A/N: Thanks for commenting, VintageRoseTaylor! :)
"Dick! Dick Grayson! Richard! Richard Grayson!"
Batman was yelling every variation of Dick's name that he could think of at random times as he ran down the road that cut through the forest. He was pretty sure that he was too far away now to hear the band, but something told him to keep going just a little longer.
A noise came from his right, and the crime-fighter immediately stopped running. A tiny sound, like a weak cough or a deer walking on snow or a squirrel racing away from him. There wasn't enough snow for a deer to walk on, so Batman tossed that option away. The noise didn't repeat, so the man decided to continue on.
But something held him back, so he changed his mind, choosing instead to investigate. Silently, he crept into the forest, carefully scanning the trees for anything unusual. He was sixteen trees into the forest when he decided to stop the detour and go back to the road.
Turning around, he chose a slightly different path that took him behind a row of bushes and around a thick tree. The hero almost tripped on a log that he hadn't seen. A log that had a small but muscular limb attached to it.
"Dick," he breathed softly.
Both hoping and not hoping, Batman knelt down and began shoving the snow away. A young face appeared, pale and trembling, but there were puffs of air exiting the mouth at regular intervals.
Whipping off his cape, Batman laid it on the snow then picked up the freezing body of his son. He placed Dick on top of the cape then wrapped him up, tucking it around him as much as he could. Then he slid his arms under the almost-cocooned form of the teen and scooped him up.
Dick coughed softly, and Batman could feel the shivering even through the heavy material of his cape. At least he was still shivering.
He couldn't run, not without dropping Dick right back into the snow. Batman walked as quickly as possible, turning west when he reached the road, heading toward the Bat-jet and safety.
"Open your eyes, chum," Batman commanded loudly. "I need you to give me something besides a wimpy cough. You're strong enough, you can do it. Just let me see some blue under those heavy lids."
Dick ignored the command, and Batman increased his speed. Glancing down at the teenager's face, he noticed a thin line of red standing out starkly against the pale forehead. That reminded him of the threat of a package, which reminded him that he hadn't paid attention to anything except getting Dick wrapped up for the journey to safety. But there would be more blood if something had been…taken, right?
"You're fine, chum," the man reassured the boy – and himself. "Just wake up for me."
Mumbled sounds were surrounding him, but Dick was too exhausted to try to figure out what they meant. He also didn't understand why he was being bounced around, or why he was bound up in something that made it difficult to move. Not that he really wanted to move; all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.
"…up for me."
The sounds suddenly became words. Dick realized that he wasn't freezing anymore, he was merely cold. And the fabric surrounding him was very familiar, but he wasn't quite sure why. He felt safe and secure, which convinced him that he was dreaming.
"Pox," he mumbled, tiring of both the disease and the dream while also wishing he could just wake up.
"Pox?" a voice repeated.
"Pox," Dick mumbled again, annoyed that the voice was questioning what he was saying.
"Let's…jet and…tell…pox."
That sentence made no sense, which further irritated the teenager. Too tired to try again, Dick allowed his mind to drift away.
"Pox?" Batman questioned when he heard the quiet mumble.
"Pox," Dick confirmed softly, sounding a little upset.
"Let's get to the Bat-jet, and then you can tell me about the pox," Batman replied.
When the boy didn't respond, the hero changed his tactic.
"Tell me about the pox now. Keep talking to me, kiddo. What about a pox?"
But Dick had drifted away, and Batman was frustrated. He had lost the chance to wake the teen up because he hadn't allowed the boy to continue.
Ten minutes later, they finally arrived at the Bat-jet. Batman strode up the ramp and deposited his bundle on a medical cot near the back of the aircraft. He pressed the Automatic Bat-jet Door Closer button and activated the heater by pushing the Automatic Bat-jet Heater button.
Warm air immediately began flowing through the space, and Batman began unwrapping his cape from around his son's limp form. As he pulled the last piece of fabric away, he was relieved to see that all limbs and appendages were firmly attached to Dick's body. Not a single thing was missing.
The teenager had on dirty clothes that were a size too big, so Batman began removing them. Dick needed warm clothes that actually fit him. What the Caped Crusader saw almost made him wrap the boy back up and head down the road toward Radiance again.
