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The next day:

"Master Dick, are you awake?"

Alfred knocked softly on the door but received no answer. He knocked a little louder and repeated his question. There was still no response and he became slightly concerned. Dick was a light sleeper; usually it only took one set of knocking to wake him up.

"I'm going to come in, young sir, because you're not answering me."

The butler counted to five then opened the door. Dick was not in the bed. To Alfred's surprise, the bed was neatly made without a wrinkle anywhere. He went to the bathroom next but didn't have to open a door to look inside. It was wide open and there was no sign of the boy.

Alfred was becoming more than a little concerned for several reasons. First, Dick was never up before anyone else. Second, the teenager never made his bed. Third, there was no evidence that the boy had even been in the bathroom. Finally, the window leading to the side yard was wide open and Alfred distinctly remembered closing it last night.

"Master Bruce!" the butler called as he hurried out of the room.

Bruce was instantly standing at the bottom of the stairs. He had heard the alarm in Alfred's voice and watched in amazement as his butler nearly ran down the stairs.

"He's not in his room, sir, and the southern window is open. Master Bruce, he won't remember his way around the Manor or the grounds surrounding it!"

"DICK!" Bruce called, apprehension in his tone. "Go through the upstairs rooms, Alfred. I'll check down here."

Nodding, the butler went back up the stairs and began his search. Bruce raced through the downstairs rooms, moving quickly but observing everything as only Batman could. If Dick had been in any of the rooms, he had hidden his tracks well. But why would he do that?

"Have you checked the Batcave, Master Bruce?"

Alfred was right behind him and the millionaire turned around.

"No. I assume you didn't find him."

Shaking his head, the butler stated, "I'll go outside and check the grounds."

"And I'll take the Batcave. Meet you down there?"

"Of course, sir."

The men turned toward their respective exits and separated. Bruce thought about the service elevator but immediately tossed that idea aside. He ran into the study, twisted the hidden switch in the bust of Shakespeare and impatiently waited for the bookcase to slide out of the way.

"Please be down there," he muttered as he flew to his pole.

He landed on the cushion and took a cursory look around: no Dick or Robin in plain sight. Batman walked around the perimeter first then began checking behind and under the various Bat-machines.

"I couldn't fall asleep up there, so I came down here. Sorry if I worried you."

Batman was under the Bat-spot analyzer when he heard the quiet words. He immediately stood up, banging his head on the table in the process, and was relieved to see his ward sitting in the Batmobile.

The Caped Crusader touched the back of his head and winced. He strode over to the Batmobile and opened the passenger door.

"Out," he commanded, and Dick obeyed.

"What were you thinking?" Batman demanded. "We were worried sick! Alfred is outside looking for you, your window is open, we thought you had been taken!"

"Sorry, I had a confusing dream but didn't know where you guys were when I wanted to ask about it. It was kind of scary so I didn't want to go back to sleep."

Dick dropped his head and blushed. He was fourteen, he shouldn't be scared of a little dream!

"This was the only place I knew I would feel safe, your house is super dark, so I found my way to that elevator and…well, here I am."

Batman sighed and flipped on the Bat-camera viewing machine. Alfred was walking in the back door and would be joining them soon.

"Sit down," the hero stated as he motioned to the chair Dick had occupied yesterday.

The teenager glanced up at the man's face and, when he saw the anger in the dark-blue eyes, ran to the chair and sat down.

"Master Dick!" Alfred exclaimed in relief when he came out of the tunnel that led to the service elevator.

"Sorry, um…"

"Alfred, young sir," the butler said with a gentle smile.

"He had a nightmare," Batman immediately supplied as he took off his cowl. Alfred's smile turned into an expression of sympathy.

"I didn't…it wasn't…teenagers don't have nightmares!" the boy exclaimed.

"They do when they've been through something traumatic," the hero replied. "Do you want to tell us about it?"

Dick dropped his head again. "I…not really. Are you mad at me?"

