A/N: Gracias por comentar Haro kzoids! :)
A mansion on the outskirts of Gotham City:
The first thing Dick saw when he woke up was something he had thought he would never see again. A familiar face, one that haunted his dreams and turned them into nightmares. Tony Zucco, although Dick didn't know that was the man's name, was looming over him, completely covering the boy in his large shadow.
"Good evening," Zucco said, his voice cordial. "You sure took your sweet time waking up. It's been almost five hours."
Dick stayed silent, the dormant feeling of terror erupting in his mind and sending spikes of fear down his entire body.
"Do you remember me?" Tony asked.
Dick just barely understood the question, and he had no answer. The terror was consuming his thoughts. Words were bouncing around in his mind, refusing to come together to form a coherent sentence.
"Do. You. Remember. Me?"
The man was angry. He had a scowl on his face and his tone was dark, darker than Sam's had been on Dick's first night in the detention center. Dick thought about shaking his head, but his parents had instilled a sense of honesty in him. So, he nodded, even though he knew that was probably the wrong answer.
"I knew Sanderson was wrong, I knew you wouldn't forget something as scary as me. Am I scary to you, kid?"
Dick's nod was much more forceful, and Zucco burst into laughter.
"You should be scared. Sit up."
The nine-year-old quickly obeyed, and Tony sat down right beside him.
"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to give you a present, then we're going to take a ride to Gotham Harbor. When we get there, I'm going to let you go swimming. Have you ever gone swimming before?"
Dick slowly nodded. He had learned to swim when he was a toddler, but he hadn't had a lot of practice. The nine-year-old wouldn't call himself a strong swimmer, and his aching head told him that it probably wasn't a good idea right now. But at least the man hadn't said anything about beating him up or shooting him. Maybe he could escape by swimming away.
"Scotty," Zucco yelled, "bring the kid a present."
Thirty seconds later, a man who slightly resembled Alfred rushed into the room. He was holding a brightly-wrapped, rectangular-shaped present. The old man placed it on Dick's lap, then turned around and almost ran out the door.
It was heavy. Dick had never received a present from a stranger, unless you counted the clothes Bruce had bought for him on his first day in Wayne Manor.
"Go ahead and open it," Tony demanded, trying and failing to keep his voice pleasant.
Dick slowly pulled away the wrapping paper, only to find a dark-red brick. He had no idea why the man would think a brick was a present, but his parents had also instilled manners.
"Thank you," the nine-year-old whispered, a slight tinge of confusion in his voice.
Zucco burst out laughing again, then yelled a different name. A man appeared in front of Dick, startling him, and efficiently wrapped a thick rope around Dick's wrists and the brick. When he was done, the heavy brick was immobile in his hands, and it made Dick very nervous.
"Alright, Grayson," Tony sneered, "are you ready to go swimming?"
Dick didn't have time to answer, because the man in front of him swooped him up and carried him outside. He placed the boy in the back of a car and belted him in, then moved back so Zucco could climb in beside the nine-year-old.
"Gotham Harbor, Scotty," Tony commanded, and the car rumbled to life.
Twenty minutes earlier:
Falcone was not a loyal man when it came to his disposable minions. Batman was holding a Bat-a-rang to the man's throat, and the mobster was ready to talk.
"Where does Tony Zucco live?" the Caped Crusader growled.
"Stromwell Estate, south of Gotham City. Tony is Arnold Stromwell's nephew, and that's where he's currently hiding."
"Why is he hiding?"
"You'll have to…uh…ask him," Falcone replied, gasping slightly when the Bat-a-rang shifted positions. "I don't know what he did, but he's been wound up pretty tight recently."
"The Flying Graysons."
"What? What is a flying gray son?"
"Not what," Batman snapped, "who. The trio of aerialists from Haly's Circus. The adults were killed…"
"Oh, yeah, I…uh…remember hearing that. There's a kid, right?"
"Was it Zucco? Did you order him to do it?"
"What?! Why would I want to kill a family of circus performers? If Tony did something to them, he was…uh…doing it on his own."
Removing the Bat-a-rang from the mobster's throat, Batman stepped back and turned around. He strode away, pausing at the door to glance back and give one last remark.
