A/N: Thanks for commenting, JessicaRae95, VintageRoseTaylor, and Stheno Gorgon! :)


The detention center – after lunch:

Marcus walked up behind Sam just as the bell rang to end yard time.

"You feeling okay, Sam? You look a little pale," he commented.

"What?" Sam snapped. "I'm fine, leave me alone."

"No, I think you need to see Tank. Your face is getting red now. You feeling hot, like you're getting a fever?"

"No, go away."

Marcus none-too-gently grabbed the teen's right bicep and pulled him away from the door leading to the cells.

"I could…"

"Have me fired, have me reprimanded, beat me up," Marcus interrupted. "I've heard it all, Sam, so just come along quietly. You really are looking sick."

Ron had not come out to yard time, so there was nobody to stop Marcus from dragging Sam to see Tank. The nurse had moved Dick to the third bed, farthest away from the door to the infirmary, and put up a make-shift partition.

Marcus pushed Sam in ahead of him, then stepped in and closed the door. Tank nodded at the first bed, indicating that Sam should sit down. The teenager folded his arms defensively across his chest and glared at the nurse. So, the strong Marcus manhandled the boy onto the bed then strapped him down.

"I'm not sick!" Sam shouted. "You're both going to get in trouble for this!"

"Yes, you are," Tank stated gruffly. "Sick in the head. You beat up a nine-year-old boy then took advantage of his inability to think clearly. You forced loyalty upon him; he has no idea what he's doing."

"I didn't force him to do anything!" Sam yelled, struggling to get out of the restraints. "Do you know who my uncle is?!"

"You have one friend with some power, congratulations," Tank snapped sarcastically. "Dick Grayson has Bruce Wayne in his corner. You ever heard of Bruce Wayne?"

"The kid is my friend! Just because he hangs around me all the time, doesn't mean I've forced him to do anything! And Wayne's been here like two times, he's not in his corner," Sam finished derisively.

"How many times has Dick played 'the game', Sam?" the nurse practically snarled.

Sam was not surprised that the fight club was not a secret. At least one person would have told the nurse how he had broken his nose, or why he had a bloody head wound, or whatever injury that kid had received as a result of losing a game. But that didn't mean he had to admit anything.

Schooling his expression into one of indifference, Sam replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Marcus, a guard on the second floor, knew nothing about the games the teens played. However, he was intelligent and was easily following the conversation. Anger was boiling in his blood, the type of anger directed at an injustice. A fury strong enough to rival that of Batman.

Clearing his throat to get Tank's attention, Marcus nodded toward the door.

Going to find Ron.

Tank understood the look in Marcus' eyes. The guard was going hunting, and his prey had no idea what was coming. Tank dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Give me an hour.

Marcus caught the meaning conveyed in the other man's eyes. With another nod, the guard turned around and strode out the door.

"Just you and me, kid," Tank commented casually. "Anything you want to tell me before he gets back? Bruce Wayne might want to talk to you, does that sound like a good idea? I doubt your uncle could save you from the reach of that man's connections."

"Why does he give a crap about the kid?" Sam growled. "He's a nobody orphan who killed his parents."

Tank laughed, then realized that the teenager was serious.

"You actually think a nine-year-old child could kill both of his parents without anybody stopping him?" the nurse asked incredulously. "Are you really that stupid?"

"I'm not stupid!" Sam shouted. "He's the one that told me. So he's a liar and a killer."

"If he lied about that," Tank responded reasonably, "then he's not a killer."

"He killed Ch…"

"Don't say it."

Sam's mouth snapped shut, the dangerous tone in Tank's voice causing a feeling of fear to wash over him.

"We both know he had nothing to do with Chuck's death. I know you're in charge of the yard, and I know you force other kids to participate in your little fight club, but I didn't know you were dumb enough to involve a nine-year-old boy who has a powerful connection."

"If Wayne is so powerful, why is Grayson still here?" Sam muttered, almost to himself.

