"
"I'm sorry I interrupted you, sir!" Dick yelled, panic in his voice. "Please, I'm sorry, I'll do better! SIR!" he screamed at the end.
"Master Bruce, he's becoming hysterical," Alfred said, stating the obvious. "Mr. Makov, do you mind if we give them some time alone? Just for a few minutes."
Greg was in shock but he quickly nodded. He and Alfred left the room and the butler took him to the kitchen.
"This is all my fault," Greg said sadly as he sat down on a nearby chair. "He's going to be more traumatized than he has already been! I'm such an idiot!"
"My two boys are quite close, Mr. Makov. Master Bruce will be able to calm him down and bring him back to the present."
And that's exactly what Bruce was attempting to do. Dick was on his knees now, practically begging his guardian not to tell Jasper.
"I'm not going to…"
"He's going to be so mad," the ten-year-old whimpered.
"Well, he'll just have to be mad in a body cast, then, because that's what is going to happen," Bruce snapped.
The tone startled Dick. He lifted his head and stared into the smoldering, furious, dark-blue eyes of Batman.
"He's not here, Dick, and he never will be," Batman stated authoritatively. "If he ever comes here – which he won't – he will be incapacitated before he steps inside."
Batman retreated as Bruce knelt down beside Dick.
"You're safe, chum," the man said calmly, using a hand to sweep the bangs away from Dick's eyes. "It's over and he's going to jail."
Two tiny tears slid down the boy's cheeks. Bruce gently brushed them away with his thumb then easily picked Dick up. He sat them on the couch again, and soon the ten-year-old was curled into his chest, just as he had been when Greg Makov had first arrived.
"Do you think you can finish your story, kiddo?"
The boy nodded and sniffled. Alfred, at that very moment, peeked in to assess the situation. Bruce gave him a short nod and the butler entered ten seconds later, Greg following behind.
The silence was awkward; nobody knew how to pick up the conversation.
Finally, Dick's soft voice floated around the room.
"I didn't want to go into the basement. It was dark and there were no lightbulbs. So I tried to get away so he got mad and pushed me down the stairs."
And that's how you got the concussion.
That thought manifested itself in the heads of both Alfred and Bruce.
"What else?" Bruce encouraged as Dick sat up.
"I was bloody so I got tired but I couldn't sleep on the floor because they don't have a mattress and they were gone because they forgot about me again, I think, so I went to their bed and he found me and took me downstairs and I tried to block but I was dizzy and his fists are bony and it hurt so bad."
"He has two broken ribs and a fractured collarbone, Greg," Bruce explained.
"What?!" the social worker exclaimed.
"And now we know why, Mr. Makov," Alfred chimed in.
Suddenly, every single thing that had happened flew out of Dick's mouth, from the moment Greg had dropped him off to the time the man had picked him up. Memories were racing around in his brain, overwhelming him. In the middle of the explanation, he began yelling. By the time he was done, he was angrily screaming.
"Don't be shocked, Mr. Makov," Alfred whispered discreetly.
"ENOUGH!" Bruce commanded loudly.
Dick immediately quieted down and curled back into the man's chest.
"Please don't take me away," he mumbled, tears in his voice. "He's not mad at me, please don't take me again."
Alfred had told Greg not to be shocked but it had happened anyway. Bruce sounded almost exactly like he had the night Greg had taken Dick away. But the effect on Dick was exactly the opposite than what it should have been. Instead of being terrified, or startled, or upset, the ten-year-old was resting peacefully on the chest of the man who had just yelled at him.
No, Greg reflected, 'yell' wasn't the right word. The tone hadn't been angry, it had been commanding. But, not in a bad way.
The social worker suddenly realized that Dick had been speaking to him.
"I'm not taking you anywhere, Dick," he assured the boy. "This is where you belong; it was my fault you were even there."
"And it was my fault for having an argument with you," Bruce chimed in.
"And it was my fault that I overreacted to hearing that argument," Greg countered.
