Author's Note: This one's told from Bruce's POV and takes an unexpected turn when Dick is found to be acting up at school again. Read on to discover more.

Enjoy.

Report 3

It is slightly after one in the afternoon. At present, I am engaged in the monthly shareholders meeting, trawling over the same recurring issues. Shareholders desire greater returns on investments. Wayne Enterprises cannot do so without compromising both quality assurance and worker safety. They say to cut employee wages. I suggest they try to live on the average wage and then suggest the same solution. It is inevitably a stalemate. Neither party will gain ground today. Everything is hovering around the status quo. Mercifully the meeting draws to a close. I am about to deliver my closing address when Lucius Fox, who had to take an urgent call in my place some fifteen minutes earlier, re-enters the boardroom. His expression suggests my personal attention is required. I begin to speak, only to falter with the continued presence of Lucius' pensive features. I clear my throat and excuse myself to quickly converse with him outside the room.

"Is it Dick again?" I inquire in a low voice. Lucius nods.

"Alfred's had a call from the school. The kid fell asleep in class again, twice. And, when his teacher suggested he go to bed earlier…he got…a little touchy about it." The boy. This marks the fourth time in the past fortnight he has fallen asleep during lessons. The very first it happened, I curtailed him from patrolling past eleven. The second time, only days later, forced me to scale him back to ten. The first instance this week, Monday morning, left me with little alternative but to relieve him from all duties for the foreseeable future. And still…the problem worsens. I sigh deeply.

"When you say 'touchy', I presume the phrase Alfred used was 'verbally abusive'?"

"Yes. He hasn't started hitting teachers yet."

"Did he say whether he was calling from the school or not?"

"He was going to collect him. He's been…"

"Suspended for the rest of the week?" I say closing my eyes in dread. This may be just a rough patch the boy is experiencing, as Alfred and Lucius continue to assure me. It may be part of a greater problem. As farfetched and ludicrous the idea may sound at present, a drug habit or secret midnight hobby besides our usual activities are becoming increasingly plausible. I sigh again.

"That's the long and short of it, yeah. Look, if you want to go deal with this, I can close up shop." Lucius offers. I nod in agreement.

"This cannot carry on for much longer, Lucius. This could only be the start." I open my eyes again. His eyes show only sympathy for my plight. He pats my shoulder briefly. He is a good colleague and friend.

"This'll pass. You just have to get him to tell you the whole story. Once you understand the problem, you'll solve it, no sweat." He assures me. I loosen my tie knot to signal the end of my working day and sigh again.

"I dearly hope you are right."

Alfred greets me at the door upon my arrival home. I do not bother to park the Bentley in the garage. I leave it on the drive and usher the old man into the library for a private conversation. His face tells me he is as upset with the boy's behaviour as I am.

"Tell me everything. Omit nothing." I say to him as we stand in the corner. Alfred puts a hand on my shoulder in an obvious effort to calm my savage mood. He ensures I am looking him in the eye before venturing to speak.

"Sir, you must be calm when dealing with him. There has been…a development, one I could not divulge to Mr Fox over the phone."

"What is this development, Alfred?"

"First, promise me you will listen to the facts before storming off to inflict wrath?"

"I will promise nothing. Tell me about this development before I read your eyes and discern it for myself." I snap at him. The old man knows my threat is real: reading people is child's play after hundreds of interrogations. He sighs.

"I found an injection site." Drug-use. My jaw tightens. The location of the site will immediately inform me of the drug being used. A visual examination will disclose the quantity and frequency of the habit.

"Where?"

"His nape." My jaw relaxes at this revelation. That is not a recreational drug injection site. However, it does pose a far more frightening prospect.

"He was spiked?" I check. Alfred nods.

"That would be my assessment, Sir. And since we both know the house is free of such pushers, it is reasonable to assume he was injected…"

"At school." I say to finish his thought for him. He nods.

"When I described the injection site to Master Dick, he immediately recalled having seen similar marks on a number of other students, both male and female."

"So, his recent spate of behaviour…"

"Is likely being caused by whatever narcotic has been deliberately injected into his system." The old man finishes for me. We both look at each other with grave concern. Someone is injecting children with unknown narcotic compounds. I need more detail. Now.