Tank knew the answer, because he had been involved in social work before coming to the detention center. It would take at least a month for Bruce Wayne to become a foster parent. A month full of paperwork and house visits and red tape and more paperwork. Tank wasn't sure, but Wayne had seemed like he cared enough to want to foster Dick. Maybe even enough to become the boy's legal guardian.

There were too few foster families in Gotham City. The bad ones were ruled out immediately and most of the good ones didn't want to do it. Middle class families who could use the extra money they would receive for fostering a child were the only ones left. And those families were like revolving doors: take in a kid until they got tired of him, then send him back and get a new one.

And Tank had personally never heard of anyone agreeing to foster an orphan. There were no parents who might try to get an orphan back, so the chances of having to keep the kid were much higher. Rarely did someone in Gotham City want to add a child permanently to their home, so orphans rarely left the orphanages they were placed in.

Instead of replying, Tank slipped his fingers behind Sam's ears. Easily finding the pressure points, the nurse quickly put the teenager to sleep. Turning away, he went behind the partition and checked on Dick. The boy was still fast asleep, a new bandage over his nose and his ribs freshly wrapped.

The bump on the shin concerned Tank. It was obviously either fractured or broken, but an x-ray was needed. That was one of the many machines Tank didn't have. Time to call the warden again, he decided. Maybe the man would pick up this time.


It had taken ten minutes for Marcus to find Ron, who was looking for his nephew. Ron knew that Marcus was the guard who had taken Dick to see the nurse on his first day, so when he saw the younger man he decided to ask.

"Marcus, you seen Sam today? He didn't return to his cell after yard time."

"Sam wasn't feeling too well, so I took him to Tank," Marcus explained. "Looked to me like he had a fever."

Ron was immediately suspicious. Sam hadn't looked sick in the cafeteria. However, the head guard thought that maybe his nephew was faking illness to go see how Dick was doing. His suspicion vanished, but not for long.

"You know I've had a bed open for a couple of days," Marcus commented. "Why isn't the Grayson kid in my block?"

Ron had no answer. He couldn't say anything about Sam wanting the boy to stay, because the head guard shouldn't be doing what an inmate wanted him to do.

"Didn't know about the bed," he lied, thinking quickly.

"You didn't know," Marcus responded, his tone full of disbelief. "You're the only one who could go anywhere during the lockdown. You just happened to miss the fact that there is an empty cell on the second floor?"

Another question he couldn't answer, because it was an indisputable fact. The one person who had to take food and water to every kid would immediately notice an empty cell. He couldn't think quickly enough to respond.

"How are you feeling?" Marcus inquired. "You're starting to look a little sick yourself. Need to see Tank?"

"You son of…"

Ron's insult was interrupted by a strong fist flying into his face. Blood spurted out of his now-broken nose, and his hands flew to his face, leaving him with no way to retaliate. So, Marcus threw another fist into the head guard's solar plexus. Ron dropped to his knees, gasping for the air that wouldn't come to him.

Crouching down beside him, Marcus stated, "Now you know how a nine-year-old boy felt on his first day in a place where he didn't even belong. You need to see Tank, or should I let you take care of this on your own?"

He received a pained mumble in response, which he took to be a dismissal.

"Tank can help with that," Marcus stated. "Just like you allowed him to help Dick Grayson. Might be a few days, the sick bay is probably going to be full."

Ron recognized the scenario, because it was the exact one he had used on the young boy. Marcus knew, and Tank knew, and both men were stronger than him. Better to find a way to patch this up himself, the head guard decided. So he stayed motionless on his knees and waited for the younger guard to leave.

Five minutes later, the man's footsteps faded and Ron lifted his head. He wasn't going to retaliate against Marcus, nor would he try anything with Tank. When the idiotic nine-year-old was taken to a cell on the second floor, Ron was going to find a way to take his anger out on the kid. Dick Grayson had started it all, so it would end with the boy. The fact that it was actually Sam who had started everything didn't even cross his mind.