Bruce was stunned by the question. Why would the boy think he was upset because of a nightmare?

"No, Dick, why would you ever think that?"

There was no answer, until Alfred spoke.

"You are, unintentionally I'm sure, giving him a Bat-glare, sir."

The dark-blue eyes widened and Bruce immediately stepped over to his ward. Crouching in front of him, the man put his large hands on the small shoulders.

"I'm concerned, chum. I didn't know…I'm sorry. I think we should talk about it, Dick."

There was hesitation in the boy's eyes and he slowly shook his head. Bruce inaudibly sighed and stood up. He ruffled his ward's dark hair before returning to his own chair.

"It might help, young sir. Usually your nightmares are about a singular event but if something else was in your dream then it could mean that some of your memories are returning."

"I have 'usual' nightmares?!"

"Every night for the first four months you were here. Then it became once or twice a week. When you first became Robin, they increased but have died down to about once or twice a month. You've been through a lot, chum."

"Every night?!"

"We didn't tell you," Bruce stated softly with a sigh. "This is going to be hard to hear, Dick."

"I can handle it," the boy whispered, trepidation in the tone.

"You were…well, you saw…"

"Just say it, Master Bruce," Alfred advised quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce said, "You were performing with your parents on the night they died. The wires broke while you were on the platform. You watched them fall thirty feet and hit the ground. I've never seen anyone, much less a young child, race down a ladder so quickly. Nobody could stop you from reaching them."

Complete silence reigned. It was somewhat uncomfortable, and Bruce wanted to break it, but Alfred caught his attention by slowly shaking his head. Dick needed time to process; when to continue the story was the boy's decision to make.

"Did I cry?"

Dick almost choked on the words as an image of the picture he had seen yesterday entered his mind. It shifted and the two adults in the picture were suddenly lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

"For a long time, kiddo," Bruce responded softly. "You refused to leave them, you held on so tight that only Mr. Haly could get you off. There was so much bl…"

"Master Bruce," Alfred admonished.

"Blood," Dick stated sadly. "I was covered in their blood. They were so broken, so lifeless. What did I do to deserve that?"

A strong memory replaced the image in the teenager's head. He slid off his chair and curled into a ball. Sobs wracked his small body as he watched his parents fall to their deaths over and over.

"Dick, I'm so sorry, chum. You didn't do anything wrong. A guy made a horrible decision and you were left with the consequences."

Bruce didn't care about being careful now. Joining his young ward on the ground, the man pulled the boy into his lap and crushed him into his own chest. Dick's hands latched onto his guardian's shirt as he quietly wept. They stayed that way for several minutes. Then it changed.

The teenager was reliving the experience as if it was the first time he had seen it. He screamed for his parents, yelled at them to wake up and finally pushed Bruce away.

"I need them!" he shouted as he curled back into a ball. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was full of panic.

"Don't go, please," he mumbled. The tears were gone but Dick's chest was heaving and he felt like throwing up.

"I'm so sorry, chum," the man repeated. He reached forward and brushed the dark bangs off the young face.

Dick suddenly stood up, grabbed the nearest chair and threw it across the room. There were several seconds of absolute silence as the boy realized what he had just done.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I can't believe I just did that."

The boy was strong; the chair had hit a wall that was over ten yards away. It had broken on impact and pieces were scattered on the floor. Dick sprinted over and stared forlornly at the former chair. He dropped to his knees and began grabbing different sections. Laying them out on the floor, he started putting them together like a puzzle.

Alfred and Bruce were staring at the scene in astonishment. Dick had never done anything like that, even when he was upset about something. They glanced at each other and silently agreed. Ten seconds later they were kneeling on either side of the boy.

"I'll fix it," Dick whispered anxiously. "I didn't…I shouldn't have…please don't make me leave. Do you have glue? I can fix it, I promise, I'll work all day and night if I have to, I won't eat or sleep until it's done, I can…"

"Dick, stop," Bruce commanded gently. "It's just a chair, we have a lot more."

