A/N: Thanks for the review, Jess! :)
There was only one empty cell on the fourth floor. Five minutes later, it was no longer empty. Nine-year-old Dick Grayson, an orphan whose family had fallen to their deaths only three hours before, was led inside and left there, the 'clang' of the cell door shutting and locking making him shudder.
The cells were all connected, and Dick was between the cells of two teenagers. He recognized one of them, and his fear turned into full-blown panic. The fifteen-year-old was bigger than he had looked back when Dick was being checked in, and the boy on the other side was just as big.
"What's your deal, kid?" the first boy asked as he wrapped his hands around the bars connecting his cell to that of Dick.
He had dark, unkempt hair and dark-brown eyes that appeared black in the dim lights of the cell block. There was a hint of danger in those hooded eyes, and Dick couldn't pull enough air into his lungs to even try to answer.
Shrugging, the teen continued, "I'm Sam, and you should answer me. Or, I can teach you a lesson in respect, and then you answer me. Your first choice in here, and probably your last. Now, tell me your name and why you're here so you don't have to learn that lesson."
Dick was frozen, the panic reducing his thought process to ashes. He couldn't think of any words, and he was on the verge of hyperventilation.
"Kid," Sam warned dangerously, "I told you to tell me your name."
"Dick," the nine-year-old whispered, the single word full of terror.
"And you're here because…"
"I…I don't…I didn't…the guy, he said…"
Rolling his eyes at the stammered phrases, Sam said, "Let me guess, you're totally innocent. You didn't do anything wrong. This is all a mistake."
Dick nodded, and Sam burst out laughing.
"Isn't that what we all say, Chuck?" he guffawed, glancing over Dick's head at the teen in the other cell.
Chuck had fiery-red hair and eyes the color of emeralds. He chuckled derisively as Dick turned towards him.
"Yep, 'swaht e'ryone says. Ain't we all! Whadya do, Dickie-boy? Better answa or Imma beat your…"
"Chuck, shut it," Sam commanded, and the other teen closed his mouth.
"Go to sleep, boys!" a loud voice demanded from the other end of the row. "Lights out and I don't want to hear a peep from any of you!"
"Nighty-night, kid," Sam stated softly. "Good luck sleeping, Chuck over there snores."
With one last chuckle, both teens went to their respective beds and laid down. Dick was still frozen in place, standing in the middle of his tiny cell with his back to the door. His small body was trembling and thoughts were chasing each other around in his brain.
I'm going to die. I'm going to get beat up and then I'm going to die. Why am I here? What did I do? Do I deserve to be in jail?!
That last one confused him. Dick was sure he hadn't done anything wrong, but the man had put him in jail so maybe he had accidentally done something horrible.
In the cell to Dick's right, Sam grumbled something and rolled over onto his stomach. Chuck, on the left, began snoring softly. Dick decided he should probably try to get some sleep, so he slowly walked to the bed and stared down at it.
A thin excuse for a mattress with a flat pillow on one end and a folded blanket on the other. Dick picked up the blanket and immediately hoped the nights in here would be warm. The blanket was scratchy and thin, and the boy didn't want it anywhere near him. Tossing it onto the floor, Dick sat on the bed. He thought about lying down, but there were some images becoming fresh in his mind again. Instead of sleeping, Dick allowed the silent tears to slide down his cheeks, and the realization that he was all alone began cementing itself in his brain. No parents, no circus members, no friends, nobody who would even care if he was left in here forever.
"Maybe it's better to die," he whispered shakily. "Maybe…"
"Shut it, kid, or I'll do it for you in the morning," Sam growled, and Dick immediately 'shut it'.
The next morning:
Dick had stayed awake the entire night. He had closed his eyes once, but that had brought an instant nightmare, one where he watched his parents fall and crash over and over. So, he had forced his eyes to remain open by pacing in the tiny cell and even carefully slapping himself a few times.
The nine-year-old's eyes were puffy, the whites streaked with red lines. He had a large headache, from both the almost-never-ending tears and the stress of his situation. His nose was red, the result of the fabric of his shirt being swiped against it all night.
Sunlight slowly slid through the bars in the small window in each cell, and had flooded every corner by six in the morning. Looking around, Dick wondered how everyone was still asleep when the sun was so bright and the warbling sounds of awakening birds were so loud.
After another half hour, Sam and Chuck began stirring. Dick went to the wall under the window and sat down with his back against it, making himself as small as possible and hoping the teenagers had forgotten about him. Much to his dismay, they hadn't.
"Mornin' Dickie-boy," Chuck muttered as he sat up and stretched. "Ya hungry?"
Dick stayed silent, so Sam added, "Chuck asked you a question, kid. It's best that you answer; he's my number two."
"Yeah," Dick whispered, so quietly that the teens almost didn't hear him.
"Good boy," Sam said with a grin, sounding like he was congratulating a pet who had just accomplished a trick. "But you need to talk a little louder, I don't want to have to strain my ears to hear you."
"O…kay," Dick replied, his voice increasing by less than a decibel.
Shaking his head, Sam glanced at Chuck then returned his gaze to the younger boy.
"Louder," he commanded sharply.
"Okay," Dick responded in what could almost be described as a normal conversational volume.