"You better not be lying to me, Falcone."
Then he was gone.
Present time:
Batman parked the Batmobile half a mile away from the back of Stromwell Estate. He quietly approached on foot, wary of tripwires and lookouts with weapons. The hero made it all the way to the back door without seeing anyone or anything.
A door slammed – it had the distinct sound of metal on metal – near the front of the house. Batman raced around the side of the mansion just in time to see Tony Zucco climb into the backseat of a Lincoln town car. Just before the mobster closed the door, Batman caught a glimpse of a small head of dark, unruly hair.
Tony Zucco had Dick Grayson, and they were in a car, and Batman was half a mile away from the Batmobile, and he was on the wrong side of the house.
Son of a fricking biscuit eater.
The car rumbled to life as the Caped Crusader flipped open a utility belt pocket on his left hip. Out came a tiny Bat-a-rang with a small, red button. Batman pushed the button and threw the weapon, hoping he had predicted correctly.
He had, of course he had. The car turned west and the Bat-a-rang neatly sliced through the metal of the trunk and came to a stop on the worn carpet. The red light began blinking, and Batman's watch began beeping right along with it.
It was a new gadget – the mini Bat-a-rang with a tracker – and it was Batman's first time trying it out in the field. So far it was working, but Batman didn't know the range. So, as the Lincoln lumbered down the long driveway, the hero sprinted around the house and headed for the Batmobile.
Twenty minutes later:
Dick was standing near the edge of the creaky, wooden pier. Tony Zucco was right next to him, staring across the gently rippling water at the distant lights of Gotham City.
"She's beautiful in the dark," the man commented. "You're welcome."
"For what?" Dick whispered timidly, the feeling of terror still racing up and down his body.
"For letting you see her one last time," Zucco replied. "Bright lights were the last things your parents saw, thought I'd let you go out the same way."
The man glanced down at the boy, who was staring at the dark water.
"Look at the lights, kid," he commanded.
Dick did as he was told, and Zucco put a heavy hand on the nine-year-old's shoulder.
"If you see your parents on the other side, tell them I said hi," the mobster said.
Dick glanced up at him, both fear and confusion in his eyes. Tony was staring down at him with a nasty grin, and the confusion disappeared as the boy finally realized what was about to happen.
"Bye-bye, last of The Flying Graysons."
Tony gave Dick a hard shove, causing him to stumble forward. The boy tried to keep his balance, but the heaviness of the brick combined with gravity to pull him to the ground. He landed on his hips, his torso hanging over the edge of the pier as the water lapped against the brick tied to his wrists.
"Scotty!" Zucco yelled, frustration evident in his tone.
A pair of arms grabbed Dick's ankles and yanked backwards. Scotty pulled the boy to his feet, then gave him a much harder shove than Tony had. This time Dick stumbled completely off the end, and Zucco watched in satisfaction as the brick immediately took the boy below the soft waves.
Dick looked up at the man – who was glaring down at him, calling him "the last of The Flying Graysons" – and realized that he was about to die. He was about to fall, just like his parents. And, just like his parents, nobody would be there to catch him.
The nine-year-old stumbled forward as the fat man pushed him toward the water. Engaging his abs, just as he had done on the roof of Wayne Manor when he had discovered Batman's secret, Dick attempted to right himself before falling off the edge of the dock. It worked, but just barely. He landed on his stomach with his arms reaching for the dark water below him.
The man yelled something, and Dick felt a pair of hands wrap themselves around his ankles. He was yanked back, and he felt slices of pain as the wood of the dock scraped across his torso.
Suddenly he was on his feet again. The push was a shove this time, and the nine-year-old couldn't stop himself. He tumbled over the edge, and the black water slapped him in the face. Dick didn't have time to take any sort of breath before the heavy brick pulled him into the darkness. He couldn't see. Dick was alone in the dark, and this time he couldn't sprint through it. The cold water laughed as it danced around him, and Dick closed his eyes.
"Never give up on me and I will never give up on you."
