Dick sat in a plush armchair in Wayne Manor's luxurious living room. His clothing was rumpled; there were a few small spatters of blood on the white sleeves. He was looking down at his knees. His expression seemed calm, but in truth his jaw was clenched tightly, and he was clutching the arm rests with all his might. One leg bounced nervously.

His gaze shot up to the grandfather clock. 8:30 PM. Finally, he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"Alfred," he said softly, his voice quivering from nerves. "How much longer do you think?"

The old butler paused from polishing a table and looked at the clock. He sighed heavily. "He has been at the police station for quite some time. I expect it won't be long now, master Dick. Try to be patient."

Dick nodded curtly and went back to staring at his knees. His stomach was churning; he didn't know if he had ever been so nervous in his life.

Long minutes passed; the only sounds were the persistent ticking of the clock and the occasional thunk or clink as Alfred moved or polished some trinket. Finally, the sound of an opening door jarred the silence. Dick shot up straight in his seat and swallowed; Alfred gave him one pitying glance before quietly gathering his cleaning supplies and exiting the room.

Dick heard the front door close. A pause. And then quick, steady footsteps, coming closer and closer, until finally Bruce Wayne entered the living room. Only he didn't look much like Bruce Wayne at that moment. His face was dark, and he looked livid. To Dick, he looked far more like Batman, and far more frightening. The boy slid down in his seat and flinched.

There was a slight pause as they both stared at each other; Dick was gripping the chair so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Finally, his mentor spoke. "What," Bruce started off, his voice quivering with anger, "happened, exactly?"

Dick looked down at the floor, unable to stand looking at his guardian. "Don't you already know?" he asked quietly.

"It's a bit unclear, Dick," Bruce said in a dark voice, "seeing as Barbara Gordon was unconscious for most of the attack-" Dick flinched at that word, "-and the three other boys are still unconscious at the hospital. So please, enlighten me: What. Happened."

Dick took a shaky breath. "They were pushing her around. Shoving her, hard. She was crying. I came in, told them to stop. They threatened me and I punched one of them. And then they threw her against the wall; she hit her head and fell down, and I just sort of... Snapped."

"You 'snapped?'" Bruce growled. Dick ducked his head, and flinched when Bruce slammed his fist against the wall. "You snapped?! Dick, you put three kids in the hospital today! If you were a legal adult, you could be in prison right now! What were you thinking? Why on earth didn't you find an adult to handle the situation?"

"Because she needed help!"Dick burst out agitatedly. "I couldn't waste the time to find someone!"

"No," Bruce snarled, stepping forward furiously and shutting Dick up. "No, that has nothing to do with it, Dick, and you and I both know it. You just wanted to beat someone up so badly, didn't you? You wanted to fight, because that's all you've been thinking about for the past year: fighting. This is not okay, Dick. This is not okay!"

"I'm sorry," Dick whispered fearfully. "I'm so sorry, I - I didn't want -"

"Yeah, well, sorry doesn't cut it this time," Bruce interrupted angrily. "You are so lucky that you were defending the police commissioner's daughter; thank your lucky stars that Barbara spoke up for you, because I think the commissioner will defend you in court."

"Court?" Dick whispered, his stomach dropping horribly.

"Yes, Dick: court," Bruce snapped. "That's what happens when you beat people with a baseball bat. You're damn lucky you're so young; the worst you'll get is going to a juvenile delinquent center, which will almost definitely happen. The parents of these kids are furious; I'll be shocked if they don't sue to cover their kids' hospital bills."

Dick stared wide eyed at his mentor, shocked. He felt like he might throw up. It was true he had expected some kind of punishment, but only from Bruce and the school; he hadn't expected any legal repercussions.

Bruce sighed heavily, and Dick tentatively looked up at him. The man looked less angry now, and more distraught. "The worst of it, Dick," Bruce started off a little shakily, "is that there's a possibility they'll take you away from me."

"What?" Dick blurted out, shooting up out of his chair. "But you didn't even do anything!"

