A/N: I think this is the last of the slow chapters before we go full-tilt into the drama so everyone better breathe while they still can! :D And thanks to all you amazing people out there for your lovely feedback. You rock. :)

oOo

By the time he arrived at the hospital on Wednesday night, Batman was getting desperate. Monday and Tuesday had passed without any chance to speak to Dick, and Kevin Green had informed him that Dick's speech was steadily improving, meaning CPS would question the boy within the next day or two. Kevin had considered it good news, but Bruce had been dismayed by it. They were screwed unless they got their stories straight!

Landing on the ledge outside Dick's room, Batman cautiously peered in and was surprised to find the boy staring at the window with a particularly alert expression. The instant he saw Batman appear at the glass, he gestured frantically at him to enter.

Batman glanced at the door and saw with indescribable relief that it was closed. He carefully opened the window and slid silently into the room.

"Batman," Dick greeted him in a happy whisper when he reached the bed. A small nightlight was the only thing left on, but Batman could still see how pale Dick was.

"How are you feeling, Dick?" he whispered back.

"Better."

"You sound better," he commented carefully. "Your speech?"

"Better. More words."

"That's good to hear. What about your head? How's the pain?" Courtesy of the judge's order, CPS were keeping him apprised on Dick's recovery, so he knew that the swelling had gone down and the doctors were happy with Dick's progress. But Batman wanted to know that his son was comfortable.

"Better," Dick repeated. "Little pain."

"Your arm?"

Dick grimaced. "Pain."

That wasn't what Batman wanted to hear. "Are they giving you anything for it?"

Dick nodded. "You okay?" he asked Batman, eyes searching.

The Dark Knight felt something tighten in his chest. Typical Dick. Always worried about everyone else. "I'm fine," he whispered. "But let's not talk about me. We need to get our stories straight before CPS question you."

Dick nodded. "Me know. Tell…doctor too loud at night. Me not sleep."

Batman's lips quirked in the tiniest of smiles. Clever boy. Dick had told the doctors he couldn't sleep because it was too loud at night in the corridor, effectively getting them to close his door so he could 'sleep'. "That was good thinking, Dick."

Dick smiled.

"Now, let's get our stories straight in case anyone comes in and decides to leave the door open." Batman wouldn't be able to relax until they had accomplished that. "Do you think you'll be able to remember everything I tell you tonight?"

Dick gave him a duh, yeah look.

"I'm just checking. You suffered a traumatic brain injury, Dick, and that can affect memory retention."

"Me fine."

"Alright then." Batman glanced towards the door and listened for a second before proceeding. "Let's start with your broken arm. I know we said we'd keep it simple and tell people you fell while on a camping trip, but I had to amend that story to account for the bruise Mammoth left on your arm – it's shaped like a hand. We're still using Colorado as the location, but I told Margaret Elliot that we went caving on the camping trip and you fell into a hole. I said I caught you, but that the speed of your fall and the force with which I grabbed you resulted in you breaking your arm. I also said we had a caving expedition guide with us who witnessed everything. I've created a fake persona called Oliver Benson…" He pulled out the composite photograph for Dick to see. "…Martian Manhunter will play him if needed. Do you have all that?"

Dick looked unhappy as he nodded, and Batman knew it was because the boy hated having to lie. "I know you don't like lying, Dick, but we don't have a choice."

Dick sighed. "Me know."

"Coming up with a reasonable excuse for what happened with Two-Face is harder because we didn't account for all of those injuries back then," Batman explained quietly. He was kicking himself for that now, but at the time there had been no need to reveal the extent of Dick's injuries. They had kept Dick in the manor until his bruises healed, by which time all evidence of the skull fracture was no longer visible. Too many injuries would have been suspicious during Dick's first year living with Bruce, so they had accounted only for the visible injuries; the broken arm and one of the broken ribs to explain why Dick was moving so stiffly.

"We're still using the excuse that you fell off a horse, breaking your arm and one rib," Batman continued, "but CPS caught me unawares and I wasn't able to account for the other two broken ribs and your skull fracture… I told them those injuries didn't happen while in my care."

