A/N: Thanks for the comments TabbyKat405, Blas and Bright Anarchy! :)

Chapter 11:

The Batcave:

Alfred was pacing, something he rarely did. But Batman had been gone all night with no contact. The butler had tried his Bat-communicator but had received no response. He had tried the Batphone extension in the Batmobile but the hero hadn't answered that, either.

The familiar roar of the Batmobile reached his ears and Alfred sighed in relief. The sound began to die down as the vehicle slowed and another noise took its place. Sobbing – the loud, heart-wrenching sobs of a child in some kind of pain. The butler both smiled and frowned, a nearly impossible feat. Batman had been able to convince Robin to return to the Batcave, although what the boy was crying about was unclear.

Batman parked the Batmobile and climbed out. Before he could get to the other side, Robin had already opened the door and was attempting to stand up. He was leaning heavily on the side of the vehicle and Batman was there to support him in less than five seconds.

The butler was shocked at the boy's appearance. There was so much blood in addition to the copious amount of tears and exhausted sweating.

"Sir, what happened?!" Alfred whispered incredulously.

"Joker," Batman replied quietly as he directed Robin to a medical table.

"Is that why he's crying, sir?"

"I don't know," the hero replied, sounding rather helpless. "He was okay until we started to leave. Then he couldn't reach his things and was crying – there was a pack of stuff at the top of a tree – so I went up and retrieved it for him. But then we started walking to the Batmobile and he just broke down. All I asked was if he was feeling better, like he had told me!"

Robin was now sitting on a medical table, his head in his hands and still crying softly.

Turning his attention to the boy, Alfred asked, "Do you want to tell me what's wrong, young sir?"

"No."

The trembling word was nearly inaudible and the men looked at each other.

"Okay, may I try to patch you up then?"

"No," there was a short pause and then, "I mean, yessssss, would be helpful but if don' have time…"

"I always have time to fix the injuries of crime-fighters, young sir," Alfred stated kindly as he carefully unwound the Bat-wrap that was hugging the boy's head.

Lifting his head, Robin stared into the man's concerned eyes with gratitude in his own. "Th…thanksssss."

The butler nodded gently with a soft smile on his face. Then he walked around the boy, staring at the small body critically before returning to the front.

"Will you, uh, tell me what do…ing?" Robin whispered, his young voice full of fear. This was going to hurt, he knew that, and he wasn't looking forward to the pain.

"Of course, young sir."

Robin glanced at Batman, who was standing stock still with his arms folded across his chest and a frown sitting on his face.

The boy flinched and dropped his head. Alfred threw a slight glare at the other man and Batman received the unspoken message.

Crouching down in front of Robin, the Caped Crusader found the light-blue eyes and connected them with his own, dark-blue ones.

"I'm not mad at you, Robin," he stated softly. "I'm concerned. Can I stay and help?"

"If, uh, have time…?" The phrase was full of hope but already outlined with disappointment.

The man grinned up at the boy. "No matter where you are or what I'm doing, I will always have time for you, kiddo."

Where did that come from and why did I say it out loud?! I barely know the kid!

The sentence shocked Batman and he instantly realized that he had just made a promise that he probably wouldn't be able to keep. However, the look of both awe and relief on Robin's face forced the thought away.

"I'm going to list your injuries while Batman writes them down, young sir," Alfred stated, a little louder than he had spoken before.

Standing up, Batman grabbed a Bat-notebook and Bat-pencil from the drawer on his right. Nodding to his butler, the Caped Crusader readied himself for a long list.

Before beginning, however, Alfred took a moment to study Batman's expression, his eyes intensely searching the blue circles of his charge. One white eyebrow rose quizzically and the older man's gaze flicked to Robin then returned to Batman. The reckless pledge had not gone unnoticed by the perceptive butler.

The Caped Crusader slowly lifted his shoulders in a hesitant shrug and Alfred shook his head in disapproval. Hopefully the eleven-year-old would forget the promise that Alfred knew Batman was already regretting. The boy had enough pain in his life; he didn't need to add an empty promise to the list. Especially one regarding his place in Batman's world. What little self-worth he had would disappear completely if Robin realized that the words were thrown out carelessly and meant nothing.

