A/N: Thanks for the review, JessicaRae95! :)


The detention center – one hour later:

Tank had, with some regret, woken Dick up after only half an hour. There had been a fight, and the nurse had needed the bed. A different guard had collected Dick. The man had been surprised that Dick wasn't wearing the official detention center uniform, so he had taken the boy to change before walking him back to his cell. Dick was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and had easily fallen asleep on the thin mattress. But it didn't last long.

"Whya sleepin', Dickie-boy?" Chuck yelled as he was forced into his cell.

"Shut up, Chuck, he's probably dreaming of food," Sam said with a loud laugh.

The noises woke the boy up, and he groggily opened his eyes. His bed was against the bars adjoining him to Sam's cell, and the teen suddenly slammed his hands against those bars. Dick yelped in surprise and tumbled off the bed, causing both boys to begin laughing again.

"Aincha hungry?" Chuck asked, his loud voice echoing through Dick's cell and down the entire block.

Dick shook his head, and Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Don't lie to me, kid," he snarled.

"I'm…" Dick whispered but stopped to fix his mistake. "…I'm not," he said louder. "I went to the nur…"

"Awwww, wittle Dickie-boy went ta tha nurse," Chuck said, his voice cooing as if he were talking to a baby.

"Marcus," Sam muttered, turning away and folding his arms across his chest.

He was silent for several minutes, and Dick thought about climbing back on his bed and lying down. But then Sam was yelling out into the hallway, and two big guards suddenly materialized in front of his cell. There was a quiet conversation, and it made Dick nervous.

One of the guards nodded after several minutes, and the other took out his walkie-talkie. They walked away in opposite directions, and Sam turned back to Dick.

"That's taken care of," he stated with a nasty grin. "You won't be missing any more meals, understand?"

His voice was low and dangerous, and Dick backed away while nodding vigorously. The nine-year-old backed right into the knuckles of Chuck, whose fingers were wrapped around the bars adjoining their cells.

"Tha heck offa me!" the teen yelled angrily. "Gonna pay fer that, Dickie-boy."

"I'm sorry!" Dick exclaimed quietly. "I didn't mean…"

"Imma show ya sorry later," Chuck snarled, and Dick had no doubts about what that meant.

The nine-year-old went to the back wall and sat down, just as he had last night. Hoping the two teenagers would leave him alone if he ignored them, Dick pulled his legs into his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and rested his chin on his knees.

Ignoring his obvious attempt to ignore them, the older boys spent the next hour and a half regaling Dick with very detailed stories about every violent thing that had ever happened since they had been there. Sam was obviously the leader of the teens, and Chuck was just as obviously his second-in-command. And, apparently, they had no qualms about taking down 'any guy, any time'.

By the time the boys were done storytelling, Dick was terrified out of his mind and knew for sure that he was going to die in this forsaken place. He was also convinced that he deserved to be here, because according to Sam, "You only get sent here if you've done something really bad. And you're here. Criminals on the inside, normal people on the outside. There are no mistakes made in Gotham City – everyone is where they're supposed to be."

Dick, of course, had no experience with Gotham City. He had been here for exactly a week. Six days had been spent on the circus grounds, and he was spending his seventh in jail. Because he deserved it. The nine-year-old didn't know what he had done wrong, but Sam was smart and knew all about Gotham City, which meant everything he said about the place was unequivocally true.

"You know," Sam continued congenially, "you're lucky you didn't get taken down by Batman. Now there's someone you never want to meet in a dark alley. Or anywhere at all. You're lucky it was the commish that caught you, cuz Batman would've brought you here in worse condition. He doesn't like criminals, even kid ones."

"Bat…man?" the boy asked quietly.

"Yeah, big guy, dresses like a bat, goes around beating people up, hates criminals. You've never heard of him?"

"Um, I'm not from, uh, here," Dick replied.

"Not from Gotham City? How long you been here, kid?"

"Um…" Dick had to pause and think.

Everything that had happened before last night was somewhat of a blur. How long had the circus been in this place? Two weeks, a month, one day? No, longer than a day because Dick had performed several times. Trying to remember was making his head hurt, and causing still-fresh wounds in his heart to tear open.

"Maybe, um, a week or two?"

