A/N: Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter. I'm so sorry I didn't get to reply to you all, but final year is way more intense that I thought it would be. The never-ending statistics classes don't help because, dear god, do I HATE statistics! I swear, come Christmas I'm going to be curled up in a rocking, traumatized little ball beneath the tree! But I just want all you awesome peeps to know that your wonderful feedback is appreciated even more than usual. I hope you all have a truly awesome weekend. :)
oOo
"This is bullshit! What do you mean I can't take him home?!"
Bruce ignored Kevin Green's warning look and continued to glare at Margaret Elliot. It was the day after Dick's run-in with the media, and the three of them were meeting at the social services' offices to discuss Dick's safety. Bruce had come to the meeting with the warnings of Lucius, Alfred and Kevin ringing in his ears, and had made a concentrated effort to remain calm. But when he had suggested that Dick be returned to his care for the boy's own protection, the social worker had flat out refused, infuriating Bruce.
"Dick was assaulted – assaulted! – by the media while in your care!" Bruce raged. "He could have been seriously hurt! You're not doing enough to protect him." He sighed in frustration before lowering his voice. "You know I'm not hurting him, why can't he come home?"
The CPS agent surveyed him coolly. "Because I still haven't finished my investigation."
"Investigation." Bruce snorted. "Dick and I both told you what happened, and the evidence backs that up. There is nothing to investigate."
"I disagree, Mr. Wayne. You and Richard could very easily have invented stories after each of those injuries. That's why I'm looking for further evidence to corroborate your story."
"What evidence? You could spend forever chasing the medical records of a travelling circus from five years ago and still find nothing!"
"How about the free clinic in Chicago where Richard was supposedly in a car accident?" she countered. "Such evidence would prove beyond a doubt that you're telling the truth."
"Great! Then contact the clinic so Dick can come home," Bruce bluffed, knowing full well the clinic no longer existed.
"That is proving more difficult than I had anticipated."
"What's so difficult about it?" demanded Bruce, continuing to play dumb.
"The events Richard described happened almost six years ago. Three of the seven free clinics operational in Chicago at that time have since closed, and the remaining four have no record of Richard being treated there."
"What about a police report?" asked Bruce, knowing it existed. He had read it after Dick had told him about the accident. It was a short report on how a van had crashed into the car of a circus family: two adults and a small boy. The Graysons had been mentioned by name and there had been no reference to injuries, but there had been a comment about their 'itinerant' background, which suggested the officer in question had been biased enough not to follow up on his report. For the second time since this mess had begun, someone's bigoted opinion was saving Bruce's ass.
"I'm working on it," she said evasively.
"Working on it." Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to explode. "Are you deliberately trying to slow things down?" Then something struck him and his head jerked up. "Wait! Is that why we can't get the date of the dispositional hearing moved up?!"
"The judge can only move the date of a dispositional hearing if both parties are ready with their evidence," Margaret Elliot reminded him. "And CPS aren't ready."
"You're doing this on purpose!" Bruce accused furiously.
She frowned. "Mr. Wayne, I'm not doing this to spite you. I'm only acting in Richard's best interests, so if you have nothing to hide then you have nothing to fear from my search. Why is it so hard for you to wait another twelve days?"
"Because I miss my son and I'm worried about him!"
"There is no need to worry. Richard is in good hands."
"Good hands?" Bruce shot back. "Was he in good hands yesterday when the media attacked him? You know, I went to the hospital this morning to thank the two security guards who waded into that frenzy to help Dick, and Dr. Phillips told me that he wanted security to walk Dick out but that you insisted it wasn't necessary. You walked Dick right into that snake pit without any thought to his safety!"
She had the grace to look ashamed. "And I'm very sorry about that, Mr. Wayne, but I truly believed I was doing the right thing. I knew a security presence would only call attention to Richard, and I thought that the media wouldn't recognize him if he were in my presence and wearing a hat. It would have worked too if that one reporter hadn't identified him."