Dick's eyes widened at that implication and Batman felt a sharp stab of guilt. Ever since he'd blamed the circus for those injuries, he'd wondered how Dick would react. After all, this was essentially pointing the finger at his parents and he wasn't sure how the boy would feel about that.

"I'm sorry, Dick. They caught me unprepared." It shamed him to admit it because both Batman and Bruce prided themselves on being prepared.

Dick was now frowning at his bedcovers, obviously struggling with this. Batman knew it would be hard for him to lie and blame the home where he had been so happy. "We're not going to say it was your parents, Dick. I was thinking maybe we could use a trapeze accident?"

Dick looked at him. "No."

A cold sensation shivered through Batman. "Dick, we have to account for those injuries or CPS will take you away permanently."

"Car."

Batman blinked. "What?"

"Car," Dick repeated, and struck his hand lightly against the bed railings.

"A car crash?" said Batman in comprehension, and the boy nodded. "Dick, a car crash is something there would be a record of. CPS could check that too easily."

"Me seven. Car…" Dick smacked the railings lightly again.

Batman's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you were actually in a crash when you were seven?"

Dick nodded.

"You never mentioned that before," said Batman quietly.

Dick shrugged his good shoulder.

"But if there was a record of a car crash, then there would be a record of injuries, Dick," Batman reminded him.

"Mom head hurt. No…" Dick waved his good hand to indicate his room.

"Your mother hurt her head but she didn't go to a hospital?" Batman guessed, and Dick nodded. "Why not?"

Dick looked sad. "Small hurt. No…" He rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign for money.

Batman sighed. "Your family couldn't afford it."

Looking even more miserable, Dick nodded.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dick," he said softly. "But we still have a problem with that story. You were a seven-year-old child. No one would believe that your parents didn't get you medical help for a skull fracture and two broken ribs just because they couldn't afford it."

Dick mimed writing with his hand and then pointed to the nightstand where a notepad and pen sat. Batman complied and handed them to him, then watched him struggle to write. He frowned. Dick's hand seemed weak.

After several minutes, Dick handed him the notepad. Batman scowled at how different this scrawl was to Dick's usual neat handwriting. He wondered if Dick's dexterity had been affected by his head injury…then forced that thought out of his mind. He needed to concentrate on getting their stories straight. Batman could worry about everything else once they had accomplished that.

He read what Dick had written. Crash happened in Chicago. Dad took Mom to free clinic. Clinic closed next time we in Chicago.

Batman looked up. They could use this. "You're certain the clinic was closed and hadn't just moved to another premises?"

Dick nodded.

"Then use the car crash for the skull fracture and the broken ribs. But don't give too many details for CPS to check into. You were seven so it's wholly believable that you would have only a vague recollection of the event."

Dick nodded, looking slightly happier at not having to blame the circus directly.

"Your broken fingers were the only other injury I was able to explain to CPS," Batman continued. "I told them it happened when you were trying to build a tree house and got carried away with the hammer. I know you hate that excuse," he added when Dick rolled his eyes, "but it's the one we used at the time and it's the one in Leslie's records."

Dick sighed and nodded.

"Good boy. The last one you're going to have to account for is the cigarette burns on your left arm, and even though they're the smallest injury, they're going to be the hardest to believably explain."

Dick glanced at his arm and then looked back at Batman expectantly, waiting to be told what to do. His blind obedience and trust gave Batman a sudden epiphany into how easily children could be manipulated by adults, even by those who put them in compromising situations. Dick had been injured many times as Robin, yet Batman still allowed him to continue as a vigilante. That could very well be considered a form of neglect – abuse even – but that still didn't stop Dick from being ready to lie to protect his guardian. It was a chilling realization and Batman understood now why Margaret Elliot was so reluctant to believe what she was being told. She'd probably seen countless cases of children lying to protect an abusive patient.

"Batman?" Dick whispered uncertainly and the man shook himself.

"Just thinking. Did you ever have bonfires at the circus?"

Dick nodded.

"Good. I want you to tell CPS that you got too near to one of those bonfires and were burned by a few stray sparks."

Dick gave Batman a stare of disbelief.

