The Red Right Hand

by Ophelia'song

Dick Grayson learns that some ghosts aren't so easily laid to rest when he returns to Gotham to visit his troubled friend Roy. In conversation, he learns some disturbing information about the man who once stood to destroy him—Slade. With his team on the verge of ruin, Nightwing finds himself in a dispute with the Justice League that may cost him his leadership and possibly more.

20. We All Got Wood & Nails

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the font mix up! I have no idea what happened, but it's fixed now, So thank you Michi Nolet for bring that to my attention. I apologize that this update took so long, life has been kicking my ass these last few months. I had some, now resolved, health problems. Nothing serious or life threatening, but I was basically sick all summer and that took up a lot of my attention. I also recently became a stepmom and moved into a new apartment with my boyfriend. So there have been some good things to report :) As for the update, I do apologize in advance as this is a long one. So for those of you who wanna punch me in the face for writing this behemoth of a chapter, please form a line to the right and those of you who wanna punch me in the face for taking so long, please form a line to the left. I'll be right with you.

Also, I have, for the most part, forgone the use of a Beta reader, so I hope that my editing skills are enough lol. I will say that I wrote this chapter nearly two years ago, and this is probably the 6th or 7th draft. I also ran it through the voice reader on Word, but if you guys see any spelling errors or typos, or grammar slips, please feel free to let me know and also let me know how you feel about my lack of Beta. You can also leave a review if you wish to discuss anything or ask me questions. But for the most part I'm hoping to update sooner since I will not be waiting for my edits to be proof read.

One last thing, music is heavy a muse in this chapter so if you're interested in any of the songs referenced in this chapter I will list them here for you:
"Jesus Christ" by Brand New / Album: The Devil & God Are Raging Inside Me
"Pachuca Sunrise" by Minus The Bear / Album: Acoustics
"Get Right" by Jimmy Eat World Album: Integrity Blues

We All Got Wood & Nails

"The blood between us, makes it all but true." -Defeater

The Black paneled van pulled in front of the theater before pulling around back, the old opera house standing cold with decay in its old age. Dick peered out the window, freeing a deep sigh into the still air. The remorse it held was thick, as was the history of the crumbling building. The pain and turmoil somehow emanating off it like smog drifting from the surface of a lake.

"I've always hated this place," he said, his words plagued with loathing.

"No shit," Jason added, understanding his fellow ex-Robin's conjecture. "I'm shocked the old man hasn't had this place torn to the ground yet."

"Who are you guys talking about?" Rose asked, obviously to the reference.

"No one important," Jason replied. "Just some old history we don't need to dig up."

"At least something here's gonna stay buried," X muttered and pulled the van to the back of the building where the old exit door waited.

Once there, he parked the van and the group exited to go over the plan.

"Okay, X and Rose, you two help me secure the perimeter, Dick and Raven, you go check inside and make sure it's clear."

"And what do we do if we come across anyone?" Raven asked nonchalantly.

The Outlaw shrugged and reached in his pocket. "If there's anyone inside they're probably homeless." He then produced a rather thick roll of cash and counted a few hundred dollars in twenties. "Just hand them like a hundred bucks and tell 'em to leave and go buy themselves a hot meal," and handed the thin stack to Dick.

He accepted the money, taking the sum in his gloved hand, donning the pair he'd received from Bruce.

"Okay," Dick agreed with a nod.

"You got your gun, right Grayson?"

Dick nodded unenthusiastically and began to turn away.

"Is it loaded this time?" Jason asked, his tone a tad harsh.

Dick turned back around and pulled the gun from his waistband and inserted the clip into the grip. "It is now."

"Good. Keep it that way."

Jason turned from him, getting ready to go about his task when he heard Dick's voice, thick with annoyance.

"You do realize I don't need this thing, right?"

"I'm very aware of that, Grayson, but that doesn't change the fact that you're out of your element and you don't have your toys to save you," The Outlaw replied a little condescendingly.

"Thanks for the confidence, J…son," Dick drawled, catching himself as he almost fell back on the controversial namesake. "But I'll be fine without my toys."

"Yeah, I just don't want a repeat of 11 years ago. Bruce isn't here to save you this time."

"Low blow, Jay," Dick growled, unhappy that he'd even use that night against him. "But as I recall, I was out saving your ass—again." Venom rolled off his tongue, his untamed nightmare of a memory digging itself free from its grave like an unwelcome ghost.

"Oh, and that's not a low blow?" Jason replied vexed, turning to face him. "If you had just let me be, Joker never would have seen you following me, and he would have left me alone."

"You don't know that."

"And neither do you, so stop blaming me for it," Jason snapped like a bitter child.

Dick's brow fell deeper, and his face took on a ruddy complexion. "I don't blame you for anything!"

"Yes, you do!" The Outlaw corrected bitterly. "You wouldn't even speak to me after Bruce fired you. Then you left and never came back! Well, guess what, I'm sorry Joker shot you, and I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you can't keep blaming me forever!" There was a wounded nature to Jason's words, a hurt that seemed parasitic as it fed off the pain once felt by a little boy as he mourned under a table. However, this time, Dick didn't hear him.

"I got shot trying to protect you from Joker; he was gonna kill you!"

"Good for you, Dick, but he killed me anyway. You weren't there, remember?" Jason said almost void of emotion, but uttered a little taste of resentment.

Dick muttered an obscenity and lunged forward at the Outlaw, who was ready to contend Dick's oncoming attack. However, before either one could strike the other, Raven and X administered damage control. The empath placed herself in front of Dick as the thief kept a thrashing Jason at bay.

"Dick don't," she pleaded calmly, knowing how deep that last comment cut him and how deep the truth ran for him.

The hero looked down at her, his eyes burning hot with the coals of old memories that just wouldn't cease flame. Dick could see Raven silently pleading with him not to act, understanding how relentless such memories were, but also how much he'd regret giving in to them. He looked over at Jason, his expression just as bitter as his own, dark and unrelenting. His brow sank as he pulled away from her and headed inside, the exit door's lock useless and long broken.

Jason pushed away from X and headed off in the opposite direction, cursing under his breath. Rose looked back at them perplexed, confusion ripe on her pretty face. She shrugged and headed after him, silence being the only thing to accompany her, leaving X and Raven to the loneliness of the moonlight, their faces' long and distressed.

"This was a bad idea," Raven said, looking on at the door before walking toward it.

X sighed, his thumb and index finger tracing the sides of his mouth in a lament. "This whole thing was a bad idea. Your friend Roy was right."

His words twisted in her heart with a sharp uncaring nature. She could tell X didn't mean it that way, that his intention was not meant to hurt her as he ventured into the night. She swallowed the sore feeling and took a deep breath, following behind Dick's trail and entering the dark crumbling building. Once the door was closed, she flicked on her flashlight, but the luminous beam couldn't seem to find him in its pervasive glare. Raven glanced down and saw faint footsteps pressed upon the filthy concrete. She sighed burdensomely and followed their lonely path up a nearby flight of stairs.

"Dick, you up there?" she called, her voice echoing until it was nearly forgotten. She ascended the stairway, using the railing to help her up. She tried not to think of everything she'd just heard, but to no avail. Masked secrets were clawing into her thoughts and changing the fabric of their bond. She always knew, deep down, what had taken place between Dick, Bruce, and Jason, but she never knew the specifics of it. And if Dick didn't want to tell her about it, then that was his choice. Yet, the pain of those words ripped through her, leaving his emotions rife with the wounds of both time and truth. Even if that truth wasn't quite his.

This was simply just the nature of their bond. If he hurt, she hurt, and if he was angry then she felt that resentment, that sadness and all the fury that fire had to offer. All of which he held tight behind a mask, his unmoved brave face he presented to all the world. But tonight, there was no hiding the fact that the very event that led him to becoming a Titan, was the very thing that broke his connection to his family and to the world he knew prior.

Raven finally found him perched on the second landing, his back against the wall as he sat on the lower step, his arms crossed rigidly. She sighed again, feeling how heavy his turmoil was, every breath she took thick with its foul scent. Still, Raven sat down beside him, her hands feeling weak as she placed down her flashlight, a slight sting in her eyes. He wanted to cry, but he wouldn't, not now, maybe not ever. But still, she knew he needed her.

"So that was a pretty telling display," she sighed.

Dick's jaw tightened as he shook his head, trying to hold back his anger. "Yeah, so what'd you learn?"

She pursed her lips, trying not to take his tone seriously. "That your history with Jason is… um… very complicated."

"Complicated is only a word people use when they're too afraid to say it like it is, Rae," Dick droned coldly. "Tell me what you really learned?"

Raven's posture stiffened. He'd never spoken to her like that before, but she presumed he'd probably never divulged to anyone what happened to him either.

"Okay, you blame yourself for Jason's death, and you feel like he does too."

Dick said nothing, he just stared at the wall blankly, leading Raven to the conclusion that she'd hit the nail right on the head.

"Dick, just tell me what happened."

"What's there to tell?" he shrugged numbly. "I fucked up."

"You've never talked about it, have you?"

He shook his head. "I just wanted to forget it ever happened."

"Dick, I think it's about time you let it out."

"Yeah well it's a long one, you better make time..."

888888

Spring 2005

Dick could tell Bruce was livid, but he kept it pulled back and fastened underneath that rich exterior. He brought his gaze back to the desk in front of him, beyond it sat the Dean of Gotham Academy in her crisp blazer and starched white shirt. Beside Bruce sat Harvey Bullock, a look of sheer discontent and insufferable injustice evident on his doggish face. His son, Harvey Jr. was slumped to his left, an ice pack over his still bleeding nose, his left eye blackened and his lip split.

Dick had really given him quite the beating, but in his mind, Bullock Jr. got what he deserved.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble your kid's in, Wayne?! You're not buying your way out of this one!" Bullock growled, matching his dog-like face.

"Mr. Bullock, I know you are upset," the Dean said, a little annoyed with his tone, "but we're all here to get to the bottom of this matter. Now Harvey," she added moving her hand in the direction of the bruised and bleeding boy, "why don't you start?"

"Well," the boy huffed with a sniffle, letting the ice pack fall from his nose. Everyone flinched at the sight of it. The raw look of dark purple and deep broken blue, pooling under the skin. And judging by its newly administered angle, it was definitely broken. "I was minding my own business when this punk comes up and slugs me right in the face!"

"Minding your own business my ass!" Dick shouted. "You were shoving Jason in a locker!"

"That's not true!" Bullock protested. "My son would never do such a thing!"

"Your son's an animal," Dick countered dismissively, "he should be put down like one."

"Richard!" Bruce scolded in a disappointed and (somewhat) embarrassed tone.

"What!" Dick snapped, Bullock's face growing even redder than usual.

"Dean Courtright, did you hear what he just said about my boy? That's a threat! Your kid's done, Wayne!"

"Can everybody just calm down?" the Dean finally demanded, her voice forceful as her hand flew up in a halting motion. The two parties sat back and looked at her shocked, tensions running high. "Now, Harvey, were you, as Dick claims, harassing his foster brother?"

"No," the boy lied. "I would never do anything like that, Jason's my friend. We were just playing around."

"Then why did you lock him in the janitor's closet last week?" Dick added sardonically. "Were you playing then?"

"You better shut your kid up, Wayne!"

"His kid's right here, Bullock. You can address me to my face."

"Richard—stop it!" Bruce growled. "Let me handle this."

Bruce quickly collected himself, though it was clear he wanted to lay into the irate Detective just as much as he wanted to scold Dick for his questionable actions. "I am, once again, very sorry that Richard and your son's altercation took such an unnecessary turn, and I'm more than willing to pay for all of young Harvey's medical care, and, I will see to it that Richard receives the proper punishment for his actions in regard to this matter."

"No!" Bullock exclaimed as though insulted at the offer. "Your boy attacked my son, that's Assault! Also that little comment about "putting my kid down like a dog," that's Battery! I hope that your lawyer's as good as that pretty penny you pay him, cause that kid's in for a world'da hurt, you son of a—"

"Hey!" Dean Courtright called, cutting the man off. "Now Mr. Bullock, I can see your frustration with this issue, it's troubling. But… Dick's claim that your son was harassing, and, as you call it, assaulting his foster brother, is corroborated by several students, including Jason and Barbara Gordon. And well, I'm sure the Police Commissioner is going to take the word of his own daughter over the questionable word of your son, as this is not the first complaint we've received in regards to his treatment of other students. Now that's not saying what Richard did was right. We here at Gotham Academy, do not condone violence, and we will take action against Mr. Grayson, but the school will not assist you in a lawsuit, or anything of the sort."

The detective stood up, his temper boiling as he shoved his portly index finger in the Dean's face. "This is bullshit, and you know it!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Bullock. By the way, don't bother sending Harvey to school tomorrow, he's suspended for one week for hazing and harassment, effective immediately."

"What?" Both Bullocks barked in unison.

Dick couldn't help but laugh a little, though he was quickly scolded for it.

"Hey, don't get cocky, Mr. Grayson, I'm getting to you," the Dean said in a ridgid voice and pointed her manicured finger at him. "You can take your son home now, Mr. Bullock."

He frowned, the lines in his face, giving him the look of a chubby bulldog. He grabbed his son by the arm, the boy whining as the limb was still sore from Dick putting him in an arm-lock and shoving his face against a locker.

"I'll send you the medical bills," Bullock conceded angrily, telling his kid to stop whining.

"You do that," Bruce said and took a deep breath, knowing that he wouldn't like what the Dean had to say.