"Thas better," Chuck said with a short laugh.
Suddenly, the cell doors swung open. The hall was now flooded with teenage boys. Dick stayed where he was, his body trembling and the tears threatening to begin anew.
"Breakfast," Sam stated as he stopped in front of Dick's cell.
The nine-year-old didn't move, so Sam shrugged, just as he had last night.
"These doors are going to close in thirty seconds, so if you want breakfast you best get yourself up."
But he was blocking the door, and Dick didn't want to be anywhere near him.
"Suit yourself."
Sam stepped back just in time for the door to swing shut, the lock clicking into place automatically.
"See ya lata, Dickie-boy," Chuck said with a feral grin. "Lookin' firwood ta yard time."
The teens ambled away and soon the hall was filled with silence. Dick slowly stood up and walked to the door of his cell. Grabbing the bars, he gently shook it. Nothing happened, and Dick sighed. He should have gone out, even though Sam had been waiting. His last meal had been yesterday at lunch, and his stomach was growling at him.
Dick stood at the door for ten minutes, his head leaning against the cold bars and his eyes closed. A guard strode down the hallway, walking right by and then stopping. Backing up, the man looked at the scene in astonishment. A young kid was locked in a cell in the teenage block.
"Hey, let's get you out of there," the guard said, startling a nearly-asleep Dick into awareness.
The man already had his keys out and was searching for the correct one. Ten seconds later, he inserted it into the lock and opened the cell door. Dick toppled forward and would have landed on his head if the guard hadn't been standing right in front of him.
"I've got you," he said, his strong arms wrapping themselves around the boy's upper back. "Why aren't you at breakfast? And why are you up here? I know everyone in my block, and I've never seen you. What's your name?"
The questions were overwhelming his tired mind. Dick couldn't find the words to answer any of them. The guard, Marcus, swept the boy into his arms. Instead of heading for the cafeteria, he turned around and strode toward the infirmary. It took him only five minutes to get there, and he laid Dick down on the first bed.
"What do we have here?" the nurse asked, his booming voice cheery but outlined with a tinge of resignation.
"Found him locked in, couldn't answer simple questions, and almost hit the ground when I unlocked his cell door," Marcus replied. "You got this, Tank? I'm supposed to be at breakfast."
"Yeah, no problem, he's a little one, isn't he."
The nurse's voice faded at the end as he began talking to himself. Marcus took his leave and Tank started to examine his newest patient.
"Get any sleep last night, kid?" he asked Dick, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. "Last time you ate, do you remember?"
The trembling of the boy's body hadn't escaped Tank's attention, and he had immediately – and correctly – assumed lack of food.
"Just going to start you on fluids, you'll be fine after half an hour or so."
Dick was practically asleep, and didn't even acknowledge the words.
"Maybe two or three hours, then," Tank murmured as he slid a needle into Dick's elbow and hooked him up to the bag full of liquid nutrients. "I'll let you sleep for a bit, but you can't stay in here all day."
Turning away, the nurse walked to the next bed, his attention shifting from the simple problem of not eating to the more complex one of a stab wound.
The Batcave:
"Where have you been, sir, I've been worried sick!"
The concerned voice of his faithful butler snapped Batman out of his thoughts as he climbed out of the Batmobile. He hadn't checked in after watching the boy, and had caused Alfred an unnecessary amount of worry.
With a sigh that Alfred understood to be an apology, the hero replied, "There was an accident – a murder – at the circus. Gotham City has a new orphan, and he saw the entire thing. His parents fell, Alfred. They fell from thirty feet in the air, and the kid watched it happen."
Regret was dripping from Batman's voice, and Alfred gasped in dismay.
"The poor child," the latter man murmured, and the former nodded in agreement.
"Dick Grayson. Acrobat, aerialist, and now orphan. He's nine, and everyone he has ever known is gone. I heard Gordon tell him that the circus owner just gave him up, and the boy is intelligent enough to understand that he's no longer useful to that man."
"Good heavens, sir!" Alfred exclaimed quietly. "His entire world…"
"Is completely gone forever," Batman interrupted heatedly, although the butler knew the anger was not directed at him.
Striding over to the Batcomputer, he put in some information and impatiently waited for an answer. It took only fifteen seconds.
"The…detention center?!" he shouted in disbelief.
"Sir, criminal activity at the detention center…"
"No, that's not it," the younger man interrupted. "Dick was taken north, and the only thing north is the detention center!"
"There are some lovely houses on the way there, sir," Alfred commented. "Perhaps he was taken to one of those families."
"Good point," Batman responded, slightly calming down. "There's no way a social worker would put a brand-new orphan into the detention center when he's done nothing wrong."
"I'm sure the social worker has emergency families lined up for just such an occasion, sir. Bruce Wayne has a meeting in an hour, so you might want to change and go upstairs."
Nodding, Batman strode to his Bat-pole and shot himself up to the Manor. Alfred glanced at the Batcomputer, then turned toward the tunnel that led to the service elevator.
"The detention center, Master Bruce?" he murmured. "Surely nobody could be that cruel, especially to a young boy who is obviously not a delinquent. However, if there's no room…no, I'm sure they have emergency families."
