It was amazing, fifteen-year-old Dick Grayson mused as he was led out of the school at gunpoint. Amazing how things could go so wrong, so quickly. How trouble could find him so easily, even when he wasn't Robin searching for that trouble.
What wasn't amazing was the fact that Bruce and Alfred were going to be very upset with him. 'Do you have any sense of self-preservation?' That would be Bruce's immediate question. And then Alfred would chime in with one of his own. 'Why can't you cultivate that tiny seed I know is somewhere inside you, Master Dick?'
Self-preservation. Did that really matter when his classmates were threatened because of him? Because Dick Grayson had chosen to be sarcastic instead of compliant? What would Robin do – no, what would Batman do – in that situation? He certainly wouldn't be thinking about preserving his own life. Both the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder would willingly sacrifice their lives for the innocent citizens of Gotham City.
He wasn't Robin right now, but that didn't mean he couldn't protect people. The bad guys had come for Dick Grayson, the ward of the extremely rich Bruce Wayne. If he had just gone quietly, his classmates and teacher probably wouldn't be tied up in a clump in the middle of the room.
His sarcastic comment hadn't helped the situation – it had almost cost someone their life. It probably would have, if Dick hadn't stepped between the bad guy and the fourteen-year-old girl who had burst into tears at the sight of the gun. They wanted Dick intact, unharmed so they could get the biggest ransom possible. And Dick had figured that would be the case, since that was what usually happened when he was kidnapped. Threats of bodily harm unless whatever large amount of money was handed over.
Of course, no kidnapper had ever received any amount of money from Bruce Wayne. Being the partner of the World's Greatest Detective did have many advantages, including the small tracker hidden in the lining of his waistband.
The kidnappers opened the back door of a boringly-brown car and Dick willingly climbed inside. There was, after all, a gun being pushed against his temple. They wouldn't shoot, but it would be easy to knock him out. The teenager hated waking up with a large bump and a concussion – it always felt like a hammer was slamming itself onto his brain. That was a feeling he could do without, which is why he had entered the car without arguing or trying to fight. Besides, Dick Grayson didn't know how to fight.
"Wait," a gruff voice suddenly stated from the front seat. "Check him."
Dick was pulled out of the car again, and a bug-detecting wand was waved around him by a thick-necked goon. Those simple detectors weren't sensitive enough to find Bat-trackers, so Dick wasn't even remotely worried about it being discovered.
"Strip him," the same gruff voice yelled out the window.
"It's like twenty degrees out here!" Dick exclaimed in disbelief, hoping that reminder would cause the man to rethink his command.
"Yep."
The single word was all the thick-necked goon needed. The shorter thug held the gun right between the fifteen-year-old's eyes while the big one forced Dick out of his shoes, socks, pants, and shirt. Thankfully, they left his boxers on – he had no desire to be paraded around naked. He immediately began shivering, the chill of the slight breeze raising goose bumps all over his body.
To his surprise, his clothes were left in a pile and he was shoved into the car again. He was now barefoot, bare-chested, and he could already feel the frost beginning to settle in his bones. Thick-neck squeezed in beside him while Shorty climbed in the passenger side of the front seat.
"Here."
Gruff-voice tossed a bulky blanket into the back seat and Thick-neck gave the teenager enough space to wrap it around himself. Within minutes, the shivering stopped and Dick was warm enough for his teeth to stop chattering.
"How much do you want?" he asked casually.
"Enough," Gruff-voice answered.
Time to give them names.
Dick decided the driver would be Scruffy, the bigger one Teddy, and the smaller one Shorty. It was easier to stay detached if he gave them names that usually belonged to animals or toys, not humans.
"How much is enough?" the boy asked, attempting to both make conversation and have an idea of what his circumstances were about to become.
"Do you ever shut up?" Scruffy asked.
"No," Dick answered, and Teddy started chuckling.
"Least he's honest," the big man stated.
"I would advise you to now," Shorty chimed in, "because the Boss doesn't like to hear chatter."