"And that's supposed to make it okay?" Bruce had been apoplectic with rage when he'd heard how she had so casually disregarded Dick's safety, and it had taken his lawyer the better part of an hour to talk him down. But talking to Ms. Elliot now was causing the rage to build again. "Who knows how badly Dick could have been hurt if Dr. Phillips hadn't called security and sent those two guards out there!"
The thought of how Dick might have been trampled under that throng had scared Bruce so badly that he had gone to personally thank the two guards who'd helped Dick. The two men had been surprised at his gratitude, insisting that they were the ones who owed Bruce: it turned out both of them had children whose lives had been saved by the Wayne Foundation. The first guard, the one who had carried Dick to safety, had an eight-year-old boy who had received life-saving surgery for a heart condition, while the second guard's teenage daughter had been able to get treatment for her leukemia. She was now in full remission.
"You saved our kids," the first guard told Bruce. "The least we could do was help yours."
It was too bad that Margaret Elliot didn't view Bruce so favourably. Her expression was one of outright dislike as she spoke again. "Mr. Wayne, I have apologized and there is nothing I can do to change yesterday's events. I assure you, it won't happen again."
"But how do I know that?" Bruce persisted. "You won't tell me where Dick is. How do I know he's safe?"
"Richard is with a good family, one of our best. They won't disclose his presence to anyone and I ensured the media did not follow us from the hospital yesterday."
"What about the other kids in the home? What if they talk?"
"They won't. They're aware of the situation and have agreed to remain silent."
"Little kids aren't going to grasp how serious this is!"
"The other children in the home are all older than Richard, meaning they understand full well the consequences of what would happen if they said anything."
"Older?!" Bruce exclaimed in alarm. He knew where older teenagers generally went in foster care. "Tell me you didn't put him in a group home!"
She scowled. "As I've said already, Richard is with a good family. Trust me, he is perfectly safe."
Bruce shook his head in despair. "You're asking me to trust you with the most important person in the world to me when you've given me no indication that you can be trusted."
She looked a little taken aback. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wayne. I don't know what else I can say to convince you."
Bruce didn't respond because there was nothing she could say. Instead he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He felt sick with worry. He'd hacked CPS' files to find out where they had put Dick, but could find no record of his placement. And not knowing his son's location was eating at Bruce. He was used to knowing exactly where Dick was at all times. Not knowing made him feel helpless and out of control, because how could he protect Dick if he didn't know where he was?
"Ms. Elliot, what about supervised visits for Mr. Wayne?" Kevin Green spoke up.
"Supervised visits are going to be a little tricky as Richard runs the risk of being recognized every time he steps outside the door of his foster home. However, Dr. Phillips wants to see him first thing Monday morning to monitor his progress, so I can arrange for Mr. Wayne to see Richard afterwards."
Bruce's head shot up and he stared at her, surprised at how quickly she'd agreed to a visit. Dr. Phillips had told Bruce that while Dick was technically well enough to have been released from the hospital, he would prefer to have kept him for a few more days, just to keep an eye on him. It had been Margaret Elliot who had insisted on Dick's release and Dr. Phillips got the impression that she wanted to put some distance between Bruce and Dick. Bruce suspected it was because she was hoping that Dick would recant his earlier statement if he was out of Bruce's reach. But the billionaire was afraid of outright accusing the social worker of such tactics because she could retaliate by claiming that he was trying to influence Dr. Phillips. And right now, Dr. Phillips was the best witness they had.
Margaret sighed. "Don't look so surprised, Mr. Wayne. I'm not the enemy you believe me to be. I really am just concerned for Richard's safety."
Bruce ignored her comment. "Can't I see him before Monday? That's almost a week away." His previous two visits on Saturday and Sunday had only been two hours each, and even though he'd visited Dick as Batman every night, it still hadn't been enough. Bruce missed his son. Moreover, he was worried about Dick's emotional state – all of the boy's confidence had vanished in the wake of this upheaval, leaving him scared and uncertain.