There were small slices all over Dick's body. Forehead, arms, legs, torso, even a long one that stretched all the way across his neck. And they were all trickling fresh blood. Tiny dots of blood that were doing no damage, but how long they had been bleeding Batman didn't know. Dick's face was pale, way too pale for just being almost frozen, so the man decided to put some of the crimson liquid back in the boy's body.
The Bat-jet was stocked with bags of both Batman's and Robin's blood types, so the Caped Crusader had no trouble finding the things he needed. Five minutes later, Dick was dressed in warm, Dick-sized clothes and hooked up to the transfusion machine. Ten minutes after that, he began to wake up.
Batman, who had been pacing while waiting for the boy to rejoin the land of the living, stopped when he saw weary, light-blue eyes peeking out from under a pair of still-pale lids.
"Hey, chum," he said softly, and received a small grin in return.
"Hey," Dick replied just as quietly. "You figured it out."
"We can talk about everything later. Right now you're going to rest while I take us home."
"Yeah," the boy breathed as he closed his eyes again.
Batman brushed the dark hair away from the teenager's forehead. He instantly regretted doing it when Dick reopened his eyes.
"Getting tired of this," the boy whispered.
"Of what?" Batman asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.
"Being taken."
Batman took a deep breath, but was interrupted before he could say anything.
"As Dick Grayson," the fifteen-year-old amended. "Don't mind as Robin."
Batman raised his eyebrows and almost chuckled. Dick was tired of being kidnapped, but Robin was fine with it. The fact didn't surprise him, since Dick was a normal teenager and Robin was an actual crime-fighter. Dick couldn't fight his way out of a kidnapping like Robin sometimes could; Dick wasn't even allowed to try to throw a punch. He always had to wait for Batman to show up, and the active, energetic, athletic teenager hated waiting.
"I'll work on fixing that," Batman replied, but Dick appeared to be asleep again.
"Sorry," the teenager suddenly whispered. "Knocked a guy out, had to get away."
"Go to sleep," Batman lightly commanded. "We can talk about it later."
"Yeah," Dick repeated softly as he fell asleep.
Batman stared at his partner for a full three minutes before deciding that it was time to leave Pennsylvania. Color was returning to the boy's cheeks, he had stopped shivering, and he was no longer bleeding. There would be no scars; the slices were so thin that they wouldn't even take more than two days to be completely gone.
What kind of man could do that while also threatening to cut off an appendage or limb?
The Caped Crusader growled at the thought as he turned around and went to the front of the Bat-jet. Setting it on automatic pilot that would take them to the Batcave, he sat down on the pilot's chair and reflected on what he knew.
An unfamiliar voice on the phone, an impressive – if he wasn't bluffing – ability with a knife, and…nothing else.
Dick would be able to give him a description. He hadn't been out of it the whole time, as evidenced by his ability to give Batman that small clue. And he had escaped. It might take him a day or two to remember, but the fifteen-year-old would be able to give Batman a description.
Twenty minutes later, the Bat-jet slowly glided into the hangar that was adjacent to the Batcave. Dick was still fast asleep when Batman scooped him up and headed to the medical area. He had no serious injuries – no frostbite or deep wounds that needed stitches or broken bones. There was a bump on his head, which probably meant he had a concussion, but Alfred decided it was a mild one.
Ten minutes after that Dick was lying on the bed in his own room, mumbling something about a stupid song as he began to wake up. His eyes opened slowly, but they were as clear as the blue sky on a cloudless, sunny day.
"Hey, kiddo," Bruce said softly.
"Is there any way we can make it so Dick Grayson doesn't get kidnapped? Waiting to be rescued and being a wimpy teenager who can't take care of himself is getting annoying."
Bruce chuckled and mentioned his threat to sue the school.
"Holy too far, Bruce!" Dick exclaimed as he carefully sat up. "You're…not really going to, are you?"
"That's what Alfred said, too," the man stated with a sigh. "But how else am I going to get them to beef up security? This never-ending cycle of Batman having to rescue a 'wimpy teenager' is getting annoying," he finished with a grin.
"Sorry about the sloppy clue."
"I figured it out," the man replied with a slight shrug.
"But you went to the State Pen first, didn't you?"
Bruce hesitated, then admitted, "Yes."
"I'm…"
"No," Bruce held up his hand. "I should have known that you wouldn't put the words in the wrong order. This one is…my…"
Bruce couldn't say it, and Dick knew he probably wouldn't be able to. For now, at least.
