Dick turned around when he heard the squeal of the brakes. His eyes widened in shock when the Batmobile screeched to a stop only four yards away from him. Somehow the nine-year-old's eyes grew even wider when Batman himself climbed out of the vehicle. The man approached, and the boy backed away. Straight into the heart of the Batcave.
Batman, who never panicked, was panicking slightly. He had vowed that this secret would never be discovered by the boy, but now here they were. And the Caped Crusader had no idea how to handle the situation.
"Do you…live under Wayne Manor?" Dick asked timidly as he continued backing away.
Batman almost laughed, but thought better of it. Maybe he should allow the boy to accept that explanation. It meant the most important part of the secret – his identity – would remain a secret. Bruce didn't want to lie to his ward, but Batman was leaning toward choosing to do so. Then the choice was taken away.
"Master Batman," Alfred began as he walked around the corner of the tunnel, "did…"
The butler froze. Batman was stalking toward him, but it was the suddenly-motionless mess of dark hair that was holding Alfred's attention.
The hero continued to advance, but Dick stopped. He slowly turned around, the shock in his eyes manifesting itself all over the rest of his face. Dick gaped at Alfred as if he had never seen him before.
"Sir," Alfred said, keeping his eyes on the nine-year-old, "you do not need to do that."
Dick turned around in time to see a can of Bat-nesia stop in front of his face. Batman's finger was on the button that would send a soft mist into Dick's mind, erasing everything he had just seen. The hero had another choice to make, and he wondered why Alfred had advised him not to use the spray.
"I won't say anything!" Dick exclaimed softly, a touch of fear in his voice.
The nine-year-old had no idea what Bat-nesia was, but Alfred's tone was firm and unyielding. That was very concerning to Dick, and the faded-but-still-familiar feeling of terror crept into his mind.
Batman was frustrated by his indecisiveness. Why was he hesitating? Dick wasn't supposed to know about this place, and Batman was wasting his chance to take that knowledge away from the boy.
"Please, I promise!" Dick whispered.
It was the sound of complete terror in the nine-year-old's voice that allowed Batman to make his decision. With a sigh, he put down the spray and took off his cowl.
"It's just me, kiddo," Bruce said quietly, going down on one knee in order to become less threatening. "You're too smart for your own good. You weren't supposed to find this place."
"I'm sorry."
Bruce ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed again. Alfred joined them a moment later.
"Why were you running away, Master Dick?" the butler asked calmly.
"Because I was mad," the boy answered truthfully. "But, shouldn't we be talking about the fact that Bruce Wayne is BATMAN?!"
Alfred somehow kept his expression neutral, although he wanted to laugh out loud at the boy's obvious excitement. Bruce's lips twitched, but he immediately composed himself.
"Is that why you were always asking me how I was and what I was doing and everything else when I was there?"
'There', of course, was the detention center. Dick hated even thinking about that abysmal place, but the knowledge that Batman had been visiting him and nobody had known was thrilling.
"Yes, kiddo, I had to know how bad it was. You looked like crap the first time I saw you, and it only got worse."
"Why did you get me out of there if you didn't want me to discover…"
Dick paused and motioned to the enormous cavern with both arms.
"…this?" he ended.
"Because you were going to die if I left you there."
Alfred gasped quietly and Dick's eyes widened again.
"No I wasn't," he denied. "I was learning how to play the game, I would have started winning, and then I would have been okay."
Bruce stared at him skeptically. Dick stared right back, certain that he was right. He was, however, becoming more uncertain with every second that passed.
"Sam would have liked me more when I started winning," he stated with not even a hint of confidence in his voice. "Right?"
"Dick," Bruce stated with another sigh, "Sam was using you. He used fear to control you. He forced you to do something you had probably never done and were not prepared to do."
"The game," Dick said quietly.
"Yes, and because you had no experience you nearly died. Several times. There was a point, you probably don't remember it, when I was talking to you and you didn't even realize I was right in front of you. That was because you had the…"
…crap beat out of you.
Bruce paused, reconsidered his words, then continued, "Uh, you were injured in a violent fight. And you are so, so young, kiddo. You had just been through the most traumatic experience of your life, and you were thrown into the detention after doing nothing wrong, and a teenager decided to make you his lemming."
"What does that mean?" Dick asked, confusion in his tone.
"It means he wanted you to do whatever he told you to do, without question. So, he used any means necessary to get you to that point. He allowed you to get beat up, he denied you food and sleep, and he blamed you for things you didn't – couldn't – do."
"Sam is always right," the nine-year-old murmured.
"That's exactly what I mean. Sam," Bruce spit the name in disgust, "wanted you to believe that, and for a while you did. Dick, at one point you thought you had killed a kid, just because Sam said so."
"Gotham City…does make mistakes?"
"A lot of them," Bruce stated, anger filling his tone. "And Jeff Sanderson putting you in the detention center just because of your background was a giant one."
"Thanks for saving me," Dick whispered.
Without warning, the nine-year-old threw himself in the man's arms. He wrapped his limbs around Bruce's torso, and the man felt the boy trembling.
"I will always rescue you, kiddo," Bruce promised gently. "No matter what it is, no matter where it happens, I will always come for you. Don't ever give up on me, and I will never give up on you. No. Matter. What."
"Okay," Dick replied softly, his voice trembling almost as much as his body.
