A/N: I'm back with another chapter for your enjoyment. I am personally fond of this one, and I hope you all like it as well.

So, thank you to everyone who reviewed, and everyone who e-mailed dlsky to rate the challenge stories (don't forget to do that!).

Disclaimer: DC comics is not owned by me.

Now without further ado, let's get straight to the new chapter.

Doing the Right Thing

By: Sarah Shima

Chapter 5: You Can Never Go Home Part II

At exactly 8 a.m., Robin a.k.a. Dick Grayson, and Slade Wilson stood outside of the gates to Arkham Asylum. Walking silently up the pathway, they entered the asylum. Slade quietly stayed to the back of the white-walled waiting room as Robin headed to the sign-in desk.

The receptionist on duty looked up at him lazily, spinning her blonde hair around her finger. "Yeah?" she asked simply, slowly putting down the magazine she had been fixated on.

"I'm here to see someone," Robin answered.

"You goin' ta tell me tha name?" she asked with a drawl.

"Oh right… sorry… I'm here to see…" He paused, not sure what to say. Everyone knew Batman was Bruce Wayne, didn't they? Then he should be able to ask for either, right? He decided just to chance it. "Bruce Wayne," he finished in a whisper, glancing sideways at Slade and hoping he had not heard.

"Ah, Bruce Wayne," the receptionist laughed loudly. Slade definitely heard. Dammit. "No one ever comes to see that old bird – or should I say 'bat'?" she added.

"Just, can I see him please?"

"Wha's your interest anyway?" she questioned, glancing sideways at him.

"I'm an old, um, business associate," Robin said.

"You look ta be a little young for that," the woman said.

"Look, can I just…" Robin began, but she cut him off.

"All right, fine. Just sign your name on tha line. And be sure to not try and bust 'im out while you're in there."

Robin picked up the pen and hesitated. Writing 'Dick Grayson' was not a good idea, if he was right, then Dick was dead. 'Robin' would be equally bad. He thought for a moment, and then his lips quirked up in a smile as he remembered an old codename.

Without hesitation, he signed "Al Richardson" on the line.

"Okay Al, go wait in viewing room three," the woman said, apparently glad to see him go as she immediately picked up her magazine again.

"Go get Wayne, someone's here ta see him in room tree," the orderly heard through his intercom. He shook his head and turned to the staff member who was approaching him from the waiting room.

"Must be the commissioner again," the orderly sighed as the pair walked down the rows of patient rooms towards the one that housed the former avenger of Gotham City. "No matter what he does, he can't even get Wayne to say a word."

"Tell me about it. But this time it's someone different. Sandra said it's some guy named 'Al Richardson'," the other man responded.

"Never heard of him before, I wonder what it's all about."

Robin sat uncomfortably in the visiting room. Its starkness – stone walls, concrete floor, metal table in the center of the room, and two chairs – made him feel as if he were visiting someone in prison, not a mental institution. Though really, what was the difference?

He stood up, pushing the metal chair behind him, and began to pace. A habit since he was a child, Dick could never sit still for very long, however, now he paced out of nervousness rather than boredom.

His heart beat quickly in his chest, and he quickened his pacing, trying to figure out what to do. How should he even approach Bruce? What should he say? He still had the sunglasses on, but there was no chance that Bruce would not recognize him. He would know right away, and then what? Would he believe that he really was Dick, or would he think someone was playing a trick on him? There could be severe consequences if Bruce took this the wrong way. He just did not know who else to turn to. This world he had been sucked in to felt so strange. Friends could be enemies, and enemies could be friends.

The decaying corpses of Jump City floated into his mind. He could not prevent himself from dwelling on it. Different dimension or not, those people had lost their lives in such a horrible way. Most likely, they were killed by his own friend; someone who in his world swore to protect the people of that city. But how did that happen? Who was behind all of this? He remembered what he heard about a group of men who came into town with Starfire, just before the city was destroyed. There must have been a leader, someone running the whole operation. And though he hated to have a large ego, he was fairly certain that his death played out as part of a plot by this enemy as well.