The door slammed shut; Dick could tell that he was about to receive his punishment, only happy those two knuckle-draggers weren't there to witness it.

"Alright, now as you are both aware, the school has a strict no violence policy, and due to the severity of this incident, it does fall on grounds for expulsion."

"What?" Dick said shocked, his naïve eyes wide.

"Surely you can look passed this, it's not like Dick has a violent history," Bruce said as calmly as he could.

"Well, outside of this incident, Dick is a phenomenal student, one of our brightest, in fact. It would be a shame to lose him." The Dean looked over at Dick who had finally become humbled by the consequences that his actions may have harvested. "Dick, why don't you give Mr. Wayne and I a moment to speak in private?"

Dick looked over at Bruce, an uneasy look on his face. Bruce gave him a permitted nod, and the boy stood up, looking back at the Dean a little frightened before exiting the room.

Once his ward was gone, Bruce looked back at the Dean and leaned into his chair, a tired look as he sighed, "I'm gonna need my checkbook, aren't I?"

She nodded sardonically. "I'll get you a pen."

Dick walked down the crowded hallway, Juvenal faces overly made up and unkempt, stared back at him, their eyes holding crude captivation. He felt as if they were looking down at him through a microscope, like they could no longer see him as Richard Grayson—A student, mathlete, and all around, responsible kid—no. Now they only saw him as the kid who beat the living shit out of the school bully, something Dick never aspired to be but became anyway.

He pushed passed them, but noticed that anyone who accidentally crossed his path quickly removed themselves with great haste. However, this was not out of respect or admiration—no.

They're afraid of me… he thought bitterly, while shallow girls whispered at his passing, gossiping into ears of noisy blondes, their boyfriends recoiling in their letterman's jackets.

But through the sea of whispers and judgment, he found her, peering into her locker, going through the rows of pretentious textbooks and color coded notebooks. He took a deep breath, trying to breathe in anything left of who he was, or who he wanted to be, and finally approached the pretty redhead.

"Hey Babs," he sighed, nervous that when she faced him, she'd return his gaze with a garish expression. She had, unfortunately, witnessed the whole ordeal after all. However, to Dick's surprise, she greeted him with a far different expression.

"What's the date?" Barbara asked, her voice slightly void as if she were caught by another reality.

Dick looked back at her perplexed, a little taken off guard. "Um… it's the 14th."

"Shit," she hissed, taking her cobalt eyes off him as they hit the floor.

"Babs, uh… is everything alright?"

"Yeah..." she sighed, her brow still a little tense, "I—um just had an anatomy test last week and I asked for an extension on it, but totally spaced—shit."

"Oh," Dick mused, "but I thought you took biology?"

"It's an anatomy test for biology, Boy Wonder," she snapped. Dick nodded as she closed her locker then gently slammed her head against it, letting her forehead lay there as she mumbled, "Oh my God Dick, I'm so sorry," she sighed and finally turned to him, a guilty look on her face. "I totally forgot, what happened with Courtright?"

Dick looked at her a little confused, wondering how she could have even forgotten about the fight, since, apparently, it was the talk of the entire school. But she was Batgirl after all. And she'd witnessed Dick put the hurt on men far worse than the youngest of Bullocks.

"I don't know?" he said. "What I did falls undergrounds for expulsion, but then she and Bruce told me to leave the room, so my guess is I'm getting off with a suspension and probably some cruel and unusual punishment from the Red Right Hand of Bruce."

"I'd just take the expulsion," Barbara mused plainly.

"Then skip town—"

"Change your name—"

"Start a new life—"

"In a new city—"

"And take you with me," Dick concluded with a coy smile, taking her hand in his.

She looked down, feeling his fingers lace through hers. She let him hold it there a moment before gently pulling her hand away, casually adjusting her bag.

"My dad would kill you."

"Not if Bruce kills me first, which I'm counting on," Dick said as the two walked down the hall.

"I'm sure Bruce will understand why you did it, you were just trying to protect Jason. You were doing what he taught you."

"Yeah well, something tells me that as much as that may be true, he might not see it that way," Dick replied ruefully. "But I should go, if he gets to the car and I'm not there, he'll probably skim another few years off my lifespan."

"Yeah, I gotta get to class, but um… if you can… call me later?"

"If Bruce doesn't take my phone, but I'll IM you if he does."

"Okay," she leaned in and let him kiss her for a long moment, forgetting her obligations for a brief duration.

"I love you," he whispered and smiled against her lips.

She cracked a smile. "I know," and pulled away as the words felt bitter in her mouth. "See you later?…"

"I'll do my best. Good luck with your test, Babs."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need it." She rolled her eyes, snapping back to reality. "Well, I got a test to go take, try not to die, Boy Wonder."

She quickly disappeared down the hall, through the sea of misplaced and uncertain faces. Their bodies were moving awkwardly, some more confident than others, leaving him lonely among them. The bell rang with its shrill cry, and as if by magic, they vanished like vapor. He turned, looking into the corridor where the main entrance lay and moved toward it, as though he were an outcast in his hometown. Gotham was the closest thing he'd ever known to a place of origin, yet he'd somehow come to resent it in recent years. Something about it just didn't feel right.

He finally reached the car and sat in the passenger seat, Jason waiting in the back. Once the door closed the questions came flying.

"What happened?"

Dick barely glanced back at him as he rattled off, "I think I'm on suspension, not sure yet though."

The boy glanced down, his reflection a little shameful from the back of the Lincoln. "Is Bruce mad?"

"Yeah."

Jason seemed to be examining his hands as if they'd failed him. "Sorry..."

"Don't be," Dick said with a shrug. "I'll always have your back, Jay." He smiled back at the boy who returned it with a childlike grin.

It was then the driver's side door flew open, and Bruce swiftly pulled himself into the car, not even saying a word as he started the engine. Dick didn't bother speaking, knowing that the man's silence was that of a coming storm, and its devastation would be enough to crush him if he didn't find shelter.

In a lot of ways, Bruce turned out to be quite an excellent father figure, especially given his lack of experience in the matter. Sometimes even being too good a parent. He had a natural knack for discipline and was good at conveying his ideas on young minds, but he still lacked the warmth of a parent, even in moments of pride and achievement. Bruce just wasn't the type of father who gave his son a hug after a heavy defeat, or even a triumphant win, which was something Dick missed about his own father—John.

Still, the drive home was silent, both Jason and Dick aware of what was coming, each passing moment bringing that rain storm closer to fruition. When they finally reached the manor, Bruce parked the car and glanced up through the mirror, catching Jason in his sights.

"Jason, give me a minute with Dick."

Jason's eyes shot to Dick, whose brow furrowed in anticipation, feeling the atmosphere shift with the sound of Bruce's tone.

"Jason, go inside please," Bruce said in a lower, more adamant tone, but Jason remained, as though leaving would be committing some great betrayal.

"It's okay, Jay, I'll be alright," Dick said with a fake smile as Bruce glared over at him. "Seriously. I got this."

The thin plastic smile Dick wore didn't fool the young boy, however. But still, he pulled the handle of the door and pushed it open, reluctantly leaving his surrogate brother in the wake of the storm.

The back door slammed shut, and Bruce watched as Jason walked to the entrance where Alfred greeted him. The old man looking back at the parked car wearily.

The butler ushered the boy inside and once the door fell closed, Dick tried to speak, but was cut off by the back of Bruce's swift hand, angrily whipping him across the face. The boy's mouth fell open, only a whimper in place of words as the pain burned and formed a red mark on his jaw. Shock filled his eyes, Bruce had never struck him before, not like that. This was nothing like sparring or training; this was his advert reaction to Dick's audacity to use violence to solve a problem.

"What the hell were you thinking, Richard!" Bruce demanded. "Do you know how serious this is? You could have ended up getting expelled or even arrested, for God sake! What the Hell is wrong with you?!"

"You hit me?" Dick said, still trying to get a grip on reality.

"Damn right I hit you," Bruce growled, "you're lucky I didn't pop you one while you were running your mouth in the Dean's office. You have no idea how disappointed I am with you, Richard. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking; I was doing what you taught me to do!" Dick replied defensively, his ego bruised.

Bruce's face grew heavy with insult. "I never taught you to handle your problems with violence!"

"No!" Dick corrected. "But you taught me to take care of my family, that's what I was doing, Bruce."

Bruce froze, his face falling blank as if Dick had hit him back.

"I don't expect you to be proud, Bruce. I just expect you to understand."

"I do, Dick," Bruce sighed, his anger burning out a bit. "But that doesn't mean there aren't consequences. I managed to convince the Dean not to expel you," he added. "However, you're suspended for two weeks and are not permitted to attend any school functions or activities. You're also not permitted to step foot on school property until your suspension is lifted."

Dick looked away and glanced down at his hands as though he were placing the blame on them.

"Now here's my punishment," Bruce added, Dick looking at him nervously. "No phone, no TV, no friends, no computer—unless it's for schoolwork— and you can only leave the Manor with Alfred or I, until further notice, got it?"

Dick nodded, trying not to feed into his anger and say something that could invoke more of Bruce's wrath, or say anything he may regret later.

"Good, and as for your duties as Robin, you're sidelined for a month or until I say otherwise."

Dick turned his head, a little shocked. "Oh come on, Bruce!"

"No. I taught you how to take care of your family, now—I'm going to teach you to own your actions and what happens when your heart's in the right place, but your head's not. I've already spoken to Barbara, she is going to bring you your assignments, and I will permit you an hour, per day, to go over them with her, that's it. And that is a gift, don't make me regret it. Now, go inside and make sure you get to bed early tonight, you have a 4 am wake up call."

"For what?" Dick grimaced.

"Boot camp, with me, then you're gonna help Alfred reorganize the attic," Bruce said sternly.

"You know you could just kill me, right? That would be far less painful."

"For you, yes. Now go. I've got to get back to work before The Board throws a fit," Bruce shrugged, trying to be less cold, but just falling short.

Dick nodded and opened the car door with a heavy sigh, not able to do anything but accept the punishment for what it was. He pushed the door shut, knowing not to slam it as Bruce would have probably made the wake-up call 3 am for the infraction. (Bruce was never one to tolerate teen angst.)

Dick watched him drive off and sat down on the front steps, a little beside himself. He'd never found himself in that kind of trouble before, and, to be honest, he never thought he would. The only time he'd ever exhibited violent behavior was after his parents died. He was only a young boy at the time and at the height of his pain, he was shipped off to a horrible juvenile detention center. Right off the bat he was targeted and ganged up on, his only choice to fight back by any means necessary. But still, fighting back does little when it's one against many.

This was a lonely place in his life, his parents were gone, and he didn't even have a friend to help him through it. In the back of Dick's mind, it was a miracle that he never broke, especially given the violent nature of it all. He may have only been at the Center for a little less than a month, but it was still the worst three and a half weeks of his life. Until the day he took matters into his own hands.

Dick had been taken to the medical ward after yet another altercation with Colin Digby, an older boy with a mean reputation and a rap sheet that would put any decent parent to shame. The encounter left Dick with a black eye, a broken rib and a few cuts on his forearm, which was apparently enough to rally the cavalry—finally.

At some point a tall woman showed up, dressed in a sharp suit, her makeup impeccable. He recalled her being incredibly intimidating, a look of scorched earth on her beautiful face, and voice as deep as howling wind.

"Richard Grayson?" she asked, the boy looking up at her nervously.

"Yeah?"

"My name is Rachel Dawes, I've been hired by Bruce Wayne to represent you."

"For what?" Dick asked, having no grasp of the law or how it worked.

"For your custody hearing and also to help you transfer to a more fitting facility."

Dick let out a heavy, but relieved sigh, as though he'd finally caught a break.

"Now, I've gone over your case, you have no living relatives that we can contact, and the state will not grant custody to anyone of Haly's Circus."

Dick frowned and looked down, his future once again turning bleak.

"However," she continued, "Mr. Wayne has taken an interest in your predicament and is considering becoming your guardian."

"That rich guy who came to my parent's funeral, why?"

"I'll let him explain that to you himself," Ms. Dawes replied, "but first we have to get you transferred. I've already gone over the incident; you claim self-defense, Colin Digby attacked you with a box cutter and intended to harm you, that is correct?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good," she replied a little removed. "That Digby boy has apparently shown violent behavior in the past. He tried to sell some story that you set him up, but given his history, no one bought it."

Dick nodded and glanced down at his left forearm, his fresh bandages reminding him what lie beneath.

"With any luck, I'll have you transferred to St. Mary's by tomorrow—Thursday the latest."

"St. Mary's?" Dick questioned, being pulled from his complexities.

"Yes, it's a Catholic youth home, you will remain there until the court grants custody to Mr. Wayne, if that is what you wish, of course?"

"Mary was my mother's name," the young boy said drifting out again, the void once again filling his heart.

"Oh," she said nodding, unsure of what to say next. "I'm sorry for the Iron Lady façade," she apologized, "I'm not used to working with children."

"S'okay." Dick crossed his arms, his forearm still sore. "Was this Mr. Wayne's idea?"

"Yes," she replied offering a kind smile.

"Okay, I guess… if it gets me outta here."

Her face grew determined once more, her iron front put back in place. "Mr. Wayne and I both promise to get you out of here, alright?"

She reached out her hand and placed it on his.

"Alright…"

By the next morning, Dick was transferred to St. Mary's, where he remained until the court proclaimed Bruce, his guardian. And that was all she wrote. Dick basically became a model son and student. He hardly ever found himself in trouble and even Bruce was shocked at just how well adjusted he was for all that he'd been through. Dick even suspected that was partly why Bruce took in Jason. But Bruce soon learned that some people cannot endure what others have. And Jason was, in every way, Dick's polar opposite.