Batman's promise rang in his ears, but Batman didn't even know where Dick was. And no matter how hard he tried, the boy had no chance of reaching the surface on his own. He was falling, and the ground gently cradled him as the brick finally reached the bottom of the dirty river.
For the first – and what would be the only – time in his life, Dick Grayson gave up.
The Batmobile screeched to a stop just as Scotty yanked Dick to his feet. Batman jumped out of the vehicle and began sprinting. He watched in horror as Dick fell over the edge, and vowed right then that if the boy died Zucco would join him.
With that dark thought in mind, the Caped Crusader delivered a brutal jab to the left side of Tony's head as he ran past, knocking the mobster out cold. He took out Scotty with a ferocious right hook, then dove into the cold water.
It was completely dark in the depths of Gotham Harbor. Batman was swimming straight down, his arms waving around like a windmill as he fruitlessly tried to blindly find Dick. Reversing directions, the hero swam back up and grabbed a pole to support himself while he searched through his utility belt.
It was on the right hip, and Batman was extremely thankful that he had just replaced the batteries. Flicking the 'on' switch, the Caped Crusader pointed the water-proof-Bat-flashlight down and took a deep breath. Then he dove again.
He saw the boy immediately, all the way at the bottom of the harbor on Batman's left side – which is why he hadn't been able to blindly find him. It was only about twelve feet deep, but Dick had sunk fast because of the brick. Batman estimated that he had been underwater for almost three minutes. Not long for the man, but Dick probably hadn't had the benefit of taking a big breath before falling in. And he most certainly had smaller lungs.
When he reached the spot where the nine-year-old had come to rest, he grimaced. The brick had lodged itself into a space right under one of the poles holding up the pier. It was stuck, the pressure of the water not allowing Batman any angle of good leverage.
He planted the water-proof-Bat-flashlight in the sand and whipped open another pocket on his utility belt. Batman sifted through the tools – Bat-laster, Bat-pick, Bat-tweezers, and then finally the Bat-knife. The hero made quick work of the rope attaching the brick to Dick's wrists, then wrapped his right arm across Dick's torso, grabbed the Bat-flashlight with his left hand, and kicked hard toward the surface.
Batman's head popped out of the water and he took a gasping breath. Dick was limp, his arms and head hanging over the hero's arm like a dead fish. Grabbing a small chunk of hair, Batman pulled the boy's head up and laid it on his own shoulder. He angled himself toward a spot of beach, and began swimming.
It took him longer than he wanted, but he finally made it to the pebbly grime of the beach. Batman was exhausted, but Dick was dead. Or nearly there, which gave the hero a shot of adrenaline. He began CPR, and was rewarded after only three cycles.
Dirty water spewed out of the nine-year-old's mouth, his eyes popped open then slammed shut, and his entire body shuddered. Batman thought about forcing him awake, but Dick was breathing on his own so the hero chose to get him out of the cold night air.
He scooped the shivering boy up and forced his exhausted muscles to make their way to the Batmobile. Batman placed Dick on the passenger seat and buckled his Bat-belt. Then he wearily made his way to the other side and climbed in. After calling Commissioner Gordon to tell him about the trash on the pier, Batman opened the Bat-communicator.
"Please tell me you found him, sir."
Alfred's voice was trembling slightly.
"I've got him, and he's alive. He nearly drowned, and he's asleep right now, so we're on our way. ETA fifteen minutes, we're at Gotham Harbor."
"I shall have everything prepared, Master Batman."
Batman could hear the unspoken 'thank heavens' as he said, "Batman out."
"Okay, kiddo," the hero said as the Batmobile roared to life, "it's time to wake up."
The Caped Crusader kept up a steady stream of conversation as he drove home, attempting to awaken Dick, or at least get some kind of reaction out of him. It didn't work, and he was extremely frustrated when he finally parked.
Retrieving Dick from the passenger side, Batman quickly strode to the medical area and put him in the capable hands of Alfred.
"Go take a shower, sir, I will take care of Master Dick."
"But I…"
"Do you want Master Dick to wake up to the sight of you as a water monster, sir? You have the stench of Gotham Harbor and you are covered in…whatever is in there. Please go take a shower. Sir," the butler added, his eyes filled with disapproval.