He rubbed his hands together in agitation as he paced, beginning to feel like a little kid waiting for a lecture by Batman. He smiled at the memory in spite of himself. However, his moment to muse was cut short when the door creaked open. Jumping in surprise, he nervously sat down at the table, turning his head to prevent Bruce from recognizing him until they were alone in the room.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Bruce Wayne was led into the room. Pale-skinned and gaunt, former mentor stood sullenly between the two orderlies. He was limping, favoring his left leg over his right. Wrists and ankles restrained, he did not fight the orderlies at all. His black hair was matted and hanging in his eyes. He stared blankly through his once piercing blue eyes as he was ushered into the chair.

The orderlies nodded to Robin, and then left the two alone. Dick carefully turned his head to face Bruce. Bruce gazed toward him, as if he did not even see him.

"Hello Bruce," Dick said shakily. He noticed Bruce seemed to suddenly perk up, as if he recognized his voice. Hands trembling, Dick reached up and removed his sunglasses. And then Bruce recognized him.

Eyes narrowing, Bruce's blank face took on an expression of malice and distrust. "Who are you?" he said coldly.

"It's… I know this will sound crazy, but it's me… Dick," Dick said, regretting it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Somehow, seeing Bruce that way made him freeze, all careful thoughts and plans and ways to fool him just to get what he needed left his mind, and all he could think to say, was the truth.

"He is dead," Bruce said.

"I… I know…" Dick began. "You see, I'm from a different dimension and…"

"How much did he pay you, to come here?" Bruce asked carefully.

"Wait… what?"

"How long did it take him to make you look like Dick? Or was he just lucky, finding such a close match?" Bruce asked. "But he didn't get all of the details right. You should go back and tell him that for me. Tell him that I know Dick well enough to know when I'm looking at someone different. You're older than he was, and your hair is different – Dick never spiked his hair like that."

"I'm trying to tell you – I am Dick, I'm just from a different universe or something, you see, I was at this lab and the device there blew up, and then--" Dick started, just to be cut off once again. Bruce was not listening to a word he said.

"So why did he send you here?" Bruce asked, his voice becoming colder, and much closer to Batman's. "To torture me? Is that it?"

"No one sent me here, okay?" Dick said, exasperated.

Apparently, it was not okay.

Slade sat in the back of the stark white waiting room, a grim smile adorning his once-covered features.

"Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne." The name spun through his mind again and again, and he smiled wider. Bruce Wayne. He now knew the identity of the Batman. And it was so simple, so plain that it practically screamed 'how could you have not figured this out sooner!' at him. The rich, eccentric, 'playboy', billionaire of Gotham City is the Batman. With so much wealth at his disposal, of course he was Batman.

And who would that make Robin?

Slade paused to think for a moment on this one. He of course had an exceptional mind, but something that had seemed unimportant would take him a moment to remember.

"Ah yes. Bruce Wayne took in an orphaned acrobat over ten years ago," Slade thought. "Richard Grayson." He remembered having read about it at some point; he liked to keep up with the news. And the acrobat's case had been interesting to him. Slade thought it strangely ironic that Robin – or Richard had caught his attention even back then. Too bad he had not been the one to adopt the boy. Then again, he had never been much of a father, even to his own children.

But still, this new information could prove useful. Now that he knew Robin's secret identity he could toy with him even more. He would have to remember all of this in case they managed to return to their dimension. For now, he just wondered what an insane Bruce Wayne and his dead ward could possibly be talking about.

Bruce stared long and hard at the youth who sat before him. He seemed to be quite the good actor, and he continued to stammer on about alternate universes and how he actually was Dick.

Bruce would have sighed inwardly, or shook his head, if he was not so consumed by anger. It felt liberating in a way. After the time he spent locked up in that little room, drugged and restrained, his emotions had deadened even more. When he had been forced to sit still and think about what happened; when he was forced to remember what happened, that was when it all came crashing down on him. Bruce Wayne could not deal with it. And Batman had left him. The crusade over, he could no longer pull on his cowl and channel his anger and hurt into a powerful force of justice. He destroyed what the Batman stood for, and now, even if had the cowl, it would do him no good.