For now, anyway. Alfred pondered that thought while returning his attention to the seriously injured boy.

"If I miss something, young sir, please let me know."

Robin lifted his head and nodded slightly. "But, um, not ssssssir," he stated. "Jussssss Robin…not that important."

Ignoring the comment, something else that Alfred rarely did, the butler began speaking.

"Large bump on the back of the head accompanied by a long but rather shallow cut. Bat-ice but no stitches. Deep cuts on both the forehead and the left side, just above the ear. Both will require an extensive amount of stitching. Several dark bruises on the throat – did someone try to, ehm, strangle you, young sir?"

"Yeah," Robin whispered, "the, um, lassss guy…"

"That's all I needed to know," Alfred stated quickly when he saw trepidation fill the youthful eyes. It was obvious that the boy wasn't ready to talk about his ordeal yet.

"We're going to have to remove your tunic, young man, so I can check your ribs."

Robin grimaced, squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lifted his arms. "Ready," he stated softly. His breathing went from shallow to panting then stopped altogether as he prepared himself for the immense pain.

Just as they had last time, the men jumped into action and quickly pulled the tunic over the small head. Batman swiftly slid the straps of the green leotard over Robin's shoulders and down his arms. Then Alfred just as swiftly unwound the Bat-wrap that he had used only two nights ago.

"Breathe, kiddo, we're done!" Batman yelled when the boy's face went from red to purple. Robin flinched, exhaled and almost fell off the table. The Caped Crusader caught him and pushed him back up to sitting as the eleven-year-old took a wheezing, pain-filled breath and re-opened his eyes.

Both Batman and Alfred knew it was going to look bad but this was worse than they had pictured in their heads. Robin's torso looked like a purple plum spotted with flecks of coal and there were jagged bumps on both sides. The bulge on the right side shifted positions every time the boy took a breath, something that Batman knew from experience felt like a knife being jostled around inside the body.

"Seven injured ribs," Alfred murmured, disbelief filling the words. He briefly wondered how the boy was still awake with so many serious injuries. A probable answer immediately presented itself, forcing the previous thought to flee.

"Did you check for a concussion, sir?"

"Yes," Batman replied. "His eyes can't focus on one thing for more than a few seconds, he was very confused when I found him, he slurs sometimes – you've probably noticed that – and the things he spoke about when we were leaving the warehouse made no sense at all. Oh, and he threw up."

"Severe, then. Thank you for keeping him awake, sir. Right ankle swollen but not broken. Bat-ice followed by Bat-wrap will suffice. Anything else, young sir?" Alfred inquired louder than before when he saw a pair of fluttering eyelids.

"Sssss…ssleepy," Robin mumbled. Batman was holding the boy's shoulders and he immediately shook them, gently at first and then harder when there was no response.

"Remember what I said, Robin!" he almost shouted. "You can't go to sleep yet; I need you awake. What do you want to talk about?"

"I…boxes...three guyssss by self and you're amaaaaaaazing," the boy replied loudly. "Wanna fight like you, not tree."

"A tree, young sir?" Alfred commented as he began stitching the boy's forehead.

Slowly lifting his hands and clenching them into fists, Robin declared, "The tree hatesss me. Blood forever and ever and ever," he finished solemnly.

Batman brought one of the small hands closer to his face and raised his eyebrows. There were light scars on every single knuckle except the thumbs. They were irregular in shape; the Caped Crusader had never seen anything like it.

"Why does the tree hate you?" Batman asked. The boy seemed to be spiraling into nonsense again and concern was obvious in the older hero's voice.

"Beat 'im up!" Robin stated proudly. "Ever' night!"

The puzzle pieces connected easily and Batman understood. The boy had practiced his fighting skills by hitting a tree over and over. How long had that gone on? It had stopped a while ago, the lack of scabs was evidence of that, but it must have lasted for at least a week or two to leave such scars.

"So, you beat up a tree every night? That must have hurt."

