Young Justice -:- Hooked

Author's Note(s):

Sorry for the delay! My employer decided to finally give me the overtime I've been asking for, and then when I did have free time, this chapter decided to be all stubborn and not be written!

But I have managed to tame it, and in the process have discovered that I had more story to tell than I originally thought – so this is not the final chapter that I promised, there is going to be an extra epilogue to make sure that everything is rounded off nicely :D (though it may be a while again as it has not been started yet or anything…)

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note – I just hit 100 reviews for Identity and I am a very happy bunny! Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment! :P

But anyway, enjoy!

Chapter Six -:- Insecurities

"That is significantly more than the light exercise that Miss Lance suggested, Master Richard," Alfred stated disapprovingly as he entered the manor's gymnasium. Dick pointedly ignored him as he continued swinging on the rings, pushing into a handstand and holding until his shoulder cried uncle. "I'd imagine that that is not expediting your recovery, sir."

"Orice," Whatever. Dick mumbled under his breath. He purposely turned a handstand into an inverted iron cross (like an upside down crucifix) despite the many protests of his still healing body. It had been two weeks since he had finally been allowed out of bed; nearly a month and a half since that night in the warehouse, and exactly one month to the day since Batman had retired Robin. He was not in the mood for a lecture. "Nu contează oricum," It doesn't matter anyway.

Alfred cleared his throat. "English, Master Richard."

Dick rolled his eyes and released the hold, completing a full spin before somersaulting onto the mat. The landing was less than graceful though, and he ended up flat on his back, glaring up at the ceiling. Every muscle in his body ached from the exertion, and as he lay there he found himself panting harder than he should have been, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He knew that Alfred was right. He shouldn't be pushing himself so hard, so soon. It wasn't doing him any good. But he couldn't help it. With the way things had been between him and Bruce recently, and without having anyone to really talk to… well, he just needed to work it off. He had always felt freer in the air, he could always think clearer. There were very few places where he could go to 'get away' when he was practically imprisoned in the manor.

"Perhaps you should talk about it," Alfred suggested as he offered Dick a towel. "Unless you wish to spend your foreseeable future back in bed?"

Dick wrinkled his nose at that suggestion. He'd spent so much time horizontal of late that he figured he'd be happy if he never saw a bed again. He took the towel with a grateful smile and climbed back to his feet. "Talking's… hard."

"Well, it is not going to get any less so unless you practice," the butler pointed out. He returned to the tray that he had bought in with him and set about pouring some tea and doling out the medication that Dick was supposed to be taking. "What is troubling you, sir?"

"Nimic," Nothing. Dick grumbled as he dropped onto the bench. Alfred just raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll just tell Bruce."

"I assure you that I will do no such thing," Alfred replied, sounding a little insulted by the suggestion. "Though perhaps you should talk to him."

"He doesn't asculta." Dick scoffed. And then he realised that he had slipped up again and growled at himself in frustration. He was getting better – he could almost hold a complete conversation now, but it was still his first instinct to respond in Romani. He had to consciously construct every sentence in his head before he opened his mouth or it would just end up a jumbled mess. "Listen. He doesn't listen, I meant."

Alfred sighed. The butler had known Bruce Wayne long enough to know exactly what Dick was talking about. "He can be rather… obtuse, at times."

"Afirmaţie modestă," Understatement. Dick took the proffered tea cup and stared at the milky liquid. Alfred had been trying for weeks to get Dick to talk to him, and every attempt would begin with a cup of tea, the Englishman seeming to believe that the beverage could solve everything. But Dick didn't want to talk, at least not to Bruce or Alfred. He wanted to talk to his friends – to actually see them and know that they'd be there for him. To have that same reassurance that came with knowing that they had his back when on missions.

He wanted to be Robin again. Not this half-person that didn't even know which way was up anymore.

"He truly does care for you, sir," Alfred said reassuringly, taking a seat himself so that he felt less like a butler and more like a confidant. He had poured himself a cup of tea as well, almost completely bridging the 'master' and 'charge' divide. "I am certain that he honestly believes that this is the best choice for you."

"Retiring Robin?" Dick shrugged. "I know."

Alfred blinked. "Sir?"

"Bruce was right to retire Robin," Dick elaborated with a despondent sigh. "I'm not exactly fit for duty, am I? And even if I was… it's not like… it's not like I was actually making a difference. I was thinking about quitting the team anyway. This just makes it official, right? No more screwing up for this simplu muritor." Mere human.

Dick's self-esteem was a little low at the moment.

Alfred studied him in concern, making Dick roll his eyes again and slump even further into his seat. "So you do not disagree with the decision?"

"No."