And that boy just sat across from him, pretending to be Dick, torturing him on his master's orders. How dare he! How could he!

Without his consent, Bruce's mind brought him back to the events he had fervently attempted to forget.

Batman raced through the dark, his heart banging in his chest. He was too late, he knew it; he was too late. Robin had disappeared days and days ago, and the note he received struck fear into his heart.

He was too late.

The moment he had feared since little boys with blue eyes and black hair began turning up dead all over Gotham, either with a bat symbol, or the Robin 'R' carved into them, had arrived. He tried to protect Dick; he kept him close, and forced him to stay in the cave when he went on a dangerous patrol. But in the end, the boy had been snatched while the Dynamic Duo were stopping a routine mugging.

He had just turned, and Robin was gone.

Gone.

There had been no word since.

Batman checked all of the hospitals and morgues for someone matching his description. He had searched every pit and hellhole in Gotham looking for him, called in all of his favors, beat up every crook he could find who might have some information. He had not slept or eaten properly in days. And there was nothing.

It had been well over a week since his abduction when Batman finally received a note from his abductor. Even as he read it he knew he was too late.

But what if he wasn't?

He went over the note in his mind again and again.

Batman,

I have Robin. If you want him, come and get him.

We'll be at the abandoned opera house in

Old Gotham waiting for you.

Batman ran into the seemingly abandoned opera house with growing trepidation. A trail of blood met him at the entrance. One blood stain had been made in the shape of the bat symbol. Bruce's heart jumped into his throat as he followed the trail. He turned a corner and saw a splash of light before him. He ran towards it, recognizing that it was coming from beneath a closed door. He grasped the doorknob to a large door labeled "Stage Right" and quickly pulled it open.

He was met with a sight that struck him to his core.

There was Robin – Dick, lying crumpled on the stage, his body glistening with blood. A spotlight was fixed on him, making him seem ghostlike.

Batman ran to him. The top part of the Robin suit was in tatters, exposing many injuries, but the rise and fall of his chest alleviated some of Batman's worry, at least he was alive.

He knelt beside the broken form of his partner, his heart breaking, while his mind calmly took in the details: Faint heart beat, breathing, burn marks from electricity, cuts from a dull blade, bruises from bludgeoning, broken ribs, broken arm, broken fingers…

Batman paused as he noticed Robin's hands. Gloveless, he could see the scorch marks running down them, and noticed that each finger was broken in two places. If he made it out of there alive, he'd never throw a batarang again.

Batman forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. He needed to get Robin back to the cave, and fast. He scooped the boy up in his arms, receiving a moan of pain from his partner in response. "It's okay Robin," he whispered.

"Bru…" Robin began; his speech slow and thick.

"It'll be all right," Batman reassured as he turned to leave.

"Not so fast Batman," a voice suddenly said. Batman turned towards the back of the opera house, and saw the person who had tortured Robin walk towards the stage.

"Ra's Al Ghul," he said, his voice laced with disgust. Ra's' only response was a smile that bordered on a smirk as he stared down at the Bat from his spot on the incline.

Suddenly, a group of ninja jumped down from the catwalk above the stage and came at Batman all at once. He struggled to fight them and maintain his hold on Robin at the same time. However, one of his attackers forcefully tore Robin from Batman's grip while the others prevented him from getting away. "No!" Batman yelled, following with his eyes the ninja who took the boy. He brought Robin over to Ra's and set the half-awake boy on his feet. Ra's tightened his fingers around Robin's shoulders in a vise-like grip.

"Let him go!" Batman shouted as Robin began to sway under Ra's hands. In the back, a ninja moved the spotlight so it illuminated Robin and Ra's.