"Nope! Wait, yep. But I coln't jusssss fight bad guysssss. Din't know how. Why are you fillin' my muth wi…cottn ballssss?

"But you have a unique style of fighting. Where did you learn that?"

Alfred glanced at Batman with one eyebrow raised. The hero was digging and the butler wasn't happy about it.

"Nope!" Robin yelled the word this time. "Can't tricky tricky. Not tell back…ground."

The last word was whispered as a sharp wave of pain rippled down the boy's body. It was accompanied by a clenched jaw and nearly inaudible grunt of anguish.

Alfred, with a slight grin full of sympathy and outlined with mirth, finished the last stitch on the forehead and moved to the side. He was impressed that the boy, even though he had a severe concussion, was aware enough to be able to protect his identity.

"Wha' happen to ribsies?" the boy suddenly gasped. "Lost, I lossssss them! So sssss…stupid!" he mumbled as his eyes filled with tears again.

"You still have them, Robin," Batman immediately replied. "You didn't lose them and nobody in their right mind would ever call you stupid."

This time it was Batman's mouth that was turned up in a slight grin. Alfred had slipped a quick shot of Bat-numb into Robin's side when the boy had been focused on the tree and it was working now.

"Oh. 'K." The tears didn't fall and the Caped Crusader sighed in relief. He didn't know if he could handle another breakdown, even with Alfred by his side.

"Stop tickl…!"

Alfred was adjusting Robin's ribs and the boy was wiggling. He could just barely feel the man's hands, making it seem like feathers were swishing around his torso.

"Sir," the butler requested both firmly and quietly.

Batman kept one hand on Robin's shoulder and gently placed the other under the small chin.

"Look at me, kiddo," he demanded as he watched the light-blue eyes begin to dart around the room again, "and calm down."

The command caused the boy to focus on the Caped Crusader instead of Alfred's light touch and he instantly stopped wiggling.

"What else do you want to tell me?" Batman asked as he moved his hand back to Robin's shoulder.

"Villain names," the young hero promptly replied and Batman was slightly confused.

"You want to…"

"No, sssssssilly," the boy loudly interrupted the man. "You tell me!"

"Okay, the one you've met several times is Joker."

"First hurt ribeye," Robin giggled. "Jerk," he muttered three seconds later with a frown.

Ignoring the comment again, Batman continued, "I think you've seen Riddler. He's the guy that was dressed all in green and that was the day you kicked me in the chest."

Blue eyes widened with regret, just as they had the first time he had met Batman.

"Sorry," the eleven-year-old whispered, staring forlornly at the bat symbol stretching across the chest of the Caped Crusader.

"Were you scared?" Batman asked softly. "Of me, I mean?"

"Worried. Can't tell identity. You were running," Robin accused indignantly. "Had to stop you and only think of that."

By this time Alfred had swathed Robin's entire torso in Bat-wrap and was on his way to the Bat-freezer.

"Ssssssorry," Robin whispered again. "I'm sounding really stupid, huh?"

The change was so abrupt that Alfred dropped the pack of Bat-ice he had just retrieved from the Bat-freezer, his eyes wide with surprise.

Batman stared at Robin in disbelief. "Are you…okay?"

"I…I don't know. Was I making any, um, sense? Did I tell you anything important?"

"You told us that you fought a tree and showed us your scars."

"Yeah, din't like that. Only way could think of to learn to fight."

Looking down at his knuckles, Robin sighed and stated,"Din't work, though. I wassss really bad at it so I just decided make stuff up."

"You created your style of fighting, by yourself?!" Batman exclaimed.

"Got sleepy…no, wrong word…tired of having self-inflicted bloody knuckles all the time. Wasn't really strong enough to do anything when hit the bad guyssss. Mostly they laughed at me for those first three months."

"So you learned how to add power and stay away from large fists," Batman commented, impressed with the boy's natural talent.

"I'm nothing compared to you. You're a real hero, bad guysssss scared of you! I'm jus' kid from the…" Robin slapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue.

"You don't have to tell me," Batman said. "I can wait until you're ready; I trust you."

To the amazement of both men, Robin lifted his arms and slowly untied his mask. Before he removed it, Alfred gently grabbed the small wrists.