"Nononono, I can't stop, don't be nice, I'm an idiot, I'll fix it, it was a mistake, please don't make me leave."

That was the second time Dick had asked to stay. His hands were trembling – his entire body was shaking – and he was having a hard time concentrating.

"You're not going anywhere, chum," Bruce replied, his voice full of compassion. "Come on, Dick, let's go back."

The man gently grabbed the boy's arm but Dick flinched away from the touch. He dropped the leg of the chair that he had just picked up and grabbed his head with both hands.

"I'm so lost," he mumbled, desperation seeping through the words.

"But we can help you, Master Dick," Alfred commented sympathetically.

The teen carefully lifted his now-aching head and nodded. All three stood up and slowly made their way back across the Batcave. Bruce grabbed a chair on the way and placed it in the empty space where the other chair had been.

Dick sat down but refused to look at the men. Concern was etched on their faces and he didn't want to see the pity that he was sure filled their eyes.

Bruce and Alfred, however, couldn't stop staring at the boy. His face was pale, his cheeks were full of dried tear tracks, his light-blue eyes were spotted with streaks of red and his body was still trembling slightly. Pain, confusion, sorrow and apprehension were fighting for control in his expressive eyes and he was twisting his hands nervously in his lap.

The tension in the room was palpable and the silence was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry…again," Dick stated softly as he stared at the Batmobile.

"Don't dwell on it, young sir. As Master Bruce said, it's just a chair."

"Can we, uh, skip the rest of that part of the story?"

"Of course, chum. You still haven't told us about your ni…dream."

Dick shrugged. "It's stupid and probably doesn't mean anything. This guy with green hair was laughing in my face, another guy was spouting non-sensical riddles and a third guy was hitting me with a baseball bat. His face was grotesque and he wouldn't stop."

Bruce sighed and ran a hand down his face. He was not looking forward to talking about various villains and the things they had done to Robin.

"It's not stupid, kiddo. Those are memories. The first guy is Joker. He hates you, like I mentioned yesterday, and is always trying to catch you so he can beat you into a bloody pulp."

"Can he? Beat me into a bloody pulp, I mean."

Sighing again, Bruce replied, "He has, chum, several times. You're strong and smart but he plays dirty. You have a scar on your chest; that's from him. He's broken your bones and torn your muscles and he loves knifes and I…"

There was a long pause and then he slammed his right hand on the table next to him.

"Darn it, Dick, I'm never there for you!" he thundered, the words echoing around the spacious room.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred exclaimed. "Your tone, sir!"

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to calm himself when he saw the expression on his ward's face. The boy looked terrified, his blue eyes wide and full of panic. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap and his breathing had become erratic.

Roughly shoving a hand through his hair, the man stated, "I'm not mad at you."

The words were full of frustration, everyone could hear it, but Dick nodded anyway.

"The second guy is Riddler," Bruce continued. "He's not a fighter, and he doesn't hate you. In fact, he is actually impressed with you. You are usually the one to figure out his riddles. It used to take me a while to find out what he was talking about but you usually have the answer after only a few minutes. One time it took you almost twenty minutes and you were so upset with yourself."

Bruce chuckled at the memory. "You refused to accept any praise, you said you didn't deserve it since it took you so long. The only other time I've seen you that mad was when Catwoman gave me a drug that caused me to fall madly in love with her."

"You were very upset with that, Master Dick," Alfred chimed in with a slight chuckle of his own. "You yelled at your partner for nearly an hour, telling him that he shouldn't have trusted Catwoman, that she was always trying to get under his skin and so many other things."

The laughter of the men got no reaction out of the boy. He was unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck and his eyes were closed. Dick was trying so hard to remember but nothing was familiar. It was frustrating and irritating and he didn't feel at all like laughing with them.

Both men, of course, recognized this so Bruce resumed his explanation of the dream.