He was introverted—a loner, and though he tried to come off as tough, he was actually quite sensitive and very jaded. However, despite his poor education, he was luckily very bright and had an enormous appetite for literature. He enjoyed folklore, taking to tales like Little Red Riding Hood, and loved graphic novels such as V For Vendetta, but his favorite old tome was by far Robin Hood.

Dick realized early on that there was something about that story that gave Jason hope. That there was something within those pages the boy could cling to. However, he never thought those words would rewrite Jason's shattered life. That through his end he'd become the fabled Outlaw King, only a little meaner and a little more broken.

Throughout most of his childhood, Dick was Jason's only real friend (unless you count Alfred of course). He had a hard time fitting in, though it was clear he never really wanted to. He felt little for his peers and wanted little to do with them. It also didn't help that Jason came from a much different world than his classmates at Gotham Academy. They were children of privileged backgrounds that knew little struggle and lived fairly sheltered lives. They teased him for talking funny, finding his use of words vulgar and crude. They never tried to understand him and Dick knew they'd never care to. To them, Jason Todd was simply just some street kid, a piece of white trash from some shitty part of town they'd never even drive through. And to them, that's all he'd ever be.

Dick shook his head and finally pulled himself up from the front steps of the manor and went inside. He wasn't really sure what to do with himself, so he decided to tend to his sore knuckles (as he'd used them to bloody Harvey's face). That was one thing Dick and Jason had in common—anger. Only Dick was much better at keeping it in check.

Jason's problem was that everything made him angry and he had no control over it. Whereas Dick usually kept his fury contained and used it as motivation for his crime fighting pursuits. But even still, in the heat of the moment, something as simple as a word, or a comment, sometimes even just the right action could send him into an acute rage, making him act just slightly out of character, or worse.

A thought crossed his mind about the incident; Harvey Jr. had always reminded Dick of Collin. There just something about the way he tormented Jason that made his skin crawl, made him see red.

He made his way into the kitchen and opened the freezer, which was always stocked with plenty of ice packs (courtesy of Alfred).

"Awe, Master Richard," he heard Alfred say, "I understand we got into quite the scuffle today."

Dick turned and shrugged. "Yeah, the sandbox just wasn't big enough."

"They often aren't. Master Bruce has informed me of your current punishment. Do you wish to discuss it?"

Dick smiled and approached the island block where he sat down. Alfred was always very understanding, which was a great balance to Bruce's more black and white approach.

"I mean, I don't know. It's not like I expected Bruce to be proud of me. I know what I did was wrong, but I guess I'm still not sorry for it..."

"Children can be quite cruel," Alfred mused. "I'm sure that in some way it seems justified, but if we all did what we thought was justified, then the world would become an all too chaotic place."

"I know," Dick shrugged, his sore knuckles becoming chilled, "but sometimes it's just as chaotic and no one does anything about it."

"Is that what you were doing, Master Richard, doing something about it?"

He shrugged again, and looked down at the icepack. Alfred could see him glancing at his hands, the weight of his situation upon them.

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Master Bruce's approach to your punishment has little to do with your actions and more to do with the example they set?"

"What'd you mean?"

"You remind me a lot of Master Bruce when he was a boy… before his parents." Alfred paused a moment, he too had always felt the loss of Thomas and Martha Wayne as they were far more to him than employers. "Master Jason, however, well… he reminds me of Master Bruce after his parents... I fear that frightens him." He paused again, taking a moment to examine the look that fell on the boy's face then continued. "My point is that Master Bruce doesn't worry for you the way he worries for Jason. Deep down, he knows you'll probably never do anything like this again, Master Jason on the other hand—"

"I think I get it, Alfred," Dick concluded, understanding the point begrudgingly.

Just then Jason walked into the kitchen, as if on cue. "Hey Alfred, can I have some help with my homework?"

"What Subject?

"Math," he replied holding up his text book.

"If it's assistance on mathematics you seek then you may want to ask Master Richard," Alfred replied going about his task. "You don't mind, do you, Master Richard?"

The smaller boy looked over at Dick, a sheepish look on his face.

"No, I can help him," he replied and signaled Jason to take a seat. "So, what do you need help with?"

"This question," Jason replied. "I keep getting different answers.

Dick read the answer carefully then looked at the boys work and quickly noticed the misstep. "That's because you keep confusing the variable, this is the variable, that's not."

"Oh, okay... thanks."

"Need help with anything else?"

"No, I think I got it now," Jason replied. "So I take it Bruce threw the book at you?"

Dick nodded. "And the kitchen sink."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Dick corrected as Alfred subtly glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah, but I feel like it is, you're in trouble because of me."

"No," the young hero reassured. "I'm in trouble because I lost my cool and beat the shit out of a classmate. That was my choice, Jay. Not yours. I gotta live with it."

"So you're not mad at me?"

Dick shook his head. "Like I said, it's not your fault. But if anything, I hope you can take away that violence doesn't solve your problems."

"No, but you committing violence on my behalf does," the boy grinned.

Dick smiled. "Yeah maybe it worked out for you, but don't get used to it. I have a feeling that next time—well, if there is a next time—Bruce may actually kill me."

The two laughed, finding the common ground they could always fall back on. The afternoon continued relatively normal with Dick continuing to help Jason with the rest of his assignments. (Not like he had anything better to do.) Alfred watched as he continued his work, recalling a time when it was he who was slumped over that counter, flipping through textbooks, wearing that same brave face.

8888

Later that night, Dick found himself walking the long way home from the bus stop. Alfred was right, Dick would most likely never do anything like that again, but that didn't mean he was going to stop acting like a love sick teenager. That was out of the question.

Sneaking out to see Barbara was something Dick found himself doing a lot more as of late, and he had developed quite the little system too. Bruce probably wouldn't be too thrilled to know he'd helped provide his teenage ward with the skills to climb in and out of his girlfriend's window without even being detected. But then again, Bruce also wouldn't be too thrilled to find out that his ward was secretly courting the commissioner's daughter. He'd made it very clear to Dick that Barbara was off limits as long as she wore the mantle of Batgirl. Probably because Bruce didn't want either of them acting like—well—love sick teenagers (and I think we're all inclined to agree).

Once he made it back to the manor, he looped around and ascended the wall to the garden, which his room overlooked. The high bushes made it perfect for him to hide and not be caught by the security cameras. The tricky part was climbing back up to his window, which wasn't too difficult given his acrobatic training.

Thanks Mom and Dad!

He made it up the North wall of the manor, happy that his bedroom was only on the second floor. Once he reached his windowsill, he pushed the panels open and tossed his backpack inside. The light was on which he found a bit odd. His heart skipped a beat, a fear in the back of his mind as he moved forward. He peered in and immediately relaxed when he saw who was waiting for him.

"Damnit Jason, you scared the shit out of me! I thought you were Bruce," Dick sighed dragging his body over the windowsill.

"Nope, just me," Jason drawled, his eyes fixed on the fictional characters he was trying to kill. "Plus, you know if Bruce was gonna wait for you to sneak back into your room, he'd pull some crazy Fatal Attraction shit."

Dick laughed as he pulled the window closed. "Yeah, I'd step into the room *light clicks on* Bruce is just sitting calmly in the arm chair."

"Butcher knife in hand."

"Yep, I'd be like just don't bury me in the Pet Semetery!"

Jason laughed, "You don't wanna live your life again?"

"Not if Ismahawk is writing it and not after today I don't. What are you doing in here anyway?" Dick asked sitting down on his bed.

"I'm developing the cure for cancer," the boy retorted feeding some poor CGI souls a face full of pixelated bullets.

"No offense, but The Jimmy Fund would frown upon your methods."

"Fuck The Jimmy Fund, I just beat your high score, Grayson! Suck it!" Jason said victoriously.

Dick shook his head. "How humble of you. I still don't understand why you had to use my computer. Yours works perfectly fine."

"You have better stuff, plus your computer's faster. "

"Is my IPod faster too?" Dick question, reading that Jason did in fact beat his high score. That little shit.

"No, it just has better songs."

Dick shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Well if you'd bring me yours, I could sync my library for you."

"Taking your stuff's easier," Jason replied with a smug grin, a little proud of himself.

Dick laughed lightly. Ironically, they actually sounded like real siblings. "Do you always have a wise-ass comment for everything?"

"Yes, and if I wasn't a wise-ass, my A.D.D. would probably act up and kill me."

That was a Jason thing to say; Dick couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah well if A.D.D. were a fatal condition, the human race would have died out by now. Especially since the invention of the internet. God knows that's probably not helping."

"It's helping me not finish my homework."

"What?"

"Relax, I'll do it in the morning, and still get a passing grade."

"You need to start taking that stuff more seriously, Jay," Dick scolded, disappointed that the boy spent all night playing video games, effectively ignoring his studies.

"Hey, studies show that homework is not really that valuable of a learning tool. Plus, I don't think it's fair that I can't talk or play videogames during school hours, but then they expect me to do their shitty assignments on my time, fucking really? You don't see the hypocrisy in that."

Dick rolled his eyes again, annoyed that the boy had a rather good point. He always felt Jason might make a good Politician one day.

"Well, I'd better get to bed, I've got a 4 am wakeup call."

"What for?" Jason queried as though disgusted that someone would actually be conscious that early.

"Boot camp."

A perplexed look fell over the boy's face. "For real?"

"As real as me contemplating jumping out my window the second that door opens at 4 am," the Boy Wonder joked darkly.

"I'll administer the finishing move if the fall itself is not enough to kill you," Jason added promptly, as though dying for such a cause were noble.

"Thanks, Jay. It's nice to know you got my back."

"Hey, the least I can do, right?"

Dick smiled for the moment, truly feeling like he had a little brother. "Night, Jason," he sighed, "and hand it over," he added, held out his hand.

Jason played dumb. "Hand what over?"

"My IPod?"

The boy sighed. "Oh come on?"

"Hey, normally I wouldn't care, but it's the only thing Bruce didn't forbid me from, so hand it over."

"Fine," the small boy huffed and pulled the silver pod from his pocket. "Have fun getting your ass handed to you at the ass crack of dawn."

"Oh I will. I'm sure it's gonna be swell," Dick drawled as Jason began walking away empty handed. "Little shit."

Jason shook his head and left the room, leaving Dick to his own company.

Once the young hero was finally alone he placed the small earbuds in place and leaned back, scrolling through his library, searching for the song that suited him best. Luckily he didn't have to look far as the last song played was "Jesus Christ," by Brand New. The guitar chords sang softly and intertwined with the melody, tangling itself into the poetry of the lyrics, the steady rhythm pulling him in.

He opened a drawer beside his bed and took from it an old book, an original copy of George Orwell's 1984 that once belonged to his father. Dick opened the cover, glancing down at two separate samples of handwriting and recalled that the old tome was originally a gift from his grandfather back in Ireland.

My Dear Son,

Well Johnny boy, I wanted you to have this, I felt you would appreciate it. We both know Liam's a bit of a superficial lad. God bless that boy and his simpler qualities. You however, Johnny, you have far more to offer the world, you remember that. One day I won't be around to remind you.

—Dad

To my Son, Richard,

When I was your age, my father left us, but before he did, he gave me this book. It's really all I have left of him. However, it is because of this that I want you to have it. George Orwell was one of his favorite writers (which is ironic as my father was Scottish and not one for British culture) but I guess the old fellow had good taste. I've probably read these old words a hundred times, especially after my brother Liam died. This book has gotten me through some rough times and has seen me through both trial and tribulation. I can only hope that it will do the same for you, especially when I'm no longer here to guide you. Remember what I told you.

Your Father —John

Dick let the book fall back on his chest and took a deep breath. His father told him many things, everything from winning and losing, to never giving up, even in the face of defeat. But there was one thing his father told him that never seemed to fade, and that was:

"Let your mind solve what your body cannot," Dick whispered to himself. "Looks like I kinda fucked that one up, dad… Sorry."

He stared up at the ceiling, thinking of how many times he'd fallen back on those words. How many times he'd chosen his intellectual strength over his physical. It's what he did when he couldn't defend himself against Collin Digby, yet he used his force to defend Jason from Harvey Jr. Maybe that was why Bruce was so angry, because Dick chose to let might overcome right?

Dick placed the book back in the draw and just let his mind wander. Sifting through thoughts of old memories and the drifting years that passed in spirit. It was strange to think about how long his parents had been gone, each year taking him further and further away from them. In the beginning it was like losing a limb, leaving him crippled and lost as he wandered the world in their absence. But as time passed, he found himself less stagnant and able to move forward, but at a slower pace. It's what they would have wanted, Dick would tell himself, and that was the truth. However it seemed with the more time that passed, the more of a memory they became.

"One moment at a time," Dick breathed, once again longing for one last chance to talk with them. Silently hoping that heaven truly hung up above, for only then would he get to see them again.

8888

The manor was quiet at this early hour and the sun would not wake for another few hours. Dick was fast asleep as he'd been for most of the night, his thoughts finally dwindling down to the calmness of sleep. His ear buds had fallen off sometime during his slumber, the sound of music silenced as the playlist came to an end. Normally, he wouldn't wake up for another 2 hours, however, Bruce had something different planned for 4 am.

The door flung open and a high cry from a small whistle screamed, causing Dick to suddenly awake with great alarm and fall out of bed.

"On your feet, Dick! I want you ready and in the Batcave in 10 minutes!" Bruce demanded like a crazy Nazi drill sergeant.