"They don't know that," Bruce replied softly. "All they know is that you missed school for weeks and came back with bruises and scars and a few broken bones, and that you've been less social ever since. And now this happens; what do you think they're going to assume?"

"But - But I mean, that's just crazy!" he blurted out. "You're Bruce Wayne! You give millions of dollars to charities, and you care about people, and - and they wouldn't think that! That would just be stupid!"

Bruce smiled bitterly. "Not as stupid as you might think." Dick scrunched up his brow in confusion, and Bruce rubbed his temples tiredly. "As angry as I am at you, I won't deny that I played a part in this. It's my fault for teaching you how to fight in the first place. I thought it would help with your aggression, but obviously it was a bad decision." He met Dick's gaze; the boy felt ill when he saw the deep regret in the man's look. "I'm so sorry, Richard," the man said quietly. "I really messed up. I really, really did."

"They can't take me away from you," Dick said shakily. Tears blurred his vision. "They just can't. You didn't do anything."

Bruce looked at him pityingly. "I don't think they will. I really don't. But it's something that I think you should be aware of, in case it happens."

Dick nodded tearfully and slowly sat back down. There was a long silence. Eventually it became stifling, and Dick hesitantly broke the quiet. "So what happens now?" he asked miserably.

Bruce sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his face. "We wait for the court date," he said dully. "And we hope for the best, whatever that may be."

A few weeks later, Dick walked miserably down the school hall. It was his first day back since the incident, and since his court date. Surprisingly, things hadn't gone too terribly with the courts; the biggest relief was that Bruce was still his guardian. However, he hadn't been transferred to another school, something he had definitely been hoping for; Bruce thought staying here would build character or something. The problem was that everyone was openly hostile with him, even teachers. Walking down the hall was a nightmare. Kids were either looking at him with terror or with disgust.

It was definitely rough. He felt like he hadn't seen a friendly face all day.

"Dick!" a voice cried out in the hall. He stiffened and walked faster; he didn't know who it was or what they wanted, but he definitely didn't want to deal with it. It was probably some kid who wanted revenge. "Hey, Dick! Dick Grayson!" Everyone was staring now as he plowed his way through the students. He didn't want to know, he didn't want to know...

A bump to the shoulder made him jump, until he saw the offender. His fear instantly vanished to be replaced by annoyance.

"Hi," Barbara Gordon said politely.

"Go away, Barbara," he said gruffly, walking quickly to try to avoid her. "You're the last person on the planet I want to talk to."

"I doubt that," she scoffed, easily keeping pace. "I actually like you, so I'm already much more talk-worthy than half the school. And I told you before: call me Babs."

He rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Babs?"

"I just wanted - oh, for goodness sakes, would you slow down?" she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. He crossed his arms and glared at her; she took a deep breath. "I just wanted to thank you. For, you know, saving me and whatnot from those lugs. They wanted to beat me up because daddy threw one of their uncles in prison for dealing drugs. It could have gotten bad, so thanks for stopping them. It was very noble of you."

He blinked in surprise. "I..." he trailed off for a moment and cleared his throat. "Wow, sorry, it's just that you're the first person to tell me that I did a good thing."

"Well I didn't say that," she said with a scoff. "You probably could've done without the baseball bat. That was a bit scary."

He stared blankly at her. "You think watching me beat some kids half to death with a baseball bat is a bit scary?" he said in disbelief.

She shrugged and bit her lip, not breaking eye contact with him. He blinked one more time, shook his head, and started walking again. "You really are nuts."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied pleasantly, walking with him. "So you really got lucky with the judge, didn't you? Therapy and community service for a year. Daddy was amazed. He thought you'd go to juvie for sure."

"I wish I had," he said softly, feeling a wave of shame.

She gave him an odd look. "That's a funny thing to wish."

"It would've been better than being back here," he said miserably. "Everyone thinks I'm psycho. Either they're terrified of me or they hate me."

There was a slight pause, and then Barbara cleared her throat; he glanced over at her, and was surprised to see that she was blushing, which was odd because it wasn't like she had anything to be embarrassed about. Maybe she was hot, he reasoned. Yes, that had to be it. Sometimes the uniforms could be a little stifling.