Batman acquiesced, and Alfred began peeling off Dick's clothes.
"These are all going into the furnace," he murmured as he stripped each soaking wet item off the small body.
The butler expertly gave the boy a quick, thorough, sponge bath, then covered him with a thick towel. Alfred noticed chafing on Dick's wrists, saw several dark bruises on his arms, and sighed at the amount of splinters he was going to have to pull out of the boy's torso.
"I am sorry, Master Dick," he said softly as he turned away and opened a drawer. "This is going to hurt, young sir, and I'm glad you're not awake."
Alfred turned back to Dick with a long pair of tweezers, then began working on the splinters. He was almost finished when Bruce Wayne entered the area, his hair still dripping from the shower.
"Master Bruce, if you would be so kind as to gently hold his arms…"
Alfred paused and waited for the younger man to obey.
"Why?"
"Sir," the butler replied with a quiet, long-suffering sigh, "I am about to pull a rather large splinter out of his stomach, and I would prefer he not thrash about if he wakes up while I'm doing so."
Bruce glanced at Dick's torso, and his eyes widened. Alfred had said 'rather large', but Bruce would have called it enormous. The millionaire began mentally sending threatening messages to Tony Zucco as he placed his hands on the boy's arms.
But Dick didn't wake up. He stayed asleep through the splinter-pulling, the medicating and wrapping of his wrists, and the cold feeling of ice as Alfred placed several small packets on his arms.
"He's still breathing, right?" Bruce asked, although he knew it was a stupid question.
The evidence was right in front of him: Dick's chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm without any wheezing or rasping sounds.
"Yes, Master Bruce," Alfred replied for the fourth time, "Master Dick is still breathing. He went through a great deal of physical trauma tonight, sir, and I won't be surprised if he sleeps most of the day tomorrow, also."
Alfred glanced at his watch, then amended his comment.
"Most of the rest of today, sir."
Bruce glanced at his watch and was surprised to see the time: 2:23. Dick had been kidnapped at dinner, which had been around eight, had been with Zucco for close to five hours, thrown in the harbor, rescued, bathed, and treated medically, and it was still early in the morning.
"Did Zucco do anything? Before the harbor, I mean?" Bruce asked, trepidation in his voice.
If the mobster had tortured Dick, Batman was going to have a very long, very violent conversation with the man.
"I don't believe so, sir. I only found the injuries on his wrists and arms, along with the splinters, of course. There is a small bump on his head, but nothing to be concerned about."
Alfred would have been more than just concerned if he had known that Dick had been unconscious for nearly five hours because of that small bump. The butler would, in fact, be frantically attempting to wake the boy up if that knowledge was in his possession. But he didn't have that knowledge, so he again reassured Bruce that the boy was going to be fine.
Dick had been hearing a humming noise for what seemed like forever. It hadn't stopped since he had felt himself breathe air instead of water, and he wanted to find out what it was. But his eyelids were so heavy, and the gray mist floating in his mind was too stubborn to be dismissed.
So, the nine-year-old just listened. It wasn't a scary sound; Dick felt safe with it buzzing all around him. Since he couldn't see it, he wanted to reach out and try to blindly find it. But he discovered that his arms were just as heavy as his eyelids, and they refused to budge.
Cold air suddenly assaulted his senses, and then something soft slid over his entire body. Soft, but also wet, which a bit uncomfortable. But the cold soon dissipated when something heavy and dry was laid across his lower body. It warmed him, and Dick's sense of security increased.
The security vanished when he felt a sharp, tugging pain in his stomach. Dick wanted to get up and run away, but his muscles ignored the half-hearted commands from his exhausted mind. He had no choice, he was forced to accept the pain.
Dick would later realize that everything he had recently gone through – the detention center, almost dying in the depths of Gotham Harbor, and the feeling of needles being yanked out of his stomach – had infinitely increased his tolerance of pain. It would serve him well in the future, but the current agony in his body made him want to give up again.
The humming, which had become a comforting background noise, suddenly stopped. Dick's sense of security decreased again, and his brain yelled at him to flee. But still his muscles ignored the command. Unwillingly, the nine-year-old remained completely motionless.