"Ya don know how long ya been here?" Chuck asked, disbelief in his voice.

"Okay, kid, what's your backstory? What did you do in one week to make it into this place?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know," Dick answered miserably. "I performed and they died and now I'm here and I don't know why and I'm scared and my head hurts and I just want to go back to the circus."

"The circus?!" both boys yelled.

"You're from a fricking circus!" Sam exclaimed, howling with laughter.

"Who died, Dickie-boy?" Chuck asked. "Whodya kill?"

"No…I didn't…they fell…"

Dick couldn't take it any longer. The tears spilled out of his eyes and he dropped his forehead onto his knees. He wasn't supposed to be here; he was supposed to be with the circus, with his parents. Sam and Chuck started a loud conversation with the other boys in the cell block, and soon everyone knew that Dick had killed someone in a circus.

"So that's why you're up here instead of down with the kiddies," Sam stated. "Murder is too rough for the little ones down there. Congratulations, kid, you're in the big leagues."

"I didn't kill anyone," Dick whispered sadly, too softly for anybody to hear him.

Questions about his alleged crime began flying into his ears: how did he do it, when did he do it, why did he do it, who had he killed, how had he been caught, had he seen Batman, and other inane questions that he couldn't answer even if he wanted to.

The cacophony of loud voices in conversation assaulted his ears until lunch time. A bell rang, cell doors swung open, and the boys all gathered around the opening of Dick's cell. Dick was trying to ignore all of it, but suddenly his left bicep was encased in a tight grip and he was being roughly yanked off the ground.

"I told you you're not missing any more meals, kid," Sam growled in Dick's ear.

Switching his grip to the younger boy's wrist, the teenager practically dragged him out of his cell and down the hall. They arrived at the cafeteria five minutes later, and Sam kept Dick right beside him in the food line. Then he led the nine-year-old to a table in the center of the room and shoved him down onto the bench.

To Dick's surprise, the food both looked and smelled good. He had assumed that prison cafeteria food would be just like it was in the one movie he had seen: gray, mushy, and inedible. But the hamburger was juicy, and the broccoli looked crisp, and the glass was sweating from the ice melting in the water.

Dick put his hands out to pick up the burger, and was immediately smacked on the side of his head. That was followed by a shoulder shoving into his chest, and he fell backwards off the bench. His head hit the floor and the world began spinning.

Sam appeared above him and snarled, "Just cuz you're here doesn't mean you get to eat."

A guard was suddenly beside him, helping him up.

"We don't start fights in the cafeteria, kid," the man growled.

Dick's eyes widened when the guard pulled the boy's arms behind his back and snapped a pair of cold handcuffs around his wrists.

"But I…"

"Shut up, kid, I know what I saw. We. Don't. Start. Fights. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Dick responded, glancing at the smirking Sam before dropping his head.

The nine-year-old was taken outside, where his handcuffs were released. His stomach growled loudly, and the guard sighed in irritation.

"You wouldn't be feeling that way if you had just eaten lunch like a good little inmate."

Dick had no reply, so the guard strolled away. Sighing, the boy looked at his surroundings. There were two basketball courts and a few tables with benches around them. The ground was dirt, except the parts covered by weeds, and a tall cement wall encircled the entire yard.

A lone basketball sat under one of the net-less hoops, so Dick walked over and picked it up. He bounced it a couple of times and then took a shot. It 'clanged' off the rim and fell right back into his hands. Dick wasn't surprised, he had never been good at the sport, so he dropped the ball and walked to one of the tables. Miserably, he dropped onto one of the benches, wishing he was inside eating.

Twelve minutes later, the door opened and almost twenty teenage boys spilled into the yard. Sam and Chuck glanced around then made a beeline for Dick. The former teen cleared his throat loudly, and the nine-year-old looked up into a face that was dark with anger.

"Stand up," Sam commanded.

Dick didn't immediately comply, so Chuck grabbed his arms, jerked him to his feet, then wrapped one arm around his chest. The nine-year-old's arms were pinned; there was no way to escape Chuck's strong grasp.

Sam bent down to Dick's level and roughly grabbed his chin.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it," Sam said angrily, squeezing the small chin tightly before suddenly letting go.

Dick, trembling with fear again, nodded.

Chuck released the boy and Sam stood up.