The Batcave – five hours later:

Batman had immediately gone to the address the warden had given him. The house had been completely devoid of life: no people or animals anywhere. In addition to the cottage, the hero had checked the small orchard and the even smaller barn. He had even gone through the cupboards, looking for any sign of recent occupation. They had all been empty. Not even any crumbs for the non-existent rats to devour.

"Three cats and a parakeet," Batman grumbled at the Batcomputer.

The hero was impatient. He had put the information into the machine one minute ago, and he hadn't received a response.

"Sir, that is very vague information. Perhaps you should do something…"

"There's nothing else to do!" Batman interrupted heatedly.

Unruffled, Alfred continued, "You could spend the time making a deci…"

"I'm getting him out," the younger man interrupted again. "Bruce Wayne will go through the proper channels, but Batman will take more drastic measures."

"Master Batman," the butler said with a sigh, "please tell me that you are not considering breaking him out."

"I'm going to find Sanderson and convince him to get the boy out," Batman responded angrily. "What kind of family emergency takes a week when it's only pets?!" he nearly yelled. "And why wasn't he at the cats' grandma's house, or whatever that place is called?!"

The familiar 'ding' of the Batcomputer diverted his attention from the conversation. Turning away from Alfred, Batman picked up the card. It was an address, similar to the one given to him by Warden Wiskin. But the street was different, and Batman frowned in displeasure. He didn't care whether or not it was an accident on the warden's part, he only cared about finding the stupid social worker.

Without a word to Alfred, the Caped Crusader strode to the Batmobile, climbed in, and took off down the tunnel. The butler was used to such exits, so he merely picked up the abandoned card that had fallen to the floor and placed it back in the output tray.

Thirty minutes later, Batman was knocking on the door of the new address. A tiny old woman, as creaky as the door she slowly opened, stared up at the man with no recognition in her steely gray eyes.

Ignoring the look, the hero stated, "I'm looking for Jeff Sanderson."

The woman shook her head and began closing the door. Batman slammed his hand onto the cracked wood, effectively preventing her from shutting it.

"Out my house," she croaked, her gravelly voice surprisingly strong.

"Do you know Jeff Sanderson?" Batman demanded.

"Who wansa know?" she snapped.

"Miss Langsta, who is at…"

Jeff Sanderson appeared, and the hero shoved the door all the way open. The old woman stumbled back and would have fallen to the floor if the social worker hadn't been right behind her.

"Batman?" he asked, astonishment in his voice. "Why are you here, I've done nothing wrong!"

"Richard Grayson."

"Who?"

The hero's hands clenched into fists and his eyes narrowed in anger.

"Your newest case," he growled.

"Oh, the circus kid," Jeff replied as he helped the old woman sit down on a lumpy couch. "What do you want with him?"

"He is stuck…"

"Did they give him to someone else yet?" the social worker interrupted.

"Someone else?!" Batman roared. "What family emergency has kept you from checking on him?!"

"Family emergency? Oh, yeah, I forgot that's the one I used."

"The one you used," Batman stated, hoping he was interpreting the sentence wrong but knowing he wasn't. "It was a made-up excuse."

"I wouldn't have to do it if I didn't get all the crappy cases! He's from a freaking circus. Luckily, I had no place to put him except the detention center. Why does this even matter to you? One less criminal you'll have to take off the streets later."

"CRAPPY…LUCKILY…CRIMINAL?!" Batman exploded, the words echoing around the small house and flying outside the open door. "He is an innocent CHILD!"

"Sheesh, you don't have to yell at me," Jeff replied indifferently. "I know he's a child, that's why I put him there instead of…"

"You should stop talking," Batman interrupted, his voice low and his tone dangerous.

Jeff raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

"He has done nothing wrong, he has been beaten, starved, neglected, he missed his parents' funeral."

"Oh, forgot about that, probably should have passed him off sooner. That's a shame."

