"He's not going to answer."

"Shut up."

"We sort of had a falling out. Anyone who has been in Gotham City longer than two weeks knows that."

"Shut. Up."

"So, you're new in town."

"Charlie, make him shut up before I shoot him."

Charlie walked over to where nineteen-year-old Dick Grayson was tied to a chair. He was in the classic 'victim' position: arms behind the chair tied together at the wrists with rope, ankles tied together with more rope. If he had been Robin, he could have easily taken these idiots out. But he was currently Dick Grayson, and there would be neither a rescue nor a paid ransom. Besides, Robin was gone for good.

"You should be quiet," Charlie stated as he loomed over the young man.

"Nah, I enjoy hearing myself speak. You know how many times I've…"

Dick was interrupted when Charlie punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. It took him almost forty seconds to suck in enough air to begin talking again.

"…been kidnapped?" he continued. "Way too many to remember, and I'm not a scared little boy anymore. I'm used to this."

A shot rang out, and Dick gasped in pain when the bullet slammed into his left shoulder. Blood began streaming out of the wound, and he heard Charlie sigh. The man grabbed the bottom of Dick's shirt and easily tore it apart. Then, to the younger man's surprise, he wrapped the bloody arm tightly enough to stop the bleeding.

"Danny, we're not gonna get the ransom if you kill him."

"You're not getting it anyway," Dick retorted. "I already told you he's not going to answer. Even if he does answer, he won't pay."

Danny ignored him, choosing instead to listen to the ringing on the other end of the phone that was against his ear. Dick took the opportunity to look at his surroundings and search for an escape route. They were in a warehouse – it was always a warehouse – with two exits: a double door to his right and a large window to his left.

"This is Bruce Wayne. I'm currently unavailable. Leave a message."

"Stupid millionaires and their busy lives!" Danny exclaimed as he slammed the phone down. "Curse them all!"

"I hate to say I told you so but…I did tell you a few times" Dick commented.

"I will shoot you again," Danny snarled as he turned to face his captive. "I only have to keep you alive, not unharmed, especially since your dang guardian's not answering the phone."

"If I'm annoying you, you should know that I don't have enough shirt to cover up all the bullet holes you're going to have to leave in my body to shut me up. I talk a lot."

"I know," Danny growled.

"So, go ahead and start shooting," Dick advised helpfully. "I'll be dead before I'll be quiet," he finished with a smirk.

Nobody's coming anyway. I might as well go down fighting.

The argument had happened almost a month ago. Three weeks and two days if one was counting, which of course Dick was not. Bruce had exploded, Dick had exploded right back, and it had ended with the nineteen-year-old leaving the Manor. Dick had ended up on the streets, and he was sure Bruce didn't know that, but he had nowhere else to go. He was resourceful, and intelligent, and a hard worker. People had been hiring him for day jobs, and he was getting by.

Not having a place to sleep at night was what had started this trouble, though. It had been much too easy for the bigger guy, Charlie, to grab him off the bench in Gotham Central Park in the middle of the night. Dick Grayson was too recognizable, and too big of a prize, for any criminal to resist. Easy prey, all because he had argued with Bruce.

Danny was on the phone again, and Dick sighed. Bruce didn't pick up unknown numbers, he allowed the person to leave a message and then decided whether or not to call back. Obviously, Danny didn't know this, and Dick wasn't going to tell him. Bruce didn't need to hear a message about his 'helpless' ward being in trouble, especially since he probably wouldn't care anyway. If Dick wanted to escape, which he did, he would have to find a way to do it himself.

The kidnapper slammed the phone down again.

"I told you he…"

Dick was interrupted, again, by the echo of a gunshot. The bullet landed in his right shoulder this time. Charlie heaved a sigh – Dick could hear the frustration – and tore off more of the young man's shirt. Shaking his head and mumbling something unintelligible, the man wrapped the new wound.

Now his chest was practically bare, and Dick did his best to hold back a shiver. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, he could feel it, and he willed it to not slide down his face. Sweat doesn't bow to will, though, and the liquid began making tracks on his cheeks and nose.

One cannot get shot twice and ignore the flames created by the bullets unless one is a superhero. Dick was not, he wasn't even a regular hero anymore. So, he allowed the fiery pain to begin consuming his thoughts. At least he wasn't bleeding out.