Was Scruffy the boss, or were they on their way to meet up with the boss? Dick decided to try again.
"You know, nobody ever gets away with this. Bruce is a personal friend of Batman. Even if you…"
"SHUT! UP!" Scruffy commanded loudly, surprising the teenager with the obvious rage in his tone.
Before Dick could reply to that, Teddy slapped a meaty hand across his mouth, effectively stopping whatever the boy had been about to say. He roughly turned Dick's head so he could look him in the eyes, and shook his head.
Dick wasn't an idiot. When a goon had that kind of warning look in his eyes, it usually meant extreme bodily harm if the kidnappee didn't comply with a command. So, the teenager shut himself up, even though he really wanted to know something – anything – about what they had planned. Robin, who could take care of himself, wouldn't hesitate to reply, but Dick Grayson had to be more careful.
Teddy slowly removed his hand when Dick nodded in understanding. He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and began forming a plan. Batman would need some kind of information, so Dick needed to figure out a clue to give to Bruce when the man demanded proof of life during the ransom call.
Turning his head to the right, the teenager began watching the scenery fly by through the window. An hour later he saw a "Welcome to" sign but they were going too fast for him to catch the name of the city.
Shorty turned around and said, "I need Wayne's number now."
Dick looked at the man and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Now," Shorty repeated when the teen hesitated.
Teddy gave Dick some encouragement with a none-too-gentle nudge. Dick glared at Shorty then turned to look out the window again.
The car slammed to a stop so suddenly that Dick's head knocked itself against the window. It didn't do any physical damage, but it did give him a good-sized headache. Scruffy was out of the car and Teddy was exiting, also. Then Scruffy was beside Dick, holding a knife to his throat and glaring at him.
"You can give him Wayne's number, or I can take this blanket back, tie your hands behind your back, and give you a nice, thin slice across the length of your neck. Enough to make you bleed, but not bleed out for about eight hours. Your choice."
"Bruce will want proof of life. He won't like the sound of my voice if you do that."
"I don't care."
Some puzzle pieces connected. Scruffy didn't care if Dick died, which meant he wouldn't be asking for money. He would know that Bruce wouldn't give him money if Dick was dead. So…
"What do you want?" the teenager asked.
"That's for me to know, and Wayne to find out. Number," he commanded, the fury back in his tone.
"Obviously you're not going to return me," Dick stated with a shrug. "I can hear it in your voice. Whatever you want from him, he'll give it to you even if I'm dead. Get the number yourself."
The thought terrified him, for Bruce's sake, but he didn't allow the fear to manifest itself on his face. Bruce needed Dick; the boy had learned that a few months ago. Well, more like realized that it was a fact. Just like he needed Bruce. They balanced each other out.
"No, I'll be returning you," Scruffy countered with an evil smile. "In pieces. And you just lost your chance to make a choice."
"Wait," Dick yelped. "His…"
But Scruffy was already sliding the knife lightly against Dick's neck. The teenager felt the warm, sticky liquid begin trickling out of the small wound and skating down his bare chest. Scruffy was right; it was enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to do any damage for a while. However, Dick still had the blanket and his hands were still free. So he lifted his right arm and pushed the blanket against his neck with a slight smirk.
A smug smile flew across Scruffy's face, and Dick was confused. Until he felt the knife slide across his thigh, right above the knee. Suddenly, the man's hand was a blur. Dick felt skin being sliced off of random parts of his body. He felt the blood trickling out of every cut and knew he wouldn't be able to push the blanket on every single one all at once.
Teddy materialized beside him and snatched the blanket off his small body. Blood dripped onto his leg and Dick realized that his right wrist was the source of it. Now he was in Teddy's arms and Shorty was opening the trunk.
"I told you to be quiet," Shorty commented as Teddy unceremoniously dumped Dick into the trunk.
The lid slammed shut and Dick was left in complete darkness. Now he knew he was in real trouble. Underestimating the kidnappers, assuming they were the same type as all the other ones, had been a terrible mistake. Dick wondered how many injuries he had just sustained, and how long they were going to be in the car, and when they would get him out and demand Bruce's phone number, and what they wanted that they thought Bruce would give them no matter what happened to Dick.