Dick looked over at him, his heart practically pounding out of his chest. "10 minutes? It takes almost 8 minutes just to get to the entrance?"

Bruce blew the whistle again, Dick quickly realizing that he wasn't taking this whole boot camp regiment lightly.

"Just for that, I'll see you there in 5 minutes!" He slammed the door, leaving Dick confused and startled, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. For a moment he actually thought about making that swan dive out his window, knowing the next few hours of his life would be nothing short of a living hell. But he knew Bruce wouldn't let a few broken bones or possibly death stop him from exacting his punishment. So off he went.

He quickly scrambled to his feet and got changed into clothing more appropriate for working out, then made the mad dash for the Batcave. Once there, he discovered he'd missed his deadline and was stricken with the task of doing 100 push-ups.

"This is gonna be a long two weeks," he mumbled as he dropped to the floor.

"Now it's 150, get to 'em," Bruce barked then counted each one, even going as far to comment that he wasn't doing them correctly and added another 10 for good measure.

This torture was followed by what seemed like never-ending sit-ups (all while Bruce yelled at him some more about poor form and what not). Bruce then commanded Dick to sprint back and forth until the Bat finally told him to just stand there and hold a 5 pound weight over his head (which seems harmless until you have to do it for 20 minutes and had just performed an inhumane amount of push-ups). This was, of course, followed by more push-ups, though by this point, his arms were practically numb. There was also plenty of wall-sits, and lunges, even lunges while holding an even heavier weight overhead. And since there was a whole manor at Bruce's disposal, he made Dick run up and down the stairs of said manor. Bruce occasionally ordering the boy to stop and do more push-ups or sit-ups as he felt necessary. But thankfully, the ordeal finally ended after Dick ran 3 laps around the grounds of the Wayne property, Bruce badgering him the whole way like Gunnery Sergeant Hartman (only far less vulgar).

"What's a matter, is the Boy Wonder tired?" his mentor asked as he fell to a walking pace, his breath impossible to catch.

Dick's face was red, sweat pouring down his brow and neck and staining the collar of his t-shirt. He didn't answer the question, he just looked on ahead like a deer lost in the headlights and finally hit his breaking point. He just wanted to collapse and curl up into a ball, just completely shut down, which is what he suspected was Bruce's end goal. That greedy bastard probably wanted some tears too.

"Answer me, Dick. ARE YOU TIRED?"

Dick just looked at him and then plopped to the ground, falling flat on his back. "Does this answer your question?" he panted, his sweaty hands draped over his forehead painfully.

Bruce just stared down at the boy as his eyes fell shut, the cool dew of the grass calming his fiery skin. His entire body felt weak, his muscles sore tired, even his arms, which were conditioned and stronger than most, ached to the bone.

Bruce just let him lay there a moment, he knew his ward had had enough. Bruce let out a weary sigh, he too feeling tired and sat down beside him. Apparently channeling your inner Sergeant Hartman is very demanding.

"Here," he said and handed the boy a bottle of water.

Dick reached up his weary arm, his hand shaking as he took the water and began chugging the entire bottle.

He remained on his back, and just stared up at the sky. His father may have told him that you can get through anything for a moment, but this was just ridiculous.

"Dick, do you understand why I'm being so hard on you?"

Dick glanced over at Bruce and let out a heavy sigh, pulling himself up to a sitting position. "Alfred said something about Jason?"

Bruce peered over at him, his arms crossed over his knees. "That boy looks up to you, you know? Same way you looked up to me."

Dick's eyes fell to the ground, the glare of the sun caught on the dew that rested on the soft bed of green.

"I can't let Jason think that violence is an appropriate outlet for his anger," Bruce continued. "He's not like you. He's…"

"Like you…" Dick interjected, "…I know."

Bruce focused on the few blades of grass clinging to his fingers, trying to not look ashamed. "…My point is, I know this seems unfair now, but you'll understand someday when you're a father."

"I get it Bruce," Dick said, finally gaining control over his breath. "But do you think you can lay off the crazy R. Lee Ermey from Hell act, cause seriously, I think you missed your calling as a drill sergeant."

Bruce laughed. "Thanks for noticing, I binge watched three episodes of Mail Call and Full Metal Jacket last night."

"The Gunny would be proud."

8888

Later that day, Dick and Alfred were finishing up their task in the attic, Dick actually enjoying the old memories of the Wayne Family. Especially when Alfred began telling embarrassing stories about Bruce. The two even stumbled on some not so flattering photos of him as a child.

"Do you think Bruce would be upset if we had this one blown up and framed? I could totally see it in the den," Dick joked, presenting a picture of a 5 year old Bruce, crying as he was confronted by a very animated clown (oh the irony).

"Let's just say we'd both be suffering through a 4 am boot camp, Master Richard," Alfred said stoically as he placed down a box, but with a glint in his eye continued, "Though the look on his face might just be worth it."

Dick chuckled and placed the photo down, another catching his eye. It was a picture of Bruce and his father, Thomas, a look of pride wide on the man's face, Bruce's resemblance to him a little haunting. It was odd, Bruce never really directly talked about his parents, especially his father, but still, somehow, Dick felt as if he knew the ghost in the photograph.

Bruce had a strong constitution for fatherhood, though having no biological children of his own (that anyone knew of). He'd make it a point to share things that he, himself, had never previously uttered and Dick suspected those wise words were those once recited by the ghost who hung above the fireplace. Thomas Wayne was a very large part of Bruce, and even if Bruce would never say it, his father was always the pinnacle of the man he wanted to become—but couldn't.

Dick hadn't noticed, but Alfred had taken light of him glaring down at the picture, recognizing the lost manner in his posture.

"I know he doesn't show it, but I think it really gives Master Bruce a sense of purpose that you look up to him the way he looked up to his father. I think he feels as though he's done something right."

The young hero gave Alfred a sentimental smile, the sentiment meaning more to him then he led on. He picked up the box and placed it in its new resting place, completing the task.

"So what do we do now?" Dick asked looking back at Alfred who was supposed to be enforcing his punishment.

"Well, I have to go retrieve Master Jason from school, would you like to come along?"

"Am I allowed to?"

"Master Bruce said you were permitted to leave the manor with either he or myself and I don't see the harm in it," Alfred reasoned. "If Master Bruce asks, I will tell him I had errands to run and wanted the company."

Dick smiled at the old man, a confident glimmer bright in Alfred's grey eyes. He truly was the greatest of allies.

The ride was nice, Dick and Alfred just chatting back and forth. Alfred brought up the topic of dating and ask Dick if there was anyone he was interested in as they passed the school. Dick, of course, ran duck and cover as they drove passed and waited a block or so away.

"I don't really have time," Dick said dismissively. "I have enough on my plate with school and stuff."

Alfred glanced over at him, noticing how he played down the question. "I understand that," he mused, "But you're not even slightly interested in anyone, not even Miss Gordon?"

At the drop of her name Dick's head whipped over in Alfred's direction, eyes wide. "Um… that would be like dating my sister…" He falsely reasoned.

"Really? Haven't you had a crush on her since the fourth grade?"

An embarrassed look fell over Dick's face as he began looking for an escape route that maybe Alfred wouldn't notice. However, the aged man was right. Dick had pretty much been in love with the pretty redhead since Barbara stood up for him on the playground. The two becoming close friends for most of their childhood. However, Dick could not confirm Alfred's suspicions as Bruce had made his feelings quite clear on the matter.

"I wonder what's taking Jason so long?" Dick said, pointing out that the boy was taking a lot longer than necessary.

"Hum, that is strange. Maybe you should go look for him, just stay off the school grounds."

"I will, Alfred, I'll be back in 10," Dick said and closed the door, stepping on to the sidewalk.

He looked ahead and threw on his hood, trying to keep himself hidden. He knew if someone mentioned they saw him even approaching the school, he could get into serious trouble. However, he was more worried about Bruce scolding Alfred for it.

As he continued, he noticed a girl was about to crossed his path, he check behind him to make sure that he was not in Alfred's sights as he reached out and took her by the arm. She turned to him in shock, an angry expression glaring back at him as she readied herself to slam her fist into the assailants face. At least until she realized she wasn't in peril.

"Dick?" she question as he motioned for her to be quiet and pulled her into the alley by the school. "What are you doing here, are you trying to get expelled?"

"Maybe, I thought girls liked bad boys."

"I'd prefer if you stayed nerdy, Boy Wonder," she smiled, straightening the collar of his hoodie.

"See you say that, but then expect me to climb through your bedroom window at night?"

"Well you can't exactly come walking in the front door at nearly 10:30 at night now, can you?"

He leaned in and kissed her, and for the moment, she let him melt into her.

"I missed you," he whispered, truly meaning it.

She smiled a little, but there was still something keeping her heart at bay. "There's something I really wanna tell you, do you think you can come by later? My dad won't be home till really late."

Barbara always hated being home alone at night, which was actually a huge catalysis to she and Dick's relationship. It started out innocent enough. She confided in him that she really wasn't comfortable with her father working late shifts, not even out of loneliness, but because she was afraid he wouldn't come home.

When Barbra was about eight she learned, just as Dick had, how cruel the world could be. Her father had tucked her into bed that night. Her mother's car had broken down earlier that day, leaving the family with only one vehicle. Her mother set out that night to meet up with a friend for drinks. This wasn't unusual of her, and on those occasions she'd be out late, she'd always promised that she'd kiss her daughter goodnight the moment she arrived home. Only that night, she didn't—she never made it home.

Dick knew just how deeply that cut her. How restless she was waiting for the simple sound of the front door slamming shut. To Dick, the thought was heartbreaking and was partly why he was so willing to disobey Bruce and possibly even get caught sneaking out of Barbara Gordon's window. He simply didn't want her to be alone with those thoughts, or God forbid, the possibility that her father didn't come home.

"Yeah, I'll figure it out, Babs… I always do."

She kissed him as he pulled her close and let her arms wrap around his neck. This continued for a short time until the moment was shamefully ruined.

"Damn Gordon, I'm next," an obnoxious voice bellowed, the comment followed by chuckles and a high five.

Dick turned his head not even remotely amused, the two boys both startled to see him.

"Oh uh, hey Grayson. Didn't know that was you," grumbled one of the boys sheepishly.

"Yeah, it's me," Dick drawled. "Hey Jay, they bothering you?"

The boy shrugged as he noticed a more protective side of Dick surface, reminding him of Bruce.

"No," Jason replied. "Bobby and Danzy were just telling me about a new videogame."

"Yeah man, we'd never pick on Toddy… how's the fist, by the way?"

"I'm gonna go," Barbara said, not entirely loving the way Danzy was looking at her, hungrily. "See you later?"

"Yeah."

She kissed him again before she left, though she was slightly disgusted by the two staring troglodytes. Dick glared at them as she uncomfortably turned, noticing their eyes as they followed her, even with him standing there. He peered over at Jason who also seemed off put by the display.

"Grayson, my dude, you're so lucky you're hitting that."

Dick's brow creased with disgust as Jason looked away with stunned embarrassment.

"Really? Have some respect," Dick spat and grabbed Jason by the arm to pull him away.

"Oh I have respect," Bobby replied with a smug look, "respect for a view like that."

"Thus the reason she's walking away."

"Fuck you, Grayson. You think you're so much better than the rest of us," Danzy spat, his pug face becoming red as he spoke. "But you'll see, sooner or later that attitude is gonna come back and bite you in the ass."

"Yet I'm somehow not worried. Come on, Jay," Dick commanded and trying to pull him away.

"Dick stop. I can walk myself," Jason snapped, shrugging the older boy off.

He was taken aback as the boy stormed away, the two brain-donor twins looking on with a smug amusement.

"Looks like the kid doesn't wanna be a sheep like you after all."

"Yeah just remember I'm the sheep who slaughtered the Big Bad Wolf. So why don't you two pigs fuck off?"

The two boys reluctantly recoiled, looking back at Dick nervously as they backed away. He watched them a moment, making sure they were on the retreat, then headed back to the car. He called out to Jason, who was now a great deal ahead of him, but he wouldn't stop, he just kept going.

"Hey," Dick said finally catching up to the boy, "what were you doing hanging around those two fucktards?" Dick asked.

"I already told you, Dick," he huffed, "they were telling me about a new game?"

Dick frowned at the boy's defensive tone. "Then what's it called."

"Seriously?" the boy said with vexation. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Cause those two shitlords are trouble and I don't want you getting mixed up with them."

"I'll be friends with whoever I want, Dick. And in case you haven't noticed, you're the one on suspension."

"Really Jay?" Dick scoffed. "I defended you when no one else would and you're just gonna throw that shit in my face?"

"You sound just like Bruce," Jason spat, bring Dick to a sudden halt, as if he'd knocked the wind right out of him.

The boy turned and walked away, upset with the older boy's tone, yet guilty for not being the ally he needed. Dick however, just stood there a moment, a little numb, but somehow shrugged it off and walked back to the car. His mind a little clouded as if he'd somehow become the man he now looked to as his father.

8888

Later that day Dick sat at his computer, mindfully working on a Social Studies paper that had been assigned the morning prior to his suspension. As he gathered up information and sources from various websites, he found himself going over the days past. He let his mind wander to what Bruce had told him that morning and even what Alfred had said the day prior and how he factored into it.

For the most part, Dick was always under the impression that Bruce was grooming him to take up his mantle, but then why was Bruce so terrified by Jason's ill nature? Wasn't the point of mentoring to become more like Bruce? But before he could formulate an answer to his thought, it was broken.