"As I've said already, Mr. Wayne, Richard runs the risk of being recognized every time he steps outside the door of his foster home. However, I will try and arrange something for Saturday if I can organize a neutral location, one where Richard won't be exposed to the press."
Bruce didn't argue that because he wanted to protect Dick from the press as well. "Okay. But if I see him on Saturday, will I still be able to see him on Monday?"
"Yes. It makes sense for your visit to coincide with his hospital appointment as it reduces the time Richard has to spend outside of his foster home."
"What about duration? Can I see him for longer than two hours?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible if I organize something for Saturday. CPS are closed at weekends with just a skeleton crew operating to deal with emergencies, so I can't spare any more time than that. However, as I don't have any court appearances on Monday, you and Richard may have four hours together."
Bruce was flabbergasted. Where had this courtesy come from? Was she…mellowing towards him? If she was then he certainly wasn't going to jeopardize it by being rude. "Thank you, Ms. Elliot. I appreciate that."
She nodded. "I understand your concern after yesterday, but I can assure you, it won't happen again. Richard is with a good family and his location is known only to me and my supervisor. I haven't even kept a record of it in our system. I promise, Mr. Wayne, we will keep Richard safe."
Bruce was relieved that she seemed to be taking Dick's safety seriously, but his heart sank to hear that Dick's details hadn't been inputted into the system: there was absolutely no way he could find Dick now. But on the bright side, it meant that no one else could either. "What time on Monday can I see Dick?"
"I will contact you when we arrive at the hospital and you can meet us as soon as Richard's appointment is over. But I'm afraid I don't have an estimate as to how long that will take."
"It doesn't matter. I'll clear Monday and I'll be in the city waiting for your call." Bruce wasn't missing even one second of the precious four hours he'd been allotted to spend with Dick, especially now that he couldn't visit him as Batman.
"Good. Now, do either of you have any further questions?"
"I have one," Kevin spoke up. "How long do you think it will take you to complete your investigation?"
"That depends on how long it takes to find everything I'm looking for."
Bruce scowled. He'd almost been willing to believe she could be persuaded of his innocence until that comment.
"If you have no further questions," she addressed them, getting to her feet, "then I really must go. I have quite a lot of work to get through today."
Bruce and Kevin glanced at each other before shaking their heads. Margaret nodded. "Very well. Good day, gentlemen."
She departed, the door swinging closed behind her while Bruce slumped, defeated, in his seat. "It feels like it's taking forever to get this sorted. I still don't see why the courts can't let Dick come home now that the evidence proves I'm not hurting him."
"The court system is a slow process," Kevin pointed out.
"Bull!" Bruce replied bluntly. "It only took a weekend to get a court date to have Dick officially removed from my care."
"That was different. An emergency hold can't last any longer than ninety-six hours and courts are legally obliged to move swiftly in cases of emergency removals to prevent a child from being returned to a potentially abusive parent."
"Oh sure, it was an emergency when they were taking my son from me, but now that it's time to return him they can take their sweet time?" Bruce snapped bitterly, then checked himself. "Sorry. I know this isn't your fault. I'm just frustrated."
"It's alright, Mr. Wayne. I understand." Kevin's eyes flicked towards the door before returning to Bruce. "You should be aware of something. Amanda has being doing a little checking into Margaret Elliot's background. She was surprised by Ms. Elliot's attitude towards you – apparently it's not CPS policy to be so outright hostile. Did you know that Ms. Elliot spent a year as a social worker in Boston before moving to Gotham?"
Bruce shook his head. It hadn't occurred to him to check the CPS agent's background. He'd just assumed her hostility was a direct result of what she believed him to be guilty of. "Did Amanda find something?"