"He can't ignore a video!" Danny suddenly exclaimed. "Charlie, get your phone ready, we're going to send Brucie-boy proof of life!"

"Really?" Dick asked incredulously. "So you're thinking 'hey, Wayne isn't answering his phone but he won't ignore a video sent by some random stranger'. He doesn't care, we had a fight, you're not getting any money."

"Having a fight doesn't mean he won't pay."

"Let's see, how long have you lived with him? Oh, never! I was with him for ten years…"

"You were with him?" Charlie interrupted. "You don't even live there anymore?"

"Nope," Dick affirmed, "and he's not going to pay. How much are you asking, anyway?"

"You're his only kid, he'll agree to five million. That's pocket change for a guy like Wayne," Danny responded arrogantly. "He'll pay, you'll see. Is your phone ready to record a video?" the man asked, turning his attention to Charlie.

"Yeah, but do you really think he'll care since the kid doesn't even live with him anymore?"

"Don't start that, Charlie, don't listen to the kid. Trust me, he'll pay."

"He's a friend of Batman," Charlie added. "What if he sends The Bat instead?"

"We have guns, Charlie," Danny replied, rolling his eyes. "You really think a guy who dresses in a Halloween costume can take us out when we're shooting at him?"

Dick shook his head and chuckled. If they only knew the two things he knew. Yes, Batman could take them down since they only had two guns. He could probably take them down if they had ten between them. And no, Bruce wasn't going to send Batman, because Bruce wasn't even going to know about this situation. The phone call hadn't worked, and there was no way Bruce would watch a video that randomly showed up on his doorstep, or in his mailbox, or even in the commissioner's office. And if they sent it as a text, the man definitely wouldn't watch it.

Danny was suddenly behind him, and Dick noticed Charlie holding up his phone with the little red light on.

"Hi, Brucie-boy," Danny taunted. "I've got your kid, and I want five million for him. I can return him how he is right now…"

The man ripped off the wrappings around Dick's arms to show off the bullet wounds.

"…or I can send him to you with a few more holes in him."

Danny pressed his gun against the left side of Dick's temple, hard enough that the nineteen-year-old grimaced.

"I have an itchy trigger finger, and your kid's an annoying chatterbox, and I'm a little antsy right now."

The gun left his head but was immediately slammed under Dick's chin.

"I could put one here," Danny stated, shoving the hard metal up so Dick's head was tilted back. "Or here," he continued, jabbing the younger man in the side. "Or maybe one in each kneecap."

Danny put the barrel against Dick's temple again, pushing his head sideways as the metal dug into his skin.

"I think you need some incentive, since you won't answer my phone calls."

Pulling the gun away again, Danny walked in front of Dick so he was between the nineteen-year-old and the camera. He moved so fast that Dick had no time to react. The handle of the gun slammed across his forehead, leaving a large bump and a trickle of blood in its wake.

Turning back to face the camera, the man crouched down so Dick was in full view. Dizzy didn't even begin to describe how Dick was feeling. If he could think straight, he would have deduced that he now had a concussion. But the words in his mind were jumping around and crashing into each other, making it impossible for him to form a coherent sentence. But, just in case Bruce actually watched the video…

"Don't…care…bye."

It was an enormous struggle for Dick to get the words out, but Danny was surprisingly patient and allowed him to talk. After several seconds of silence, the man stood up and walked behind the chair again.

"He sounds a little confused, for some reason he thinks you're not going to pay up. I'll give you an hour to respond, and if you don't I'll send you another video to show you that he's still alive. He will definitely be worse for wear, but he'll be alive. I've heard proof of life is rather important when someone you love has been taken," Danny finished with a grin.

Dick actually laughed at that. 'Love' was not how either of them would describe their relationship. The nineteen-year-old did regret the argument, and leaving, and he missed the way it used to be. He had loved Bruce, deep down he knew he still did, but he had never received any sign of reciprocation. Dick Grayson was good for Bruce Wayne's image, and Robin was good for Batman.

That's how he viewed himself now. Just a normal person used to build other people up, especially Bruce and Batman. The man didn't love him, and now he had no use for him.

"Not…gonna…pay," Dick mumbled. "Use…less."