Hey, he read as an IM window from Barbara popped up on his screen.

Dick: Hey

Barbara: You're still coming over tonight, right?

Dick: That's the plan. But Alfred is out for the night, I've gotta make sure Jason's gonna be okay. I'm sure if I tell him he can play games on my computer that he'll be fine.

Barbara: Kid works on the cheap, convenient! How's your suspension going?

Dick: Well as good as one can go, I guess? But I'm gonna grab my stuff and get Jason settled, then I'll head over, Okay?

Barbara: Okay, I'll leave the window open.

Awesome, Dick typed before closing the IM window and rose from his desk. He walked over to his bed and looked to the side table where he'd placed his IPod earlier that day after his harrowing wake up call.

"That little shit," Dick mumbled and somberly set off down the hallway to locate the missing device. He knew Jason had taken it, as he had no issue fulfilling the thieving role of a little brother.

As he moved down the hall his mind once again drifted, slipping back into the questions that burdened his mind. There was just something about what Bruce and Alfred said that didn't sit right with him. He reached Jason's room and knocked on the door, but received no answer. He cracked the door open and called Jason's name, but still no reply. This was not unusual as Jason could usually be found reading, camped out in the den.

Dick entered the room, not really concerned about intruding since Jason never seemed burdened with the thought himself. He spotted the grey backpack, laying thoughtlessly on the bed where Jason had thrown it. Dick picked it up, knowing that Jason had probably snagged the pod before heading to school. He unzip the front pocket and peered in at the contents when his heart sunk.

"Fuck…" he scoffed and took out the object in question. And suddenly Jason's encounter with Bobby and Danzy made sense.

Dick turned to the door and headed for the hall, bringing the whole backpack with him, and headed to the den. He stormed down the stairs, his face stern as he reached the bottom and turned the corner into the den. He saw Jason curled up on the floor, back against the couch, his eyes down cast on the pages of his favorite book. He lifted his head and looked up at Dick, pausing as he noticed the look on his face, cold as stone—he looked like Bruce.

"You okay?" The boy asked and noticed Dick holding his backpack. He grew worried.

"What the hell is this?" Dick growled holding up the 1/8 bag of Marijuana.

Jason froze up, his face going white at the sight of Dick's discovery.

"Jason!"

He jumped not really sure what to say, "I… I was just, uh, curious—"

"That's bullshit!" Dick snapped. "You don't buy an 1/8 because you're curious! How long have you been doing this?"

"I don't know like… a while… I used to just skim off my dad… it's not that big a deal—really."

"It's no big deal… it's no big deal? Jason, you're 11 years old… you shouldn't be nursing an addiction at 11—you should be doing normal 11 year old boy shit!"

The younger boy looked back at him perplexed, "Um… do you even know what normal 11 year old boy shit is? Cause last time I checked, you're not exactly a normal 15 year old. The only normal thing you do is sneak out of the house to see the girlfriend you're not supposed to have."

"That's not the point," Dick shrugged, knowing he wasn't exactly innocent in the matter.

"So what—you can break the rules, but I can't?

Dick's face grew red, his brow knitting deeply, reminiscent of his mentor's. "I'm not doing anything illegal—do you have any idea how much trouble this single bag of pot could get you in?—Bruce is gonna lose it!"

"You can't tell Bruce, he'll kill me!" Jason shouted, his face falling into turmoil.

"No shit, Jay—This is serious!"

"Please, Dick—don't tell him!" the boy pleaded. "He already thinks I'm a fuck up enough!"

"He doesn't think that," Dick reasoned, "you're just complicated."

Jason looked over at the hero with a quizzical, but cynical look. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Then why'd you say it?" he growled defensively.

"Because you are—You're complicated."

"Wow… and I thought you actually got me, but I guess you're just as judgmental as everyone else." Jason crossed his arms and fell to the couch below him, his anxiety a flame and his coldness beginning to flood the plain of his face.

"I'm not judging you," Dick said trying to calm the boy.

"Really, then what do you call what you're doing now?"

"I'm protecting you."

"From what—life?"

"From you…"

"Fuck you," Jason snapped. "Guess what, if you tell Bruce about my little hobby then I'm gonna tell him about your little hobby."

Dick paused and let out a huff. "And uhh, what hobby would that be?"

"The one you've been climbing out of your window for, the one Bruce told you was strictly off limits," Jason warned.

"Go ahead, tell him, I don't care," Dick declared. "If Bruce gets pissed at me for hiding my relationship with Barbara and keeps you from having your whole future ruined, then I'm willing to take that punishment, Jason."

"Oh so you're a martyr now?"

Fuck this kid and his advanced vocabulary.

"No, I'm your older brother and I know you may hate me now for this, but you'll get over it, just like I'll get over Bruce being pissed at me for seeing Barbara." The two only looked at one another's opposition, however, Dick stood firm. He truly didn't care if Jason told or not, he just wanted what he felt was best for him. "Now why don't you go be pissed at me upstairs, we'll all talk about this when Bruce is done with patrol."

Dick reached out to touch Jason's shoulder, but he pulled away and snapped, "You're not my father and neither is he!"

Dick paused, a little caught off guard. He could feel the sharpness of the boy's tongue, how potent that discontent was, but sadly it did little. This was for his own good.

"Upstairs—now…" Dick said calmly, his voice low and full of warning, something he'd learned from Bruce.

Jason's glare was cold—numb—as though his temper would erupt at any given moment, like the deathly calm before a storm. He bolted and ran up the stairs, his face dripping with betrayal. Dick watched him go, feeling a little guilty as he slowly followed him up the stairs and watched him hustle into his room. He thought about checking up on him, but knew it would probably do little, maybe even make things worse.

Dick entered his room, the boy's backpack in hand. He took out the 1/8 bag, a small grinder and a one hitter, knowing if they remained there, Jason would most likely come looking for the contraband. He tucked them away in his own backpack and picked up the IPod. He pondered a minute, deciding to leave it as a peace offering and placed it on the bed by Jason's backpack. He knew it wasn't much, but he hoped it would offer him something of comfort, much like the baseball hat.

He threw his bag over his shoulder and unlocked the window, taking one last look before slipping into the night.

8888

It was, for the better part, a quiet night. The smell of spring lilies rose from her head of rich copper hair, the dim lamplight setting it a flame as it rested on his chest. He could hear her breath falling to the rhythm of an acoustic version of "Pachuca Sunrise" by Minus the Bear, her heart beating in time with the drum. It was something so simple, but so valued, and there was nothing short of losing her that could take that moment from him. At least until she got up.

She lifted her head and rolled over to the side of her lavender bedspread, retrieving her Sailor Moon tank-top from the floor. She sat up and pulled it over her bare back, not looking back as she spoke over the song, "So what do you think Bruce is gonna do when he finds out?"

Dick sat up and shrugged. "I don't know…" He glanced over to her line of sight, her eyes glaring at the wall, plastered with Circa Survive and Saves the Day posters, the old Brayer horses her mother gave sitting neatly on the shelf. He couldn't help but notice her mood had changed as she sat at the edge of the bed, her back still turned. "Something wrong, Babs?"

"Ha?" she shrugged as though she were being reeled back into her body.

Dick looked back at her as she finally turned to him and noticed the odd look on his face. "I asked you if something was wrong?"

"Oh," she sighed, tucking her tangled hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little out of it today."

"Babs, if there's something bothering you can tell me," Dick said and crawled over to meet her where she sat.

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine, really. I'm just worried about Bruce, is all."

Dick placed his hand to her face, letting his thumb run along the edge of her jaw. "Don't. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. If anything, I'll just tell Bruce it was my idea, and I talked you—"

"He's never gonna buy that, Dick," Barbara lamented harshly. "Plus… this falls back on both of us, it's not like this could have happened without the other..."

Her voice became a little emotional and Dick kissed her, letting his forehead fall on hers. He could still taste the hint of cherry on her lips, her blue eyes glowing against the dim lamplight.

"You said you wanted to tell me something?"

She drew back a moment, her eyes taking on a blank expression. "I did?"

"Yeah," Dick replied, "that was the main reason you wanted me to come over tonight… Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Everything is fine," Barbara reassured and crossed her arms. "I've just been really stressed out over that Anatomy test."

"I'm sure you did fine on it, I bet it's an easy A+."

"Yeah well I have a bad feeling that I'll get an A-," she said painfully.

"You're too hard on yourself," Dick reasoned, "you don't have to be perfect."

"That's easy for you to say…" Barbara drawled.

She looked up at the time and stood up to retrieve the pile of clothes from the floor.

"My dad's gonna be home soon, you should get dressed," she said throwing the bundle over to him.

Dick caught it, placing it down beside him. He watched as Barbara moved to her dresser and pulled on a pair of small shorts and a sweater over her shoulders.

"So what do you think Bruce is gonna do when he finds out about Jason?"

"Aside from flip his shit, probably construct some well thought out strategy to deal with it," the hero replied as he pulled on his clothes. He noticed her stance had changed, she seemed annoyed. "What is it?"

"I don't know, I guess I'm just not really shocked?"

Dick frowned at her response and glanced down as he tied his shoes, paying some unnecessary attention to the small task. "I'd just really hate to see him turn out like—"

"His father?"

"Yeah."

"Dick," Barbara said approaching him, "sometimes people can't help but become what they know."

He looked back at her with rue in his eyes—that's what he was afraid of. However, he remained silent as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He didn't want to think of Jason becoming such a thing, not after everything he'd been through.

Dick's mind crept back to when he was locked away in the Juvenile Center—he too could have become something much similar—if it weren't for Bruce at least.

Barbara walked with him to the window, Dick taking her hand in his. "You good here?" he asked peering over at her.

"Yeah," she replied softly, "my dad's gonna be home any minute, you should go."

"Okay," he nodded and leaned into her, gently pressing his lips to hers. He felt her posture soften, and pulled her closer. There was just something about her, he could never be close enough.

She pulled away slightly breaking the kiss. "Night, Boy Wonder."

"Night, Batgirl," he whispered against her lips.

He moved to the window, his finger still entwined in hers, slowly pulling them away, as though severing the contact. He slipped over the window sill, his feet finding their balance on the fire escape. He began to make his way down to the base of the stair, when he heard Barbara called out to him from inside her room. He glanced back at her, the slight sound of desperation thin on her normally calm voice. Her expression was mixed as if part of her regretted calling out to him. Still, Dick turned to face her, a little worry now shining in his eyes.

"Yeah, Babs?"

She froze up, as though the words were caught in her throat like the blade of a knife. "Um… good luck with Jason…"

"Thanks…" Dick replied, unsure if that's what she wanted to say or not, the air between them like a distant void.

She smiled and awkwardly closed the window before Dick could inquire further.

"That was weird," he muttered as he descended the fire escape, being careful to keep an eye out so that he wasn't spotted. Once he reach the pavement, he threw on his hood in an effort to conceal his face, though part of him knew it didn't really matter anymore. Bruce would most likely know about his little outing by morning. Still, if he could spare Barbara the humiliation of her father finding out, then he'd make the effort.

It took him a little over an hour to get home, including the short walk to the train station and the bus stop that was about two miles from the manor. By the time he'd arrived in his room, It was nearly 12:30 and his muscles had begun to grow sore. He placed his bag on the bed and looked down to find the silver IPod still sitting where he'd left it. He took a deep breath, letting his hand run over his face with a heaviness. He knew Alfred would be home soon and debated on filling him in on Jason's situation, hoping maybe the old man would have some insight.

He lifted the device, noticing the title "Get Right" by Jimmy Eat World as the screen came to life. He headed to the hall and made his way toward Jason's room, knocking on the door upon his arrival.

"Hey Jay," Dick said loudly so the boy could hear him. "I was hoping we could talk, can I come in?" There was no answer and an odd feeling filled Dick's stomach. "Jason?"

It was then Dick pushed the door open and found the room dark and flicked on the light. He paused, finding the room empty, a cold shock running down his spine. He quickly broke from the feeling, though it quickly soured to dread as he began looking around the room, noticing that some of Jason cloths were missing, evident by hangers left strode on the floor. But the thing that really got Dick's attention was the missing baseball hat—Jason would never have left without it.

"Shit," Dick huffed and ran out of the room, calling for the boy, hoping to God that he'd hadn't made it very far, but remained nowhere to be found. Dick even taking the time to check under the table.

"Shit—Bruce is gonna kill me," Dick panicked, his face growing red from the stress. He thought about calling Bruce, but he knew if he did, the man would never forgive him, especially after explaining where he'd been.

Dick ran down to the cave, he knew he was banned from his duties, but it seemed to be the only way he could conduct damage control. He changed into his uniform with great speed, and made a mad dash for the R Cycle, setting out into the heart of Gotham, his mind knowing exactly where the boy would go.

Meanwhile, Jason walked along the filthy street, his head down, a red hood draped over it. His bag hung over his shoulder, in it, some clothes and a few items worth little value—all he had in the world. His pocket housed about $200, most of which he'd earned selling essays and subject papers to rich kids. Still, he knew it wasn't much.

He didn't really know where he was going or what he'd do when he got there, but he figured he'd just go wherever the wind took him. This was his old neighborhood after all. However, the hour was late and he knew he'd have to find a place to spend the night if he wanted to see morning, especially since this territory was now the subject of a turf war. However, unbeknownst to the boy, he'd already become the interest of a greater predator.