"However…?" Alfred questioned leadingly.

"It was the way he did it, Alfie," Dick muttered around his tea cup, making Alfred give him an inquisitive look. "Serios," Seriously, "Could he have timed it any worse? He picked the moment when I was down and hurting and might I add – bleeding out. I couldn't even talk or argue back! He just dropped it on me and expected me to be okay? De ce nu ar fi putut aștepta?" Why couldn't he wait?

Alfred opened his mouth to respond, but didn't get a chance.

"He was expecting a fight," Dick continued, dropping his half-drunk tea back on the tray carelessly as he climbed to his feet. "So he waited until I couldn't give him one."

"I am sure that was not his intention…" Alfred tried.

"No, Alfie, you know what he's like," Dick interrupted. "He always plans everything. He's always twenty steps ahead of everyone else. He knew exactly what he was doing when he picked that moment to side-line me. Știacât de mult ardurea…" He knew how much it would hurt…

"Master Richard…" the butler called after Dick's retreating back, but the teenager ignored him. Alfred was left alone in the manor's gym, wondering how he could possibly make this right. "Oh, Master Bruce. If only you realised all the consequences of your actions…"

The neon lights of the city cast the high rise office in hues of green and yellow, creating psychedelic patterns across the crime boss's face. The charcoal grey skull-like features twisted into a smile as the Black Mask surveyed his growing kingdom.

"Sir," Ms Li, his assistant, called from the shadows. "Mr Cobblepot is requesting an audience with you."

The Black Mask smirked, "Of course he is. Tell him I'm busy claiming his territory."

"I assumed, sir," Ms Li replied dryly. A loud thump sounded from the hallway, but they both decided to ignore it. "And what should I tell the horde of his men waiting in the lobby?"

A muffled cry cut off suddenly, but Black Mask only paid the door a cursory glance. "Offer them a job. If they refuse, shoot them," he ordered off-handedly.

The door rattled in its hinges as if someone had just walked into it.

"What are those fools doing out there?" the Black Mask demanded. He was answered by the door slamming open and two of his bodyguards flying through. They landed on the ground, groaning and clutching at various body parts in pain. Immediately Black Mask had a revolver in his hand and aimed at the open doorframe. "Who's there?! Show yourself!"

A shadow flickered in the corner of the room. Freaked, Black Mask fired off a few rounds, but was rewarded with nothing more than smoking dents in his wall and ringing in his ears.

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!" the Black Mask yelled threateningly, shooting at more shadows until the chamber clicked empty.

"Yes. I do."

Black Mask spun around so fast that he tripped and fell back against his desk, the imposing figure of the Batman towering over him. The crime boss attempted to regain his composure, but it was very hard to do while in the presence of the bat. He hit the panic button on the underside of his desk several times, but no one came.

"I have taken care of all of your men," Batman informed him. "Some of them may be needing the hospital. Does your organisation have a health plan?"

The Black Mask scrabbled around to the other side of his desk, trying to put something solid between them. He glanced at the door and the slim chance of escape, but somehow he knew that even if he tried – Batman would be quicker.

"Should I call the exterminator, sir?" Ms Li asked in her monotone drawl, seeming to be completely unperturbed by the city's resident saviour's appearance. "We appear to have a vermin problem."

The Dark Knight turned his glare onto the assistant.

"No need, Ms Li," the Black Mask replied. "Perhaps you should go take a coffee break. I will be seeing to our… guest."

"Yes, sir," Ms Li nodded and vanished from the room, leaving the crime boss and the vigilante to glare at each other in silence.

"Y-y-you…" The Black Mask cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some of his dignity. "You can't touch me. You've got no evidence that I've done anything – and even if you did, you and I both know that there isn't a D.A. in this city that will touch my prosecution. You can take me to the cops. You can put me in a cell at Blackgate or Belle Reve, but you know I won't be in there five minutes before I walk free. So unless you're here to talk business, I suggest that you don't bother wasting either of our time."

Batman considered Black Mask's argument, letting the seconds drag by and increasing the tension in the room.

"You can't hurt me either. You won't kill me. You're too good for that. You won't get your hands dirty. You can't touch me. I own the judges, and the juries and the cops," Black Mask continued, trying to drive his point home and unable to stop his runner mouth. "I own Gotham. You. Can't. Touch. Me."

Another beat of silence.

"You're right." Batman conceded, making the Black Mask blink in surprise. "But there are other ways to hurt you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the Black Mask asked, his voice rising an octave without his permission.

The Batman just smirked. "You have a cargo ship on its way to England carrying weapons and munitions as payment for arranging Springheeled Jack's transfer to Arkham. Correction; you did. It was just sunk. That could be difficult to explain to the local crime boss."