"I know how it sounds, but sometimes the simplest reason is the most believable. You're only thirteen, Dick; there is absolutely nothing that could plausibly account for cigarette burns on your arm, and no one would believe those marks are anything other than burns. This is the most credible excuse I could come up with."

Dick gave him an if-you-say-so-look and nodded his agreement to the tale.

"I know you have other scars," Batman told him, "but those are all fairly small and mimic the usual childhood scars so–"

He stopped speaking when Dick waved a hand at him, and then peeled back his bed covers. Pulling the hospital gown up a little, Dick pointed at an old scar on his right thigh that had been caused by some lunatic high on PCP who had slashed him with a box cutter. CPS hadn't mentioned it and Batman hadn't thought about it.

"CPS never asked about that," he told Dick in reply to the unasked question of what to say about it, "which means they may not ask you about it. But if they do, the scarring is jagged enough to suggest a slipping fall. It could have believably happened climbing a tree with bare legs." He looked at Dick and added quietly, "It's up to you whether you would prefer to say it happened in my care or at the circus."

Dick bit his lip and stared at the scar, thinking hard. Batman could tell that he was conflicted about what to say. He obviously didn't want to blame the circus and his parents any more than he had to, but neither would he want to say anything that might incriminate Bruce further.

After several minutes Dick sighed and looked back at Batman. "Not you."

"You're going to say it happened at the circus?" Batman confirmed quietly.

Dick nodded.

"If you're sure, Dick."

The boy responded by rolling down the hospital gown and pulling his covers back up. He gave Batman a sad look and the Dark Knight felt his breath catch at the misery in his eyes.

He reached awkwardly for Dick's good hand and grasped his fingers in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Wearing the cowl dampened his emotional responses, making it difficult for him to show affection. It was an unusual psychological effect that he hadn't observed in other masked heroes. Robin certainly didn't display any such personality change; he was the same person in and out of costume.

"Dick, it's going to be alright. This mess will all be sorted as soon as you talk to CPS. You're going to be home before you know it."

"Miss home," Dick whispered softly.

Batman squeezed the small fingers. "Home misses you too."

A voice sounded suddenly at the door. Batman grabbed the notepad – leaving it behind after Dick had used it to fabricate a story wasn't an option – and hurried to the window. Slipping through it, Batman managed to close it almost all the way just as the door opened.

"Richard, why are you still awake?" a soft female voice scolded lightly. Batman recognized it as the nurse who had entered Dick's room on Saturday night. "You need to rest, sweetheart."

"No sleep. Want Bruce," came the plaintive response.

"Oh, honey, I'd have Mr. Wayne here in a heartbeat if I could," the nurse replied gently. "None of this is very fair, is it?"

"No."

"Well, I have your next round of painkillers here. They'll probably make you feel drowsy enough to sleep." There was silence for a few minutes punctuated by footsteps and rustling. "There," said the nurse. "Do you need anything else?"

"No."

"Are you sure, honey? You know, the ward is pretty quiet tonight, I can sit with you for a while if you like?"

"No. Thank…you," said Dick softly, his broken speech and sad tone tugging at something deep inside Batman.

"Alright, sweetie. But don't hesitate to use the call button if you need anything."

"'Kay."

Several seconds later Batman heard the sound of a door closing and slipped back into the room. In a frustrating repeat of Saturday night, Dick's eyes were already drooping. They would have no time to just enjoy each other's company tonight.

Dick gave a lopsided grin as Batman approached the bed. "How home?" he asked.

It took Batman a minute to decipher that he was asking about Alfred. "He misses you. You can probably expect some serious over-feeding when you finally get home."

Dick smiled at that.

"Dick, are you alright in here? Are the doctors treating you well?" Without anyone to speak for him, Batman was anxious about the quality of treatment Dick was receiving.

Dick nodded. "Nice."

"What about reporters? Have any others managed to get into your room since Sunday?" The reporters troubled Batman most of all; they were relentless and he couldn't be here to protect Dick. Nor could he ask CPS about the reporter from Sunday because Bruce Wayne shouldn't know about that since no photographs had been published.

Dick shook his head slowly. His eyes were almost shut and Batman refrained from asking him any further questions. Much as he wanted to talk to the boy, Dick needed to rest. And at least they'd managed to get their stories straight. Batman felt like he could breathe a little easier just by having accomplished that.

