The final chapter for Dick's introduction! Hmm... who next? Before anyone gets their hopes up just to get disappointed, Jason is after a brief skip with someone else's chapter.

"Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish, and someday, you will be a real boy."
—Pinocchio (film), 1940

April 19, 1940

Usually when Bruce spoke to himself, it was the bat versus the man. This time, it felt like his conscience warring with him in his head.

"Alfred is right," it told him as he climbed the stairs, winding his way down the long trek toward Dick's room. "You were hard on him."

"He we was rude," Bruce countered, ever-determined to be in the right. "If I had spoken to my father like that, a single smack would be the least of my worries."

"But you're not his father."

His conscience's statement made him pause, forcing him to grip the banister a little tighter. He remembered Alfred telling him a few years earlier of the same statement running through his head when Bruce was Dick's age. He wasn't his father. He had no right to behave as such. He could educate, lead by example, ensure he was fed and clothed, and discipline should that be necessary, but he would never be the boy's father. It was a statement Alfred had confessed to regretting more deeply than any other in his life, and Bruce felt a danger in heading down the same path.

Worse, even. At least Alfred had been there. Where had he been?

"Precisely my point," his conscience seemed to say.

"To hell with you," Bruce snarled back.

With his conscience winning this particular battle, Bruce made his way to Dick's bedroom door, firmly slammed mere moments earlier. "Richard?" he called, before wincing at his tone and correcting, "Dick? Dick, I wanted to talk to you. Can you open the door?"

Silence greeted him. Once more, that stubborn half of him wanted to point out how correct he was in his anger and actions, but his conscience prevailed, forcing him to give a light know. "Dick? I know you're upset, but I think it's best we discuss this. I'm sorry I lost my temper earlier. I know the last few weeks have been extremely rough, and I think we're long overdue for a one-on-one."

Again, nothing. Bruce could feel the familiar sensation of Batman's frustration rising in his gut, and he was tempted to kick the door down as he would with any perpetrator out in the field. In fact, perhaps he would do just—

"Sir," Alfred said behind him, "I believe you are within your rights to open the door at this moment to check on the lad. Just be sure to keep your temper."

Bruce took a deep breath and, with a curt nod, opened the door.

Then let out an unholy curse that made Alfred double back.

"He's gone!" he shouted, scanning the room once more. "Where the hell could he have gone? We're on the second floor!"

Once his butler had retained his composure, he wandered to the open window, spotting just the thing he feared. "The tree," he managed. "Just there. The boy has escaped."

"Run away?" Bruce stared wide-eyed at the open window. "Over a fight?"

"Perhaps over more, sir," Alfred said, spotting a sheet of paper placed neatly on the desk nearby. Both men hastily made their way over, shifting the pen and Robin Hood book keeping the paper in place.

Bruce... Mr. Wayne,

I am sorry I yelled at you. You were very nice to let me stay here with you and Alfred. Thank you for that. I don't know if I ever really told you. Also, thank you for sitting with me after… After. I never said that, either. I know you have been working to get the man who I saw that night. I guess I should thank you for that, too. I can get him on my own. You don't need more trouble. You should have someone you're proud of. Someone you know will turn out like you want them to.

I know where he is now. I… should thank you for that, while I'm at it. You should also be careful of where you put your maps. Anyway, I know there's a lot I should thank you for. And I know you're probably still mad about downstairs. I know you don't remember, but nine was our performance time. I just… like to be awake for it.

This was my favorite story when I was little. Littler? Well, something about it reminds me of you. I don't know what, but I guess it's the rich guy who helps people. Robin Hood and the Green Hornet. Anyway, I thought you should have it. I don't need it anymore.

Sorry again.

Thanks again.

Dick... Richard

Bruce read over the letter a second time, rubbing a hand over his face. "Shit," he muttered at long last. He felt cold, like every inch of him had turned to marble. Then, as Alfred shifted behind him, all at once the familiar warmth of determination filled his every nerve.

"He's searching for Zucco," he said, jaw clenched. "If Zucco spots him…"

The threat hung in the air, pulling the oxygen from Alfred's lungs. There was no need to elaborate. If Zucco had any inclination he had been followed by anyone, let alone the boy who was the only material witness at his parents' murder, there was only one outcome.

"I need to find him," Bruce said.

