A/N: The setting for this is "Penguin's Clean Sweep" - season 3x20. Credit for the premise goes to the authors of the script: Stanford Sherman, Bob Kane, William Dozier. Thanks for reading!
"My money is good!" Penguin yelled into the phone.
The man on the other end immediately hung up, and the villain quacked in irritation as he, too, hung up.
"Bruce Wayne," he grumbled to his henchmen, "has been telling people that my money is contaminated. Nobody will accept it."
"He can't have called all the countries," Penguin's female companion stated. "Try another one."
"I've already called twelve!" the man exclaimed angrily.
Picking up the phone again, Penguin dialed the number of Wayne Manor.
"Bruce Wayne."
"I want you to call all the countries back and tell them to accept my money," Penguin immediately demanded.
"I will not," the millionaire stated calmly.
"You won't like what happens if you don't," the villain threatened.
The lygerian fruit flies won't last in this forty-five degree weather.
Bruce smiled slightly at the thought as he replied, "I do not negotiate with criminals."
"I warned you," Penguin snapped, giving a final quack before slamming the phone down.
Bruce stared at the phone for a moment before slowly replacing it. Penguin had sounded completely confident in his threat, but Batman was sure that the only thing the villain had was a box of flies.
Meanwhile, at Woodrow Roosevelt High School:
Dick Grayson stood at his locker, surreptitiously studying the unfamiliar man at the other end of the hallway. He was short and squat, with black hair that covered the back of his neck. His hands were fidgety, and he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The sixteen-year-old suspected that the man was nervous, which meant he didn't belong here.
The bell rang. Dick didn't want to stop observing the man, but neither did he want to be late to class. Reluctantly turning away, the teenager strode around the corner and headed for his classroom.
Hawk narrowed his eyes. The kid who had just turned the corner was obviously Dick Grayson. Penguin had given him a perfect description. Now the henchman just had to figure out a way to snatch him without anybody noticing. Bruce Wayne should have just made the calls, rescinding his allegations about Penguin's money. But his refusal to negotiate had sealed his young ward's fate.
Three hours later - Wayne Manor:
"Alfred, when is Dick due home?"
"Anytime now, Master Bruce. He had a student council meeting today after school, sir."
"Of course, thank you."
The phone in the hallway rang, and Alfred excused himself to answer it.
"Wayne Manor," the butler stated professionally.
"Let me speak with Bruce Wayne," a familiar voice demanded.
Alfred widened his eyes when he heard the distinct cackle of Penguin.
"One moment, please," he replied, keeping his voice even.
Placing the phone on the table, the butler returned to the living room, where Bruce was reading the paper.
"Sir, Penguin is on the phone again."
The millionaire frowned and immediately stood up. Perhaps the villain was about to release the lygerian fruit flies and was giving Bruce one last chance to reconsider his earlier decision.
Striding into the hallway, the man picked up the phone, confident in his resolve to refuse to negotiate.
"Bruce Wayne."
"Well, Brucie-boy, have you reconsidered your earlier decision?"
"No, Penguin, I have not," Bruce replied firmly. "I do not negotiate with criminals."
"Perhaps you will when you hear what's next."
There was a moment of silence and then a muffled shout.
Bruce felt a ball of lead settle in his chest. That yell had sounded like...no, Dick was at school, at a student council meeting. He couldn't have been taken from school, not by Penguin. But ordinary citizens might not recognize the foul fowl, especially self-absorbed teenagers. And they definitely wouldn't be able to identify a random henchman that Penguin had probably sent to do the job for him. Except, of course, for Dick Grayson, who wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
Penguin sounded annoyed when he began speaking again, his familiar cackle surrounded by anger.
"Your kid has decided not to talk, Mr. Wayne," Penguin stated.
"My..." Bruce's breath caught in his throat - the villain did have Dick in his criminal clutches.
"Put him on the phone anyway," the millionaire commanded, immediately forcing himself to calm down.
A growl, several scuffling sounds, and then another muffled shout.
"Talk!" Penguin demanded, his voice sounding distant.
"Dick!" Bruce exclaimed, knowing his ward was there but refusing to say anything. "I need to know your status; talk to me."
"I'm fine, Bruce," the teen answered, frustration filling his voice. "Don't do..."
Dick's voice was cut off and the millionaire heard the distinctive sound of flesh hitting flesh.
"Leave him alone!" Bruce yelled.
