WOW that is the most reviews i have ever gotten for anything.

i have decided to continue with these. they will be onshots. i want to try and do things that have not been done before.

HALLWAYHALLWAYHALLWAYHALLWAY

The air was stale. A sense of despair wafted through the white halls like the smell of dust that hid in the cracks of the floor tiles.

The Gotham childcare center. A non profit group and a branch of Gotham Medical that helped the police house children that had either witnessed or were involved with crimes and had nowhere else to go.

Bruce silently scoffed as he walked down the hall. They should just call it what it was, an orphanage or even more accurate, a children's prison.

The children's psychologist for the center walking in front of him chittered nervously. "... the poor thing won't talk to anyone, of course losing both his parents in such a way, and right before his eyes no less, terrible really, he won't come out of his room and he barely eats a thing, just sits there broken, poor boy."

To almost anyone else the man would seem genuinely concerned, some might even think he understood the child he described.

Bruce Wayne wasn't anyone, he knew this man didn't really care. He was just putting on a show in hopes of gaining Bruces's sympathy and with it perhaps a generous donation to the center.

He had done his homework, and he knew what they wanted. There were many children as it was and the staff would not mind at all if the newest arrival receded into such a state that he would have to be sent to the psych ward of a hospital, or worse,

Arkham

His fists tightened at the mere thought of that horrid place. All the minds lost inside those dark halls. He had been in that dungeon unwillingly on more than one occasion and would not let a child experience the horrors that nightmare of a building could bring to one's mind.

The doctor checked the clipboard in his hands and stopped at room 228 "Well, here he is Mr. Wayne" as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and cautiously unlocked the door.

A question came to Bruce, why would they need to lock the door if the boy never came out. The question rolled around his mind for a few seconds before Bruce answered the man "thank you" the doctor nodded and promptly walked away mumbling something about another patient.

Bruce made a mental not to report this place to Gordon on the grounds of child endangerment and probable licence fraud. No real doctor would be stupid enough to risk their job on a technicality like leaveing a child and a single man in his 30's untended.

Of course in this case, Bruce thought to himself, the child was safer with him than anyone else in this non-profit nightmare. And it would be much easier to talk to the boy in private.

Bruce opened the door and entered.

The room was darker than the halls. A small lamp sat bolted to a brown desk bolted to the wall and floor. The whole room was done over in various shades of dingy gray. And the hard wood floor creaked under his weight. The bed was nothing more than two mattresses set on top of each other. Bruce's eyes narrowed. He was definitely telling Gordon about this place. The room looked about as friendly as a room at Gotham penitentiary.

Bruce had deduced the boy's location milliseconds before the smallest noise from the corner confirmed his assumption Bruce stepped forward allowing the door to swing shut with a soft thud. He moved past the desk, noting the crumpled newspaper which lay on top.

"Night of Fun turns into Night of Terror"

Mary and Jonathan Grayson, trapeze artists died last evening in a tragic accident. . .

Bruce felt his anger flare. Tony Zucco had enough influence and money to keep the murders secret. Bruce couldn't do anything, but Batman would see to it that the truth got out.

He took another step and stopped dead in the water. The boy sat on the far side of the desk pressed into the corner, trying to disappear into the shadows. His legs were pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. He was wearing simple gray sweat pants and a black tee shirt that looked much too big for him.

But the thing that stopped Bruce was the boy himself. Shaggy black hair fell into the young face, tear tracks stained a pale skin, mouth turned into an angry slit pulling against the unused smile lines adorning his face.

The boy's eyes were blue. A blue that would normally put the sky or sea to shame but were now clouded over with so many dark emotions they were blinded by a storm. A storm of anger, loneliness and sorrow.

For a moment Bruce lost all sense of reality. He had seen this boy before. He had seen the messy hair and tear stained face. He had seen those sad accusing eyes watching his every move, as if they were certain he would do something, anything that would cause their host more pain.

He had seen it all before. So many years ago, he had seen this boy

For a terrible second Bruce thought he was looking in a mirror. The almost broken child before him was so familiar to Bruce, and it was nearly unbearable.

But that was why he was here wasn't it.

"Hello Dick" he spoke softly, not wanting to upset the boy. Of course Bruce was painfully aware how impossible that would probably be.

The boy looked only mildly surprised that Bruce knew his nick name, but he didn't respond beyond a small nod.

Bruce knelt to the boy's level "I'm Bruce Wayne" he chose to stay silent, knowing too many words too soon would only make the child uncomfortable or angry.

Dick continued to watch the man. Carefully. He wasn't totally sure why but he felt like he couldn't trust anyone right now. The doctor had said something about post traumatic stress being the cause, but that didn't seem to fit. His emotions were just so jumbled, but he could barely think strait. His brain and body were arguing so much about what he should do that he couldn't do anything.

He wanted to go back to the circus.

He wanted to curl up on his fold out in the trailer and cry.