The words had barely left his mouth when he dashed downstairs, adjusting the time on the grandfather clock in the hallway. 10:53. The end of a different performance… Bruce supposed there was something to Dick's reluctance to sleep at such a time. After all, unless he had been knocked out cold for more than a day, Bruce couldn't recall the last time he had slept past the scheduled showing of The Mark of Zorro they had seen before his parents' deaths.

In fact, there was a lot to Dick's letter that struck a chord with the man. Not so much the apologies. Now, Bruce wasn't certain he deserved them. Not entirely. It was the gratefulness in spite of the hurt feelings, the gift in spite of the neglect that gave Bruce pause.

"I'm coming, chum," the man muttered under his breath as he fit the cowl over his head. "Remind me to thank 'Kato' later."

He darted into the Batmobile, quickly lifting the hatches of the cave before darting out toward Zucco's hideout. As the exhaust settled in the cave, 'Kato' stared at the long-gone sight of his elder ward, his heart clenching in anxiety and fondness of his wayward charges.

The warehouse was quiet. Too quiet. Batman dropped through the skylight that filtered pale moonlight into the otherwise dank establishment. The building reeked of gasoline and some unidentifiable, synthetic smell that reminded Bruce of a chemistry experiment he had failed in high school. All he remembered was the experiment involved baking soda and—

"Acid," he muttered.

As he spoke, a shadow moved out of the corner of his eye. Almost too quick to catch at first, Batman's sight danced until it landed on the small figure bounding around the darkness. Dick? The boy was dressed in his old acrobat uniform, though he had fashioned a simple mask out of a torn shirt, managing to keep his face largely hidden.

"Good boy," Batman muttered under his breath.

The hint of a smirk that crept its way to his face soon diminished as another shadow lurked in the distance. The fedora was obvious, though it wasn't until the figure stepped into a stray moonbeam that Batman knew for sure it was Zucco.

"Alright, brat. Whoever the hell you are, I don't give a damn. You got ten seconds to get out here before I blow you to smithereens. You come out without a fuss, and I promise to just break a few of your fingers. Not even your thumbs."

Batman's throat opened, preparing for a defensive growl, but he stopped dead when another sound reached his ears.

Laughter?

Great. His neglect had turned the kid into a sociopath; he was laughing at his parents' murderer.

"Good luck!" Dick yelled back, jumping up through the rafters. "Hey, Tom Thumb, just try to catch me. I dare you."

"Kid, you're asking for it," Zucco snarled.

"I don't think I said a question, so how could I have been asking for anything?" he shot back.

Batman couldn't help but smirk at the same smart ass attitude he had reprimanded merely an hour before. Though he was certain some of him still felt a twinge of anger and there was certainly fear at Dick being caught, there was also now a hint of pride as he witnessed Dick effortlessly navigate the darkened warehouse.

"I have a question for you," growled Zucco, though slowly his face glowed with an vicious smirk. "What starts out with four wings, two swings, and a pair of wedding rings, before the fat lady sings?"

The Riddler would be cringing right about now, Batman thought. Still, the comment wasn't lost on the acrobat. Dick paused just a moment as the words hit him, as the taunt seeped in, wiping the laughter out of him.

"I'll give you two swings!" the boy snapped. Without warning, he swung out of the rafters and straight toward Zucco. Though the mob boss had been expecting his presence, he did not account for the force the child greeted him with. Apparently four years of training and a bucketload of adrenaline made the child a great deal stronger than expected.

But not strong enough. True to his word, Dick landed two good swings to Zucco. As the second swing, or kick, slammed into the man's gut, the gangster seized the boy's ankle and yanked him off balance.

"You have to be twelve kinds of dumb, kid," Zucco snarled. "You really thought I wouldn't know who the hell you were? Wouldn't get you before you even thought you could get me? Didn't account for everything, did you?"

"Should say the same about you."

Dick and Zucco spun their attention around, catching sight of Batman on the second floor landing. "Put him down."

"Oh… sure. I'll put him down." Zucco immediately snatched Dick by the collar of his costume, lifting him up and over the rafter railings. "Seems fitting, don't it? Same kinda drop. What do you suppose this one is? Fifty, sixty feet? Guess it don't really matter at a certain point. Let's see if you can land on your feet."

Batman imagined the boy would scream. Hell, at eight-years-old, he might have screamed. Before his parents' death he certainly would have. Dick, on the other hand, just closed his eyes. His face softened except for the pursing of his mouth that gave away his anxiety.

Then Zucco let go.