"Ten jumping jacks," Sam demanded, and Dick quickly complied.

"Ten pushups."

The list of exercises continued, and Dick was becoming tired. But there was no way he was going to refuse to do something. Chuck, standing on Sam's left, was continually examining his own fist, as if making sure it was ready to fly into Dick's face at any moment.

The bell rang – yard time was over – and Dick dropped to his knees, exhausted.

"Lez go, Dickie-boy," Chuck growled, sending a sharp kick into Dick's fragile ribs.

Gasping, the nine-year-old curled into himself, but was immediately yanked to his feet.

"Ah said, lez go!" Chuck almost yelled, giving a Dick a rough shove in the back.

Wrapping an arm around his mid-section, the boy stumbled forward. Tears welled up in Dick's light-blue eyes, but he refused to allow them to fall. Chuck had made fun of him for being taken to the nurse; the nine-year-old wasn't going to allow them that satisfaction again.

Eight minutes later, all the boys were settled in their cells. Sam and Chuck ignored Dick, who had immediately gone to his "favorite" place against the back wall. Their conversation made no impact on his tired brain, so he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, a loud bell pierced the air and the cell doors swung open. Dick opened his weary eyes as the swarm of teenagers tumbled out of their cells. Without realizing it, the boy had slept for the four hours that came between the end of yard time and the beginning of dinner.

Chuck was already in front of him, giving Dick no time to react before being yanked to his feet again. Ten minutes later, they were all in the cafeteria, where the events at lunch were repeated. Dick found himself out in the yard again, his stomach cramping from the lack of food and his head pounding from the stress.

The nine-year-old licked his dry lips, but it didn't help because his entire mouth was also dry. When the door to the cafeteria opened, Dick fled to what he hoped was a good hiding spot: behind the only tree in the yard. Which, of course, made it a horrible hiding spot because there was nowhere else to hide.

"You're a fricking idiot," Sam snapped as he and Chuck materialized beside the boy. "You really think you can hide from us?"

"Um…yes? No, I meant no!" Dick whispered.

"Speak up!" Sam nearly shouted. Instantly changing his tone, he said casually, "Let's play a game. Come on out and I'll teach you how to play."

Dick didn't have a choice, Chuck had already pulled him out from the shade of the tree into the heat of the setting sun.

"We're going to play a game that will help you become stronger," Sam explained. "It doesn't really have a name, or a bunch of rules, but here are the basics. Chuck gets a turn first, then you repeat what he does. We continue until someone wins. Understand?"

"Um, how does someone win?" Dick whispered, then immediately tried again.

He repeated his question, a little louder, and Sam burst out laughing.

"When I say someone wins," he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Chuck bent his knees and raised his fists. Dick's eyes widened as he realized what 'game' they were about to play.

"I…don't want to play," he stated, his voice the loudest it had been since he had been thrown into the detention center.

"You don't have a choice, kid," Sam responded with a chuckle, "so you might want to get ready."

Chuck, without warning, threw a beefy fist toward Dick's face. Instinct kicked in, instinct honed in him since the day he had almost been kicked by a circus horse. The nine-year-old ducked, and Chuck's fist flew harmlessly over Dick's head.

Sam chuckled again then said, "Your turn."

Dick didn't know how to fight. He had never been in a fight in his life. Nothing in the circus had prepared him for this moment. But, according to Sam, he didn't have a choice.

Raising his small fists in the air, the nine-year-old took a step forward and swung his right arm as hard as he could. His hand bounced off of Chuck's abs and suddenly Dick was flat on his back. Chuck had immediately retaliated, throwing a quick uppercut into the boy's jaw, snapping Dick's head back and sending him to the ground.

The world was spinning and Dick decided he was going to throw up. Sam's double head loomed over him and some words floated out of the teenager's mouth. The nine-year-old had no idea what Sam was saying; the ocean rushing in his ears was drowning out all other sounds.

"…turn."

A word made it in, and Dick quietly groaned. Apparently, it was his turn. He slowly rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The world began whirling faster, and the boy heaved. There was nothing to come out – he hadn't eaten for an entire day – but he was still left gasping for air.

"Le…boy."

That was Chuck, and he sounded irritated.