"Where is he?" I ask already manoeuvring towards the grandfather clock.

"His room, Sir."

"Send him down to the cave. We need to run analysis as soon as possible and start compiling a list of suspects." I say disappearing down the stone steps. I am already hacking into the school's main server for access to student and faculty files when Dick appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking indignant.

"Believe me now?" He says heatedly, referring to our previous discussions on his lapses. In those instances he maintained his innocence on the matter and claimed there was no reason for his behaviour. I was less than convinced and, worse, told him as much. Now it is a different story. I was not fair to him. I get up from the chair and swallow the space between us in large strides.

"I can only apologise for my actions. I was a fool not to believe you. I hope I have not savaged our relationship beyond repair by being so dismissive of your claims." Dick does not look satisfied by this speech. He rolls his eyes and sighs in irritation.

"Bruce, someone's been drugging me, and other kids at my school, for at least a fortnight. Maybe longer. I told you something wasn't right and you basically called me a liar for it. You think an elegant speech is the way to go in mending this bridge?" Realisation hits me full in the face. I close my eyes and bow my head at my misreading of this situation…again. The boy is after a far more basic gesture of my regret. I waste no more time by embracing him against my chest and squeezing him tightly.

"I'm sorry I did not believe you." I say simply. He squeezes me back to confirm my actions are correct.

"There you go. I knew you'd get it." He separate a moment later. I then steer him towards the laboratory area.

"Tell me everything that you remember. Anything unusual about the school, other students, faculty, lessons, food…tell me about it all." I say whilst gesturing for him to roll up his sleeve. A blood sample is taken and analysed whilst Dick volunteers any and all information about his last two weeks during school hours. Nothing he says suggests anything out of the ordinary so far. Whilst the hospital-grade blood chemistry analyser continues to process the sample, I take the time to examine the injection point on the boy's neck. It is barely the size of a pin-prick, but noticeably irritated by repeated injections to the same area. A shirt collar would easily disguise its presence, as proven by the past two weeks. Running a finger across the area also doesn't register its existence.

"Tell me about the other students you have seen with the same marks on their necks: how many do you know of?" I say as Alfred joins us in the cave. The old man snaps on a pair of surgical gloves and takes my place probing the site for clues to the needle used and the dosage administered.

"There's at least five that I've counted. Becky Simmons, Grace Harlow, Danny Kirby, Alan French and Damon Westby."

"Do they have anything in common?"

"Not really. Becky's a cheerleader, Grace is…I don't know, maybe a decent soccer player? Danny, Alan and Damon aren't friends at all. They all have different hobbies and junk. Becky and Grace don't speak either."

"Do you know enough about them to comment on their behaviour patterns? For example, have they been known to fall asleep in class in recent weeks?" I inquire, my attention drawn to the analyser as it nears completion.

"Not really. They're all older than me, hang out far away from the freshmen."

"Did you ask them about the marks?"

"Not really the kind of thing I do to perfect strangers." The boy says without any sarcasm. It is a fair enough point to make. I am about to pose another question when the analyser alarms. The process is completed. Testing shows the narcotic to be some sort of psychotropic compound. The levels shown in his bloodstream are high, but apparently not sufficient to radically impair or alter his mental faculties or motor skills. I frown at the drug's makeup, sensing that I have seen this particular strain before. I only know of two individuals who actively use psychotropic and psychoactive narcotics: the Scarecrow and Mad Hatter. Judging from the total absence of fear Dick displayed last week on patrol duties, I am willing to discount Crane as a viable suspect: this is clearly not his M.O. However, targeting any children other than blond girls aged between eight and fourteen is not the Mad Hatter's established M.O either.

"This resembles the work of the Mad Hatter. Describe the five students targeted from a physical standpoint." I say turning to Dick as Alfred decides he has gathered all available evidence. The boy raises his eyebrows at this but shrugs.

"Becky's blond, tall and has a pretty nice pair of…"

"I get the picture. What about the others?"

"Grace is brunette, kinda short…." None of the victims share any notable physical characteristics or ties to one another that would explain them being targeted. I then consider Dick being targeted. The only freshman known to be targeted. Why? What is the significance? Perhaps there are more victims the boy is currently unaware of. Perhaps there is a pattern or a commonality we just cannot see because of that gap in the average. I consider another alternative.