Kevin nodded. "One of Ms. Elliot's first cases involved a twelve-year-old boy whose father was investigated for abuse after the school brought the boy to A&E for injuries that occurred on school property. The hospital found evidence of physical abuse and CPS were called. Like you, the man was a single parent who ran a large multi-national corporation with connections everywhere. He was also known for his charitable donations, which meant some people didn't believe he was capable of abuse. And when the boy insisted that his father wasn't abusing him, CPS dropped the case because the weight of the man's connections made him impossible to prosecute. The boy was returned to him, and five months later he turned up dead – internal bleeding from a severe beating. Ms. Elliot moved to Gotham a month later." He fixed Bruce with a serious look. "There are some uncanny similarities between that case and yours."
Bruce was stunned. "She's been biased against me from the start because of an old case?"
"It would seem so."
"But surely she can't be allowed to get away with this! Can we bring this to the court's attention and have her removed as Dick's social worker because of her bias?"
"That would push back the date of the dispositional hearing. We should only use this information as a last resort."
"Last resort?" Bruce repeated sharply. "You mean if the judge rules against me at the hearing?"
"Yes. It's unlikely that will happen given how the evidence supports your story, but it always pays to have a contingency plan. Especially since Ms. Elliot seems set on proving that you've been abusing Dick."
Bruce groaned. The last thing he needed was Dick's social worker trying to avenge a dead child, or right an old wrong, or whatever the hell it was she thought she was doing. "If it reaches that point then how long will this take to resolve?"
Kevin's expression was grim. "Several months. Possibly even a year."
oOo
Dick was miserable in the foster home.
Dinner the night before had highlighted just how much he didn't fit in here, with Dana's cheerful attempts at conversation doing nothing to hide the fact that Nate despised Dick. Meanwhile, Terry and Lyssa were still a little dazed by who he was and didn't seem to know what to say to him – not that Lyssa would have said anything anyway. As for AJ and Greg, they seemed completely unconcerned by the whole thing, or possibly didn't even notice. It was hard to tell because neither of them spoke much.
The awkwardness of the atmosphere had been further exacerbated by Dana stopping Dick from helping the other teenagers to clear away the remains of dinner.
"Why doesn't he have to help?" Nate had demanded at once. "He has a broken arm but his other one works just fine!"
Dana had explained about the brain injury and the doctor's orders for Dick to rest, but Dick could see that they didn't really get it. He supposed he couldn't blame them. To a couple of kids used to harsh situations, Dick – with the exception of his arm and the bruising around his left temple – looked perfectly healthy. He was walking and talking, capable of feeding himself… What was the problem?
Things had only gotten worse when Nate discovered that Dick had a room to himself. "The rest of us have to share!" he'd pointed out furiously. "Why doesn't he?"
"Lyssa doesn't have to share either," Dana had reminded him. "She's by herself in the twin room. You're in the triple with AJ and Terry, leaving no one to share with Dick in the other triple. If another boy moves in while Dick is with us, then Dick will have to share, same as the rest of you."
But Nate refused to see her point. "He doesn't have to go to school, he doesn't have to do chores, and now he doesn't have to share a room. What other favouritism can we expect for the little rich boy?"
At that point Dana had sent Nate to his room, following after him in order to talk to him. She'd come back downstairs after an hour, but Nate hadn't appeared again for the rest of the night. And while the others didn't show Dick the same outright dislike as Nate had, they pretty much left him to his own devices.
Today hadn't been much better. Still tiring easily, Dick had slept late, meaning the others had already left for school and Greg had gone to work, leaving Dana as Dick's only companion. And while she was a lovely woman, she still had a house full of people to care for and a lot of work to do, leaving Dick with a great deal of time to himself. Time he couldn't fill because of his injuries; he wasn't allowed to do any physical activity, reading made him dizzy, and the television hurt his head after more than fifteen minutes of looking at the screen.
Dick was bored, lonely, and homesick.