Dick, by that time, had arrived in Jason's home neighborhood, parking the R Cycle in an alley not far from where Jason had first jacked the wheels off the Batmobile. He took to the roof tops, gaining an aerial view over the streets, trying to spot the runaway boy. He jumped from building to building—ledge to ledge. His body moving with little effort, though his muscles still ached, but he still pushed on.

He shot his grappling hook into the edge of an old building, his heart still pounding as he readied himself to jump. He leapt off the roof where he stood and pulled the line taught as his body weight drove him forward. He began to swing, but felt the line give a little. He quickly tried to remedy the slack, but his arm muscles protested, pain shooting through the weakening tissue. His feet hit the side of the building, the shock of the impact causing him to whimper a bit. He hung there a moment, trying to figure out how he was going to get himself out of the ordeal. But before he could even take another breath, the crumbling stone gave up its support, and the boy tumbled about three stories… But thank God for dumb luck.

The boy's fall was broken by a large heap of trash bags, filled with newspaper and old clothes. He tumbled down to the dirt and damp below, a few scrapes and bruises for his troubles.

"Uh," he sighed, looking face up at the failing ledge. "Maybe I should just call Batman?" He just laid there a moment and closed his eyes chanting his father's mantra, "Just one moment at a time…"

"Well if it isn't the Boy Wonder himself," Dick heard a rich Scottish voice sing. It was there a tall shadow of a man stepped into the dim moonlight of the ally.

"More like Boy Blunder," Dick muttered.

He looked up to see a middle aged homeless man, a scar gauged across his lip and offering an outstretched hand. Dick declined, and pulled himself up without assistance. He took note of the man's dissolved appearance, his hair a bit matted and outgrown, most of it tucked away beneath an old hat. He noticed the man's eyes, aged by wisdom, but something about them somehow familiar.

"You look as if you've lost something, anything I can do to help, lad?"

Dick took a deep breath not really sure what to say, but replied to the Scotsman, "Maybe… Have you seen an 11 year old boy: dark hair, green eyes, probably wearing a red hoodie?"

"Sounds like a lot'a lads around these parts. I take it he doesn't wanna be found?"

"Probably," Dick mused sadly.

"You seem a bit lost yourself, my boy. Have you ever considered finding yourself before looking for others?"

Dick scowled a bit, though part of him wanted to cry at the notion of him being lost, as he felt like he was. "Well unless I can find myself in the next 10 minutes that doesn't really help me… why am I still talking to you?"

"Because you don't know where to go," the Scotsman replied with a laugh. "Try this: What would your father do?"

"Batman's not my father," Dick replied defensively, his voice a little harsher than he'd meant it to sound.

"I never thought he was," the Scotsman said. "Now what would your father say if he were here right now?"

"I don't know—he said a lot of things," Dick muttered in frustration, mostly because thinking about what his father would say or do was something he'd thought about often, but he didn't always have an answer for.

"They say it is a wise father who knows his own child, but what about his son? Surely he should know his father as well?"

Dick glared at the older man, his face stained with smears of dirt across his ruddy cheeks. "He'd tell me to take it one moment at a time, to just endure it and move forward to the next… that's what he'd say."

"Well then do that, stop thinking of tomorrow, think of the matter at hand."

Dick nodded, and knelt down to retrieve his grappling hook, turning his back to the man for a moment. "Not that I really care, but you seem kind of familiar, who are you?"

"Think of me as a watchful friend, my lad," Dick heard the man say richly.

He turned to face him again, but found the man gone—vanished. "What the hell?" Dick murmured. "Hello?" he called venturing out of the alley, making his way into the light of the streetlamp above. He looked down both ends of the sidewalk, taking in the decaying state of the neighborhood. The man was nowhere to be found, which perplexed our hero as there wasn't a reasonable place he could have escaped to. Still, he quickly pushed the question aside as he noticed a small boy walking on the other side of the street, a bag hung over his shoulder, his face covered by a red hood.

"Jason," Dick whispered and took off toward him, "Jason!"

The boy looked up, his eyes wide upon his blown cover. He took off, sprinting as fast as his short legs could take him. Dick called out to him again, then picked up his pace, determined to catch the boy before he lost him again. Jason turned down an old alleyway, Dick quickly catching up to him. Jason may have known these streets, but he was clearly out classed, and out run.

At the end of the alley was a chain-link fence, one that hadn't been there prior. Jason leapt upon it, his small fingers gripping and scrambling to climb the blockade, but he just couldn't move fast enough.

"Jason," Dick huffed again, pulling the boy down from the fence, his legs kicking as he tried to pry himself free. "Just talk to me!"

"No!" Jason snapped, freeing himself. "I'm done being your fucking charity case, I'm done trying to play nice—and—I'm done being pitied."

"That's not how we see you, Jay—"

"Stop calling me that! Stop trying to pretend you care!"

"I do care!" Dick professed. "Why the hell else would I be out here looking for you?"

"To save your own ass!" Jason spat. "That's why you're gonna tell Bruce, cause God forbid can you allow people to know I'm a fuck up! Well guess what! I'm nothing like you, Dick, and I never will be!"

"No one is asking you to be like me, Jason. But I don't want you ruining your entire life over something so stupid and unnecessary!" Dick defended.

"Future—what future? Do you really think I'm gonna make it to college? It's gonna be a miracle if I even make it out of high school!"

"Do you really think Bruce is just gonna let you quit?" Dick asked, knowing Bruce would never willingly allow such a thing.

"Bruce doesn't know the first thing about me, and neither do you," Jason hissed, "that's why I'm leaving. I'm a street kid at heart—I always will be, and I'm sick of you both trying to change that."

Dick grimaced. "Nobody's asking you to change—"

"That's bullshit," Jason sneered, "and, you of people, know it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jason shook his head cynically. "It means, you can pretend to be this shiny happy rich kid, but you and I both know that's an act, it's not who you are. You may not be a street kid, but you're something else, and if your little friends saw that they'd treat you differently, hell they already are."

Dick paused, not quite able to respond. Jason may have been young, but his perceptiveness was something that was second nature to him. However, what he said, though true, was something Dick wasn't even fully aware of. Only now, that wound gaped as it split open from the threads that held it, bleeding freely, exposing him for who and what he was.

In that instant, Jason stormed passed Dick as he reeled, trying to collect himself beneath the heap of truth he now found himself smothered under. Jason ran down the sidewalk, his anger and frustration spurring him forward. He knew that Dick would come after him again and knew if he wanted to get away, he'd have to lose him, and quick. There was an alley up ahead, and through it, he could cut through an old warehouse adjacent to it. But still, he was unaware that he was the hunted, unaware of those eyes hidden by the dark, waiting for that moment to pounce.

Jason turned down the alley out of view, the shadows taking him under their cover, consuming him. He pulled open the old door, ready to dash up the stairs, but was stunned as his eyes were caught by those of a mad man's.

"Hey there Kiddo, welcome to your worst nightmare."

"DICK!"

The young hero turned, fear emanating from behind his masked eyes. "Jason!" he called, taking off toward the alley.

He reached its mouth, his eyes darting into the shadows to find Jason gone. His heart sank, plummeting to the bottom of his stomach, and sinking into nothing. He called Jason's name again, to no avail, not that he expected an answer. In panic, he searched, trying to find anything to point him in the direction of the missing boy. He reached for his communicator, Batman ready on speed dial, when he noticed that there were dozens of polaroids scattered along the ground.

He knelt down to pick one up and noticed with horror that it was a photo of Jason, walking the lonely streets. In shock, he reached for another to see Jason's image once again, only this time he was stealing some drunks wallet as he slunk passed. There were about a dozen more, all documenting another step, another action the boy had taken that night, including one that captured him arguing with the current Boy wonder himself. Dick Froze when he found it, the photo nailed to the exit door, the nail, strategically driven through the center of Dick's mask. The sight gave him chills, but not as much as the message scribbled in red ink across the image.

Whatever you do… DO NOT call the BAT!

To the right of this message, was an arrow beside some smaller writing, Please continue on the other side, with a smiley face.

Dick pulled the photo free and turned it over with shaky hands to find the red ink frantically staining the white backing. The color smeared from the manic hand that wrote it:

Hello there, Boy Wonder!

I have something that you want, and I'm more than willing to give it to you if… and only if you play a little game with me. The rules are quite simple, really. All you have to do is follow the photographs, each one will lead you to a new location and when you reach the final destination, you will receive your reward! But there is one other rule you must be aware of, and that is, if you call the Bat at any given time during the duration of this game, the boy dies… And don't try to leave Battsey any clues either. For every clue you leave, the boy loses a finger, and YOU'LL DIE a little… slower. Got it, Kiddo? Well, I look forward to our little play date, see you soon, Boy Wonder!

Sincerely, your friendly Neighborhood Joker!

Dick nearly fell to the ground, completely at a loss. He realized the pictures were left as a warning, a means of showing him that if he contacted Bruce, in any way, Joker would know, and Jason—would die. He glanced down at the photo in his hand, the image making him sick. But, if he wanted to find Jason, he'd have to play Joker's game, and play it, he would…

8888

Everything was dark; every breath taken, musty and sour like mold, making the air hard to breathe. He couldn't move his hands, they were bound by tape behind him, as were his feet, which were bound to his chair. As time passed, he could hardly feel his flesh, those limbs growing numb and slipping away. But there was still a bit of pain in his toes and fingers, their shade of blue not quite disembodied. He tried not to cry, he didn't want Joker to know he was scared, that he was absolutely petrified. He could hear footsteps approaching him, every one carrying the sinister threat of death in their wake. The steps drew closer, causing the young boy to shudder. His body shaking uncontrollably as he could feel the man's presence looming over him. A cold hand came down on his shoulder and gripped it as he heard a grating voice say wickedly:

"Relax," the grip tightened and the burlap hood was removed, revealing the boy's fright, "we haven't even gotten started yet… Jay." Laughter sinisterly filled the old steel factory, echoing with an evil intent. "So tell me, Jay—you don't mind if I call you that, do you?" the Joker sang, moving to face him. "Anyhow, what's a boy your age doing out at this ungodly hour, hum? I mean, shouldn't you be home, sleeping safe, nestled in your bed?"

Jason glanced down, sniffling, his eyes tearing with shame and resentment.

"Or do you not have a home?"

The boy didn't answer, he just looked away. Joker, perplexed, took the boy's chin in his hand. "You know, kid, it's rude to not look at someone while they're speaking to you. Someone should really teach you some manners." Joker's grip tightened, causing Jason to flinch at the slight hint of pain.

Joker smiled at this reaction, taking some pleasure in the boy's fear and discomfort. "So tell me, Kiddo, how is it that you know the Boy Wonder? I find it peculiar that a little street punk like you gets to chum around with someone so high up in the Bat's good graces. Yet—I—can't even get a play date!" he lamented theatrically, his hands flailing about to animate his frustrations. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact Mother wouldn't let me have any pets… at least not after what I did to the girl down the street."

He began laughing again, sick and depraved. Tears began to fall down Jason's cheeks, fright filling his stomach with panic and illness, his mind screaming for someone—anyone to intervene.

"What's wrong, Jay, aren't we having fun?" Joker cooed patronizingly. "We haven't even gotten to the best part yet!"

"I wanna go home," Jason whimpered, feeling pathetic for letting Joker get to him.

"Home! Why you don't have one, remember? Isn't that why you're here? Because no one loves you, because no one cares!"

"No! That's not true…"

"I'm afraid it is, my dear boy," Joker said gravely, "you're father left you alone, even after your mommy walked out on you—that bitch. Now tell me, Jay, why would they do that, unless they didn't love you?"

"How do you know that?" Jason sniffled in a panic.

Joker smiled, his lips stretched out like the grin of a demon's, his forked tongue ready to lash in reply, "Because, kiddo I'm the Devil… and I'm here to do what the Devil does."

Jason began to cry harder, but tried to hold back the whimpers and sobs, his breath feeling tight and frantic.

"What's the matter, Jay, why the long face?" Joker quarried cynically. "Why don't I carve you up a nice, wide, smile…"

"NO!" Jason exclaimed, Joker grabbing the boy by the hair and forcing his head back. "No! Please—DON'T!"

Joker produced a rather large hunting knife, perfect for gutting and slicing through flesh. Jason could see the blade flash from the corner of his eye, and began to fight harder, screaming for help, hoping—praying—that someone could hear him.

"Hold still, Jay. How am I supposed to cut a straight line if you keep squirming?"

Joker placed the blade just at the corner of the boy's mouth, ready to press it into the soft skin below. His eyes gleamed with a wickedness, a mad excitement that only the most vile and nefarious could understand. But just as the blade was about to pierce Jason's flesh, the knife was knocked free from the Joker's hand.

The mad clown gasped a moment, looking down to see that his own flesh had been pierced, his blood slowly bubbling from the wound. He looked up at the beam to his right, a small winged blade imbedded in the steel. If he didn't know any better—he would have thought it belonged to the Bat himself.

"Welcome, Boy Wonder," Joker snickered with amusement, "about time you showed up!"

"Let the kid go, Joker," Dick demanded. "I'm the one you want, right?"

Joker chuckled and stepped forward. "I promise you, the boy will go free, but only after he watches me rip your sorry hide limb from limb!"

Joker then drew a large pistol and began shooting at the young hero, Dick doing a side salto to avoid the bullets and take cover. However, Dick's muscles, now wreaking of fatigue, hesitated a fraction of a second. Which was just enough time for a stray bullet to graze his left calf as he flew through the air. The wound itself was nowhere near life threatening, but the sting still burned and was deep enough to bleed.

"Shit," Dick muttered, appraising the damage. "This is so not my night."

