A/N: Thanks for commenting, JessicaRae95 and VintageRoseTaylor!
The Batcave:
Batman had been pacing for most of the night. He had replayed the recorded conversation over and over throughout the long hours, hoping to glean some kind of clue from it. But here he was, almost twelve hours past that conversation, and he still had nothing.
The Bat-computer had been useless. He had nothing to give it, so it had nothing to give back. Batman had searched through his extensive files of known criminals, but none of them matched the voice of the man he had talked to. The kidnapper could be disguising his voice, but the Caped Crusader was going to assume that he wasn't, for now.
His frustration finally got the better of him, and Batman picked up the nearest item and angrily threw it across the Batcave. It was just a phone book, so it did no harm, but it helped him release the pent-up emotion rolling around in his chest.
And then the phone rang. Batman raced to the Manor extension and almost answered it himself. But Alfred, who had just entered the Batcave without the always-observant Batman even noticing, clapped his hands twice.
Batman's hand hovered over the phone, but he waited. The kidnappers would expect the formal tone of the butler to answer the phone.
"Wayne Manor."
Alfred paused, then said, "If you'll hold just one moment."
Passing the phone to Batman, the butler nodded his head.
"Bruce Wayne," Batman stated, easily changing his identity.
He listened for a moment, then frowned.
"I want proof of life," he stated firmly.
There was a pause, then that strange rustling sound again.
"Dick?"
"I already told him that you can't tell him what you don't know," Dick replied.
"What…"
"He doesn't believe me," the teen interrupted. "He wants to write your answer down in pen, but you can't state the answer because you don't know it."
Bruce was completely lost. He had not missed the emphasis on the two words, but he had no idea what it meant.
"Dick…"
"You've heard enough," the kidnapper snapped. "He's right, I don't believe him. But he said some strange things to you, so I'm going to have to send you a package before I let you rescue him. Which hand do you want?"
There was a sound in the background and then Dick's muffled voice flew into Batman's ear.
"…ffing!" the teen yelled. "No wep…idiot!"
"Shut him up!" the man on the phone yelled in Batman's ear.
Everything went quiet and Bruce sucked in a breath of real fear.
"Just give me the identity of Batman and I'll let him go. He's annoyingly talkative, I don't want him for longer than absolutely necessary."
"The identity…?"
"I know you know," the man interrupted, his calm voice outlined with impatience. "Just because you didn't tell your kid, doesn't mean you don't know. You have to know, you're his friend!"
"Batman has many friends, and most likely none of them know his identity," Bruce responded. "Why do you think that I would know it? Why would he tell a regular person, instead of the police commissioner, or the mayor?"
The man was silent, and then he began chuckling.
"Here's the deal," he began. "You tell me now, I leave your kid here and tell you where he is. Or, I send you a package that contains a piece of him, then you tell me, then I leave him here and tell you where he is."
"…sit know!"
That was Dick's voice. It was shaky, but there was a quiet strength behind the words. Batman knew that Dick would protect the hero's identity at all costs, no matter what. The boy had no sense of self-preservation, and no idea of how very important his existence was to both Bruce Wayne and Batman.
Batman was proud of his partner's strength, but there was no way Bruce was going to allow the kidnapper, whoever he was, to send him a package like that. His decision was instantly made when he heard the man's "deal", and a plan was already forming.
Alfred would immediately be sent to England. There was an unknown Batcave in Londinium, and they would meet up there once Batman had rescued Dick. The place was well-stocked, they could remain in hiding for several months.
"…me!" Dick suddenly yelled.
"What?" the man snarled.
"Bruce doesn't know it, but I'm Batman!"
The teenager's voice was much closer and louder. The man, however, wasn't fooled. He burst into laughter.
"Batman is much taller than you, and much quieter, and much more cunning than you could ever be."
"I grew up in a circus, you idiot!" Dick growled. "You think I don't have access to things I would need to become a crime-fighter?!"
"Dick, enough!" Bruce yelled. "We all know you aren't Batman, so close your mouth and let me do the talking!"
"Too late, Brucie-boy. You can expect a package in a couple of days. Talk to you later!"
The line went dead and Bruce dropped his head. What had Dick been thinking? Why did he think the man would believe that a teenager was Batman? And what part of his ward – no, his son – was Bruce about to receive in the mail?
"Sir, please focus on the tiny clue Master Dick may have given you," Alfred said quietly.
"Pen and state," Batman immediately responded, his attention redirected. "Write with a pen, state an answer. A pen needs ink…"
"There was nothing about ink, sir," the butler uncharacteristically interrupted.