Carefully, Dick pushed himself to his feet, but couldn't find the strength to stand all the way up. So, Sam helped him. Putting a large hand on the back of the nine-year-old's head, the teenager grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. Dick gasped again, this time from the pain, but at least he was up and ready to take his turn.

There were two Chucks, and Dick didn't know which one to go for. He tried to think of a way out of the situation, but his thoughts were muddled and unhelpful. Chuck shifted his weight, and the younger boy saw a small opportunity.

The teenager was no longer in a defensive position. He was standing tall, arms folded across his chest and boredom written all over his face. The other teenagers had all gathered around, surprised that the tiny boy was standing up again and eager to watch Chuck in action.

Dick surprised them all again. He stumbled forward and went for the knees. That's how the short man from the crowd had done it to the strongman back in the circus. But Dick's strength wasn't even close to the small amount of power the short man had possessed. His shoulder gently assaulted Chuck's knee, and he bounced off the kneecap of the older boy.

Everyone burst into laughter and waited for Chuck to end the fight. But Dick had grabbed the teenager's leg and, as he fell backward after bouncing off the bone, Chuck's knee came with him. This time it was Chuck that stumbled forward, but he was too strong to let a little stumble affect him. However, Dick had just made him look like a fool by forcing him to take a step, and Chuck didn't like looking like a fool.

Dick was sitting on the ground, holding onto the teenager's leg as if his life depended on it. Chuck easily ripped his leg out of the grasp of the younger boy and used the momentum to throw a nose-shattering kick into the nine-year-old's face.

Blood shot out of Dick's nose and the pain allowed him to fall into the bliss of unconsciousness as he was slammed onto his back again. Mumbling in disappointment, the other teenagers dispersed as Sam declared Chuck the winner.

Leaving the boy lying on the ground, the two teenagers ambled away to the basketball court. Fifteen minutes later, the bell rang and everyone headed for the door. The guard who had taken Dick out of the cafeteria strode over when Dick didn't move.

"Come on, kid, time to go in."

The dried blood on the nine-year-old's broken nose didn't escape his notice, nor did the fact that the boy wasn't even conscious. But, the guard was Sam's uncle, so he really didn't care. Signing in irritation, he scooped Dick up and strode back into the detention center.

Dick was tossed back into consciousness by the movement. Slowly, he opened his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again. The weak lights in the hallway were like brilliant beams of sun to his concussed brain, and his nose felt like it was on fire.

The nine-year-old had no idea where he was, or why he was in so much pain. It all came back when he was laid on something that was as hard as a rock and he heard the 'clang' of a door. Fighting, losing, pain in his stomach and face and back and neck and…

He tried to stop thinking, because thinking hurt. But one thought burst through the confusion of his mind: he wasn't with the nurse. That thought was immediately confirmed.

The metal bars next to him shuddered when Sam slammed his hands against them.

"You lost, kid," Sam sneered. "But don't worry, we can play again tomorrow. Fun game, right?"

Dick was too exhausted in every way to even turn his head. Keeping his eyes closed, he hoped Sam would think he was dead…or something.

"Heyya, Dickie-boy, a' leas' ya tried. G'luck tamaraw."

Chuck laughed from the other side of Dick's cell. The noise made the boy shudder, and Sam glanced at the other teenager with a grin.

"I know you're awake, kid," Sam snarled. "You best open your eyes before I decide to reach through these bars and teach you a new lesson."

Dick, terrified – and getting used to the feeling – slowly forced his eyes open. The usually bright-blue circles were dulled by the pain dancing around his face and head.

"There we go, that wasn't so hard," Sam stated gently. "Now, sit up."

The teen's tone had instantly changed from calm to commanding. Dick realized he had no idea how to sit up. The fact that he had muscles in his stomach and back that would do it for him had escaped into the fuzziness of the clouds floating in his mind.

"Sit. The. Frick. Up!"

The boy didn't move, and Sam's hands were too large to follow through on his threat to reach through the bars. Muttering something unintelligible, the teenager stepped away from the bars and sat down on his bed.

"See ya at brekfist, Dickie-boy!" Chuck crowed with glee.

As he closed his eyes again, Dick's mind filled with despair. He really was going to die in this forsaken place. Get beat up, wish he was dead, then die.