"Okay," Danny stated, "that's good enough for now. Number will be texted in twenty minutes. That gives you enough time to receive and watch this video and make a decision. One hour, Wayne, and I'm not a patient man."

Charlie stopped the recording, and Danny patted the top of Dick's head.

"Nice job, kid, but I don't know why you laughed."

Dick refused to answer, instead allowing the pain in his head to take over his thoughts. The words were jumbled again, and he couldn't answer even if he wanted to because none of them were making sense.

Shrugging, Danny walked away and joined Charlie at the table with the phone. He looked up the number he had called earlier, then sent the video to that number via text. It took five separate texts; the video was too long to send in one.

"And now, we wait," he said.

"Th'ns, Cap Ovis," Dick muttered.


Wayne Enterprises:

Bruce Wayne's phone began vibrating in his pocket, but he was in an important meeting so he ignored it. Whomever was calling could leave a message. Two minutes later, it began buzzing again, making it much harder to ignore. What if something had happened to Alfred? Or what if it was Dick? But…why would Dick call him? Bruce was almost positive that they were no longer on speaking terms, so there would be no reason for Dick to call. Unless he was in trouble, maybe he was in trouble.

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce suddenly realized that everyone was staring at him, waiting for his response to whatever question or comment had just been brought up.

"I'm sorry, please repeat that."

The presenter gave the millionaire a quizzical look, then repeated his question. Bruce answered, and the meeting continued. The two missed calls were sent to the back of his mind for now, but they were not forgotten.

Almost forty minutes later, his phone buzzed again. This was a single vibration, so it wasn't somebody calling him. A text, probably, but Bruce had no idea who would want to text him. Alfred never communicated via text, he was much too proper for that. In fact, the only person who had ever texted him was…Dick. But there was no way he had just received a text from Dick.

Four more buzzes, one right after the other, and now the millionaire was very curious. He was tempted to unobtrusively pull his phone out of his pocket, just to glance down and sneak a peek at the number. But then he was drawn into the conversation, and the opportunity passed.

Just over an hour later, the meeting ended and Bruce returned to his office. He immediately pulled his phone out and checked the 'recent calls' tab. Both calls were from the same unknown number. So, he checked his voicemail, but whomever had called had decided not to leave a message.

The notifications had been texts, and they were from the same number. Six texts, to be exact. Bruce opened the first one and watched a blurry video with sounds that he couldn't make out. The next four messages were the same, although he was pretty sure the sounds were different. The last text was sent almost exactly twenty minutes after the fifth, and it was only a number, different from the number that had sent the messages.

This is a mystery for the Batcomputer.

Bruce didn't have any technology in his office that would clear up the videos, so the contents would remain a mystery until he returned home in about four hours. He definitely wasn't going to call the number without knowing what was on the videos. With a shrug, the millionaire put the phone back in his pocket and went about his day.


One hour earlier:

"Why hasn't he called?!" Danny yelled in the general direction of Dick.

Dick didn't answer. He had a pounding headache, he was dizzy from the hit to his head, the wounds in his shoulders were slowly leaking blood, and he was extremely tired.

"Huh, guess I found a way to shut you up," Danny stated with a grin.

Frowning, Dick mumbled, "Won't pay."

"Maybe he just hasn't received the messages yet," Charlie reasoned. "He's in a meeting, or he left his phone at home."

"Or doesn't care," the nineteen-year-old muttered.

"Well, it's been over an hour and I gave him an hour. Another video it is, although this one will be much shorter. Get your phone ready, Charlie."

Danny strode over to Dick and placed the barrel of his gun on top of the younger man's left thigh.

"This should get his attention," he said with a nasty grin. "Ready?" he asked as he looked back at Charlie.

Charlie nodded, and the little red light blinked on.

"Hour's up, Wayne, here's your next video. You're on the clock again."

The bullet went point-blank into the muscle, and Dick couldn't stop the agonized shout. Charlie turned off the phone and sent the video.

"Charlie, stuff that hole so he doesn't bleed out," Danny commanded.

"With what?!" Charlie exclaimed. "There's nothing here but pallets of boxes!"

"I don't know, use your shirt!"

"How about we use your shirt," Charlie challenged, tired of his volatile partner continually ordering him around.

"Okay, take a breath," Danny said, his voice suddenly very calm.