"A shame," Batman echoed, disbelief in his voice.

"Again, why does it even matter to you? It's not like he's someone important; he's a nobody orphan from a circus."

Jeff wrinkled his nose in disgust when he said the last word, much as Victoria Valentia had done while researching her newest case.

Batman couldn't hold himself back any longer. Grabbing the man's shoulders, the Caped Crusader pushed him back until they hit a wall. Leaning down to Jeff's level, he directed his darkest Bat-glare into the man's eyes, which were now outlined with fear.

"Release him," Batman growled. "Sign your paperwork so the warden can sign his paperwork so the boy can be released. HE. IS. NINE."

"Released, um, to where?" Jeff mumbled. "Nobody will, uh, want him. He's not worth the trouble he'll cause someone. You, um, want him on the streets?"

"Not worth…"

Batman couldn't continue. He wanted to beat the crap out of the man, but Alfred would definitely frown on that. Just like he couldn't beat the crap out of Sam. How he was holding himself back from doing anything but glaring, the hero had no idea.

"Bruce. Wayne."

Jeff burst out laughing, causing Batman to squeeze the man's arms tighter and move his face an inch closer. Their noses were almost touching now, and the social worker instantly stopped laughing.

"You think that busy millionaire will want to take in a circus freak?!"

"Just do it," the hero snapped.

"If they've given him to someone else, which hopefully they have, I can't. He's not my problem anymore."

"You have a phone."

It was not a question. Jeff, who was becoming more fearful by the second, nodded. Batman dropped the man's arms and Sanderson knew what to do. He pulled out his phone.

"Call Victoria Valentia and tell her to release Richard Grayson to Bruce Wayne," the hero demanded.

Sighing, Jeff began sifting through his contacts list.

"I don't know why you think Wayne will actually accept the kid. Besides, there's a protocol in place: paperwork, house visits…"

"And you will quickly push that protocol through and deem Bruce Wayne fit to be the boy's guardian."

"I can't, Victoria…"

"Is new and will do what you say, since the case came from you. You have two days. If Richard Grayson is not out of the detention center in two days, my next visit will not be as pleasant as this one."

Whirling around, the hero strode out of the house. Jeff Sanderson sighed in relief and dropped onto the nearest chair.

"Kid should stay there," he mumbled as he dialed Victoria's number. "Not my problem anymore."

"You have reached the office of Victoria Valentia. She is unavailable at the moment, so please leave a message. Thank you!"

"Vic, it's Jeff Sanderson. I heard you got my new kid, Grayson. Batman wants him released to Bruce Wayne immediately. It's up to you, though. I put the kid in there for a reason. He's gonna grow up to be a criminal, no doubt about that. Better to already have him in jail before he can do something horrible. My advice – leave him there. Again, though, up to you. Good luck."

"Two days, sats what Batty said. You ain' gonna survive he come back."

"He's not going to do anything, Miss Langsta. I've committed no crime, he can't do anything without getting in trouble."

The old woman thought for a moment, then nodded. Jeff couldn't wrap his head around the fact that a playboy millionaire like Bruce Wayne might consider taking in the nobody orphan, so he tossed the conversation out of his head.

Good riddance.


Office of Victoria Valentia:

Victoria had been on the phone when Jeff had called. She listened to his message right after ending her call, and her eyes widened in shock. Batman wanted the circus kid out of the detention center?!

"He's just going to grow up to be a criminal," the social worker quietly repeated Jeff's words. "And why on earth would Bruce Wayne decide to help a circus kid?"

Victoria opened a drawer on the right side of her desk and pulled out a form. She hesitated, staring at it for almost minute before deciding to put it back. The kid would be off her plate if she filled it out and signed it, but she couldn't in good conscious put a soon-to-be criminal on the already crime-filled streets of Gotham City.

"You'll thank me later, Batman," she stated, closing the drawer and relegating the matter to the back of her mind.