As the car started moving, a dark thought entered his brain. How long was it going to take him to bleed out?
Wayne Manor – 30 minutes earlier:
"Master Bruce, the principal is on the phone."
"Is Dick in trouble?" Bruce asked his butler as he walked toward the phone.
"He did not elaborate, sir," Alfred replied, handing him the phone.
"Bruce Wayne."
"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry to inform you…"
Not again.
"…that your ward has been kidnapped."
What a surprise.
"He was taken…"
At gunpoint, probably. Straight out of his classroom.
"…out of the school at gunpoint. His classmates and teacher were discovered a few minutes ago, gathered in a clump and tied together."
Dick made someone mad.
Bruce internally sighed when that thought entered his mind. The teen knew that Batman would come for him. There was no need to antagonize whoever had decided to try to get something from Bruce Wayne.
"His teacher said Dick…"
Made a sarcastic comment, or insulted the guy.
Bruce had this phone call memorized.
"…stated that the kidnapper…"
Was an idiot, or a weakling, or not smart enough to do this on his own.
"…obviously needed help, since there were two of them."
Two?! In the classroom?!
That was new. Usually it was one guy who came in and took the teen while another waited in the car for a quick getaway.
"Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce realized that the principal was waiting for a reaction.
"Um…did you call the police?" he asked lamely.
"Of course, Mr. Wayne! The assistant principal is on the phone with them now."
Alfred quietly cleared his throat and Bruce shook his head at his behavior. He was supposed to be a frightened parent, not a hero already planning a rescue.
"Where's the security at your school?" he demanded. "This happens much too often and I'm thinking about suing the school!"
Leaving that threat hanging in the air, Bruce slammed the phone down and sighed.
"That may have been a bit too far, sir," Alfred commented.
"What?"
"Suing the school, Master Bruce?"
"Oh, yeah," Bruce agreed, running a hand through his hair with another sigh.
"I'll meet you down there, sir."
Nodding, Bruce headed toward his study. All he had to do was turn on the Bat-tracking machine to find out where Dick was, and then Batman would be on his way to rescue the teen right around the time Bruce Wayne would receive a phone call. He heard the phone ring as the bookcase slid open, but decided he would use the extension in the Batcave.
Two minutes later, the Bat-tracking machine was beeping and Alfred was coming around the corner into the Batcave.
"It seems that the Bat-tracking machine will not be needed, sir."
Batman glanced at him and asked, "Why didn't you tell me to pick up the phone?"
"It wasn't a ransom call, Master Batman. The principal apologized profusely, again, and said that Master Dick's clothes were discovered in the parking lot."
"What?! It's twenty-two degrees outside! He'll freeze!"
"And you have no Bat-tracker to follow, sir, because it is currently in an evidence bag and on its way to Police Headquarters."
"I can still find him. He'll find a way to give me at least a little clue during the ransom call. It will be fine."
The last sentence was murmured, almost as if he was talking to himself, and Alfred could hear the tinge of concern surrounding it. It would take longer without a Bat-tracker, which meant the possibility of several injuries, and both men hated everything about that fact.
"Why hasn't the commissioner called?" Batman wondered aloud.
"I'm sure I don't know, sir," Alfred responded.
Now Batman was frustrated. He had no Bat-tracker to follow so he was going to have to wait, for two different phone calls. Waiting meant he was doing nothing to help his ward. And that made him feel helpless, a feeling he hated more than anything. Except, of course, the possibility of receiving a phone call about the discovery of the dead body of a certain teenager.
That thought caused him to punch the table in anger, which caused the Bat-tracking machine to shudder.
"Perhaps a punching dummy would be better, Master Batman."
The younger man shook his head, turned away from the machine, and began pacing around the Batcave.
"How much are they going to want this time?" he whispered, fury beginning to manifest itself in his tone.
And then the Manor phone began to ring.