Charlie was much bigger than Danny, and a fight was not what the latter man wanted or needed. He would lose, which meant he would also lose five million dollars when Wayne finally paid up.

"I'll look in the boxes, see if there's something we can use," Danny continued evenly, trying to placate his partner.

The first two boxes were full of styrofoam packing peanuts. Danny was annoyed, and refused to continue opening boxes. Styrofoam was good enough.

Grabbing a handful of peanuts, the man returned to Dick and shoved two in the hole on top of the younger man's leg. They instantly turned red, the blood seeping into every tiny hole and already beginning to slide out of the sides. Growling, Danny squished the rest of his handful together and pushed the ball hard against Dick's leg. He untied the nineteen-year-old's legs and used the rope to secure the styrofoam in place.

"There," he stated, turning to face Charlie. "Now he won't bleed out, and we know what to use next time he starts bleeding."


Dick watched Danny searching through the boxes. Little packing peanuts were being tossed out, and the man was grumbling to himself. Finally, Danny grabbed some of the peanuts and brought them over to Dick. He stuffed two of the peanuts into the bullet hole in Dick's leg, and the nineteen-year-old discovered a whole new kind of pain.

The styrofoam squished itself around in the hole, setting fire to the muscle and shooting a lightning bolt of pain down his leg. Danny shoved some more on top of the first two, increasing both the heat and the amount of lightning bolts, then wrapped a short length of rope around the wound.

Where Danny had found the rope, Dick had no idea. All he knew was pain – continuous, white-hot, blinding pain. Dancing black spots appeared in his vision, and Dick's mind tried to pull him into oblivion. But Dick could only count on himself to escape, so he willed his mind to focus on finding an exit strategy. And so began a back-and-forth struggle, one side of his brain yelling at him to go to sleep and the other commanding him to escape.


Three hours later:

Dick had given into the pain only thirty minutes after being packed with peanuts. It had been a valiant effort, but his body refused to continue to accept the agony pulsing through his leg. He had been unconscious since then, so Danny had decided to leave the boy alone. Wayne still hadn't called or responded, and Danny was getting anxious.


The Batcave:

Another text message had appeared on Bruce's phone just over an hour after the sixth one. It was another blurry video, although much shorter than the five before it. Upon arriving home, Bruce had immediately gone to the Batcave, wondering why there was a tiny ball of apprehension rolling around in his chest.

Batman placed Bruce Wayne's phone on the input tray of the Batcomputer. He grabbed a wire and hooked the two machines together, allowing the Batcomputer access to everything on the phone. Turning on the Batcomputer Viewing Machine, the hero sat down on a chair and waited.

Unless Dick had changed his phone number, the texts were not from Dick. Alfred had denied any knowledge of the messages; he didn't even recognize the unknown number. Bruce was stumped, but he was positive that the Batcomputer would be able to clear up both the videos and sounds.

After a long six minutes, the video from the first text popped up on the screen. The image was crystal clear: Dick, his son, was tied to a chair in a location that Batman did not immediately recognize. He was unharmed, from what Batman could visually tell, and the hero instantly assumed ransom. He pressed play, and the image came to life.

"Hi, Brucie-boy. I've got your kid, and I want five million for him. I can return him how he is right now…"

The kidnapper, whoever he was, stopped speaking and did something to Dick's upper arms. Batman saw the familiar glossiness of fresh blood begin to dribble out of both shoulders.

"…or I can send him to you with a few more holes in him."

Batman saw Dick grimace when the kidnapper pushed a gun against his temple, and the hero's hands clenched into fists.

"I have an itchy trigger finger, and your kid's an annoying chatterbox, and I'm a little antsy right now."

The tense body of the Caped Crusader relaxed slightly when the gun was taken away from Dick's head. The video ended, and Batman immediately began playing the next one. This one opened with the gun being shoved under Dick's chin, and the slight relaxation instantly became tense again.

"I could put one here," the kidnapper stated. "Or here…" the man jabbed the gun into Dick's side, "…or maybe one in each kneecap."

The man stopped taunting and pushed the barrel of the gun against Dick's temple again. Batman watched his son's head tilt to the right as the metal dug into his skin.

"I think you need some incentive, since you won't answer my phone calls."

The mystery of the unknown number was solved, but Batman didn't really care. He didn't like the word 'incentive', because it had a negative connotation coming from the mouth of a criminal. And, as usual, he was right.