He spent most of the day wondering how Bruce and Alfred were, and seriously debated asking Dana if he could call Bruce for a chat before deciding against it. Aside from not wanting to get her in trouble with social services, Dick was afraid of doing anything that might jeopardize his chances of being reunited with Bruce.
Just before the others returned from school, he retired to the room he'd been assigned; Dick couldn't bring himself to call it his room because his real bedroom was back at Wayne Manor. It wasn't like Dick to avoid the people around him, but surrounded by hostility and wariness he was unsure how to relate to the other teenagers.
Lying on the bed, Dick heard the others come in, the noisy chatter of their voices floating up the stairs. It was followed by Dana greeting them, and then heavy footsteps as they came upstairs to do their homework. After that, silence descended, broken only by the occasional murmur of voices from the boys' room across the hall.
Curled in a ball on the bed, Dick could feel the corners of his mouth tugging downwards in misery. The longing for home was like a tangible thing that wrenched his heart and made every fibre of him cry out in pain. Dick didn't understand what he and Bruce had done to deserve this. It wasn't fair.
When Dana called them for dinner, he slowly pulled himself off the bed and listened to the other teenagers tramp down the stairs, talking loudly. After a minute, he reluctantly went downstairs as well, and tried to ignore their curious glances as he joined them at the table.
"Thank you," he said quietly, when Dana put a plate in front of him. It was roast chicken and it smelled delicious, but Dick's stomach was too twisted up in knots to enjoy it. He spent most of dinner trying to force a few forkfuls down his throat while pushing the rest around his plate. And he only spoke when someone – usually Dana – asked him a question.
The other teenagers seemed to be less thrown by his presence this evening and were talking animatedly, with the exception of the weirdly non-verbal Lyssa. Listening to their conversation, Dick discovered that Terry and Nate were hardcore football fans, and both played on the school football team. They had a big game coming up next week and were obsessively discussing plays. Nate, Dick noted, lost his perpetual scowl and actually looked happy as he talked about the game.
When dinner was over, Dick used the noise of clear-up to ask Dana if he could be excused. He saw her glance at his plate and a small crease appeared in her forehead, but instead of commenting on his barely touched meal, she nodded. "Of course, honey. You go right ahead."
Dick slipped quietly out of the kitchen while the others were chattering noisily by the sink.
Back in the room, he threw himself on the bed again and stared at the ceiling. The last twenty-four hours had felt never-ending, and he still had two weeks of this ahead of him – longer if the courts ruled against Bruce! Dick didn't know if he'd be able to stand another two weeks of this, not to talk of enduring it indefinitely. He was used to being busy, to being surrounded by people who cared about him, and this forced inactivity coupled with being in the home of strangers, most of whom were uncomfortable around him, just made him feel ill.
If it weren't for his physical limitations, Dick would have run away, back to Wayne Manor. But a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, coupled with a still-healing brain injury that left him feeling drained, would leave him vulnerable on the streets of Gotham. Even as Robin he wouldn't be able to fight like this. Not to mention what would happen if anyone recognized him as Dick Grayson. The powerlessness of his situation was making him feel helpless and trapped.
A knock on the door sounded suddenly.
"Uh…yes?" Dick called, sitting up.
The door opened and Dana entered, carrying a mug. "I brought you some hot chocolate. You didn't eat much dinner."
"Thanks," he said, accepting the mug. "You didn't have to do that."
"Actually, I did." She sat into a chair by the huge desk. "I'm responsible for you while you're here, Dick, and I'm concerned that you don't seem to be eating. Do you not like the food or–"
"No," Dick interrupted her hurriedly. "You're a great cook, Dana, honest. I'm just not very hungry at the moment."
"I see." She studied him. "Is it because of your injury or because of what's happening with social services?"
Dick shrugged, sipping his hot chocolate. "I don't know…maybe both? I haven't really felt hungry since I hurt my head, but my appetite also drops whenever I get stressed. Bruce and Alfred hate it," he added, as an afterthought.