Within minutes Dick was asleep. Batman stayed with him, watching him sleep and occasionally running his fingers through the dark hair. He missed his boy so much and sneaking in here like a thief in the night only made it hurt worse. But anger was no longer boiling in his blood at the injustice of this because he couldn't quite blame it on the system any longer.

When the nurse returned an hour later to check on Dick, Batman slipped away, the ache of loneliness gnawing at his heart.

oOo

"Did you speak with Master Dick, sir?" asked Alfred, when Batman returned to the cave sometime after four. No one had been sleeping much at Wayne Manor since Dick had been taken into care.

"I did. We've managed to get our stories straight for CPS, so hopefully this mess will be over soon and Dick can come home." Batman removed his cape and cowl, becoming Bruce Wayne once more.

"And what of Master Dick, how is he feeling?" Alfred enquired anxiously.

"He's much better than he was on Saturday night. He's in less pain and his speech has improved, but there's still a ways to go." Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly. "He misses home."

Alfred shook his head. "If only CPS could see the hurt they are causing him by doing this." Bruce didn't respond and the butler tilted his head. "Master Bruce?"

The billionaire paused midway through removing his belt and gauntlets. "I realized something tonight, Alfred. While I was talking to Dick."

"Realized something, sir?"

"About how easy it is to manipulate children." Bruce put his gloves on the table and finished unhooking his utility belt. "Dick is lying to protect me, even though it's my fault he's in this situation. It's my fault he's been hurt."

"Sir, you have never hurt him. The villains he faced were responsible for his injuries."

"Villains he faced because he's Robin. But he would never have become Robin if it weren't for me and that makes me responsible. Anyway, that's not the issue – I've known for a long time that Robin is my mistake – the issue is that by letting Dick be Robin I put him in danger, which is essentially abuse. But he's quite happy to lie to the courts to protect me when I should be protecting him. It makes me wonder how many times Margaret Elliot has watched children lie to protect their abusive parents."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that you are an abusive parent, sir?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. But I don't think CPS are entirely wrong in being concerned about Dick's safety. I've been neglecting it, Alfred. He's thirteen and look at how many injuries he's suffered already! It's not right. Something needs to change."

"Forgive me, Master Bruce, but it sounds as though you are considering retiring Robin?"

"I think I am. Maybe." Bruce rubbed his temple. "I don't know. Retiring Robin could hurt Dick, but…he's too young to do this."

"Sir, the time to have that conversation was when Master Dick was nine, not now when he is thirteen and has been Robin for four years."

"Is that an I-told-you-so?" Bruce asked wryly. Alfred had strongly argued against Dick becoming Robin.

"I'm merely pointing out that your timing in coming to this conclusion has been less than perfect, sir."

Bruce groaned. "I know, Alfred! But what else can I do? I know that taking Robin away would hurt Dick, but I'm no longer willing to risk his safety. He's just a child."

"That will be all the harder to argue now that there are other child heroes."

"They don't count," said Bruce at once. "With the exception of Artemis, they all have powers. And all of them are older than Dick."

"And they all started crime fighting because of Master Dick. Sir, while I despise that he dons a mask and goes out fighting crime, I really do think you need to come up with another solution to protect him other than retiring Robin. You would hurt him terribly if you took Robin away."

"But what else can I do, Alfred? If CPS sees even so much as a bruise on him after this then they'll remove him permanently, because what judge would believe me after all this? I'd lose him for sure!"

"Master Bruce, that is a moot point. You have not yet gotten Master Dick back. Perhaps you should concentrate on winning this battle before you go leaping into another?"

Bruce sighed. Alfred was right, as always. Getting Dick back should be his only priority at the moment. But postponing a decision about Robin wouldn't make it go away, and Bruce knew he was going to have to make a difficult choice in the future. Allow Dick to remain as Robin and run the risk of losing his son to either CPS or the streets? Or retire Robin, hurting Dick and potentially damaging their relationship in the process?

Because that was what this essentially boiled down to: should he keep Dick happy or should he keep Dick safe? Bruce wanted both things for his son. The question was, which did he want more?