"Tell me about staff. Have there been any notable layoffs recently? I'm speaking specifically about those involved in chemistry, biology…staff who would have access to or knowledge of these compounds. Can you recall anyone fitting that description?" I ask. The boy considers the question very carefully.

"You know…there was that chemistry teacher that was a little too handsy with his students. I told you he groped me that one time last fall and you got him fired for it?" I frown at this response.

"I had one of your teachers fired?"

"We were talking about at dinner. I said he felt me up and didn't think he should be allowed to keep teaching. You asked Alfie for the phone, talked to some people about him and the next day he was fired and branded a pervert. Couldn't get a teaching gig anywhere after Bruce Wayne dropped the hammer on him. Do you seriously not remember that?" I look over to the old man who is hovering beside the boy.

"Alfred?"

"Oh, the lad is entirely truthful on the matter, Master Bruce. He was upset at his treatment by a Mr Miles Copery during a practical lab and confided in me when he arrived home. When you arrived home, I informed you of the incident. You nodded as I recall, but said nothing. At dinner, the boy broached the subject with you in-between courses. You nodded again and then requested the phone. Fifteen minutes later, you told him the matter had been taken care of. The next day, Master Dick told me Mr Copery had been fired and placed on a warning list. I passed the information to you. You…nodded, Sir." I frown at this, unable to comprehend how I have no memory of these events when everyone else in this household can. I consider.

"What case was I investigating at that time?"

"I believe it was…the kidnap of several foreign dignitaries and statesman by Mr Cobblepot." Alfred says. Dick nods in agreement.

"Yeah, case was only two days old when that pervert fondled me. You had it all cleared up by…"

"Friday morning. October 5th." I interrupt. That particular investigation is vividly stored in my memory palace, alongside all key evidence and information that pertains to Cobblepot's apprehension and the recovery of the hostages. However, I have no recollection of having Dick's teacher fired for inappropriate conduct. I really must not get wholly consumed by an investigation in future. I am almost certain I have made promises like this before…and failed. Still, we have a credible lead.

"Do you know whether the other five may also have been students of Mr Copery prior to his departure?"

"I…I think they were. There was a rumour that Becky got groped by him during a lab last summer. Apparently she didn't report it. Damon too, I think around the same time." I nod as pieces begin to fall into something resembling order. A suspect, a motive and now…we just need an endgame for plausibility. What was the final objective of these injections? I review the blood analysis again.

"Alfred, how large a dosage would you say has been administered?" I ask looking at the chemical concentration again. It is not just high, but incredibly so.

"Judging from the injection site, I would estimate Master Dick has been injected anywhere from fifteen to twenty times over the fortnight. Although the wound is not deep, it is sufficient to reach his bloodstream. Looking at the blood analysis, I would hazard to guess as much as eighty milligrams has been injected at the most recent time." I frown in disbelief at this estimate.

"That is a near lethal dose, Alfred…or almost sufficient to cause permanent damage to the central nervous system." I say. We both look at the boy who is still sat on the table. He shrugs.

"I feel fine, just tired is all."

"Yes, you are, but only because if this is one of Tetch's compounds and we have seen it before, we have synthesised an antidote and you have taken it in sufficient quantities to nullify the effects. If the same dose has been administered to the other students…" Dick's eyes widen in shock. He grasps the point I am making all too well.

"They'll be dead before tomorrow…or vegetables."

We waste no time. Jim Gordon is telephoned. The situation is explained, the names of those known to be affected given. All information is supplied. Miles Copery is already being hunted down. I instruct Jim to ensure all the students are taken immediately to Gotham General and treated immediately. The school board is also alerted to this development. I tell Principal Weser that potentially more of his students have been injected by Copery with lethal chemicals for revenge. I tell him Dick was not acting up, but experiencing the side-effects of the chemical agent. I tell him to contact any other student he believes might also have suffered an unexplained change in behaviour or temperament in the last fortnight. They should all go to Gotham General, just to be safe.