"Then give me what I want," Penguin stated, his voice much closer.
"No!" Dick yelled, then Bruce heard a grunt of pain.
The millionaire sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not negotiate with criminals, but this villain had his son.
"Ten seconds, Brucie-boy," Penguin said with another cackle.
"Fine," Bruce said quietly. "I'll make the calls."
"I knew you would see it my way."
"But first you have to let Dick go."
"If I let him go, you won't make the calls. I'll tell you where he is after I have proof that you made the calls. Start with Carpathia."
Penguin slammed the phone down and rubbed his hands together with glee.
"How'd you do that so easily, boss?" Sparrow, the taller of the two henchmen, asked.
"It's all about leverage," Penguin answered. "Find a person's weakness and use it to your advantage. Dick Grayson is obviously Bruce Wayne's weakness."
Dick was frustrated. He had been captured by one of Penguin's henchmen, because Dick Grayson couldn't fight back like Robin could. It was something that irritated him, but also something he knew was necessary.
Penguin was going on and on about how Bruce would retract his statements to the financiers of the world, and how the contaminated money would then be accepted everywhere, and that he was going to buy his lady friend an entire country. Dick was attempting to ignore him, but it was very difficult because of the annoying cackles spread throughout the monologue.
Without Dick noticing, Penguin had picked up the phone and called Wayne Manor. There was no way Dick was going to allow Bruce to know he had been captured, so when Penguin glanced at him with a sinister smile, Dick turned his head away.
That action earned him a punch to the solar plexus, which he couldn't defend against because he was currently tied to a chair. Dick couldn't hold back the shout of pain, but he kept it as quiet as possible.
Penguin was back on the phone, and Dick silently groaned when he heard the words "your kid". Great, now he was going to have to try to convince Bruce to stick to his refusal to negotiate.
Hawk, the stronger henchman who had kidnapped the teenager, easily picked up both Dick and the chair. He walked across the room toward Penguin, who was holding the phone out. The teen's legs were free, so he twisted his lower body and kicked the goon as hard as he could. It was a glancing blow - Dick didn't have much power from his seated position - but it angered the henchman. Dick paid for that action with a punch to the side of his head, causing silver stars to burst across his vision.
Hawk roughly slammed the chair onto the ground, increasing the already-pounding ache in Dick's head. Penguin shoved the phone against the teenager's ear, but still he refused to talk.
"Talk!" the villain yelled, but Dick stubbornly remained silent.
"Dick, I need to know your status; talk to me!"
Bruce's voice, although loud, was calm. There was an outline of concern, but the teenager knew it was just because he was 'only' Dick Grayson, who couldn't fight back. Robin would have been able to escape.
"I'm fine, Bruce," the boy nearly snapped.
His frustration was beginning to get the better of him. And the pounding in his head wasn't helping. But now he had to convince his guardian to refuse Penguin's terms. Batman could handle the situation. Dick might end up a little worse for wear, but Alfred was not only a very capable butler, but also a very capable medic.
"Don't do..."
Dick was cut off when Hawk's fist caught him on the side of the head again. His ears began ringing, and he suddenly had no idea what was going on. He faintly recognized that he was tied to a chair, which meant the man on the phone was probably Bruce.
"No!" Dick yelled, although he wasn't sure if that was a good response to whatever was being discussed between 'probably Bruce' and the guy in the faux tuxedo.
Hawk used his meaty fist on the sixteen-year-old's solar plexus again, and Dick's torso burst into flames. He grunted as the fire surrounded his ribs, and decided that talking wasn't worth it. Dick didn't know what he should be talking about anyway.
The teen's ears stopped ringing and his jumbled thoughts began clearing just in time to hear Penguin say that Dick Grayson was Bruce Wayne's weakness. Dick realized that, because of him, the villain was about to get whatever it was he was after. It was his fault, just like most of the dangerous situations the Dynamic Duo found themselves in were Robin's fault.
Dick's arms were unexpectedly freed from their restraints. Sparrow pulled the boy to his feet, one hand wrapped around his left bicep to steady him. The teenager was swaying, and waves were rushing across his vision.
"Put him in the cage," Penguin commanded. "Let's see how good he is at getting out of a trap."
"He's clearly out of it, boss," Hawk commented.
"All the more fun to watch," Penguin responded with a cackle.