"Are you sure, young sir?"

"No, but, um, one of criminals lassss night or this morning or whenever, made fun of me because no backup. Maybe…I mean…never mind, forget it."

Robin quickly re-tied his mask and Batman sent a dark Bat-glare in Alfred's direction.

"I think it's time for you to rest, young sir," Alfred stated quietly, ignoring the look he could feel blazing through his chest. "I took the liberty of crafting a bed in the Bat-changing area, sir, if you want..."

Before the older man could complete the sentence, Batman had helped Robin off the table and was now leading him to the room at which Alfred was pointing. Picking up the small package of Bat-ice, the butler followed. By the time he arrived, Robin was situated on the make-shift bed and Batman was brushing the dark hair away from the young, red-rimmed eyes.

"I can…ssssleep? I thought…din't you say…?"

"It's been over three hours since we arrived in the Batcave, kiddo. So, yes, you can go to sleep."

The slight slurs and missing words were a little concerning but not enough for Batman and Alfred to keep the boy awake.

"Are you, uh, leaving?" Robin asked in a voice so quiet that Batman had to lean over to hear him.

"No, I'll be at the Bat-computer, unless I receive a call on the Batphone or see the Bat-signal."

"Thassssso cool," Robin exclaimed softly. "Special gadgets, awesome car, sssspecial phones and machines and even spesh lice!" The young voice slowly faded as Robin drifted off to sleep. Batman grinned slightly; he definitely didn't have special lice, or even regular lice.

"Sir?" Alfred whispered as he situated the Bat-ice on the right ankle. Batman was still staring down at the boy and the butler had several things to tell him out of Robin's earshot.

"I know that tone of voice, Alfred," Batman stated as they returned to the main part of the Batcave. Folding his arms tightly across his chest to demonstrate his irritation, the hero growled, "Why did you stop him and what do you know?"

"I stopped him, sir, because he is extra vulnerable right now and I don't want him to regret anything he did while dazed, confused and hurt."

"But he was lucid when he untied his mask!"

"I realize that, to us, sir, he seemed fine. But when he returns to his normal self, I want him to feel safe. That won't happen if he knows he revealed himself while drugged and susceptible to suggestion."

Alfred spoke with the wisdom of years of experience and Batman reluctantly agreed with the observation.

Unbeknownst to the men, Robin's eyes snapped open and widened. The old man was smart and sounded really concerned. What did he know? Quietly, the boy sat up, slowly slid his legs off the bed and listened carefully.

"What I know, sir," the butler continued softly, "is that the yellow patch is a jagged 'R'. I don't know how he cut it but obviously the name 'Robin' is especially important to him. And his tunic, sir, is covered with dried blood. A lot of dried blood, sir."

"He probably gets hurt a lot, Alfred," Batman sighed wearily. "I'm sure he's had more than enough chances for blood to collect on the tunic."

"Master Batman," Alfred dropped his voice to a whisper, "do you remember what you told me when we were driving home on that night?"

Robin narrowed his eyes when he heard the man emphasize the word. What night was he referring to and why did he call the hero "Master" Batman?

Batman sighed again, "I told you a lot of things, Alfred."

"Specifically, sir, you said he had skidded several feet across the floor in the blood flowing out of his parents' bodies. Do you really think that he could have found a clean tunic that was the exact same color as his costume? Or do you think he had the cleaning supplies necessary to remove dried blood from material such as that?"

Dark-blue eyes widened in shock as the comments registered in Batman's brain. In the Bat-changing area, light-blue eyes widened in shock. How had they figured it out? More importantly, if Batman had been there, why hadn't he saved Robin's parents?!

"Are you suggesting that he's wearing his parents' blood?!" the hero exploded without thinking of the consequences they would face if Robin woke up, not knowing that he was already awake.

The thundering, echoing words made the boy stand up and limp to the doorway. He leaned against the wall and ran his right hand through his messy hair. Sighing regretfully, Robin peered around the door.

"I wish I was merely suggesting it, sir," Alfred replied as he put a finger to his lips. The Caped Crusader understood and made a mental note to keep his voice down.