"The last guy is Two-Face. Half of his face is normal. The other half was burned by acid and he blames me for that. His way of getting revenge is taking his anger out on you. And a baseball bat is his favorite weapon.

Your memory is from a time that he captured us. He forced you to make a decision: save my life or that of somebody else. The guy has a coin that he uses to decide things. You called it, he flipped it and it landed your way. That was supposed to save the other person. But it was a trick and the man died anyway. Then Two-Face…"

There was another long pause; neither Bruce nor Batman could say it.

"He beat me with a baseball bat," Dick quietly finished the sentence as the described scene became clear in his mind. "I almost died."

"Yes," Bruce choked on that one word.

"But you got out of your restraints, you saved me!"

"Yes," the man said again, tears threatening to slide down his cheeks. "You were so limp, so bloody, when I carried you away. I wanted you to be done with Robin but you're so stubborn and you've proven yourself to me over and over."

Dick stared at him in shock. Alfred had told him that the man had no emotions. Yet here he was, his voice trembling as he struggled to hold back tears!

"Why are you crying?" the teenager asked.

"I almost lost you, chum! But you never gave up and eventually I came to understand that Batman needs Robin. You bring me back to the light when I turn to the darkness. You keep me sane, Dick. Batman needs Robin and Bruce Wayne needs Dick Grayson."

"Oh."

The word was emotionless; Dick was never emotionless.

"Can we stop for a while?"

"Of course, Master Dick," Alfred responded. Bruce was attempting to get himself back under control and was in no condition to answer the question.

"I think, uh, do you mind if I go up to my room for a little while? I didn't really, um, sleep well last night."

"I think a nap would be very good for you right now, Master Dick."

"Thanks," the boy whispered gratefully.

Slowly, Dick stood up but then he raced toward the service tunnel. A few seconds later, the men heard the distinctive hum of the elevator.

Releasing a breath, Bruce commented, "Thanks, Alfred."

"I think, sir, that he forgot his promise from yesterday," the butler stated.

"He did seem overwhelmed, didn't he."

It was a statement, not a question, but Alfred nodded anyway.

"At least some things came back to him. Being covered in his parents' blood, Joker, Riddler, being beaten by Two-face. Things that I wish didn't come back first but there's nothing we can do about that now."

"Were you able to find Bookworm last night, Master Bruce?"

"No, he's probably gone underground. Wouldn't you if you had given Robin a bump the size of Gotham City?"

"I would, sir, especially since you were at the library when it happened."

"I can go out and talk to some people but I don't know if I want to leave Dick. Nothing against you, Alfred, of course, but I feel like I need to stay."

"I completely agree, Master Bruce. Dick needs you more than you need to catch Bookworm."

"He's right, Alfred. He's so lost and I feel like I'm just tearing him down. So far we've talked about his parents dying while he watched, villains who want to beat or kill him and reminded him several times of the fact that he knows nothing about his former life."

"You had to start at the beginning, sir, and you had to explain his nightmare to him. It's not your fault that the small memories he has regained are all traumatic."

Bruce sighed. Alfred was right, of course, but why couldn't he find something positive to tell the boy?

"You've also told him about his abilities, Master Bruce, and I won't easily forget the grin that lit up his face when he was listening to that."

A short chuckle escaped as Bruce replied, "Neither will I, Alfred. And that will come back to haunt us later, I'm sure."

With a slight grin, the butler stated, "And I will gladly accept the teasing if it means that we get our boy back."

Nodding in agreement, Bruce replaced his cowl and Batman walked over to the Current Criminal Activity Bat-disclosure Unit. Maybe Bookworm had slithered out of hiding and was plotting something.

Batman didn't think that a hit to the head could cause that much damage to the strong mind of his partner. Robin had received worse than the large bump that was currently residing on the back of his head and come out fine. It was very improbable, but the hero had to consider the idea that maybe the villain had done something in addition to that. But what?