Sparrow led the boy to the far corner of the room. He stepped away and pushed a button. Four glass walls dropped down, effectively trapping Dick inside a clear prison. The henchman pushed another button, and small, crystal spikes poked themselves through the glass. Their points shimmered in the bright lights of Penguin's hideout, and Sparrow shuddered.
Then he pushed another button, and the floor inside Dick's makeshift cage began shifting and tilting. Up and down, right and left, making the teenager dizzier than he already was. He couldn't keep his footing, and he began stumbling around. The small crystals poked holes in his skin every time he bumped against a wall, and soon there were droplets of blood hitting the floor of the cage. Clear, shimmering crystals became crimson spikes as Dick staggered around.
Dick felt tiny pricks of pain, but the pounding in his head overwhelmed his ability to care about what was happening to the rest of his body. He had his arms stretched out to the sides, attempting to steady himself, but that just caused his hands to receive most of the damage from the crystals.
He stumbled forward and managed to move his forearms in front of him just in time. Dick recognized that he was in danger, although he didn't understand the extent of it. His vision turned red when he bumped his forehead against a wall, and the jolt of pain shoved the pounding headache aside.
Glancing down, Dick realized that he was losing blood. He hadn't noticed it before, but the fact that the floor was slowly turning scarlet alarmed him.
The teenager looked through the glass, understanding finally dawning in his mind. Penguin was going to kill him, tell Bruce where to find him, and leave the millionaire to pick up the pieces. Dick was not going to let that happen.
He staggered to the middle of the cage and unsteadily dropped to his knees. Then he changed his position, crossing his legs in front of him and planting his hands on either side of his body. Hopefully, he could stabilize himself long enough for Batman to find him. Alive.
Dick watched Penguin pick up the phone. He had no doubt that Bruce had called at least one country in order to stall - to give himself time to figure out where Penguin was hiding and race to save Dick. All the teenager had to do was remain completely still.
Bruce had indeed called Carpathia. He had quicky explained the situation to the prime minister and asked him to play along. The experienced politician immediately agreed. He had three sons of his own and knew he would be reacting the same way if the situation was reversed.
That was the only call Bruce made before racing to his Batpole. Once in the Batcave, he input everything he and Robin knew about Penguin's current crime into the Batcomputer. He doubted that he would receive a location, but maybe he would receive a clue.
Batman was wrong about not receiving a location. Penguin was holed up in a warehouse in the center of Gotham City's warehouse district. The bold bird had rented the warehouse in his own name, as if he knew nothing about Batman's ability to find information.
The Caped Crusader raced to the Batmobile, checked the gauges, and roared out of the tunnel. Gotham City was fourteen miles away, and the warehouse district was another five miles after that. It took him less than twelve minutes to get there.
Penguin raised his arms in triumph. The prime minister of Carpathia had agreed to accept his cash offer for a giant tract of land on the southern end of the country. He glanced over at his hostage, who was attempting to keep himself in the center of the cage on the unstable floor.
"He won't last long," Penguin commented to nobody in particular. "I'll call Wayne and give him just a hint. By the time Batman finds him, it will be too late."
"No, it won't, you vile villain!"
Batman suddenly ran into the room. Penguin shoved his henchmen toward the hero, then quickly escorted his lady to the back of the room. It didn't take long for the Caped Crusader to dispatch the two goons.
"Give yourself up, Penguin," Batman commanded. "What have you done with Dick Grayson?"
"See for yourself," the villain cackled, pointing to the wall on the other side of the room.
Batman glanced back, then did a double take. Dick was in some sort of unstable cage, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed in either concentration or pain. Without wasting another second, Batman sprinted to the small prison. Penguin and his female companion quietly slipped out the nearest door.
The Caped Crusader immediately understood the situation. It wasn't hard to decipher; there were droplets of blood everywhere - the glass walls, the floor, whatever was sticking out of the walls, and on Dick himself.
"Hang on, old chum," Batman whispered as he searched for a weakness.
There was a button to his right labeled 'Cage Reverser'. Batman pushed it and hoped the label was not a trick.
The floor stopped moving, the crystals retracted into the glass walls, and the walls rose up and disappeared into whatever was above the ceiling of the warehouse.
"Dick," Batman said softly as he knelt down beside him.
Slowly, the sixteen-year-old opened his eyes. The usually bright-blue circles were dulled with pain, and his body was decorated with crimson spots. Blood was sliding down his face, a result of his forehead's interaction with three of the crystals. Dick had been so focused on attempting to stay in the center of the cell that he had neglected to stop the blood.