"I can imagine. What do they do to help you to eat?"
Dick bit his lip, unwilling to answer. What generally happened was that Alfred cooked his favourite foods, but there was no way Dick would let that happen here. He could only imagine how Nate would react.
"Dick, from what you've told me about them I'm sure they do something. Now, come on, honey, what is it?"
"It doesn't matter, it isn't important."
"It is important. Dick, you need to eat – even more so now that your body is trying to heal. And you're so terribly pale… I'm worried."
"I'm sorry. I'll make more of an effort to eat."
Dana shook her head. "Honey, I don't want you forcing yourself after you've been so ill. What about if I were to cook your favourite foods, would that help?"
"No, that's okay. I'd rather you didn't," said Dick quickly.
"Is it because you're worried about what the other kids will say?"
Dick glanced down at his hot chocolate and didn't answer.
She sighed. "Dick, that's not a reason for me to not cook you things you'll eat."
His head jerked up. "Please, Dana, please! I don't want to stand out anymore than I already do!"
She held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, sweetie, alright. But you know, we don't have to say I'm cooking it for you; I try out new dishes all the time. And what if something you love is something I cook often?"
"I don't want you going to any trouble…"
She leaned forward and placed one hand on his. "Dick, honey, that's not trouble. I'm a born mom. I love looking after the kids in my care."
The kindness in her eyes reminded him of his own mother and made something in his chest wobble. Dick swallowed and looked away.
"Come on, honey," she coaxed. "The other kids don't have to know, and it would be a weight off my shoulders to see you eating…"
"Okay," he said reluctantly. "I like pizza, but I'm not allowed it very often."
She patted his hand before withdrawing her own. "Pizza I can do. We always have pizza on a Friday night. What are your favourite toppings?"
"Um…so long as there's mushrooms, I really don't mind." Dick took a large gulp of his hot chocolate to try and relax. Why was everything making him so tense and emotional lately? He was usually way more chilled than this.
"Not a problem. Everyone here loves mushrooms on their pizza. What else?"
"Lasagna?"
Dana smiled. "Believe it or not, that's Nate's favourite. That and meatloaf. He loves his red meat. What about you, hon? What's your favourite dish?"
Crab-stuffed mushrooms, but Dick wasn't going to say that because it absolutely wasn't something Dana would make. That was an Alfred speciality.
"I love salmon," he said instead, settling on a seafood option because he was a sucker for seafood.
"My favourite," she said, winking. "What else?"
"Ah…can we leave it at that?" Dick asked. He already felt like a jerk that Dana felt obliged to do this, and he would feel like a total spoiled brat if he continued listing meals for her to make.
"Okay, honey. Hopefully that will cover the not feeling hungry part, but we need to do something about the emotional stress as well."
Dick shrugged. Short of being reunited with Bruce, there wasn't really much they could do.
Dana seemed to understand the problem. "This situation isn't hopeless, Dick. I'm going to talk to Margaret Elliot tomorrow about arranging a visit with Mr. Wayne, and I'm also going to talk to her about letting you go home. Some children get to stay with their parents until the dispositional hearing takes place."
"She'd never let that happen. She thinks Bruce is hurting me."
"I'll talk to her about that."
"What are you going to say?" Dick asked, tilting his head.
"That Mr. Wayne isn't hurting you. That she's hurting you more by keeping you away from him."
Dick stared at her. "You believe me? That Bruce isn't hurting me?"
"Yes, Dick, I do. I've lived with abused children for more than fifteen years and you bear none of the hallmarks. For starters, you trusted me too quickly. It takes weeks, sometimes months, for an abused child to even consider trusting a stranger. And you talked about your home with such happiness… Most children who've lived with me don't even want to mention their homes. You're not angry, you're not lashing out. All I can see is a lonely boy who misses his dad."
Dick nodded miserably because he did, he missed Bruce so much that he ached inside.
