Author's Note: Report is the only one-shot on this site to have reviews in the double-digits. It even outstrips some of my multi-chapter stories. Whatever its appeal stems from, I feel like adding another chapter, just to justify its lofty status. This chapter deals with the fallout when Dick gets into a fight at school over Bruce's honour. Naturally, the big man is less than happy with the situation. Dick discovers what being grounded really feels like.

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Enjoy.

Report 2

I have to explain myself. Mickey Flannigan shouldn't have said those things. He shouldn't have said them to me. And what happened afterwards is something I shouldn't have done. I hit him. Four times. The nurse said I'd fractured his jaw and two of his ribs. Years of training and discipline, of not losing my cool when it really counts, and I go and hit a kid for talking smack about Bruce. And I didn't go light either, obviously. Why didn't I pull my punches? Why didn't I just walk away? I don't know why. The word lawsuit is being thrown around now. Physical and emotional trauma are also being bandied about. And before all that comes crashing down on me, I still have to explain myself. To the principal. To Alfie. To Mickey and both his parents. And I have nothing.

"I don't know." I say after a few minutes of deathly silence. Principal Weser frowns at me.

"You don't know why you hit him four times?"

"No."

"He must've have said something close to the bone to get that kind of treatment. Are you saying you weren't provoked?"

"I…" I lapse back in silence. I can't even look Alfie in the eye.

"I said some things about Bruce Wayne." Mickey answers for me. Talking's hard for him at the moment, but he answers for me to move this execution along. Weser nods in understanding.

"What things did he say about your guardian, Dick?"

"He…called him a pervert. He…said…" I'm getting mad all over again just thinking about it. I still don't know why it cut me that deep. I've heard the same lines enough times on the street to be completely unfazed. Robin's the Batman's guilty little pleasure, his perverted toy. All the scumbags eventually chance their arm with that insult. Bruce doesn't register it at all. Out there, neither do I. Somehow this was different. I swallow hard. "He said Bruce only adopted me so he could…play games with me behind closed doors." Weser leans back in his chair and considers.

"Did he phrase it that way?"

"No. He…used more colourful language." I say hoping I don't have to curse in front of Alfie to clarify my point. It'd only make this whole day worse for me.

"I see. The F word I presume?"

"That's right."

"Was that all that triggered this incident?" Weser asks.

"Incident?" Mickey's mom says before I can say the rest, "That boy violently assaulted my son. He almost broke his jaw and ribs! One punch thrown in the heat of the moment I can understand, but four?" She gestures to me, "He hasn't got a mark on him! Mickey didn't even get a chance to defend himself after the first one, never mind the third or fourth! I'm sorry my son was stupid enough to say those mean things to him, but his response was beyond what was necessary!" I flush four different shades of red. She's right. I went too far. I'm trained to be objective. I lost my head. Weser nods in agreement with her and I know what's coming next.

"Dick, you're suspended for two weeks pending a full investigation into this matter. There is a chance you could be expelled if you are found to be liable for criminal charges. We don't want this to happen. You're one of our best and brightest. But this behaviour is inexcusable. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Mr Pennyworth, please see that the Flannigans are given Mr Wayne's contact details. Hopefully we can settle this before it becomes too…combustible."

Alfie gives them the details. Then he drives me home. Inside my head, I've been thinking the same thought over and over again for nearly four hours: Bruce is going to kill me. When we get to the house, Alfie tells me he's already upstairs in his study, waiting. It's only just gone half-three. This is really bad if he's home early. My hands are trembling as I steel myself to knock on the door. He's going to kill me for this. Expulsion, a lawsuit and no explanation for why is not a trio of things you should bring anywhere, much less to his study. After two minutes of being too paralysed to move, I manage a couple of weak knocks.

"Enter."

I feel nauseous just turning the handle. I might actually barf when he looks at me at this rate and pass-out shortly after. He's literally going to kill me. I go inside. The big guy is behind the desk, still in his business suit. His top button is undone and his tie knot is loose. It's a sign of stress. It's a sign of a bad mood that is usually reserved for the boardroom or a breakout at Arkham. His eyes fall on mine. My stomach flips once. Twice. Three times. He's angry, really, really angry. He clears his throat.