"Stop!" Dick demanded loudly, sitting up again. "It's Jasper's fault, and Matilda's fault. Neither of you had any control over their actions so please don't blame yourselves."
"Are you going to take him to a hospital?" Greg asked.
"Um, we were going…"
"Oh, right, to the clinic," Greg interrupted. "We need pictures and Dr. Thompkins will need to sign some paperwork. Dick's entire body is evidence so we need as much documentation as possible."
Dick looked at Alfred and mouthed 'Dr. Thompkins?' to which the butler silently replied 'bullet' and Dick understood.
Dick jumped in and stated, "I don't think you should use them anymore."
The three men just stared at him. A slight smirk manifested itself on the boy's face.
"They think their current house is small; wait until they see their new one."
"Are you…making jokes?" Greg asked in disbelief.
"Only you, kiddo," Bruce mumbled.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a phone call to make. The clinic will have closed by now but Mr. Kent will hopefully be able to reach Dr. Thompkins. I would like to get Master Dick in to see her as soon as possible."
Greg nodded and Bruce responded, "Thank you, Alfred."
"Well," the social worker said as he stood up again, "I have a lot to do now."
Like call the families of eleven other kids and ask about their time at the Dunston's house.
"Greg," Bruce suddenly began, "didn't you tell me these people had taken care of other kids?"
"Yes, but nobody ever…if I had known then I wouldn't have placed Dick there."
"I know that. But why?" Bruce asked. "Why do you think the other kids stayed quiet?"
"Jasper's mean and scary?" Dick suggested.
Bruce nodded in agreement and Greg looked thoughtful.
"I don't know, Bruce. I mean, all of those kids practically grew up with me as their case manager. They trusted me, so I assumed, anyway."
"Were they older than me?" Dick asked quietly, his bottom lip trembling.
Both men looked at the ten-year-old and Bruce stated, "Never mind. You and I can discuss this later, Greg."
"No," Dick said. "Were they? Because, if they were, maybe they didn't break as many rules and maybe they were polite all the time and never did anything wrong. Maybe it's just me being an idiot and not saying the right things and disobeying and failing at everything."
Tears were shining in the boy's eyes but he refused to let them fall. It was always Dick's fault, just like Jasper had said.
"No, kiddo, stop thinking like that," Bruce commanded gently. "None of this is your fault and you're not an idiot or a failure or a disappointment or anything else. How many times have I told you that you're smart?"
The question was answered with a small grin on the ten-year-old's face.
"I'm so sorry you went through all of this because of me," Greg stated, looking directly into Dick's eyes. "I never should have taken you in the first place and I regret every second, especially now."
"You didn't know," Dick replied, his voice shaking only slightly, "and I don't blame you. Are you going to call the police?"
"Of course," Greg answered.
"Can you tell them that, since they aren't villains, they're just regular people, can you ask them to leave Batman out of it?"
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to stifle the growl.
"I think the police can handle the Dunstons, Dick, but I'll pass along your request. I'm glad you're back where you belong."
With that, Greg left and Bruce heaved a giant sigh.
"You had to do that, didn't you," he muttered.
"I'm helping you stay strong. If I can last four days with them, Batman can wait at least a week to talk to them. And maybe Batman will decide not to visit them at all. Maybe he'll decide that since the boy is back with Bruce Wayne and the criminals are kind of old, he can just leave the whole situation alone."
"Dick, you are one of a kind, kiddo. I would give you a giant hug but I don't want your shoulder hurting more than it already is."
"Sometimes," Dick stated quietly, "things that bring us pain also help take the pain away."
Bruce carefully pulled the boy down so his head was resting on the man's strong chest again. Dick snuggled in and Bruce could hear the tiny wheezes that were the result of the light pressure of the hug. But, he also knew that the tears now soaking his chest weren't ones of pain.
"I'm glad you're home, chum," the millionaire whispered.
"Me, too," the boy mumbled sleepily.