"Wh-what?"

"Oh, and that delivery of high-end drugs you were expecting this evening?" the Batman continued. "It won't be making it to the docks tonight, it seems that the Coast Guard have quarantined it and confiscated all of its cargo. What a shame."

"Wh-Why are you doing this…?" Black Mask asked, already totting up the massive loss that this was going to cost him. How the hell had he managed to piss off the bat?

The Batman glared at him. "You have heard the rumours."

Oh. "The Joker killed your sidekick."

"And how did he manage that one while he was securely locked up in Arkham, I wonder?" Batman hinted about as subtly as a sledgehammer. The Black Mask gulped audibly. "You wanted to make a move on the Penguin's territory, so you arranged a little distraction. You opened the gates at Arkham. You handed Robin over to the Joker. And you will pay."

The Black Mask backed up. "That wasn't the plan! I didn't tell him to kill the kid!"

"I may not be able to put you behind bars," Batman ignored him. "But I can make it very difficult for you to do business. Shipments will go missing. Bribes won't make it to the right people. How long will you be able to hold your new territory while I hold all your assets in a vice?"

"Y-you can't!" Black Mask stuttered. "It wasn't me! I didn't touch the kid!"

But the Black Mask was just yelling at an empty room.

The screams echoed around the manor's grand halls, immediately pulling Bruce away from the paperwork that he was in the process of ignoring. He climbed to his feet and hurried straight to Dick's room, knowing that his son was caught in another nightmare. Once he got through the bedroom door, he was greeted by the sight that had become disturbingly familiar over the past few weeks.

Dick was tangled in his covers, half of the blankets thrown on the floor as he had writhed and thrashed. His screams had died down to incoherent mumbles, but his face was still twisted in pain as he was trapped in his fears.

Bruce came to perch on the edge of the bed and lightly shook Dick's shoulders, trying to wake him a little more gently than he had had to that first night. "Come on, wake up Dickie…"

Gradually, hazy blue eyes opened; his lashes sticky from the half dried tears. Dick blinked up at Bruce, trying to orientate himself as he shook of the last vestiges of the dream. He was just scrubbing at his eyes and sitting up as Alfred appeared at the doorway. "Master Richard?"

"I'm alright," Dick replied shortly as he backed up as far as could against the head board. Bruce reached out to tame the bed head his son was sporting, but Dick flinched away and stared at the bed covers. "I said I'm alright!"

Bruce pulled away and glanced back at Alfred. But the butler said nothing, vanishing from the door frame and closing the door behind him.

"Dick, what's wrong?" Bruce asked.

The teenager just gave him a look as if to say; I can't believe that you just asked me that. He pressed further back against the head board, his thin frame practically disappearing in to the pillows. "Nothing."

Bruce sighed. He really wasn't very good at this. "You can talk to me, Dickie."

Dick scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bruce asked, genuinely perplexed. He was well aware that he wasn't the most approachable person, but he had always thought that he had been okay at listening whenever Dick needed to talk. Apparently not.

"Nothing," Dick denied again. Bruce watched him silently for a moment, noticing that his son was using his training as Robin to plot the best exits from the room. He didn't seem able to find a viable one though, as he just sighed impatiently and scowled at the curtains as if imagining jumping out the window in a desperate attempt to escape.

"Is this because I retired Robin?" Bruce asked, eliciting a slight flinch from the teenager. "You have to understand why I did that… You, you were seriously hurt – you still are. And with the doubts you admitted to having… I can't put you in the field like that. You know that. I get that being Robin was important to you, but you're a smart kid, Dick. It was the logical choice."

Dick dragged his eyes away from the window and glared at Bruce with one eyebrow raised. "Wow. For the World's Greatest Detective you sure can miss the damn obvious."

Bruce blinked in shock, not used to hearing the bitterness in his son's tone. It just wasn't Dick. "Why are you acting like this?"

Dick just rolled his eyes, seeming to expect Bruce to know the answer. He was being uncooperative and sullen – nothing like the bright teenager that had a quip for everything. For a frightening moment, Bruce thought that the head trauma might have incurred more side effects than they realised, but then he decided that the weird behaviour from his son was part of that teenage rebellion he was always being warned about. And Bruce was not going to stand for that.

"I know that you've been through a lot, which is the only reason why I am not grounding you for life for your attitude," Bruce said lowly, knowing that shouting was ineffective. Dick rolled his eyes again, recognising the tactic. "But this immaturity has got to stop. Maybe we can talk properly when you are acting like an adult instead of a stroppy child."