He wanted to work on the new trapeze routine till his arms ached.

He wanted his mom and dad

He wanted them back holding him tightly and telling him that all the hurt would just go away.

He just wanted to go home.

The doctors, cops and nurses that had come and gone over the past few days in this infernal prison had all told him things like "I'm so sorry for your loss" or "you'll be ok" or "it will get better." Dick had wanted to pummel each one. He had practically attacked the last three consolers that they had insisted he talk to. He figured that was why no one had come in here since, except to give him meals.

But this man, Bruce Wayne, he didn't say anything, he just waited. Waited for Dick to set the stage, instead of forcing him into the proverbial spotlight. It felt nice to have someone not trying to get him to "talk about your feelings".

Dick looked back at the man and was surprised at what he saw. It wasn't pity or superiority like he had expected from a rich business person. What he saw was compassion and true understanding. Dick could see it in those powerful eyes,

This man understood.

Someone else understood the pain inside him and that made dick feel better than he had in days.

Dick thought back to this morning when the doctor had said that The Bruce Wayne was coming to see him. The doc had spent a good ten minutes talking about the billionaire and how good this could turn out for the center.

Dick had expected some white collar stock market jockey looking for a quick way to the front page, Dick had imagined tomorrow's headlines would have read something like

"Local Millionaire offers condolences to orphaned circus acrobat"

Newspapers loved that kind of stuff.

But he never expected this quiet patient person before him. He relaxed, just a little, before forcing himself to speak for the first time since his parents had been killed.

"You . . . were at the . . . " he spoke softly, his throat was raw and weak from crying but he kept going "I . . . I, heard you . . . paid for . . . " he couldn't finish, the tears were starting again and he didn't want anyone to see him cry. "So . . . thanks . . . " he rubbed his eyes with his forearm trying to stop the sudden onslaught of emotions.

Bruce only nodded and gave a small smile. He knew the final word the boy could not say, funeral. He had decided to pay for what the boy obviously could not.

"Your welcome, I felt it was the least I could do" in a way Bruce felt responsible for the deaths of Mary and john Grayson. But guilt would not help the boy. "I know it doesn't make it better but, I am sorry for your loss"

"I know how hard this is for you for, and scared you must be right now . . . " he paused, his eyes glazing sightly and Dick could tell he was thinking about something painful. "I... lost my parents when I was just about your age, I understand what your going through better than anyone" dick wasn't sure what it was but that urge to jump into this man's arms and cry got stronger, Mr. Wayne continued.

"I was lucky enough to have people who cared about me to help me through that dark time," he stopped again, then a look, that reminded Dick a lot of his dad when he set his mind to something, came over Mr. Wayne's face, "and I think you deserve the same."

Dick stayed quiet for a few minutes with a thoughtful, but not dissaproving look on his face. Bruce didn't mind, he knew that it would take a while for the boy to open up to anyone. It was the boy seemed to approve of the idea, but more time was necessary for both of them.

They continued to sit quietly in a surprisingly comfortable silence. A few questions spilt from both and were answered easily enough. Until the doctor from before came and told Mr. Wayne that visiting time was nearly over and he would have to leave soon. Dick suddenly felt a fear clench his stomach. He didn't want Mr. Wayne to leave. He didn't want to be alone with a staff of people who didn't care or understand.

As Bruce stood up, feeling a sense of sudden loss and disappointment himself, he felt a small hand clench over his own. He looked down at the boy, Dick, his eyes had not cleared of the storm, but it had lessened greatly. The most prominent emotion now blanketing the sapphire gems were fear and desperation.

Dick's hand was shaking very badly and it brought his own desire to just adopt the boy now, to a great peak. But he knew it had to be Dick's decision. Bruce knelt back to dick's level, a soft smile came to his face. "If you want, I can come back tomorrow?" for a moment he was scared of the boy's rejection. As Dick looked to the side as if unsure.

Then Dick looked back to him, his eyes clearer and stronger than they had been throughout their entire meeting. There was only the slightest glassiness on their surface and the corners of his eyes but the smile on his face was enough to make Bruce abandon the last of his doubts about his desicion. Dick nodded, a small but sure movement confirming that he wanted Bruce to come back.

Bruce got up to his feet and headed to the door. Dick did not stop him this time. He was sure that Mr. Wayne would keep his unspoken promise.

Well that was long, but I thought it was good and worth putting up.

AN: I have an idea for another chapter, where they go to a charity millionaire ball. My only problem I have three different ways it can go, so I will let you, my readers decide.

Dick recently found out about Bruce being batmen. And while at a big fancy party, should dick meet

A) Oliver queen (no dick doesn't know who he is, but he may find out at the party)

B) lex Luthor (he tries to get dick to doubt himself and Bruce's care for him)

C) both (Oliver saves dick from a manipulating Luthor)

you decide! "Later Days!"