"Well I'm not terrified of you, and I don't hate you. And I saw it happen, so if anyone should be scared of you, it's me. So there."

He smiled, feeling oddly touched. "Thanks. That means a lot."

Her face turned even redder, and he wondered why she didn't take her jacket off if she was so hot. Maybe she liked the way it looked? Girls could be weird about fashion, after all, or so he had heard. It wasn't like he'd ever had the chance to spend time with girls his age.

"No problem," she said a little breathlessly, and he slowed down, because obviously it was hard for her to keep up if she was that out of breath. "So, um, I was wondering... How exactly did you beat them?"

"Sorry?" he asked, a little shocked by the question.

She shook her head with wide eyes. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I mean, obviously I know how you beat them, it's not like beating someone up with a baseball bat is complicated..." she trailed off when she saw the look on his face. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I meant to say, how did you win?"

"How did I win?"

"Well, yes," she said frankly, and he was glad to see that she wasn't breathless or red in the face anymore; she must have cooled off. "You're much smaller than they are, you see, and not as muscular. So it's just surprising that you won in a fight. And since I was unconscious, I just wanted to know... How?"

"Well it's not always about size," he said, feeling a little defensive. "Sometimes it's about skill."

"Oh," she said, clearly pleased with this answer. "And so you're skilled?"

He shrugged, feeling awkward. "Sort of. Uh, Bruce signed me up for some karate classes once. I guess it stuck."

"Oh," she said again, smiling. "That's just wonderful."

"Um, yeah," he replied, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Wonderful." He couldn't help but wonder if all girls were as complicated and strange as Barbara Gordon.

"So then you could teach me," she said, still smiling.

He stopped walking. "What?" he asked, not quite believing he'd heard her right.

"I said, you could teach me," she repeated slowly. "You know, how to fight."

He gaped at her. "No I couldn't!" he sputtered.

She looked confused. "Well why on earth not?"

He scuffed the ground awkwardly. "Well, I... That is to say... I mean..."

"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it?" she said, looking annoyed.

"I didn't say that," he answered quickly, but his answer didn't placate her.

"You think I'm too weak, don't you?" she said angrily. "Even though you just said you don't have to be big or strong to be a good fighter!"

"Well, I mean, that would definitely help..." he said, hoping that would get her off his case.

She stomped the ground furiously and glared daggers at him. "You know what you are, Richard Grayson? A chauvinist! And I bet you don't even know what that means!"

"I am not! And of course I know what it means!" he snapped indignantly, although he had absolutely no clue what a chauvinist was.

"Well I was going to have lunch with you, but now I think I'd rather sit with people who aren't prejudiced!" she retorted furiously.

He threw his hands up in the air. "Good! I didn't want to have lunch with you anyways! You're totally crazy!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am NOT!"

"You're the craziest girl I've ever met!"

"Well if that's how you really feel, then fine!"

"Fine!"

"FINE!" She began to stalk away and then whirled around. "See if I'm ever nice to you again!"

"See if I care!" he yelled back. She huffed furiously and stormed off.

Dick glared after her. "Geez louise, she's totally off her rocker," he muttered, and he chose to ignore the twinge of regret he felt as he watched her walk away. After all, he was nervous about his first therapy session after school, and community service immediately afterward; it would have been nice to have had one friend to cheer him up.

"Hello there, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson. My name is Dr. Carter." Bruce shook the man's hand first, then Dick. He scrutinized his therapist. The man was older than Bruce, but not ancient. He was balding, and wore thick glasses that he kept removing and cleaning. Overall he looked very normal, but, oddly enough, he seemed very nervous. Along with the glasses cleaning, he was sweating slightly, and there was an odd twitch in his eye.

Bruce noticed it too. "Pleasure to meet you, doctor," he said warily, eyeing the man. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, yes, just fine, just fine," the man said, waving a shaky hand. "Just haven't eaten enough today, you know how work can overwhelm you. Please, have a seat." Dick and Bruce exchanged a glance, but sat in two plush chairs. Dr. Carter sat in his desk; he leaned forward and stared intently at Dick and Bruce. "So, I read the notes from the police report, and looked over your court case. It seems that you have some anger problems, Richard," the man said gently; some of his shakiness seemed to be fading.