"It's fine, you don't have to admit that something is your fault," Dick declared cheekily, a smirk lighting up his youthful features.
"Alfred said your concussion is mild and nothing else is serious," Bruce commented, quickly changing the subject.
"Best kidnapping I've had in a while," Dick replied. "Except for the freezing in the trunk of a car for however long it was."
"Speaking of that, can you give me a description of anyone or anything?"
"Brown car, nothing special about it, no markings and I didn't see the license plate. Scruffy was average height, maybe 5'10" with floppy brown hair. Nothing unusual about him, unfortunately. Teddy was probably 6'1" or 6'2", well over two hundred pounds. More muscle than fat. Big hands, dark hair, good grip, and strong. Shorty was less than 5'5", skinny as a rail with a buzz cut. I don't remember his hair color, which is strange."
"Scruffy…Teddy…Shorty," Bruce repeated.
"What do you want me to call them? Boss guy, guy who is big, and guy who is short?"
"Do you…"
"Yes, Bruce, I always give them names. And Robin always gives them names. You don't?"
Bruce raised one eyebrow and responded, "I don't get taken."
Rolling his eyes, Dick replied, "Except for that time when I rescued you from Catwoman's clutches."
"I wasn't taken," Bruce said defensively. "I…"
"Went of your own free will?" Dick interrupted incredulously. "Getting drugged and going with a villainess is pretty much the same as getting taken."
"No, it's not. It's…"
Bruce paused, and Dick jumped right in.
"If it had been me, you would have considered it that way," he stated logically. "You would have told me that it wasn't my fault, that there was nothing I could do about it, etc."
Bruce couldn't refute that, so he changed the subject again.
"I have a lead on Penguin."
"You finally found his location?!" Dick exclaimed excitedly.
The teenager threw the covers off and jumped out of bed.
"Tomorrow, Dick," Bruce said reprovingly. "I need you completely…"
"I only have a concussion, Bruce! I've gone out with worse!"
"It's freezing…"
"We have Special Thermal V Long Underwear!"
"You have slic…"
"They aren't bleeding, they're practically healed!"
"You have a concussion!"
"I've gone out with worse!"
"Master Bruce, Master Dick, perhaps you would like to come down for dinner."
The calm voice of the ever-patient butler interrupted the brewing argument.
"Master Dick, I must agree with Master Bruce. A mild concussion is still a concussion, young sir."
Sighing, Dick quoted, "Do you have any sense of self-preservation?"
Ignoring the comment, Alfred turned to Bruce.
"Master Bruce, I must also agree with Master Dick. One cannot be drugged by that felonious feline and expect to be free to do as one pleases. You may not want to admit it, sir, but you were taken. Cat-napped, as it were."
Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but shut it when Alfred gazed at him sternly.
"Dinner, sirs," the butler lightly commanded, turning around and heading for the stairs.
"I'm glad you would choose him," Dick stated as they followed Alfred out of the room.
"What?" Bruce asked, slightly confused.
"I know you would choose to protect Alfred over revealing Batman's identity. And I'm glad you would."
Bruce was dumbfounded.
"You think I would have let that man, whoever he was, send you to me in pieces before I would give up Batman?!" he asked incredulously.
"You wouldn't – you shouldn't – put Alfred in danger by giving away Batman's identity. He was probably bluffing, anyway," the fifteen-year-old answered with a shrug.
That was a complete lie – Dick was absolutely positive that the man hadn't been bluffing – but Bruce didn't need to know that.
"Dick, I already had a plan formed. 'Probably' is the key word. I would never take that chance! And from the look on your face, and the plethora of injuries on your body, he wasn't bluffing. Tell me I'm wrong," the man challenged.
"He was going to leave me to bleed out," the teen responded, avoiding the challenge. "Most likely, you wouldn't have made it in time. Alfred's safety…"
"Richard John Grayson, don't be an idiot," Bruce snapped.
"What?" Dick replied, completely taken aback.
"I would never choose my identity over you. Ever. Do you really think I would choose to protect Alfred, but not protect you?!"
"I'm not saying that. I'm just…"
"That is exactly what you're saying! Do you need me to replay your words for you?!"
"No, but…"
"I would give Batman up in a second, chum, if I knew there was no other way."
"But…that would put Alfred in jeopardy!"