The man was in front of Dick, blocking Batman's view. Then the video stopped. Quickly, the hero moved to the next video and pressed play.

This one began with the man holding his gun in the air and then slamming it down. Batman knew exactly where it had hit, and he was not looking forward to seeing the damage. When the man turned around and crouched, the Caped Crusader moved closer for a better look.

A bump was already growing in the spot where the gun had struck his son. There was a thin line of blood, but not enough to be alarming. Batman paused the video and studied Dick's shoulders. He couldn't be sure, but the wounds were probably the results of bullets flying into skin. Clenching his jaw, Batman growled and pressed play.

The camera zoomed in slightly, and the hero could already tell that Dick now had a concussion. He looked dazed and dizzy and probably couldn't think straight.

"Don't…care…bye."

Dick mumbled the words, but they were just loud enough for Batman to hear. The nineteen-year-old didn't care about…what?

"You better not be saying what you think is your last goodbye," the man whispered.

There were several seconds of silence, then the screen went black. Frustrated because of all the stopping, Batman moved to the next one and pressed play. The kidnapper stood up and walked behind Dick again.

"He sounds a little confused, for some reason he thinks you're not going to pay up," the man stated, amusement in his voice.

Pausing the video, Batman softly asked, "He thinks I won't pay? Wait…HE THINKS I WON'T PAY?!" the hero thundered.

Was it because Dick knew he was Batman? Dick had to know that Batman would come for him. That's what it was, Dick was taunting his captors, like he usually did. Bruce Wayne had never paid a ransom, because Batman had always taken care of the situation. It was just Dick being his sarcastic self.

It had nothing to do with the fight they had recently been through. That's what Batman told himself, but Bruce wasn't so sure. Maybe Dick actually thought that Bruce was so mad that he wouldn't even think about paying.

Don't care.

The stumbled phrase ran through Batman's mind. Was Dick saying that he himself didn't care, or did he actually think that Bruce didn't care? Putting that disturbing thought aside for now, the man pressed play.

"I'll give you an hour to respond, and if you don't I'll send you another video to show you that he's still alive. He will definitely be worse for wear, but he'll be alive. I've heard proof of life is rather important when someone you love has been taken."

Even though it was quiet, Batman could hear the chuckle of disbelief that came out of his son's mouth. Batman pounded the table in frustration, already knowing it was his fault that Dick had reacted like that.

I love you, Bruce. You're amazing, Batman. I want to be just like you. Batman needs Robin, right? I love you.

Dick had said it so many times, and Batman recognized that he had never said it in return. But he wasn't good with emotions, and Dick could read him like a book. The boy knew it, Bruce didn't actually have to say it. Right?

"Not…gonna…pay," Dick mumbled. "Use…less."

"No, chum" Batman exclaimed, "you're not useless! Dang it, Dick, why don't you know the value of your own life!" he yelled angrily as the screen went dark again.

The words 'an hour' echoed in his brain. Before moving onto the next video, Batman glanced at his Bat-watch. He had received these messages almost four hours ago! The seventh video must be the one in which Dick would be 'worse for wear'. How much worse would it be? Batman pressed play again.

"Okay," the kidnapper stated, "that's good enough for now. Number will be texted in twenty minutes. That gives you enough time to receive and watch this video and make a decision. One hour, Wayne, and I'm not a patient man."

For the fifth time, the screen went dark. Batman quickly skipped the text with the phone number in order to see the next video. The man was standing over Dick, his gun pressing down on the nineteen-year-old's thigh.

"No, nononononono," Batman practically begged the air around him.

"Hour's up, Wayne, here's your next video. You're on the clock again."

The sound of the shot echoed around the Batcave as the bullet went point-blank into the strong muscle, and the agonized shout that came from his son nearly caused Batman to punch the Batcomputer. That was the end of the video, and the end of the messages. Why hadn't he received another one? Figuring out the answer to that question wasn't as important as calling the number he had been given.

Batman quickly pushed some buttons on the Batcomputer, then ripped off his cowl. Bruce picked up the extension to Wayne Manor, glanced at his phone, and dialed the number. His call was answered immediately.

"I've been waiting for this call, but I didn't think it would come from this number," the man stated arrogantly.