When I phone Jim again, I am already suited up with the antidote for the chemical. Although the hospital will be able to counteract the effects of the drug at lower doses, at higher concentrations only my formula will reverse potentially life-altering damage to the brain in time. I tell him I will be at the hospital in less than fifteen minutes to help administer the antidote. By this time, one hour has elapsed since our discovery. Jim says they have a lead on Copery, an address in the Narrows.

Dick wishes to accompany me. He has been injected with the antidote to clear out his system, but I am wary of arriving too late to help those affected. If he should witness the deaths of his peers, up close, the repercussions could be devastating on his psyche. I flatly refuse his request and leave moments later.

It is six hours later. I am sat in the living room, watching media coverage of Copery's arrest and unabashed public confession to the poisonings. In total, he had injected sixteen students over the last two weeks. Both the GCPD, I and the school board theorised he had gained access to the school via a disguise and a janitorial job. Those students that Dick knew of are all likely to recover fully as will Dick himself. The other ten are not so fortunate. Despite being injected with the same doses as Dick was subjected to, none of those students have his tolerance to the chemicals. Four are in comas, three are critically ill and the remaining three…did not survive. They…did not deserve this fate. The media have already confirmed that this is the worst mass poisoning for the last century in Gotham. Copery will likely never be released. It is no comfort whatsoever. Not when they replay his most vehement remarks every fifteen minutes. He stares directly into the camera, grins and lays all blame for his actions at my feet.

"They'd all be alive right now, enjoying their best years, if not for Bruce Wayne! Those deaths are on your hands, Wayne! You got me fired, you brought this on yourself! They're dead because of you! This is all your fault, Wayne! I hope you sleep really well tonight on that bed of corpses you've built yourself! I hope your boy enjoys going back to that school as a murderer's son and heir! I hope…"

The Television is turned off. I glance over my shoulder to find Alfred holding the remote control. He is dressed for bed in his dressing gown and slippers.

"That is ten times you have listened to that dreck now. That is quite enough for one night." He tells me firmly. I sigh under my breath whilst leaning back in the chair and closing my eyes. A hand is suddenly on my shoulder, surprisingly strong for its age. "It is late, Sir. Time for bed, I feel. All this can be dealt with in the morning." The old man says, his voice hoping I take the hint and retire to bed.

"Of course, Alfred. I just need to sit here and think for a time. I will retire shortly." I say opening my eyes to find him looming over me. His eyes only show concern. The hand squeezes my shoulder.

"None of this is your fault, Sir. You must know that." He says. I reach over and pat his hand in gratitude.

"I know. Thank you, Alfred." He does not want to leave me. He knows as soon as he does, I will turn the broadcast back on and listen to Copery's rant for hours to come. We regard one another in awkward silence for perhaps a minute. His eyes signal defeat and he nods in mute understanding.

"Good night, Master Bruce."

"Good night, Alfred."

Another hour passes. Copery is just about to deliver his fourteenth rendition when the television cuts out entirely. I frown at this before Dick appears from behind the television stand holding the plug. The lights are low, but I can discern disappointment on his face.

"That just proves you're too sucked into this crap. You really didn't notice me sneak behind here like two minutes ago?" He says dropping the plug to the floor and wandering over to my chair. He is also dressed for bed but does not appear to have slept yet. I sigh. No, I did not observe his presence: my eyes have not been anywhere apart from the broadcast since Alfred left. He is right. I am too engrossed in this media circus.

"You should be in bed. You have school in the morning."

"No, I don't. Three kids died tonight, Bruce: cleared or not, the school's closed for the rest of the week." The boy says now standing directly in front of me. I nod in understanding.

"I see. In any case, it is late. You need to recover." Dick does not move, even slightly. "Was I not clear? Go to bed." I say firmly. He shakes his head.

"The only reason Alfie didn't try harder to get you up earlier is because he's tired of having to do it. I'm still fresh. So I'm not leaving until you leave with me. What that pervert did isn't your fault. Those kids dying, in comas and the rest? Not your fault either. That's Copery's fault. You getting him fired doesn't mean you're responsible for what he's done. Blame doesn't work like that. You didn't make him go out and poison his accusers. You didn't make him do any of it. He chose to do it because he's insane. His insanity is not your fault." The boy says. I shake my head.

"That is not the issue, Dick."