"Let's get you home," Batman stated as he gently helped the boy stand up. "Mr. Wayne has been anxiously awaiting your return."
"Holy human pincushion," Dick muttered.
"Indeed," the Caped Crusader replied, holding back a chuckle.
Leave it to Dick Grayson to come up with a succinct phrase to describe his situation. Batman would never understand how the teenager thought of those usually-comical expressions, and he would never admit how much it made him want to laugh out loud. It was an idiosyncrasy that he hoped the boy would never decide to disregard.
"Let's go home," Batman remarked as he guided his son out of the warehouse. "I have some Bat-gauze in the Batmobile. Not enough for your entire body," the man commented as he watched little specks of blood randomly drop onto the asphalt, "but the one on your forehead seems to be the worst. We'll take care of the rest in the Batcave."
Dick gave a short nod, then grimaced and put a hand on his head. Batman didn't need the teenager to say anything, because that was the boy's classic 'major headache' movement. The man instantly noticed the ragged skin on Dick's palm, and decided that the majority of the Bat-gauze would be wrapped around the teen's hands instead.
Batman wanted to ask questions – how many hits to the head had he received, how long had he been in the crystalized death trap, how had he been taken out of school – but reluctantly chose to keep the questions to himself for now. There would be time for an interrogation – no, a debriefing – later.
Right after the conversation about not saying he was fine when he actually wasn't fine at all. A conversation that would include a promise that he would talk to Bruce or Batman when a villain wanted him to. A conversation that would also include a promise to not try to convince the man to not negotiate just because the teen had been captured.
Batman quietly sighed as he climbed into the Batmobile. That was one conversation that he already knew was not going to go well. Putting the thought aside for the time being, the Caped Crusader grabbed his Bat-wrap and enveloped Dick's hands in the soft material. Then he retrieved a piece of Bat-gauze and placed it on Dick's forehead, firmly securing it with medical tape.
"Let's go home," he repeated as he brought the Batmobile to life and turned the vehicle around.
Silence reigned, an awkward silence that meant Dick was probably thinking too much.
"Are you okay?" Batman finally asked. "Besides all the tiny holes scattered around your body, I mean."
"I'm fine," the boy replied.
Batman glanced at him, the self-deprecating tone in Dick's voice sending a flash of concern through his mind.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm fine. Just…I'm fine."
"Okay. You know, if something's bothering you…"
"Sorry," Dick unexpectedly interrupted.
"For what?" Batman asked, both surprise and skepticism in his voice.
"For being your weakness. For making you agree to do what Penguin wanted just because he had me."
"You are not my weakness, chum," Batman countered, internally seething at the knowledge that Penguin had placed that idea in the boy's head. "I had a plan, and that diabolical devil played right into it. I didn't know you were part of his caper – I thought it was just the lygerian fruit flies – but all I had to do was adjust my plan a little bit."
"I was his leverage."
"Leverage? Yes. Weakness? No. You are part of what makes me a stronger and better crimefighter."
"How?"
"You are observant, and intelligent, and very good at giving clues without the villain knowing that you're giving clues."
"But the only reason you gave in…"
"Leverage, yes," Batman repeated. "But using you as leverage does not mean you make me weak. There is a difference between the two."
"But I'm not…"
"You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, old chum, and your strength makes me stronger. Like I said, I had a plan. It needed a little adjustment after I found out he had you as leverage, but not enough that I had to make an entirely new plan. Even Dick Grayson can handle himself sometimes," Batman finished with a slight grin.
"Do you ever…"
Dick paused, and Batman glanced sideways at him. The teenager was staring at his hands and picking at the edges of the Bat-gauze. Waiting for his son to talk to him was not one of Batman's strengths.
"Do I ever what?" he asked as he maneuvered the Batmobile through the secret entrance and coasted down the tunnel.
"Regret it," Dick answered quietly.
"I can't answer that if I don't know what 'it' is," the man replied logically.
"Penguin."
The answer confused Batman. But then Dick continued.
"He wouldn't have had leverage."
Shock flowed through the body of the Caped Crusader as they climbed out of the Batmobile. He knew exactly what Dick was talking about. How long had the boy been harboring this dangerous thought?
The pause was too long and the silence too awkward for Dick.
"Never mind. I have some homework. See you upstairs."