And with that, Bruce stood and left the room, slamming the door behind him. He just didn't understand what the problem was. It made sense to retire Robin, he was right about risks of letting Dick wear the cape and mask while he was injured and in the wrong headspace. So why in the hell was Dick treating him like the bad guy? Didn't he understand that Bruce just wanted to keep him safe?

Bruce took a deep breath to get his temper and frustration back under control, and when that didn't work, decided that he needed to work it off. He headed straight for the manor's gym and the punching bag that would soon be getting a thorough beating.

He wasn't expecting to find Alfred waiting for him.

The butler watched him from a distance as he so often did; silently waiting for Bruce to start the conversation and ask the questions that he just couldn't fathom the answers to alone. But Bruce was feeling stubborn, so he let the silence drag as he lost his shirt and strapped up his hands. He was well into his first round of pummelling before he finally broke – Alfred was the only person who could outlast his patience. "How did you know that I would come here?"

"I knew that one of you would," Alfred replied, still half-encased in the shadows he lurked in. "You are both rather similar. Whenever you are upset, you take it in turns to either brood or exercise."

"So I guess Dick's brooding then," Bruce said over the pounding of his fists. "Why?"

Alfred pursed his lips, taking his time to think over his response. "I suppose that the fact that you do not know the answer is what is compounding the problem."

"Then why doesn't someone enlighten me?" Bruce snapped, hitting the bag hard enough to jolt chain. "This whole silent treatment and sarcasm thing isn't exactly helping me understand."

"He is a teenager, sir," Alfred explained. "That is how they communicate."

Bruce scoffed. "I was a teenager once. I did not behave like that!"

"No, sir," Alfred agreed. "You were worse."

Bruce didn't quite remember it that way, but he chose not to comment. He just kept beating on the bag, wondering when the frustration was going to go away. He was usually feeling better by now. For some reason though, violent therapy was not working. "He won't talk to me, Alfred. Has he spoken to you?"

"In confidence," the butler admitted.

"So you know what the problem is, but won't tell me," Bruce determined with an eye roll of his own. "How the hell am I supposed to know how to fix this if no one will even tell me what is wrong? You can't tell me, Dick won't talk to me…"

"You wouldn't let him, sir," Alfred interrupted the tirade shortly, and then realised that he had spoken out of turn. "My apologies, Master Bruce."

Bruce stopped assaulting the gym equipment to study the one person who had been constant his entire life. "What do you mean 'I wouldn't let him'? I asked him what was wrong, he refused to answer. How is that not letting him talk?"

Alfred hesitated, clearly not wanting to betray Dick's trust. "That… that is not the occasion to which I was referring…"

"Then when?" Bruce demanded. But then it clicked. "When I told him that he couldn't be Robin, he couldn't talk. That's why…?"

"Your timing was less than perfect, sir," Alfred confirmed.

Bruce sighed, thinking back on that moment and knowing that it hadn't exactly gone as planned. He had been intending to wait a little while, and actually talk with Dick about the decision, but when he had seen his son in that fragile state… he had jumped the gun. He wanted Dick away from even the possibility of the front lines as soon as possible. And if that meant telling him the verdict when the conversation was ever-so-slightly one-sided… so be it.

"It wouldn't have changed my choice," Bruce insisted, "even if he could have argued his corner. Retiring Robin was the right thing to do –with his injuries and his doubts…"

"So you knew that the boy was feeling insecure, and yet still chose to hit him while he was down, sir?" Alfred asked incredulously, more brashly than he would usually argue. "I believe that your exact words were that he was 'having doubts about his abilities, and with the way things went, maybe he was right.'"

"Were you listening, Alfred?" Bruce asked accusingly.

"These walls are very thin, sir," Alfred replied curtly.

Bruce glared at the butler for a moment, but then just shook his head, unable to get mad at him when he knew that Alfred was right. "I could have handled it better," he admitted. "I shouldn't have said that, I know."

"Then perhaps you should tell Master Richard that," Alfred suggested. "And apologise as well."

"And then he'll talk to me?" Bruce asked.

"Perhaps," Alfred replied. "He is still a teenager, after all."

Yay! I finally finished this chapter! Only one more to go now (officially this time) and then this fic is finished :P

On a side-note; the reason that this was chapter was so hard to write was because plot bunnies were trying to kidnap me. I've got this idea for a Hunger Games/Jurassic Park (no idea where that bit came from…) fic starring Dick and Artemis as our tributes in a galactic scale version of the games. I'm pretty sure that that kind of scenario has been explored on fanfic before – but would anyone be interested if I had a go?

My next project is the Identity sequel that will be called Fragility, but I was thinking of maybe doing a one-shot collection of scenes from the Hunger Games rip-off on an as and when basis…?

See you for the finale!