"He's wearing a constant reminder of that day across his chest!" Batman exclaimed softly. "How can he…he's eleven, Alfred!"

"He's also extremely strong, Master Batman, physically and, it appears, emotionally. He had to grow up quickly, sir."

"So, uh, you already knew?" a quiet voice came from behind the two men. "How long and how did you find out? And why didn't you tell me?"

Both men closed their eyes in guilt, then opened them and turned around. Robin was standing tall, his arms folded defensively across his chest. Surprise, disappointment and anger were fighting for control in his expressive eyes.

"There was a tracker on the Bat-a-rang you took to your…house," Batman replied.

"You ssssaw…everything?!" Robin exclaimed in dismay. His entire body tensed and both men saw the lightning flash of pain that dashed across his features.

"No, young sir, we didn't read your journal."

A pair of small shoulders sagged in relief and Robin swayed slightly before leaning against the door jamb.

"All this time you've been lying to me?!" he cried in distress. "You want me to trust but you've been lying?! And if you were there, why didn't you save THEM?!" Robin shouted the last word. He wanted to sprint to Batman and punch him in the face but knew the idea was a ridiculous one. Just walking was a challenge right now, making running practically impossible.

"We just wanted to help but also wanted you to reveal your identity when you were ready. Actually, I wanted to force it out of you but this extremely intelligent man," Batman pointed to Alfred, "knew better."

There was a long pause and then the Caped Crusader continued softly, "I had to make a choice, kiddo. I couldn't do both – save your parents and take out the criminal."

"So you sacrificed them," the boy growled, "in order to capture a bad guy. Of course you did, that's what Batman does. He captures criminals." The words were sarcastic and full of grief.

"I know you don't want to hear this, Robin, but I chose to save hundreds of people instead of one. The criminal was about to shoot at the audience and that would have resulted in more than just two deaths that night."

"Those two deaths were my PARENTS!" the eleven-year-old screamed. "Did you even think about helping them or were they just an afterthought?!"

Batman opened his mouth to defend himself again but Robin shook his head.

"Stop," he mumbled miserably. "I can't do this. I…jussss forget it. I'm such an idiot."

Raising his arms, and flinching at the spike of pain in his chest, Robin untied his mask. Removing the black material from across his eyes, the boy balled it up and tossed it toward the trash can that was a few feet away.

The Caped Crusader glanced at Alfred, whose eyes were full of sympathy. The butler saw the questions in Batman's eyes and shook his head. The boy was done talking about it.

"I thought I was pretty good – fighting criminals, keeping self hidden – but I'm actually jusss a stupid kid pretending that I can help people," Robin continued. "Thought I would be making them proud, trying to keep what happened to them from happening to anybody elssse. But they wouldn't be proud; they'd be disappointed. Ssshould have returned to the circus, shouldn't have even run away. Such an idiot!" he repeated angrily.

Wincing the whole time, Richard John Grayson slowly walked over to the medical area and grabbed his tunic.

"Yes, isss their blood and yes, the name Robin is…important," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "Thanks for your help but guess I should go now. The Robin that fights criminals is dead. Crime Alley won't have my…his…help anymore, if was even helpful. Sorry for wasting your time by attempting hide from you."

"Robin…" Batman began but was instantly interrupted.

"Isss Dick Grayson now," the boy stated, his voice still soft and his eyes staring at the ground. "I don't deserve the name 'Robin' anymore. Is that the way out?"

He was pointing to the tunnel that led to the dirt road and then, fourteen miles later, to Gotham City. There was no response and the boy looked up at the men expectantly.

Slowly, and completely unsure if this was the right thing to do, Batman removed his cowl. Bruce Wayne ran a hand through his sweaty hair and stared into the astonished eyes of Dick Grayson. Taking the cue, Alfred removed the mask from across his face and smiled compassionately at the boy.

"But you're…" Dick whispered in shock. "And I warned you to leave," he mumbled, remembering the day that Bruce had been in Crime Alley.