"Come here." He points to the space just in front of the desk where the high-backed chair is. I slowly take up position. My legs feel like jelly. When I move to sit down, his hand stops me. "Remain standing." I straighten up. He slopes his hands together on the desktop. "You have one minute to describe what transpired this afternoon. Proceed."

"I…there was a kid in my History class, Mickey Flannigan…and he…I mean he said things about you…and I, I mean I got really mad and then…" I'm tripping over myself. Any confidence I had has been sucked out of the room. The big man does not look impressed. I swallow hard to get the sandpaper out of my throat and try again. "He said that the only reason you took me in was…to fuck me. He said you were nothing but a rich pervert and a paedophile and…"

"Stop. Your time is up." He says coldly. I swallow hard again. He looks down at the desk and sighs. "Alfred has furnished me with the pertinent details. How many times did you hit this boy?" He asks without looking up. He already knows. But he wants to hear it from me.

"…Four."

"And after which blow did he retaliate?" The big man says. I bow my head.

"He didn't." I mumble.

"I'm sorry?" He responds with a sharpness I inwardly wince at. He heard me. He wants a repeat for effect. I can't look at him.

"I said…he didn't hit me back."

"Look at me when you're speaking." He says, still sharp. I jerk my head up and find him glaring at me in disgust. "How many adult assailants did you incapacitate last night?" Last night's patrol was heavy. I knocked down a lot of people. So did he. I shrug my shoulders.

"I can't…"

"Eighteen." He says, his voice cutting through me like a knife. I know what comes next. "You incapacitated eighteen grown men yesterday evening. All of them outweighed you by at least thirty pounds. All of them were at least ten years older than you. How many times did you hit them before they retaliated?"

"I don't…"

"Once." He tells me with creeping bass in his voice. I hear the blood pounding in my ears. "Applying those statistics to today's…altercation…what do you notice is different?"

"Mickey wasn't…he isn't…"

"Your victim today was a fifteen-year-old boy who evidently had never been in a fight before. Throwing one punch at him was too much. You threw four. Why?" His tone demands an answer. I swallow. I don't have an explanation, still. I stop myself from shrugging.

"I got mad." I regret it immediately. He groans at this.

"Why?"

"Because…of the things he said about you…it wasn't right…"

"The media has said far worse things. The tabloid journalists have offered far worse rumours. That is not an excuse."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry does not settle a lawsuit. Sorry does not save you from expulsion. Does it?" I'm close to tears. I feel awful. Bruce is still waiting for my reply. I barely manage to speak.

"No."

"You are grounded for two weeks. You were barred from duties and the cave for the same duration. I will do my best to amend the situation, but I cannot make promises. Do you have anything else to say?" Everything out of his mouth now is cold and impersonal. The discussion is over. I blew my defence with my opening statement. We both know I don't have anything to add now. He makes me say it aloud anyway though, part of my punishment.

"No."

"Go to your room until dinner. Tomorrow Alfred will remove all your entertainment devices until further notice. Any training you wish to conduct in the gymnasium or elsewhere must be cleared through me. You will not leave the grounds, you will not contact your friends. Do you believe I am being unfair?"

"No."

"Kindly leave. Close the door behind you." He looks down at the papers on his desk and begins to read them. I stand there, dumbfounded, for almost thirty seconds. I'm trying to hold back the tears. He repeats himself in a far less detached voice. I get the message and leave. I want the world to open up and swallow me whole.

The week goes by, one horrible minute at a time. I sleep, I eat and not much else. Alfie makes me do chores. I do them with a numbness about my situation that won't go away. Bruce blanks me most days. When he does speak, it's only to tell me about his progress with the Flannigans and the school board. He's settled the matter out of court. He won't tell me how much. The Flannigans drop their charges and the school board spares me expulsion as a result. Other than that, it's like I'm a ghost. Neither of them tell me it's alright. Neither of them say I'm forgiven. They won't even look at each other. It seems like everyone's fallen out with each other in this house. It is literally Hell on earth.