"Then what is? You not believing me earlier? Not your fault. You thinking I was acting up or out or in or whatever, totally normal reaction. You couldn't have known he'd do this to us. It's not…"

"That is not it either. I do not recall Miles Copery at all. The incident involving yourself being sexually molested at school is something I cannot remember either. I have not logged his name or written notes pertaining to that occurrence at all, not anywhere. Why? Why did I not remember that?" I ask him. He frowns and shrugs haphazardly.

"There was Penguin. He'd kidnapped those VIPs. That's why you didn't remember it. It's not a big deal."

"And that investigation is of greater importance than you being sexually harassed at school? It is of greater significance than getting a predatory and obviously unstable individual fired and excluded from his chosen profession? That one case is more important than sixteen children's lives? Three of them are dead, Dick. Four are in comas, perhaps permanently. If I had remembered Copery when all this began, if I had not jumped to obvious and easy conclusions about your behavioural problems, I could have saved them. The fault is not that I had him fired. The fault is that I do not recall having him fired in the first place. I discounted that information, did not deem it of critical importance to future endeavours. And now, look at the outcome." Dick reacts to this outburst by shrugging yet again.

"You're only human, Bruce. You can't remember everything all the time. And you told me, right before Judge Watkins, that you can't save everyone. The world isn't that nice or fair. You have to make choices. Even down to what you remember and what you forget, you have to choose. You told me that. And listen, I remember Judge Watkins. Of course I remember that, but I don't remember…like half the cases we've worked over the years. I remember winning athletic meets and all the names of the girls I've kissed, but not the face of the last guy I dropped on the streets. Because that guy's face isn't important to me. You just…you just have to choose. Sometimes you chose wrong or it gets chosen for you. It happens. You just have to get over it." The boy is growing flustered now. Red spots are beginning to flare on his cheeks, a tell-tale sign. He is trying so hard to convince me. But words have never really been his specialty. Either of our specialties really.

"You just want to hug me, don't you?" I say after a minute of deathly silence. Dick nods, looking sheepish.

"I always do when I run out of other ideas to make you feel better. I know I'm not as young or cute as I used to be before so maybe it's creepier than I think it is." The boy is barely fifteen-and-a-half. Granted, he is far bigger than he used to be before the onset of puberty, but both his body and features seem to be growing evenly together. He does not possess the awkward gangly frame other boys his age struggle to coordinate, nor is his face plagued by acne or a sudden sharpness in his features. His diet and exercise regime ensure his frame is filled proportionally whilst properly hygiene routines account for maintaining his wonderfully handsome face. He is still young and 'cute' as he puts it.

"There is nothing creepy about you. Please, use your last resort." I say getting to my feet. He smiles at me.

"Batman's just a big softy underneath the jaw-breaking kicks and badass suit, huh?"

"And apparently so is Dick Grayson underneath the popular and jockish persona he portrays at school. I won't tell if you won't. Deal?"

"Deal." The boy says before bringing himself flush against my chest and locking his arms behind my back. I reciprocate accordingly. I know Copery's actions are not my fault. I know I could not have done anything to save those who had died and suffered at his hands. I simply cannot fathom forgetting my own child had confided in me of sexual misconduct at school and that I had taken appropriate actions. I bend forward and kiss him on the scalp just once. "You know I love you, right? No matter what." Dick tells me softly. I nod and venture to kiss his scalp again.

"I know. I love you too."

"You know my dad used to do that too, the kiss-on-the-head thing?"

"Yes. I believe my father did too."

"Manly, right? Like way more than kissing someone on the cheek."

"Without doubt."

We let go of one another a few moments later. I feel much better. I will crucify myself again tomorrow, but for the remainder of the night, I feel less haunted by my errors. Victory may be hollow, but it is deserved. Credit should go to everyone in this house. And, if I feel I must shoulder the blame, they will share it with me whether I ask or not. I put my hand on Dick's back as we ascend the grand staircase. He does not mind. Once we are outside my door as opposed to his, my hand slips off in favour of turning the doorknob.

Before I have opened the door fully, a hand lightly takes hold of my forearm. "Not your fault, right?" The boy whispers in the dark. I nod.

"Not my fault. Good night, Dick."

"Night Bruce."