"Like I said, I already had a plan. Besides," the man added, "there is always a way. Batman – and Robin – always find a way out of tough situations. Are you suddenly going to start doubting the abilities of the Dynamic Duo?"
"I…"
"Because if you are, you don't even deserve to be a part of it."
Dick froze. That was a figurative slap to the face, and he wasn't sure how to react.
Alfred chose that moment to step through the doorway that led to the kitchen. The steely glare he directed at Bruce was evidence that he had heard the sentence.
"I didn't mean…that's not how…"
The words were stumbling around as they came out of Bruce's mouth. He had gone too far, and the look on Dick's face made him wince. It was the same look that Robin wore whenever he made a mistake, or whenever he thought he wasn't quick or strong or smart enough. The look that said: 'Batman is disappointed in me because I'm not good enough'.
"Let me rephrase," Bruce said, hoping the teen wouldn't just walk away.
"There is no reason for you to doubt the abilities of Batman and Robin, and I know you don't. I understand wanting to protect Alfred, but I don't understand why you think I would choose protecting my identity over you. The thing I need you to understand, Dick, is that I would let Batman die if it meant allowing you to live. You are more important to me than all of Gotham City put together. You and Alfred are a package deal, chum. I'm not going to protect one without protecting the other."
"And I would give up Robin in a heartbeat if it meant the safety of either of you, or both of you," Dick concurred quietly. "I don't doubt you, I just think Alfred is more important. And I'm okay with that."
"Do you understand that you have that same importance?" Bruce asked just as softly, the word 'think' not escaping his attention.
Dick hesitated, then nodded slightly. He didn't really understand how he could have the same amount of importance as Alfred, who had raised Bruce. But, he also didn't want to disappoint his guardian by admitting that fact.
"You know I can read you like a book, kiddo. You don't believe it, just like you haven't believed it since you came to live with us. I don't know how else to put it."
"I…it's just hard, you know? No, of course you don't know. I mean, if Alfred hadn't been here to raise you…"
Dick trailed off, uncertain of how to put it without offending either man.
"Fortunately, Master Dick, I was here. Just as Master Bruce is here for you. The only difference is that he knew me, whereas you had never met him before. But that doesn't make you any less important to him, young sir."
We've been over this. Why can't he get this through his stubborn head?!
Bruce tried to shove the thought away, but he was clearly frustrated. He didn't know how else to prove to Dick that he lov…
"I love you," Bruce suddenly said.
Dick's jaw nearly hit the floor and Alfred's eyebrows almost hit the ceiling.
"I, um, I love you too," Dick replied, dropping his eyes to the ground.
The teenager was suddenly wrapped up in the strong arms of the man. Dick melted into the hug, the physicality of the emotion allowing an epiphany to blossom in his mind. Bruce loved Alfred, Dick had always known that even though he had never heard the man say it. And now he realized that Bruce also loved him.
"Thanks," the fifteen-year-old whispered.
There were too many emotions in the air for him to deal with, so Bruce immediately changed the subject.
"I'm hungry," he declared loudly, releasing Dick from the hug. "Let's go eat."
Dick grinned at a still-shocked Alfred as Bruce walked toward the dining room. If they hadn't heard it, they never would have believed that Bruce Wayne had used those three words, and actually meant them.
"He loves you, too, you know," Dick commented.
"I'm sure I didn't know that, Master Dick," Alfred confirmed drily. "After all, I have only lived with him for his entire life and been his backup in the Batcave for almost longer than you have been alive, young sir."
"Don't ever let him do it, okay?" a suddenly-serious Dick requested.
"Do what, young sir?"
"Give it up. His identity. Don't let him do it, no matter what. We can always find our way out of tough situations. Promise me, Alfred."
"Good heavens, Master Dick, have you learned nothing from this conversation?" the butler asked, disbelief lighting up his eyes. "I will not make such a foolish promise, young sir."
"I know, but it was worth a shot," Dick said. "Because if he gives up Batman, I have to give up Robin."
A smirk shot across the teen's face, then he whirled around and raced toward the dining room. Alfred, the always-proper butler, almost rolled his eyes.
THE END
A bit of cheesiness at the end, sorry if you don't like it. Sometimes I just want Bruce to show that emotion by saying something so that maybe, just maybe, Dick might realize that fact. :-)