"Oh, honey…" Dana murmured, standing up and moving over to sit beside him. She put her arms around him and pulled him into a hug.
Dick scrunched his eyes shut and clenched his jaw to stop himself from crying. He didn't understand why he was being so emotional! He was Robin the Boy Wonder, he was tougher than this…what was wrong with him?!
"Sweetie, let it out if you need to," Dana said quietly.
"I don't want to," Dick choked out. "I'm not a baby!"
"No. But you're still only thirteen and you've just had a very difficult few weeks, not to mention a serious head injury. It's a lot for anyone to take, honey."
But Dick wasn't giving into this. He was stronger than this. Taking several shaky breaths, he forced himself to get a grip. When he was finally calm, he pulled back from Dana's hold and spoke quietly. "Thanks for being so nice to me."
She gave him a warm smile. "It's my pleasure, honey."
"Are you really going to talk to Ms. Elliot tomorrow?"
Dana nodded. "I can't promise it'll help, but I'll do my very best."
"Thank you," he whispered gratefully.
She cupped his cheek. "You're welcome, hon. Now, can you do something for me?"
Dick looked at her questioningly.
"If I were to bring you a small sandwich, would you try to eat it for me?"
"Okay."
"Good boy." She got to her feet. "Finish your hot chocolate and I'll be back in a few minutes."
Dick nodded and she left the room.
He sipped at the drink, staring into space while he thought about what Dana had promised to do. From what he'd seen of his social worker so far, he highly doubted that she'd let him return home before the hearing, but maybe Dana could convince her to at least let him see Bruce.
"You make me sick, you know that?" said an angry voice suddenly, pulling Dick from his thoughts.
He looked up to see Nate standing in the doorway and frowned. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" Nate stepped into the room. "I want you to stop acting like a spoiled brat! Sulking and making Dana feel like she has to do all this extra work just to help you; cooking special dinners…" He snorted. "It's pathetic!"
"That was a private conversation," said Dick. "You had no right to listen in!"
"And you have no right to treat Dana like she's your personal servant! But I suppose someone like you is used to ordering people around."
"Someone like me?" Dick repeated, starting to get angry. "You don't even know anything about me!"
"I know you're some rich brat who's whining about how hard he's got it when you've probably never even seen what real pain is!"
Dick got to his feet quickly. "And I suppose you know all about pain?"
Nate took a step towards him. "I know more about it than you. But you don't see me moping around crying and feeling sorry for myself!"
"No, you're just a bully who takes his temper out on everyone around him!" Dick shot back.
Nate clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes. "Don't you ever call me that!" he ground out dangerously.
Dick recognized the warning signs of someone about to go over the edge, but he didn't care. After two weeks of having no control over his own life, he was relishing being able to fight back. "What? A bully? Why, does the truth hurt?"
Nate came closer to him and his voice was deadly quiet. "I am not a bully."
Despite being the shortest of the other foster kids, Nate still towered over Dick by several inches, but Dick didn't back down. "Really? You're aggressive and angry, and you pick on others… That sounds a lot like a bully to me!"
It suddenly occurred to Dick that Nate might be one of those abused children that Dana had been talking about.
"I'm not a bully!" Nate shoved Dick hard enough to knock him to the floor. The hot chocolate flew out of his hand and splashed across the carpet.
There was silence for a moment. Dick gazed up at Nate, who was staring at his outstretched hands. Slowly, the older boy's face took on a look of horror.
"Shit…" he whispered and looked down at Dick. He opened his mouth to say something, and Dick got the impression that Nate was about to apologize when a sharp cry interrupted him.
They both turned to find Dana standing in the doorway, one hand over her mouth and a shocked expression on her face. A plate was clutched in her other hand. "Nate, no," she whispered, before putting the plate on the desk and hurrying over to Dick. She knelt beside him. "Dick, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he replied, as she helped him to his feet.
"You're sure?" she asked anxiously. "You didn't hurt your arm or hit your head or anything like that?"