Dick looked at the ground, feeling ashamed. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," the man said, as though reading his mind. "You've had a very troubling couple of years, and it's perfectly natural for you to feel confused and upset about what's going on in your own head. While it doesn't excuse what happened with those three boys, you can't entirely blame yourself. Sometimes life gives us too much to handle, and violence is the only way we know how to respond. I'm here to help you find a different response to all of the difficult things you've had to deal with. Now, today we're just going to get to know each other; it'll be very low key." The doctor cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses once more. "Very low key," he repeated in a gruff voice. "Mr. Wayne, my sessions with Richard will be one-on-one, as you know, and everything he tells me, unless I deem it to be threatening to his life or anyone else's, will be strictly confidential. You've already agreed to this in the paperwork." Bruce nodded curtly.

The doctor sighed. "So then, Mr. Wayne, I'm afraid that it's time for you to leave so that Richard and I can get started. As you know, this session will take place three times a week at 3:30: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and his community service will start immediately afterward. What you might not have known is that the group he'll be working for is, conveniently enough, located directly across the street. So there will be no need to come pick him up until 6:00."

"You mean you and I won't talk after each of his sessions?" Bruce asked, looking surprised.

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid not. You and I will meet with Richard each Friday at 6:00 to discuss his progress, but other than that we will not be seeing each other. This is standard for my practice, I assure you. I am, of course, always available to talk over the phone, but most parents - and guardians - find that speaking once a week is sufficient."

"Well, alright," Bruce said, looking a little unsure. "You know best."

The doctor smiled. "Mr. Wayne, I'd like to start with Richard now, if you don't mind."

Bruce nodded and stood up, collecting his briefcase and jacket. He hesitated, looked at Dick, and ruffled the boy's hair. "You'll be fine," he said softly. Dick nodded nervously, not really wanting his guardian to leave. Bruce nodded one more time at Dr. Carter and then smiled back at Dick. "I'll be waiting in the car at 6:00," he said with a sigh. "Thank you, Dr. Carter."

"Certainly," the man said quietly. With one last glance at his ward, Bruce left the room. The door closed with a soft click.

There was a short silence as Bruce's footsteps faded away. Dr. Carter sighed heavily; he seemed almost to collapse in on himself. Dick raised his brows as the man reached into his desk and pulled out... A flask?

"Um... Dr. Carter?" Dick asked nervously as the man took a large swig.

"I really am sorry about this, Richard," the man said wearily. "Truly, truly sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything, but I really didn't have a choice."

"Choice about what?" Dick asked nervously.

The man jerked his head towards a door, one that wasn't the entrance Dick and Bruce had come through. "We'll be having our session in there," he said dully. "If you'll just follow me." The man stood up and slowly walked over to the door. Dick, not knowing what else he could possibly do, followed hesitantly.

Dr. Carter turned the knob slowly; the door opened with a creak. He beckoned for Dick to go in. "Well, go on then."

Feeling very uncertain, Dick walked toward the door. As soon as he was next to Dr. Carter, the man very suddenly and unexpectedly shoved him into the room. He whirled around, shocked, only to find the door slammed shut in his face. He heard the click of a lock.

"Hey!" he shouted nervously, jiggling the door handle to no avail. "What's going on here?"

"Why didn't you hear, Robin?" a voice purred from behind him, a voice he had hoped he'd never hear again. He froze, and immediately began to tremble. Slowly, slowly, he turned around. His eyes widened in horror at what he saw.

Slade stood in the middle of a large, empty room, his hands behind his back. The man tilted his head, and even in his thick haze of terror Dick could imagine the smirk that came with the next words. "We're here to talk about your feelings."

Author's Note: MWHAHAHAHA! Oh the evilness of me. Like it? Love it? Want some more of it/ have constructive criticism? Review! Thanks for the support you guys!