If there had ever been a time Batman moved faster than in that moment, he couldn't recall it. The vigilante swung like lighting toward his ward, racing toward him as he toppled to the dusty floor below. Ten feet before impact, he caught him, the weight of the boy collapsing in his arms once the tension from bracing dissipated.

"Hold on," Batman ordered.

Dick nodded, looking up toward the Dark Knight's eyes hidden beneath the cowl. "Who are you?"

"Later," he said. He had meant to simply give his shortened speech about the embodiment of justice, truth, and a lot of scary garbage, but all he could think of was securing Dick and taking down Zucco.

Right, Zucco. With the distraction, he had made his way toward the second-floor, by the back loading docks. If he the gangster managed to leap down onto one of the trucks, he could easily make a break for it. Sure, there was a good likelihood Batman could catch up to him, but with very little to grapple to and with a small child in his care, the last thing he wanted was the man stepping foot outside of the warehouse.

Without a second thought, he pulled a batarang from his belt and slung it toward Zucco. The metal sang in the air as it reached its target, whistling before slicing into his arm. An savage scream erupted from the thug, his left hand reaching toward his injured right shoulder.

"Holy—" Dick started.

"Don't finish that," Batman finished.

"I wasn't going to say the s-word."

Batman gave him an incredulous look before making his way toward Zucco. As the gangster reached for the gun in his hip holster, Batman reached for another batarang, expertly tossing it into his uninjured shoulder. A deep howl echoed throughout the warehouse, and Batman continued toward him undeterred.

"Try swinging with those arms now," he said, pulling the gun from the holster and tossing it to the floor below. "By the way, I don't know if I can stick around for introductions, but you should meet my friend, Commissioner Gordon. I have a feeling you two would have a lot to talk about."

As soon as the police report and Zucco were squared away, Batman settled Dick into the Batmobile with a promise to the police to return him home. Of course, no one questioned Batman, regardless of whether a stranger should be escorting a small child to his new guardian's home or not.

For a while, the ride was quiet. Batman gripped the wheel of the car as an emotion he refused to call anxiety pinched at his every nerve. Dick just stared at the window, his spine growing more rigid as the time passed. Only when they hit the outer limits of Gotham did the boy speak up.

"Can you take me somewhere else?"

"Somewhere else?"

"Yeah… somewhere. Anywhere. Not Wayne Manor."

Batman—no, Bruce—felt a stab in his heart at the request, but the vigilante remained stoic. "I have been instructed to bring you home."

"That's not my home," the boy sighed.

Batman gave him a look, the World's Greatest Detective pretending to play dumb. "You don't live there?"

Dick just shrugged. "I do, but no one would mind if you took me somewhere else."

"What makes you think that?"

"They don't want me there," he stated firmly. Upon seeing the look Batman gave him, the boy sighed and continued. "Alfred's nice, but Bruce is my guardian. He was great when I first met him, after… Well, he was great. Then when I moved in, he just… stopped talking to me. Stopped doing anything. I don't really see him at all. When I do, he's like someone else. I don't think he likes me anymore. If he ever did, anyway."

Batman hesitated, watching as Dick's breathing hitched before he went back to staring out the window. After a stretch of silence, Batman manage, "I know they're worried about you."

"Maybe for Bruce's reputation. No one really worries about me. Not anymore."

Batman half expected the statement to send the child into a soggy fit of emotion, filled with tears and caterwauling. Instead, Dick grew even more determined as he turned with a hardened glance toward him. "But you care."

"I'm sure plenty of others care, like Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth."

"No," Dick shook his head. "You care. You were there tonight. You could have been anywhere, but you were there tonight. You cared about helping me. I can help you, too, you know. I really could."

Batman knew where this conversation was headed, and couldn't help his relief when the opening of the cave approached. Dick's focus shifted from the vigilante to the Batcave opening around him. The scents and sounds of the waterfall, the screeching of the bats, the sheer size of the cave itself. The lateness of the hour and dark cloud had no hold over the boy once he caught a glimpse of the area around him.

"This is your home?" he asked as they stepped out of the car.

"Part of it," he answered honestly.

"My word!" exclaimed Alfred.

"Wait, Alfred?!"

Dick stood there, his eyes now so wide Batman was worried they would fall right out of his head. Once the boy registered the butler's presence, he whipped around the face the vigilante before him. "You can't be…" he started.

Without another word, Bruce peeled back the cowl, his steel-blue eyes staring down at his ward. "I might be."

"But… but you…"

"I was worried about you," he finished, though now it was Dick's turn to give an incredulous look.