"You're not an idiot, Ro…Dick," Bruce began. "About six months ago the crime in that section of town began to decrease. I didn't understand why but I was grateful that I didn't have to worry about it as much. You were the reason it calmed down and you obviously have no idea how much help that was to me. Usually I had to split my time between villains and Crime Alley but I was able to focus more on capturing villains because of Robin, although I didn't know it until last week.

You're an impressive fighter, especially for not having any formal training. I've met a lot of crime-fighters, kiddo, but you're the only one I know who has created his own style. You're strong, athletic, tricky and speedy. And you can absorb hits without letting them affect you enough to stop fighting.

I watched you save a family from a man with a knife, I heard you take out three of Joker's henchmen then watched you knock down Joker himself in order to release me from a trap. I saw you fight through the pain of a broken rib in order to pull the trigger of a flame-thrower and then demonstrate incredible strength, staying alert enough to leave while I was fighting that villain. I saw you in Crime Alley two nights after that injury, unwilling to allow innocent citizens to become innocent victims in a gun battle between two violent gangs. Then you took down two large men who should have been able to knock you to the ground with one hit.

I'm assuming that your earlier comment – three guys by self – meant that last night you defeated three men. Then I heard you try to get Joker to fight you when you were bloody, concussed and barely conscious! Some people might have agreed to become Joker's sidekick, like he offered you, just to save their own lives. You, however, showed no hesitation when refusing his deal. Instead, you taunted him!"

"I have often told Master Batman that he could use help, young sir," Alfred suddenly entered the conversation. "I never expected him to meet someone quite like you but, from what I have seen and heard, you have the qualities of a hero."

"Yeah," Dick replied sarcastically, "Immma real hero. Do you know how many people losss their lives on that night I stayed home to heal!" he shouted. "I was selfish and, because of that, streets were full of blood and frightened people the next day. What kind of hero allows that to happen in a place he's supposss to be attempting to PROTECT?!"

"One who is injured," Bruce replied firmly. "That's happened to me, a lot, and the guilty feeling isn't a nice one at all. However, do you know how many people are alive because you began protecting Crime Alley to the best of your ability?"

"Let me think," Dick rolled his eyes. "The family of four after the ballet, the family of three on the night Batman took out eight thugs, the grocer and the baker. That's nine."

"In your entire year of crime-fighting, only nine lives have been spared? I highly doubt that," Bruce stated. "Those are only the ones I've seen and you know that."

"Mos' of them are mug-and-runners, not killers," Dick muttered. "And only reason I count the grocer and baker is 'cause they stick their necks out for me at leasss once a week and haven't died yet."

"You've only been eating once a week, young sir?!" Alfred exclaimed. In the back of his mind, the butler knew that was impossible but the small piece of information had shocked him.

Dick sighed. "No, they leave food out once or twice a week. Of course I eat more than that!"

The boy briefly wondered why the obviously intelligent old man had asked that. Who could survive by eating once a week?! The thought was dismissed as another question was tossed at him.

"Where do your other meals come from?" The growl was from Batman, not Bruce, and he was demanding an answer.

"Does it really matter?" Dick replied, irritated with the interrogation and ashamed of the details. "No, because isss in the past. I'm not going to answer any more questions. Too embarrassing to admit some of this stuff in front of a real hero and his jusss as amazing butler. I have to keep a little dignity. Jusss forget you even met me. Not worth your time and I've managed to stay alive on my own. Thanks for everything."

Turning away from the men, Dick pulled the straps of his leotard over his shoulders and straightened out his tunic. He had a difficult time getting it on, the pain in his chest was overwhelming, but he managed to complete the task. Tears began streaming down his face again, not only from the pain but also from the realization that he was a failure. Everything he had tried to do since his parents' death – learning to fight, taking on criminals, dealing with pain, hiding – had led him to this moment of realization. In Dick's mind, Robin had failed his parents; the main thing he had hoped to avoid doing.

Bruce and Alfred were speechless, something that rarely happened to both men at the same time. Dick wanted them to pretend that he didn't exist, to ignore the fact that an eleven-year-old boy was living in a collapsing building and somehow finding enough food to stay alive! Did he really think they would be able to forget about him so easily? The men were stunned that after everything the three had been through, Robin still didn't believe he was "worth it".