"Come on out, Kiddo!" he heard Joker call. "The fun is just getting started!"

The crazed clown motion forward, his gun held before him, ready to shoot anything in his path. Suddenly, he heard a faint sound and looked down to see a few small, marble shaped objects fall to his feet. He looked at them a moment in question, but before he could realize it, they burst into smoke. Joker began to choke, coughing roughly as the foggy substance irritated his throat and eyes. He tried to collect himself, but before he could regain his bearings, something hit him, hard. The rabid clown fell back, losing his balance, taking another hit to the jaw and chest. He tried letting out a few shots, but his firing wrist was caught, and aimed toward the ceiling. He felt the sharp point of an elbow slam against his sternum, the pain nearly shooting to his heart, dropping the gun.

It was then Joker was swiftly flipped to the floor, and through the smoke, he could see the form of what was merely a boy standing over him. He smiled at the irony, however, not feeling foolish—this dance was hardly over. The man shot to his feet, and swung out at the Boy Wonder with one hand, freeing another, smaller, knife with the other. He slashed at the young hero, catching him across the forearm. Dick could feel the blade ripping through his flesh, cutting into years of old scar tissue, even feeling the pain from an old, shameful memory. Blood, sticky and warm, ran feverishly down his arm and beneath his glove, where it pooled.

"Tag, kid… you're it."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jason, who watched helplessly, bound to an old metal chair. He was so frightened, and Dick couldn't help but feel responsible for his predicament. He had to get him out. His brow knit and his gaze fell murderously on the Joker. He produced his bow staff, determined to end the Joker's game at nearly any cost.

The wicked man giggled, his horrid face contorting into a wretched grin, painted in profanity. "Busting out the big boy toys, are we? This just got a lot more fun…"

"Laugh now, Clown, cause I'm about to bash your Goddamn teeth in."

"Not before I clip your other wing, Bird Boy."

And like that, the two began their assault on one another. Joker attempted to slash at Dick again, but to no avail, Dick easily blocking the attacks with the staff. Even getting a few jabs in every now and then, and for a moment, it looked as if Dick was actually going to win. But Joker refused to fall that easily, especially to a child.

Dick managed to hit the clown so hard that he stumbled back, giving him an opening for a flying roundhouse kick that he executed perfectly. Joker fell over an old desk, not far from where Jason was bound. The boy's head shot to the side, Dick's eyes steady ahead, waiting for Joker's next move.

Jason noticed the clown move, his smile sinister and full of some horrid excitement. He looked up at Dick again, he had to warn him!

"Robin!" he called.

Dick's head turned, his eyes meeting that of Jason's green panic, but before Jason could warn him of the gun, Joker shot the hero, square in his left shoulder. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the empty factory, ricocheting off the tin roof and stone floor. Dick cried out in pain, the bullet feeling like pure fire, searing right through his flesh and bone. He fell to his knees, dropping his staff, his hand doing its best to dam the blood flow that seeped even beyond his gloved hand. Joker leapt over the desk and kicked the injured hero across the face, making him spit blood. He gripped the boy by the hair and slammed his head against the desk, so hard, Jason thought that the blow had killed him. Dick's body falling lifelessly to the ground.

"See, I told you I'd clip that wing," Joker snickered, pulling Dick's hardly conscious form from the cold and bloodied floor, then looked over at Jason. "Well, I hope you weren't counting on Boy Blunder here to save you, cause it seems he's a little busy bleeding to death."

"Stop, let him go! He didn't do anything to you!"

"You think this is about some sort of vendetta!" Joker beamed as though he'd heard some hilarious Joke. "I mean, don't get me wrong! Carving this bird and leaving him on the Bat's door step like some horrible gift from the house cat, would make for a good laugh, sure! But, there is more to this than just a clever joke!" He paused a moment and looked down to see how much blood the lifeless boy seemed to be losing. "You see, kid, this is what happens when you go off the path."

"What path?!" Jason snapped through his tears, his face beat red.

"The one you were told to stay on, the path that was supposed to keep you safe, the path that was meant to keep you out of the woods," Joker sang wickedly. "But no, you just had to venture out, deep into the forest. You had to see if you could live amongst the hoods, see if you could out run the Big-Bad-WOLF!"

Jason jumped, the Joker forcing Dick further off the ground, the hero even managing to whine in pain.

"Well here'y go, Jay! You wanted to face the Big Bad Wolf, well I'm right here! And I'm gonna show you what happens when you run off into the woods!" He placed his gun to Dick's temple, his finger ready on the trigger. "Now I'm gonna huff, and puff, and blow this little piggy's brains out!"

"NO!"

I'm sorry Jason… Dick thought as he faded in, knowing he'd be gone with his next breath, Bruce is gonna kill me for this…

And just then, he saw something fly past his fogged vision. Joker cried out, his gun falling to the ground and a black blur emerged from the shadows, like a ghost in the night. Dick fell to the stone below, cradled in a pool of his own blood. Before him he saw Jason, tears still flowing down his cheeks and running into the collar of his shirt. His eyes were fixed on Dick, watching him try with everything he had to lift himself up, but couldn't find the strength. He began to slip away again, his body becoming detached from his consciousness. Somewhere in the convolution his mind stumbled upon his slowing heartbeat, and the cold dark grip of death that coiled around him. He found himself both at war and at peace with the idea of dying, and in the back of his mind, he wanted to see his parents again. Only, he knew that would kill Bruce.

"Bruce…" Dick mumbled incoherently, as though just breathing that name gave him just an inch of life.

He rolled over on his back, his hand weakly gripping at the bullet wound. He couldn't comprehend what had taken place around him or if he were still alive. The shadow emerged and hung over him, his face blurred like a ghost in the fog. Still, the figure loomed over him and in the haze Dick saw him, he saw that ghostly face.

"Dad?..." he whispered, a small trace of shock present in his voice at the sight of his father's image.

"I'm here, son, I'm here," the figure said, his voice reminiscent of his father's brilliance, but also deepened by that of another.

The figure knelt down beside him, and as if a mask had been lifted, Dick's eyes opened to find Bruce, now present were his father stood only a moment ago.

"Bruce?"

"I'm here, son. Just stay with me, okay?

"But… I'm tired…"

"Dick," Bruce said with more urgency, "I know you're tired, but I need you to hold on just a bit longer, alright?"

Dick could hear the light air of panic in his voice, something he'd never quite heard come from the stoic man. There was a bitterness about it, and familiar nature in the sound. That's when it somehow hit him, Bruce was right back in that ally, only this time he was watching his son die. For a moment, Dick wanted to cry, but he couldn't, he just didn't have the life to. A coldness began to claim him once more, the tired feeling beginning to fill his veins. He wasn't sure Bruce would ever recover from this—his death. He only hoped guilt would not follow either of them into death.

"Bruce…" Dick whispered as he hoisted the boy from the floor.

"It's gonna be okay, Dick—I promise," he replied, fearfully, though he tried hard to keep it under heavy cover, already sending the order to Alfred to call Dr. Tomkins and have the med lab ready.

The Dark Knight looked down to see the boy growing white, life slipping away. He couldn't bear to lose him—he couldn't have his son's life on his conscious.

"Bruce, I'm… sorry…"

Time seemed to be slipping away, and everything went dark, sinking beneath the murky depths of his consciousness. Everything grew numb, and the silence raged, the cover of darkness somehow soothing as he drifted away, he thought it was over. He could hear laughter, the echoing charge of that sinister, evil laugh. It carried over the emptiness and evolved, becoming rich and warm. Then he heard his mother calling him, the sound faint and distant. Like she were calling him home, but he had no direction, everything seemed too lead to nothing. At one point, he thought he heard Barbara crying, her voice filled with a loneliness and loss. He heard Alfred as well, rambling on about whatever came to mind. The way he did whenever he felt lost or worried. But the voice that seemed to haunt him the most was Bruce, his never spoke. But that wasn't to say that he wasn't there, he was, he always was—until the darkness finally lifted.

Dick opened his eyes, the light so blinding he actually expected an afterlife, but alas, he was among the living. His eyes adjusted after a moment, the faint beeping of equipment ringing, not missing a beat. He looked around to find himself in the medical bay of the Batcave. The walls were dark, the overhead light still bright as the monitors flashed around him. He paused when his eyes fell on Bruce, asleep in the corner, a book open in his lap.

There was a dull, painful ache in his shoulder as he noticed his left arm was bound in a sling. He looked down at the bandage and recalled getting shot. He peeled it back and found his shoulder shrouded in stitches. There was a pounding in his head, and in silence, could practically feel the veins pulsing in his skull. He tried to sit up, but felt his body too heavy. Still, he reached out his right arm and took hold of the IV stand beside him. He once again tried pulling himself up, but had little success as he struggled.

It was that moment Bruce finally roused from his sleep to see Dick trying to fight his way out of bed. Quickly, he set aside his drowsiness and shot to his feet, practically flying to Dick's bedside. The book falling from his lap, hitting the floor on its worn out spine.

"You need to stay put, Dick," Bruce said, urging the injured boy back into bed.

Dick looked down, his feet not even making it to the floor as they dangled over the edge. "How long was I out for?"

"Few days," Bruce sighed. He stood by the bed looking down at the boy, holding a mournful look of regret.

"How bad was it?"

"Um…" Bruce began with a rough breath, "…Well, you lost a lot of blood. The bullet missed most of the tendons and ligaments, but it nicked your brachial artery and you nearly bled out. We had to give you a blood transfusion. You also have a pretty nasty concussion. But Dr. Tomkins thinks you'll be fine—in time."

"How much time?"

"Probably a month… or two."

"What?" Dick snapped a little shocked.

"I know it's frustrating, but you're injuries are serious, Dick," Bruce urged. "You're actually lucky to be alive, to be honest. I really thought I was…"

Dick looked up at the stone giant as he trailed off, his blue eyes dark and murky once more. "Thought what?"

Bruce peered down at the boy, but then his eyes focused on the wall beyond him. "Nothing," he breathed, though it was heavy and clung to that same regret in his eyes. "I just want you to focus on getting better, alright?"

"Okay."

"Good."

However, Dick wasn't very happy to learn that Joker had escaped police custody, not even an hour after Bruce had taken the time to beat the living shit out of the feral man. According to Alfred, he'd practically left Joker gift wrapped for the Gotham police force, but all it took was one rooky to overlook the clown and free he went. Bruce wasn't happy about it either, but he had a decision to make: Tend to Dick, or go after Joker. And to be honest, he felt that if he went after the Clown Prince, one of them wouldn't have come back alive. Not to mention he was the only one who shared Dick's blood type and they were low on supply.

Still, Bruce thought about going out and finishing the job, especially when it looked like Dick wouldn't make it. But still, even through Dick's recovery, there was still evidence of collateral damage piling up.

Jason was far more distant than usual, his demeanor off put and more withdrawn. Dick had also begun to notice the boy would hardly look in his direction and never attempted to make eye contact with him. Alfred, especially, began to worry about this behavior as did Bruce. But in the end, Bruce knew the truth, and with that truth he'd have to act.

A few weeks went by and as much as Bruce didn't want to address the issue, he knew he had to. He called Dick down into the Batcave, his injuries had begun to heal and even Dr. Tomkins was surprised at how well Dick was doing in light of the poor condition he'd faced. Still, Bruce knew the following conversation would crush him, himself included.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Dick asked as he approached the unmasked man, sat before the great computer screen.

Bruce sat with his hands laced beneath his chin, this is gonna hurt. "Why don't you take a seat, Dick?"

He could hear the graveness in the man's voice, the sound sinking into the greatest depths of hell. However, Dick sat down, his arm no longer slunk beneath his chest.

Bruce didn't turn to him at first, he just tapped his fingers on the base of the control panel, idly looking for the words.

"Is this about what happened with Joker," Dick finally asked, "cause we've never really talked about it and—"

"Because I wanted to wait until the right time," Bruce said blankly towards the screen then turned, "then I realized there was never going to be a right time."

He noticed Dick glance away, a deep breath escaping his lips and his eyes growing stormy in the wake. "I'm sorry, Bruce for everything, but I just don't know where to start?"

"Why don't you start from the beginning," he paused, as though questioning himself, "and Dick, I know everything..."

"Everything?"

"…Everything."

Dick's eyes glanced away, unable to see the brave expression staring back at him. "Jason told you?"

"Yes, but I want to hear it from you."

Dick gravely relinquished his account of the events past, including how he had been seeing Barbara against Bruce's wishes. Bruce taking in the information with a stony expression until the tale finally came to an end.

"So you left Jason, unattended, while you were out seeing Barbara, not only after I told you you were not permitted to leave the manor, but also after I told you, specifically, that I did not want you getting involved with your teammate?" Bruce asked as though he were perplexed.

Dick looked back with a similar look. "Yeah, I thought Jason told you?"

"He did," Bruce replied, "he just seemed to have left that part out."

Dick's eyes grew wide and his face fell. Not that he thought he'd gotten away with it, Bruce always had a spot on Bullshitter alert that had yet to be bypassed. But still, a heads up would have been nice.

"Guess he thought I'd try and lie to you?"

"You did lie to me, Dick," Bruce corrected in disappointment. "I specifically asked you NOT to get involved with Barbara, AND you were supposed to be grounded, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember, and I'm sorry, but—"

"But what, Dick? What can you possibly say that will justify you blatantly disobeying my direct orders and then going and lying about it?"

Dick looked back at Bruce with contempt. He wanted to take responsibility for his actions and the fact that he wasn't honest, but at the same time, he hated being treated like a child.