"Baloney," the eight-year-old managed. Though, as the memories of the night came back to him through his shock, he moved out of Bruce's line of fire.

Bruce took the hint, sighing and taking a step toward the laboratory tables nearby. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to yell at you."

"You're not?"

The guardian, both of the boy and Gotham, shook his head. "Not this time, anyway. I can't promise I'm going to be perfect, Dick. You know that much already. But you said yourself that you knew I cared, and I do."

Dick stared at him uneasily before stepping toward him. "Why didn't you tell me? Any of this, I mean."

"It wasn't safe."

"And you're telling me now because you kinda had to?"

Bruce shook his head, staring down warmly at the boy. "I'm telling you now because I want to. Dick, if you're going to be a part of this house, you have a right to know. You have a right to understand that I wasn't just ignoring you these last few weeks. I'm sorry I wasn't around. I really thought that helping to find your parents'… helping to solve the crime might help you move on. Might help you—"

"Not turn into you?"

Bruce stared at the boy, and Dick hastily continued, "I heard you talking to Alfred. You said I would never be like you. I thought you meant some rich businessman because of where we came from."

Another shake of his head, though this time Bruce felt the weight of the world with it. "Not at all. Dick, after seeing you on that platform, seeing what you had seen, I knew if you didn't get the justice you were earned, you would fall into the same trap I did."

"What if I wanted to?" Dick asked.

The man balked at the statement, his eyebrows knitting as the boy looked away. "I mean," Dick added, "what if I wanted to help the way you help? You're not all bad. You help people. I meant what I said. I want to help, too."

Half of Bruce, likely his conscience, argued that it was a bad idea. Terrible. An eight-year-old should never become a vigilante. Still, the other half of him yelled back that an eight-year-old already had, and this time would be different. This time he'd have someone watching out for him that knew what it was like. He'd be cared after. Maybe it wasn't the best set-up, but it was the best the half-man, half-bat could offer.

"You mean that?"

"More than anything," Dick said, his tone well beyond his eight years.

Bruce nodded, before instructing, "Hold up your right hand and repeat after me."

Dick did as instructed, and he provided the echo as Bruce recited, "I vow to protect this city and its citizens, to uphold the law where there is lawlessness, to care for those who are uncared for, to protect the unprotect, and to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I vow to, above all, live for justice and for those who need it most. Finally, I vow to…"

As Bruce continued on, Dick's breath hitched when he realized what was coming next.

"I can't let you continue on as my partner if you don't finish," Bruce warned.

Chewing his lip, Dick nodded and held up his hand once more. "Finally, I vow to care for myself, and, should it come down to it, I vow to protect my life before the life of my mentor, my guardian, Batman."

Bruce nodded, and prepared to lower his hand, though Dick shook his head and tapped it to keep it up. "My turn," he said.

"Your turn?"

"I'm not the only one who has a vow to make," Dick replied.

Bruce was torn between surprise and amusement, though chose to remain stoic as he raised his own hand back up, this time the echo to Dick's firm voice. "I, Bruce Wayne, vow to be there for Dick. I promise to be honest with him, be around more for him, and, if I am in trouble, I promise to let him know. I vow to take care of him, and to let him and Alfred take care of me if I need it. Finally, I vow to…"

This time, it was Bruce's turn to hesitate, though Dick shook his head.

"I can't let you continue as my guardian if you don't finish."

Bruce gave him a look before sending him a small nod.

"Finally, I vow to be as much a parent as I can be. Though I know Dick will always love John and Mary Grayson, and he does love them very much, I promise to care for him as they would have. To treat him as my own. Not just to be my partner, but to be ward. Though he vows not to die for me, I vow to live for him."

Dick nodded and let his hand fall, Bruce soon following suit. Unable to help himself, the man smiled. "Live for you, huh?"

"Hey, if I can't risk myself to keep you alive, you better save your own life if it comes down to it."

Bruce raised an eyebrow before turning toward Alfred, who simply raised his hands. "I do not confirm nor deny my agreement with the aforementioned statement."

I have to confess that a scene I couldn't get out of my head as Bruce battled with himself about Dick's behavior in the beginning was the scene in Disney's Beauty and the Beast when Beast tries to get Belle out of her room for dinner and argues with the servants about how she's in the wrong, making faces the whole time. I have the odd feeling Bruce and Prince Adam (Weird that's his name…) have a lot in common.

Also, now that we're on the subject of Disney, I thought that Pinocchio quote was oddly fitting for this chapter.

-Defective