Ra's only smiled. Then he turned to the ninja at his right, "I want Batman here to see all of this," he said. The man stepped forward and pulled Robin's mask off of his face.

Two blue eyes blinked, and then stared glassily at Batman.

"Bru…" the boy began.

"Robin!" Batman called, fighting his way towards the boy. "Let him go!"

"Of course Batman, I only need a moment," Ra's said. He moved his grasp up to Robin's throat.

Dick's eyes met Bruce's, pleading with him to save him, to not let him die. After all of their fervent acceptance of death, Dick could not face it, not now, not like this; not with Bruce watching, helpless to do anything. "Dick!" Batman shouted in desperation. Then Ra's' grip tightened, and he saw Dick's eyes widen in horror.

Ra's shifted his grip, and…

CRACK!

Dick hung limply in Ra's' grasp, his head completely sideways. His neck had been snapped. He was dead.

Ra's tossed Robin like a rag doll as the ninja stepped aside from the vigilante. The boy's body landed in front of Batman, two unseeing eyes staring up at him from the floor.

"No…" Batman whispered, kneeling beside him. "No… no, this isn't happening, no…" He reached out, touching him, wanting to feel his heart beat, watch his chest rise. But it was not to be. Robin, no, Dick, was dead. He was gone, forever.

A gunshot.

Blood.

Pearls.

It was all over.

"NO! RA'S!" Batman let out a feral cry and leapt to his feet, racing after the shadow of the smug villain. But he was gone.

There was no justice.

Not for his parents.

Not for his son.

It was all for nothing, all of it.

After he carried Dick's lifeless body back to the Batcave, he immediately departed. All that mattered anymore was revenge. He was bent on it. It was the only wish he had. All he wanted.

He went through the entire Rogue Gallery searching for someone who knew something about Ra's. The ones who would not speak were silenced – permanently. There was no longer a code of ethics, not anymore. These people were killers, and they killed someone's parents, and someone's children. It was going to stop; all of this was going to stop.

However, he did not find Ra's Al-Ghul. Jim Gordon tracked Batman down first. The police commissioner tried to talk him down, but Batman would not go in that easily. And so Batman received a bullet in the leg, and a life sentence in Arkham. It did not matter, he was already in hell.

Bruce shot his hand out and closed it around Dick's neck. Dick immediately stiffened, his fingers scraping across Bruce's. "When Ra's Al Ghul sent you here, did he tell you what happened to the person you're pretending to be?" Bruce's face was very close to Dick's now. He could feel Bruce's breath against his cheek. Could sense how angry he was. "Did he tell you how he slid his hand up Robin's neck…" Bruce changed his grip. "And then – crack! – snapped his neck. Did he tell you that?" Bruce tightened his grip on Dick's throat, crushing his windpipe. "How dare you come in here pretending to be him! How dare you try to trick me! Dick is dead! DEAD! And he's not coming back! But I could send you to join him!"

Dick struggled to speak as his air supply dwindled. "Bru… ce… ple…ase… don…t…"

Bruce's cold eyes locked with Dick's. And in them the Batman saw something, saw that the boy was pleading. Please don't let me die! The same eyes that had stared at him the night his life had ended.

Bruce immediately let go of Dick's neck. Dick leaned backward, coughing and clutching his throat. "Dick?" Bruce asked, disbelieving. "Is it… is it you? Are you here?" he asked, reaching forward to touch Dick. He recoiled from his old mentor. As Bruce leaned towards him, a set of arms locked around his shoulders. The guards had finally arrived.

They dragged Bruce backward towards the door. "No!" Bruce shouted, reaching towards Dick. "No! It's him! It's my son! Let me stay with my son! No!"

Robin watched it all unfold quite calmly, his heart having long since shattered. He wanted to be home, he wanted to see the real Bruce. The longer he spent in this alternate life, the more he felt himself dying. If he stayed much longer, he would become just like this world's Dick, dead.

A/N: So, what did everyone think?

Send me a review and let me know!

And don't forget to e-mail dlsky as well.

Sarah Shima