"I never said that I could justify it, Bruce. I was hoping that you could understand why I made that decision..."

"And why might that be?"

His voice was dark and heavy as it dripped with disappointment, and Dick just gave up completely. "Forget it, I don't know. I thought you'd understand?"

"There is nothing to understand, Dick! You could have died—you almost died!"

"So didn't Jason! But I don't see you tearing him a new one!"

"Believe me I did! And it doesn't matter, you were supposed to be responsible and you weren't."

"Why, because I didn't listen to you? Because I broke the rules? Well guess what, what works for you doesn't always work for me, Bruce! And I'm tired of trying to be like you!"

"I know you think I'm being unfair," Bruce said leveling his voice, "but you're the one who doesn't get it, Richard. My rules are meant to protect you—to keep you from getting hurt—from getting killed!"

"I know that, Bruce. But you have to understand that not all your rules are gonna save me from myself! I need to live my own life to some degree, I need to make my own mistakes too."

"Oh so getting shot is a mistake now?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Dick grimaced.

"You don't know how disappointed I am in you right now, Richard. I would never expect this sort of behavior from you, I'd expect it from—"

"Jason?" Dick snapped cutting him off. "Sorry I turned out to be such a fuckup."

Bruce smiled cynically and shook his head. "You're fired."

"What are you Donald Trump now, Bruce, really?"

His smile took on a cynical connotation, his eyes growing with furious disappointment. "There you go with that smart mouth again, but I'm serious. You're done."

"Done with what exactly?" Dick asked venomously and crossed his arms.

"This—everything—you're done being Robin."

Dick laughed, though it was more out of shock. "You really think you can just take that away from me?"

"I can and I just did."

"No," Dick said in a lower more autoreactive voice that even caught Bruce off guard, "Robin is a part of who I am, and you can't just take that from me."

"You're absolutely right," Bruce said ironically, "but I can fire you, and I did."

"For how long?"

"Indefinitely,"

Dick's eyes fell to the floor, finally feeling the reality of the situation. "Why indefinitely?"

"Because," Bruce said, "you lied to me." He took pause, visibly agitated. "I can't overlook that."

"I didn't mean to lie to you."

"You still did, and you almost died because of it."

"I almost died because Joker shot me, because Jason ran off!"

"And he wouldn't have run off if you were home!"

"Yeah cause it's my job to parent him, right? Cause you can't bear to look at him half the time, he just reminds you too much of yourself!"

"We're done talking about this," Bruce growled, and turned away.

"That's fine, I have nothing left to say to you."

Bruce smiled again, wondering if Dick had picked up this current attitude from him, or if it was just some teenage angst catching up to him. "What did you'd just say?"

"I'm done."

"Yeah, you are."

"No Bruce, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Yeah. I'm packing my shit and I'm leaving." He moved forward and walked passed the Bat as he was stricken with shock at the sudden declaration.

"No you're not," Bruce snapped.

"Yes, I am."

"No," Bruce growled again, catching the boy by the arm, "you're not."

"Yes," Dick spat pulling his arm free of Bruce's grip, "I am."

"You can't just leave!"

"I can't?" Dick questioned patronizingly. "What are you gonna do, Bruce? Lock me in my room for a week, a month, a year?! Or what, keep me held up in the Batcave—like Alfred would go for that? You can't keep me here and you know it! And if you try, I swear I will run so far away from you and this fucking city that you will never find me again. So either let me leave or try and stop me, I dare you."

Dick noticed Bruce's brow drop, falling with anger, frustration, disappointment and above all, heartache. He knew Dick wasn't bluffing.

"Get the hell out of my house."

And with that, Bruce pulled away and turned from the boy, his anger biting at him to lash out. Dick was a little hurt by the demand, but refused to voice it, his hurt quickly souring to anger.

"Fine. This place never felt like home anyway."

Bruce said nothing as the words hit him deep in his heart. He just stared down at the control panel, his eyes cold and his jaw tight.

Dick climbed the stairs, trying to hold back his tears, not wanting Bruce to see them forming in his eyes. It was silent as he went, the void very unsettling. He reached the top and was about to open the cave entrance, when he finally heard a loud crash that startled him. The sound of shattering glass and crashing metal screamed to his back. A tear fell down his cheek and he looked back with a lost look playing mournfully on his face. He let out a heavy breath, feeling as though he were betraying his own father. Yet at the same time, he also felt betrayed, and no matter how hard he tried, his stubborn pride wouldn't budge and he couldn't turn back. Not now.

He opened the door and was a bit startled by Alfred who also seemed to be caught off guard.

"Master Richard," Alfred said as his face fell, "is everything alright?"

Dick didn't know what to say and was unable to even offer Alfred a smile and shrugged. "Why don't you ask Bruce?"

He walked passed the old butler and moved through the den as quickly as he could without running. In the heat of his fury, he didn't notice Jason held up under a table reading and heard the whole exchange through a vent in the floor.

Dick stormed up the stairs as calmly as he could, until he made it to the temporary safety of his room, and that's when he broke down. It was like everything finally hit him all at once, his body giving out as he slipped down to the floor below, tears falling down his beat red face. He wasn't sure how long he sat there. It could have been anything from a few minutes to hours. He was still torn, angry, and wounded. It just seemed that within a matter of a few breaths, his whole world was gone, but in truth, his world had been unraveling for some time. He'd just refused to see it 'till then.

He finally pulled himself from the floor and began packing his things, taking the parts of his life that mattered, the things no one could take away. He had no idea where he was going, just that he was. It was an empty feeling, to be fifteen with no place to go, but he didn't let that stop him, he couldn't.

Within a few hours, most of his drawers were empty and everything that matter to him was tucked away in a bag somewhere. He opened one last drawer and took out the old book his father had given him. An old shoe box waited patiently on his bed and placed the book beside it. He didn't have much room left in his backpack. So he opened the box to see if there was anything in it that he wanted. It was mostly pictures and a few other knickknacks he'd lost track of. He sifted through them and noticed an old pair of the leather gloves. He took them out, staring down at them, recalling the day he'd received them, and more importantly, what Bruce had said to him.

His eyes lay upon them coldly. "I guess I lost more than I bargained for?" His voice was dispassionate, yet spiteful somehow. He just couldn't bare that irony.

In the end, he left the box behind and took the book, the gloves left abandoned in their resting place. Once he was done packing, he took his bags and headed down stairs. He held a bittersweet feeling when he looked back at the room that held so many memories. Part of him wondering if he'd ever feel at home in it again.

He took a deep breath and closed the door, his hand weak as the door sealed shut, the sound strangely distressing. Walking down the hallway seemed to take longer than it ever had. His eyes noticing things that he, for some reason, would miss, things he'd never quite noticed, or appreciated before. Once he reached the parlor, he stepped onto the marble floor, the sounds of his steps carrying up toward the oak and the aged glass. He recalled the first time he'd ever laid eyes on such greatness, how small he felt before the awe of it all. He was just some poor circus kid who had nothing but his parents, and they were gone.

Still, he stood there, overcome and out of place, wondering how he'd ever fit into the world he was now taxed to be a part of, when a warm hand fell upon his shoulder. His heavy eyes looked up with loss and found Alfred standing beside him, a kind smile to greet him.

"Hey Alfred."

"Master Richard, you're really leaving…" his voice dropped off as his grey eyes fell on the bags.

Dick nodded pitifully and placed one of them down as he faced him, one still slung over his shoulder. Alfred had always been a close friend, and the closest thing he'd ever really known to a grandfather. Dick knew he'd miss him most.

"I see," Alfred grimaced, "if there is anything I can do to persuade you otherwise—"

"There isn't," Dick sighed and sat down on the steps. He noticed the door to the den was open a bit, Bruce sitting like a stone statue nearly out of view, back turned. "He must hate me."

Alfred peered to the side, noticing Bruce in the den. "He doesn't," Alfred reassured, "he's just upset… and though he'd never admit it… he doesn't want you to leave."

"Then why did he tell me to get the hell out?"

Alfred sighed and sat down beside the boy. "Because sometimes people say things they don't mean out of anger. It's quite primal but, sometimes, it's what one feels in the moment." Alfred placed his hand on Dick's shoulder again and gave it a squeeze. "I know you're upset with him, Master Richard, but you don't have to leave. In fact, he'd be happy if you stayed."

Dick crossed his arms and bit his lip in quarrel. "I can't, Alfred, I don't belong here anymore—part of me thinks I never did..."

"That's not true. You played an important role here—you still do," Alfred insisted. "I don't know what Master Bruce would have done without you?"

"He seems to think he can do just fine without me," Dick retorted, "he fired me."

"I'm not talking about Batman needing a Robin, I'm speaking of Bruce Wayne needing a son."

Dick didn't say anything, and took a deep breath. He wanted to cry again, but held it down, just as his mentor had taught him.

"Awe, I see… perhaps maybe leaving is something you feel the need to do?"

"It's funny," Dick sniffed, "Gotham is the closest thing I've ever known to a hometown, but it just doesn't feel like home—it hasn't for a long time..."

"Master Bruce said something similar when he was your age."

"So then he should understand why I have to leave then."

"I'm sure he does… in some way." Alfred offered him a supportive smile. "You go find your way in the world, my boy. And when you're ready, home will be waiting for you."

"I'll try, Alfred… And thank you."

The Brit pulled Dick into a hug and instructed him to keep in touch, then left to call him a car. Dick decided to wait outside, not wanting to cross paths with Bruce. Mostly because he just didn't know what to say, or even feel.

To pass the time he took out his old IPod and began looking through the old songs, hoping to find one that could bring him back to that familiar place. Bring him where things didn't seem so messy and far away. Then he heard a voice.

"You're really just gonna leave?"

Dick closed his eyes, the boy's voice small as he tried his best to hide how scared he was.

"Yeah," Dick shrugged, "I don't really a have reason to stay here anymore, why linger?"

"Where you gonna go?"

"I don't know?"

Jason frowned. "Aren't' you afraid?"

"No… not anymore." Dick didn't look at him, he couldn't. "Probably just stay with Donna a few days, then see if I can stay with Roy in Star City."

"What are you gonna tell Barbara?"

"The truth," Dick replied.

"Do you think she'll go with you?"

"I don't know, but I can't stay in this City anymore and I really can't stay in this house."

Jason paused, a lost look in his eyes. "Can I come with you?"

"No," Dick said a little coldly. "Someone has to stay here and look after Bruce, and I just can't do it anymore."

"But, you're the only person who gets me," Jason replied a little pained, "you're the only one who cares."

"That's not true. Both Alfred and Bruce care about you. They just worry about you."

"Why?"

"Cause you're impulsive and rebellious. You don't know how to deal with your problems, Jay, and you lash out when you can't deal."

Jason could feel the sting from the lashing of those words dowelled, every word of it being true. "I'm sorry I can't be as perfect as you."

"You don't have to be, Jason," Dick replied with a chill, "and I'm obviously not as perfect as you think I am. Bruce just fired me."

"I know, I'm sorry." Jason looked down, Dick still refusing to look in his direction. "You blame me don't you?"

Dick didn't say anything. Deep down he knew his own actions prompted Bruce's decision, but a more cynical part of him found it easier to blame the younger boy.

Jason crossed his arms, he didn't need a reply, but it hurt all the same. Headlights began to break through the darkness and grew as the car drew closer.

"My ride's here," Dick drawled as he stood up.

Alfred soon stepped outside, followed by Bruce to Dick's surprise. Dick turned to them and noticed the wounded expression on Jason's face. He still held his old IPod, the cord of the headphones still wound up around it. Dick took a step forward, the young boy staring up at him as he held out the device.

"Here," Dick said, though his voice was still cold, "take it."

"But it's yours."

"Yeah, but you need it more than I do."

Jason took it with a shy hand, unsure whether to accept it or not. "Dick… I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

It was then Jason turned and retreated into the manor. Little did the two boys know that would be the last time they'd ever see each other, and in a few short years—Jason would be dead. Struck down by the very hand that drove the two brothers apart.

Still, in that moment, neither of them knew, nor did Bruce or Alfred. Alfred gave Dick another hug and wished him well, adding that he was only a phone call away. Dick promised to keep him informed and check in as often as he could. The old man smiled then stepped aside so the Bruce could give his rendition of goodbye.

Dick peered up at the giant man. Somehow Bruce had always reminded him of a statue, stone-like and cold, yet watchful and unmoving. So different from the father that he'd known as a child, the father he sometimes wished Bruce had been. But still, Bruce was the father he had and he knew he'd disappointed him.

"Well I guess this is goodbye…"

"I'm not changing my decision, Dick," Bruce said in a firm tone.

"I'm not asking you to," Dick replied. "This isn't about you anymore, Bruce… this is about me."

A slight crack crept across Bruce's face, just scratching the façade.

"I became Robin to help me deal with the loss of my parents, to help me understand you better… but now, I need to know who Robin is without you, Bruce, I need to know who he is to me."

"I know, Dick," Bruce said in a warmer voice than Dick had ever heard him speak.

"Then I guess I should go now?"

"Only if it's what you need to do."

The young hero nodded. "Goodbye, Bruce."

"Goodbye, Son."

Dick's face fell, his mouth unmoved for a moment, unsure of what to say.

In the end, he gave Bruce a weak smiled before getting into the car and watched as Bruce grew smaller with the distance that stretched between them. And how small he looked against the greatness of the manor before he disappeared with the end of an era. All the while Jason watched from the window, listening to a song written for a guilty conscience, wondering just how far any of them would have to carry their wood and nails.