He shook his head.
Dana turned to face Nate. "Go to your room please, Nate," she said quietly, disappointment in her voice. "I'll be across to speak with you in a few minutes."
Nate obeyed without saying a word.
She returned her attention to Dick. "Sweetheart, are you sure you're not hurt?"
"I'm fine, really. All he did was push me, and it was kind of my fault anyway."
"Dick, if he pushed you then that doesn't make it your fault."
"But I called him a bully, and I kept calling him a bully even after it upset him!"
Dana shook her head. "Name calling is not an excuse for physical violence. Nate knows that better than anyone."
So Nate was an abused kid. Dick flushed with shame at his own behaviour. "I should have known better too…especially after you told me to walk away if Nate got angry."
She sighed. "Okay, maybe you could have behaved a little better. But why did you call him a bully? And why was Nate in here in the first place?"
Dick shuffled awkwardly. "He sort of…overheard our conversation, and he wanted to tell me to stop treating you like a servant."
"He– oh, for crying out loud!" Dana looked exasperated. "Dick, I promise, the last thing you are doing is treating me like a servant. And I'm going to have a very stern talk with Nate about his attitude towards you."
"Dana, please, I don't want him to get into any trouble. This was my fault too."
She shook her head and gave him a sad smile. "You're a sweet boy, Dick, you know that?"
He blushed.
She sighed again. "Alright, I won't be too hard on Nate. But in future, Dick, you have to walk away if he gets mad. I know he's giving you a hard time, but Nate struggles with new people and he will soften towards you over the next few days once he sees that you're not who he thinks you are. I saw it happen with Terry; the two of them couldn't stand each other for the first two weeks and now they're the best of friends."
"He gave Terry a hard time?" asked Dick, surprised. From what he'd seen, Terry was the person Nate liked most in the house.
"Actually, he gave everyone a hard time for the first few days, but Terry got the worst of it. Nate…finds it hard to trust people."
"He's been abused, hasn't he?" said Dick quietly. "That's why he got so mad when I called him a bully."
Looking very sad, Dana nodded. "Nate's had it rough, that's why he's so angry all the time. But he really isn't a bad kid." She surveyed Dick. "He didn't scare you, did he?"
Dick shook his head. "I think he scared himself more. He looked like he was about to apologize when you walked in."
"Really?"
"I'm not sure but…yeah, I think so."
"Huh." For some reason, Dana looked happier. "Okay, Dick, I need to go speak with Nate now, but I want you to eat your sandwich for me. And just leave that mess," she added, waving at the slowly spreading chocolate stain. "I'll scrub it out later."
Dick nodded and she left the room.
Slowly, Dick sank onto the bed, staring vacantly at the far wall. What was going on with him? He'd goaded Nate even though he'd seen the warning signs. Dick knew better than that. He wasn't reckless or stupid, and he certainly wasn't the dumb cry-baby he'd been for the last few days! Had the brain injury somehow altered his personality? Dick had read about such things in some of the papers on abnormal psychology that Batman sometimes made him read. He made a note to speak to Dr. Phillips about it on Monday. Maybe the doctor would know what to do to fix it.
As to what Dick should do to fix the situation with Nate…
Dick sighed. He felt awful about calling Nate a bully now that he knew he'd been abused. From what he knew about abused kids, lashing out was one of their coping mechanisms. He needed to apologize to Nate. The older boy would probably laugh in his face, but at least Dick would feel better.
He wondered if he should go across and speak with him now, but immediately vetoed the idea. Dick stood a better chance of Nate actually listening to him if he had time to calm down. An apology might even help Nate to see that Dick wasn't the spoiled brat he believed him to be!
Dick sure hoped that something changed soon because he couldn't take another two weeks of this antagonism. He was just too tired and too on edge to deal with it. For the millionth time since this whole nightmare had begun, Dick wished he was back home with Bruce.
Where he belonged.