The second Tuesday of incarceration is when word comes that I'm back at school on Monday. I already know my return is going to be rough. A lot of people saw me flash on Mickey. A lot of people got a taste of what I can do. I'm going to have to rebuild my reputation from the ground up to shed this tag of troublemaker. I can take the heat. I haven't really got a choice. By Thursday, I've got my plan of attack ready to go for Monday morning. Then it seems to take an eternity for Sunday to arrive. When Sunday evening rolls around, I finally start to feel like I'm part of the world again. But I can't sleep. Bruce is still holding me at arm's length. Without him saying I'm forgiven, I won't sleep at all, not when I face down judgment day tomorrow morning. When it gets to midnight, I get out of bed and go down the corridor.

Bruce is asleep in bed when I go in his room. The moonlight slides through the cracks in the curtains, highlighting new bruises and cuts on his bare torso. Some of them are still weeping blood. He went out tonight. He got hurt. And my guilt just grows from there. He had no backup because of me. I sit on the empty side of the bed and stare at the wall. I don't like being apart from him. The last two weeks have been a special kind of torture. The thing is though, I know from my friends that this kind of punishment is normal for messing up like I did. You get suspended, you get grounded and you learn a lesson. Two weeks isn't a month. It isn't long at all really. But I've been grounded so few times by him that it feels like forever. I look over at him again. He hasn't moved. He's still fast asleep. I lie down on top of the duvet. I just want a minute. Before tomorrow I just need a minute to be near him. Just until I feel better. I close my eyes. Just for a minute. I'll leave in a minute…

"Dick?"

"Uh?"

"Open your eyes."

I lethargically open my eyes and find Bruce staring at me. A slow glance down shows I've crawled under the duvet sometime during the night. He's still in the bed alongside me. He's even still got his head on the pillow. It must be early. I shake my head in disappointment at myself.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep in your bed. I just wanted…" I begin groggily before trailing off. "Never mind. I might as well get up for school." I come up onto my elbow only for his hand to gently ease me back down. It's the first physical contact I've had off him in over a fortnight. I already feel better.

"It is barely six-thirty in the morning: there is no need to deprive yourself of more sleep." He tells me before running a hand through my hair once with his usual heart-felt affection. "Your punishment is over." I manage a nod and close my eyes.

"Good. It pretty much killed me. Have I got another hour then?"

"Just under."

"School is going to suck today."

"I imagine it will. You shall get through it."

"I'm sorry I was an idiot."

"We are all guilty of being overzealous at times. You must realise though that actions have consequences. Your intentions may have been honourable, but the end did not justify the means."

"I don't know why I got so mad. Just the way he said it – that you only wanted me as a sex toy – made me go over the edge."

"You know for a fact that is not true. I cannot fathom why you would even respond to such nonsense."

"Because I'm fifteen and I love you more than anyone else in the world?"

"Blaming your hormones and emotions for what transpired is perhaps acceptable for most teenagers. It is not from you. I expected better of you."

"Do you think my body listens to one word you say?" I ask opening my eyes, "If it doesn't listen to me, it won't listen to you. Puberty isn't a switch I can turn on and off. I got mad because I'm in total flux inside. Hormones are telling me to do this, respond to that, ignore that, take this, go do this other thing…" He shuts me up by resting a hand on my cheek.

"You can be angry. You can uncommunicative if you wish. Being angry or upset is normal at your age. However, these sudden changes in temperament do not give you license to inflict physical violence. Your adolescence is fluid: your transition to violence should not be anything but controlled. Understand?" His voice is calm and controlled. There's nothing but sincerity to pick out. Whatever animosity I had towards him building up from the last two weeks disappears instantly. I reach up and put my hand over his.

"Yeah." He offers up a small smile in appreciation. His hand stays on my cheek, stroking the skin in minute circles with his thumb.

"I love you very much, Dick and I want to help you through all these internal changes as best I can. But you have to help me too. Otherwise I have no choice but to reprimand you. I have to be a parent. I cannot always be your friend. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good boy." He moves his hand out from under mine and turns over. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you up in fifty minutes for school." I'm pretty much certain I can deal with the day now, no matter how many snide remarks or insults are thrown my way. I turn over too and close my eyes. "Would you do it any differently if you had the same opportunity again?" He asks. I smile.

"Yep. I'd give him an atomic wedgie instead of multiple fractures. At least that would only cost me a new pair of underwear."

"That is…better. Consider your lesson learnt."