"Pen…state…pen and state…state and pen…state pen!"
"You think he's in the State Pen, Master Batman?" Alfred inquired skeptically.
"Or near it. He must have heard something! Or seen something!"
Batman hung up the Manor phone and picked up the Batphone. Impatiently, he waited for the commissioner to answer.
"Yes, Batman?"
Commissioner Gordon's voice sounded normal, not at all like a person who had just learned about a breakout or other disturbance at the State Pen. Because the siren is what Dick would have heard. Or the red beam flashing around whatever room he was in, that was what Dick would have seen.
"What happened at the State Pen, Commissioner?"
"The State Pen? Nothing that I know of, Batman. Why do you ask?"
Ignoring the question, Batman demanded, "Call Warden Crichton. Find out what happened. Never mind, I'll call him myself."
Batman slammed the Batphone down and picked up the Manor phone again. Alfred, always perceptive and ready to help, had already looked up the number of Warden Crichton's office.
"State Pen, Warden Crichton speaking."
"What happened, Warden?" Batman demanded firmly.
"I'm sorry, who is this?"
"Batman!" the hero exclaimed impatiently. "What happened, who escaped?"
"Oh, Batman, no, nothing has happened, everything has been quiet here."
"Have you checked all the prisoners?"
"Cell check was done about half an hour ago, right after breakfast. Everyone is accounted for."
"Do it again," the Caped Crusader commanded.
Warden Crichton, without hesitation, ordered another cell check.
"It will take a few minutes, Batman."
"I'll wait," the hero growled.
If there was no escape or disturbance, the siren wouldn't have gone off. If the siren hadn't gone off, it wasn't what Dick had heard or seen.
Pen, state, write, answer, state, pen, answer, write. Right instead of write? State of mind instead of a statement?
"Everyone is accounted for, again," the warden finally said.
"So the siren didn't go off, there have been no disturbances?"
"No, everything is fine. Do you need anything else, Batman?"
"No," the crime-fighter whispered, dropping onto the nearest chair and hanging up the phone. "What were you trying to tell me, chum?" he asked the air.
An apartment building somewhere outside Radiance, Pennsylvania:
Scruffy was on the phone, and Dick was frantically trying to come up with a way to let Batman know where he was. Where he was close to, anyway. Teddy was suddenly scooping him up and carrying him to the phone. Bruce had asked for proof of life.
"Dick?"
"I already told him that you can't tell him what you don't know," the teen declared firmly as an idea popped into his mind.
"What…"
"He doesn't believe me," Dick interrupted. "He wants to write your answer down in pen, but you can't state the answer because you don't know it."
Scruffy immediately snatched the phone away from Dick. Obviously, the man knew he had tried to give Bruce a clue, since he was now threatening to send Bruce a 'package'.
There was no way Dick was going to allow Bruce to think that Scruffy could actually do what he was threatening to do. He opened his mouth, but Teddy slapped his hand across it, covering it completely. So, Dick bit the beefy hand and began yelling.
"He's bluffing! No weapon, he's an idiot!"
Somehow, Dick had freed his arms from his cocoon and was struggling against the big hand of Teddy. The teenager was sure that not all of his words were getting through to Bruce, but hopefully he could hear at least a few of them.
It was a lie – Scruffy did have a weapon and there was no doubt in Dick's mind that the man was not bluffing. But the fifteen-year-old wanted Batman to focus on the clue instead of Bruce worrying about receiving a piece of Dick in the mail.
Scruffy yelled at Teddy to shut Dick up, so Teddy dropped him onto the floor. Straddling the small body, the much larger man trapped the slim wrists in one hand and put his other hand on Dick's face. Now was a good time to panic, Dick decided, because now he couldn't breathe. He twisted his head and tried to wiggle away from the tight grasp but it didn't work. His eyes widened in terror as he struggled to find a way to get air into his lungs.
Teddy was focused on the phone call and wasn't even looking at the boy. Dick finally found traction and shoved his knee up into a place where no man or boy ever wants to be kicked. The big man grunted and took his hand off of the teen's face.
Drawing in a ragged breath, Dick yelled, "Doesn't know!"
Teddy slapped him, hard, and it left Dick's ears ringing. But he knew that Scruffy would keep asking for Batman's identity. Bruce wouldn't give it to him, the teenager knew that, but it would end the phone call quicker if he said something.
"Me!" he burst out. "Bruce doesn't know it, but I'm Batman!" he exclaimed after Scruffy snarled at him.
To his dismay, Scruffy started laughing at him. Dick had to admit that there was no way anyone would ever believe he was Batman, which was exactly what Scruffy was pointing out now. But he tried again anyway.