"Do you still, uh, have my blanket of things?" the boy asked softly, the sentence full of agony and outlined with thick emotion.

Uncharacteristically startled out of his thoughts, Bruce answered, "It's in the Batmobile. I'll get it for you."

Holding up his right hand, Dick shook his head. "Thansss, but I can do it."

Keeping his face turned away, the boy limped over to the vehicle and opened the passenger door. The bundle was on the floor and he bent over to pick it up. Fireworks exploded in his mind as his ribs were pushed against each other. Instead of standing up with a pack of items in his hands, Dick's legs collapsed, his head hit the seat and he dropped to his back as the bundle of supplies flew over his head. Darkness overpowered him and he closed his eyes.

Bruce was by his side in three seconds, checking his pulse and his breathing and searching for blood. Everything was fine – well, as fine as it could be with all of Dick's injuries – so the man lifted him up and took him back to a medical table.

"There are different things that need to be fixed now, Master Bruce. I have done all I can for him physically." The butler saw the ankle and changed his mind, quickly wrapping it securely with Bat-wrap.

"How, Alfred? How do we help an eleven-year-old realize that he's amazing in his own way? How do we convince him to continue to be Robin?"

"Is that what you think he should do, sir?"

"I…shouldn't he? He's good at it. And I can train him, help him be more prepared against villains. The only person he hasn't defeated, since I met him, is Joker! He takes on men that are twice his size and beats them!"

"And where do you expect him to go, sir, during the times that he is not training with you or out fighting criminals? His first home has nearly collapsed, according to you, and his trailer was blown up."

"I don't know! I could pay for a place…?"

"You expect an eleven-year-old child to live in a place that you buy for him, sir, when he thinks he's not even worth your time?!" Alfred stated incredulously. "And what if someone finds out that he lives there by himself? A landlord, a neighbor, someone who follows him home. It would all be reported to the police, Master Bruce, and there goes his freedom. This young bird, sir, is one that needs and deserves to be free."

"Do you happen to have an idea, Alfred?" Bruce asked with his eyebrows raised knowingly. "It seems like you've been thinking about this problem."

"It is my humble opinion, sir, that he might agree to the idea of living with you. He was trying to ask you to watch his back earlier. What better way, Master Bruce, to fulfill that request than by keeping him safe during the day and allowing him to be your partner during the night?"

"Is Bruce Wayne just supposed to suddenly have a young boy living in his house with no explanation?"

Alfred had completed the research he had started two nights ago and was grateful he had thought of it.

"Of course not, sir," he answered. "Tell the truth – you found him living alone and in poverty so you decided to take him in as your ward. Become his legal guardian, Master Bruce."

"You really have thought this through," Bruce murmured.

"Since the day I discovered his living situation, sir."

"My house wasn't that bad," came a grumble from below them. Dick's eyes were still closed and the words were quiet but accompanied by a tiny smirk.

"You're right, young sir," Alfred commented drily. "It was worse."

"You said you had family!" Bruce exclaimed angrily. "Family that didn't exactly take care of you but you lived with them!"

"After few months of living with rats," Dick stated as he slowly opened his eyes, "they kinda become family."

Growling, Bruce turned and walked away. The kid hadn't exactly lied about it but making Batman think that Robin had people to live with when really he didn't angered the man.

Alfred also turned away but he was merely going to retrieve another pack of Bat-ice for the boy's ankle.

"Master Bruce!" he exclaimed upon turning around. Bruce whipped his head around and was shocked to see Dick Grayson racing toward the tunnel while wrapping his mask around his eyes.

"Dick…Robin!" Bruce yelled as he pulled on his cowl. The Batmobile would easily catch up to him so Batman ran to the vehicle and climbed in, growling at the boy's continuous inability to willingly accept help. The Batmobile roared to life and flew down the tunnel toward the dirt road.


A/N: Sorry if the slurs and missing words are annoying; I had to keep Robin's concussion active while also making him more aware of what was going on around him. :)