"What have you done with him? Where is he?" Bruce asked, allowing fear to manifest itself in his voice.

"Well, I would give you proof of life, but he's unconscious right now, so…."

"Tell me the terms," Bruce demanded, his hand clenching tighter around the phone at the news that Dick was unconscious.

"Five million, cash, leave it in the phone booth by Gotham Harbor at exactly midnight. After my associate picks up the money, I'll give you the kid's location. Come alone, or you're leaving alone."

The line went dead, and Bruce slammed down the phone. Returning to the Batcomputer Viewing Machine, he put his cowl on and took a deep breath. The buttons he had pushed before making the call had allowed the Batcomputer to put all seven text messages together into one long video. He was about to watch it in real time, without all the pauses. Batman pressed play.


The ringing of the phone awakened Dick's senses. He kept his head down, feigning unconsciousness, and listened to Danny's end of the call. From the man's answers, it sounded like Bruce was actually talking about paying. Dick was sure he was dreaming, so he opened his eyes.

Slowly, he raised his head and found Danny through the fuzziness in his vision. The man wasn't on the phone, Dick had been right. Bruce wasn't going to call, he probably wasn't even going to watch the videos. It was difficult to concentrate with all the clouds bouncing around in his brain, but Dick did know that he was his best chance to escape. If only the white-hot fire in his leg could be extinguished….

"I told you he'd pay!" Danny crowed triumphantly as he strode over to Dick. "A fight doesn't matter when someone's life is on the line."

"Stall," Dick muttered, still absolutely certain that Bruce would neither pay a ransom nor send Batman.

Batman wouldn't know where to go anyway. They were in a random warehouse, and there were so many random warehouses in and around Gotham City. Maybe they weren't even in Gotham City anymore.


Batman did know where to go. He had carefully studied the entire video for an hour, searching for clues that would lead him to a location. He had scrutinized every detail, from the paint on the walls to the shape of the window to the direction the shadows were leaning during each video. The drop-off site for the ransom was also a clue, because the kidnappers would want the money as close to them as possible without actually giving away their position. So, Batman knew exactly where to go.

And he didn't waste time. Two minutes after figuring it out, Batman was in the Batmobile speeding toward the fifth warehouse in the next to last line of warehouses on the eastern side of Gotham Harbor. Any moment spent waiting was a moment in which the kidnappers could hurt Dick.

Did the boy really think that Bruce didn't care? That he wouldn't pay, or that he wouldn't send Batman? Would Dick even talk to him once they were out of danger? Those questions occupied the hero's thoughts as he raced across town.

It turned out to be the sixth warehouse, not the fifth, but Batman choose to ignore the fact that he got a tiny detail wrong. Instead, he strode into the room and easily dispatched the two criminals. One of them tried to pull out a gun to shoot him, but a Bat-a-rang negated any chance of the man doing that.

Dick was in the middle of the room, staring at Batman as if he had never seen him before. When the hero crouched in front of him, the light-blue eyes filled with an emotion that Batman didn't recognize. What he did recognize was the fact that Dick needed blood.

The two wounds in his shoulders – definitely bullet wounds, Batman discovered – had been sluggishly bleeding ever since Danny had ripped off the torn pieces of Dick's shirt. The white styrofoam packing peanuts were stained a bright crimson, and the life-saving liquid was dripping onto the floor. There was a good-sized puddle under the chair, and Batman's knee almost slid out from under him when he put it right on the edge of the slick circle.

"Told him Bruce wouldn't pay," Dick muttered.

"That is something we will definitely be talking about later, but now we're going home."

"Don't have a home," the nineteen-year-old mumbled, both hoping and not hoping that Batman had heard and understood the sentence.

"We need to have a conversation – a very long conversation – about where we stand with each other," Batman admitted. "But not right now, because right now I'm taking you to the Batcave."

Batman had released Dick from his bonds and was helping the boy stand up. Dick's leg crumpled when he tried to put weight on it, so Batman looped his arm around his son's waist and slid Dick's arm over his own shoulders.

They were six feet away from the Batmobile when Dick passed out, so Batman picked him up and put him in the vehicle.

"You will always have a home in Wayne Manor, chum," he whispered as he began the drive to the Batcave.

Glancing over at his unconscious son, the Caped Crusader repeated, "Always."

THE END