"I grew up in a circus, you idiot!" the teenager growled at the man. "You think I don't have access to things I would need to become a crime-fighter?!"
Bruce yelled something that sounded like 'enough', Scruffy said something about 'Brucie-boy', and Dick's world went dark.
Two hours later:
Dick returned to consciousness slowly. Why did he always decide to do this? Always talk too much or do something so stupid that he woke up with a large bump, a thumping headache, and a probable concussion? Alfred was not going to be happy with him.
"Welcome back," Shorty said.
Dick opened his eyes and found himself staring at the floor. He lifted his aching head and realized he was tied to the bedpost, standing up just like Scruffy had said he was going to do. And he was bleeding. As he looked at his body, he was surprised to see how many tiny slices there were. Stomach, chest, arms, legs, the one on his neck, and – if the blood sliding down his nose was any indication – there was one on his forehead.
"You're lucky," Shorty commented. "Boss didn't want to send his package yet, went out for lunch first. You won't be so lucky when he comes back."
Dick sighed then said, "I need to use the bathroom."
"Sure," Shorty replied with a shrug.
The small man untied Dick and walked him to the bathroom. Instead of walking in, Dick abruptly threw his head back. Shorty yelped in pain as his nose connected with the teenager's skull. Without wasting time, Dick whirled around and slammed his fist into Shorty's stomach and followed it with an uppercut that knocked the man out cold.
Dick didn't have time to find band-aids or gauze or anything else like that. He needed clothes, and then he needed to leave. Scruffy had gone 'out to lunch' and, if Dick was lucky, Teddy had gone with him.
The dresser, of course, was on the other side of the room. Dick needed to conserve both energy and blood so, even though he wanted to sprint, he carefully walked to the dresser and began opening drawers. They were all empty. Not even a single sock.
Glancing back at Shorty, Dick made a decision. They were close to the same size. Returning to the fallen man, the fifteen-year-old took the man's shirt, pants, and socks. Everything was a little big, but he could deal with it. The shoes, however, were way too big and Dick wasn't going to waste time looking for something to stuff in them so they would fit. He could go without shoes.
Leaving the bedroom, the teenager walked toward what he assumed to be the front door. Slowly, he began opening it, and was greeted with a blast of chilly air.
Better cold than dead or in pieces.
Dick carefully scanned the surroundings. There were no signs of either Scruffy or Teddy, so he stepped out into the bright sunlight. It was an apartment building, he realized after looking around. But there were no signs on the tree-lined street, so he had no idea of exactly where he was. He couldn't tell Batman anyway, since he didn't have access to a phone, so it didn't really matter.
The annoying sound of the Pennsylvania State University band playing their fight song floated from his right. Hopefully Batman had realized the significance of Dick's emphasis on those two words, because Penn State is where the teen would be heading. He must be close to Happy Valley, since he could hear the fight song. As soon as he was far enough away for his comfort, he was going to find a phone. Then Batman wouldn't have to figure out the clue.
Dick had realized, after yelling that he was Batman, that the two words made more sense when switched around. If that was the direction Batman had decided to follow, the hero would be looking in or around the State Pen. The teenager felt idiotic for giving Batman such a sloppy clue, but he had been in a hurry.
Dick was walking on the sidewalk, trying to follow the fading sound of the band, when he heard a different noise. He dropped down and rolled under the conveniently-located row of bushes to his right. The car zipped by and Dick waited for the sound to completely disappear before daring to roll back out onto the sidewalk.
As he stood up, he noticed something. He was leaving a bright-red trail. It was a small trail, droplets scattered in random places, but it was still a trail. Dick had stopped counting the injuries at twenty-two, but he knew that the walking would increase his heart rate, which would increase the pumping of his blood, which would increase the bleeding. If he didn't find a way to contact Batman soon, he really would be in danger of bleeding out. But if he tried to find a way now, it would be too easy for Scruffy and his goons to find him.
So Dick continued to walk, slipping behind trees or under fences whenever he heard or saw a car coming his way. A brown car that was boring enough for him to recognize appeared at the far end of the street. Dick quickly dropped to a crouch and made his way behind the small block wall of the nearest house. He peered around the corner for as long as he could, trying to see who was in the car. It was almost to his position when his assumption was confirmed. Whipping his head around, he flattened himself against the wall until the sound of the car carrying both Scruffy and Teddy was gone.
There was definitely no time to waste now. It was a stupid idea, but Dick needed to get as far away as he could as fast as he could. He began to run.