"No."
Dick stopped, paused, then slowly turned around.
"No," Batman repeated as he removed his cowl. "I do not regret the fact that I brought you to Wayne Manor, nor do I regret allowing you to become Robin."
The teenager opened his mouth to reply, then changed his mind.
"You keep me sane, chum," Bruce stated quietly. "You are strong, and loyal, and brave, and I trust you to have my back."
"But if I had never come to Wayne Manor, Penguin wouldn't have been able to coerce you into calling the world financiers because he would not have had leverage."
"He had the fruit flies," Bruce countered.
"You knew they would die."
"He didn't know I knew that. Getting him to release them was part of my plan."
"See? I spoiled your plan by allowing myself to be taken!"
"You didn't 'allow' yourself to be taken," Bruce retorted.
"I'm Dick Grayson! I'm not supposed to fight back so, technically, I allowed myself to get taken!"
Ignoring the technicality, Bruce continued, "I told you before that I only had to make a minor adjustment to the plan."
"But what happens the next time someone uses me as leverage? Joker or Riddler or someone else? Someone who doesn't have deadly flies? Someone whose only leverage is me? What happens then, Bruce? Will you bow to the whims of the villain BECAUSE OF ME?!"
"Always," Bruce replied without hesitation. "But Batman always has a plan, so that is a moot question."
"And what happens when you don't have a plan?" Dick questioned softly. "You can't put innocent people in danger just because I'm in danger."
"Dick, you are more important to me than the entirety of Gotham City. If I have to put innocent people in danger to get you out of danger, so be it."
Dick stared at the man, eyes wide with shock. Bruce had sounded so matter-of-fact about it, like it was a stupid question because the answer was so obvious.
"Then I'm still sorry," the boy stated. "My very existence is an everyday threat to the people of Gotham City and they don't even know it."
"Dick, where is all of this coming from?"
"All of…what do you mean?"
"This entire conversation. You've suddenly decided that you're a threat to Gotham City because a villain told you that you are my weakness?"
"Um…yeah, I guess. But you confirmed it. Do I need to quote you?"
"No, I know exactly what I've said. Just because I'm willing to put innocent people in danger to save you, doesn't mean I won't also save them. I have priorities, just like everyone else. You and Alfred are – and always will be – my first priority.
Also, I did not confirm the idiotic idea that you are my weakness. You were simply used as leverage. It's happened before and, unfortunately, we both know it will probably happen again. Who do you trust more, Penguin or myself?"
Dick almost burst into laughter at the question. Why would anybody ever trust Penguin?
"You," the teenager replied. "I'm not that much of an idiot."
"You're not an idiot at all, chum. The idea that was planted in your head was idiotic. And you're not going upstairs yet, so walk yourself over to the medical area while I call Alfred."
"I'm sorry," Dick muttered.
He had assumed that Bruce couldn't hear him because Bruce was currently on the phone with Alfred. But the butler had not yet answered, which meant that the millionaire heard every word. Immediately putting down the phone – Alfred was smart enough to figure out that he was needed in the Batcave – Bruce followed the teen to the medical area.
"Don't ever be sorry for being who you are," the man stated. "You are not a threat to anyone, you do not make anyone weak, and nobody in this house regrets the fact that you are here. You are Dick Grayson – and Robin – the strongest, most compassionate, most loyal teenager I know. I'm proud of you, chum."
"I'm not sorry about that," Dick responded. "I'm sorry that I have a concussion and…"
"That's not your fault!" Bruce interrupted, his tone incredulous.
"No, that's not what I meant."
Dick glanced at the Batmobile, and Bruce understood when he followed the boy's gaze.
"The Batcave floor is washable, young sir," Alfred declared as he entered the medical area. "Do not trouble yourself over something that you cannot control. I will clean it up after I fix you up, Master Dick."
Alfred paused, surveying the damage. Small, red dots were scattered all over the boy's body, making him look like he had chicken pox.
"Good heavens, Master Dick, what did you get into this time?"
"A new kind of death-trap," Bruce explained. "Let's just say he was treated like a human pincushion but with crystals instead of pins."
"That was mine," Dick grumbled.
"Sorry, Dick, I'll give you proper credit," Bruce stated with a grin. "Alfred, the first words Dick said to me when I found him were 'holy human pincushion'."
"Indeed," Alfred murmured as he gathered supplies and got to work.
THE END