Bruce had no idea that he would often restate that promise to both Dick Grayson and Robin – who didn't even exist yet. All he knew now was that this vulnerable, nine-year-old orphan had found a way to close a tiny part of the giant hole in his heart that had been opened by the death of his own parents. He didn't feel comfortable saying it aloud, and was pretty sure Dick wouldn't want to hear it anyway, so the man voiced the thought in his mind.
I think I might love you, kiddo.
Dick wasn't ready to say what he was thinking. It was too soon – it had been less than two months since his parents had died. The boy was very passionate, and keeping emotions inside was not something he was good at. It would, in fact, be both a help and a hinderance in his upcoming choice of lifestyle. But he hid the emotion for now, completely certain that Bruce wouldn't want to hear it anyway.
I love you.
Alfred, who never missed a thing when it came to Bruce and could easily read Dick's eyes, internally began to dance with joy. Dick was going to lead Bruce out of the darkness, at least a little bit, and Bruce was going to show Dick how to continue living when the two most important people in his life were gone.
What if I can help him?
Batman's questioning thought slid through Alfred's mind.
You can, sir, and he will help you even though you think you don't need it.
The butler glanced around the Batcave before allowing his gaze to settle on Bruce, who was now standing up. Dick was draped across and around the man's torso like an octopus, and Alfred chuckled quietly. The eyes of the men connected in a silent conversation.
How do we keep this a secret now?
Ask Master Dick, sir.
Bruce stared at Alfred incredulously before turning his head slightly.
"Kiddo," he whispered into the boy's ear, "this has to stay a secret. Nobody can ever know that I'm Batman, because that would put you and Alfred in a lot of danger. Can you keep it a secret for me?"
Dick lifted his head and nodded in response.
"I'm good at secrets," he stated confidently. "I have a lot of them, but I can't tell you any because then they wouldn't be secrets."
Bruce raised his eyebrows and suddenly became very concerned.
"Are any of these secrets dangerous?"
Dick looked at him quizzically.
"I mean, is anybody going to get hurt if you keep it a secret?"
The boy turned his head away and stayed silent.
"Dick?"
"No, that one isn't a secret anymore," the nine-year-old whispered sadly.
"It is to me," Bruce replied, his concern growing.
"I…didn't tell anyone. He told me not to tell anyone, so I didn't."
"Can you start from the beginning?"
"The man with the black hair. He said he would kill me if I told anyone."
"Told anyone what?"
Dick pondered the question for a moment, then continued.
"I guess since it's over he won't need to kill me."
Bruce waited until he couldn't anymore.
"Dick, I need the whole story."
"I didn't know, Bruce, I swear! If I had told somebody, maybe they would still be here! But I didn't, and now they're gone."
"Are you talking about…" Bruce paused, not wanting to say it.
"My parents," the boy answered, turning his head back so he was looking straight into Bruce's eyes. "The man with the black hair did something, and I didn't tell anyone, and now they're dead. Sam was right, it really is my fault."
"No, Dick," Bruce instantly retorted, "it is not your fault. You were scared, the guy had just threatened you! What did he do?" he almost snarled.
"Master Bruce," Alfred cautioned softly.
Bruce glanced at his butler, anger burning in his eyes. Alfred held up one hand, and the younger man took a deep breath. He could practically hear the older man's voice in his head.
Your tone, sir.
"I knew he wasn't supposed to be there, so I was going to tell someone. But he got mad, and told me to shut up, and then he had a gun."
Bruce almost dropped the boy to the ground at that revelation. Carefully, he set Dick on his feet, put his cowl on, and crouched in front of the nine-year-old.
"I need to know exactly what he looked like, and every single thing that you saw," Batman stated.
"Um, why?" Dick asked, his voice trembling again.
"Because I have been looking for that man for almost two months. He and I need to have a conversation."
"What are you going to talk about?"
"It's just a saying, Dick. I'm going to take him to Commissioner Gordon and get him locked up."
After we have a violent conversation.
"Um, okay. He wasn't as tall as you. His hair was black, but there were streaks of gray on each side above his ears. I don't know what color his eyes were, because it was dark. But his face was kind of shaped like a square and he was really fat."
Batman stood up and strode to the Batcomputer. Dick stayed where he was, then his curiosity got the best of him. Turning around, he followed the hero to the big machine.
"What's this?" he asked.
Batman ignored him, too engrossed in entering the description Dick had given him, so Alfred stepped in.
"It is called the Batcomputer, Master Dick."
"What does it do?"
"Everything," Batman answered gruffly.
Dick took a step back, right into the gentle arms of the butler.
"It is best not to disturb him when he is working, Master Dick," Alfred said softly. "Batman and Bruce Wayne are very different people."
"Okay, sorry," the boy whispered.
"Sir, I am taking Master Dick upstairs. It is nearly bedtime."
Batman grunted in acknowledgement as he turned to sift through the Well-Known Criminals File. Dick had said the criminal's face was shaped like a square – which indicated angles – but had also said the guy was really fat. The description rang a tiny bell in the back of his mind, and Batman knew he would recognize the man when he saw him.
And, ten minutes later, he was right. The Batcomputer had spit out the name Falcone, the mob boss that Batman knew quite well, but Falcone was not fat. One of his enforcers, however, was an obese chain-smoker, and Batman had just discovered his name.
"Tony Zucco," the Caped Crusader growled, "it's time for us to meet."