A/N: Thanks for reviewing, jmichallick! :)

The next morning:

Alfred left the newspaper on the table, like he always did before retiring to the kitchen to make breakfast. Bruce was the one to open it, and the front page was not unexpected to him.

BRUCE WAYNE HUMILIATED!

Ward of millionaire philanthropist arrested

The only thing that surprised him was the fact that Dick's name was not mentioned in the sub-headline. But maybe that was a good thing. Then all the focus would be on Bruce instead of his sixteen-year-old ward. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

There was a picture of Bruce and Dick on the stairs at Police Headquarters, caught at the very moment when Dick had turned to glare at a reporter. The caption read:

Is this boy Bruce Wayne's biggest regret?

And the very first sentence was a condemnation against him.

"Dick Grayson, the circus orphan that Bruce Wayne took in six years ago, has turned out to be what his background suggested – a thief. Last night, the sixteen-year-old was arrested for robbery. The gypsy boy that spent a few weeks in the detention center after his parents died is most likely headed back to that very place.

Sources inside police headquarters have confirmed that Grayson also resisted arrest, assaulted an officer, and "…looked out of it, like he was high on something." Bruce Wayne appeared at headquarters around six-thirty yesterday morning, presumably to bail the boy out. Rumor has it that bail was set at one thousand dollars. That number is usually reserved for a first offense. Was it really the gypsy's first offense, or is it just the first time he's been caught?

The Gotham Gazette will update readers at every opportunity. Stay tuned for more on this incredible story, including an interview with Bruce Wayne himself."

"Well, crap," Bruce muttered, refolding the paper and shoving it under the table.

"Alfred!" he called.

The butler immediately reappeared and instantly knew why Bruce had shouted his name.

"How bad is it, sir?"

"They're calling him a gypsy boy and a thieving circus kid. 'Sources' inside police headquarters, it was probably the officer who set him free when I got there."

Bruce was fuming. He was used to being called names, but this was Dick. The sixteen-year-old was more son than ward, and the man's natural - although usually hidden - protective instincts were rising to the surface.

"They're implying that it's not his first offense, they're saying he is humiliating me, and the dang picture is asking if Dick Grayson is my biggest regret!"

Alfred gasped at the last few words. He, too, was used to name-calling and things being implied about Bruce. But Dick was just a teenager, and the paper had no right to assume that Bruce regretted rescuing Dick from the detention center. It was both an inaccurate and inappropriate suggestion.

"My word, Master Bruce! We need to keep this away from him, sir."

"Is he up yet?"

"I don't know, sir, do you want me to check on him?"

"Yes, he'll know something is up if I go get him."

"I agree, Master Bruce. I shall return momentarily."

Alfred left, and Bruce snatched the paper from under the table for one last look. It fell open to the crime section, and Bruce's fury increased.

Dick Grayson, 16: robbery, assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, possession of drugs, attempted theft of a weapon.

Bruce closed his eyes and searched his memory. Nobody had said anything about Dick trying to steal a weapon. He was certain it wasn't in the detailed statement given by the security guard at the museum, nor was it in the police officer's report. And there was no evidence of possession of drugs. The fact that the boy's eyes had been glazed didn't mean he was high on something, it just meant it was a possibility.

"Time to threaten a lawsuit for libel," he mumbled as he opened his eyes. "Attempted robbery, suspected of having possession of drugs, and no mention of a weapon."

"Master Bruce!" Alfred was slightly out of breath when he rushed back into the dining room. "He's not in his room; I doubt he even slept in the bed!"

"WHAT?!"

Eight hours earlier:

Dick was sitting on a chair in his room, where he had been since the early morning argument with Bruce. Both lunch and dinner had been refused, and Dick had known that Bruce would be too nervous to check on him.

He was not going to go back to the detention center; he wasn't strong enough. Dick knew that would be the end result of this fiasco. So, he was going to run away before that could happen. If nobody could find him, nobody could bring him to court for a trial. Being on the run for the rest of his life in order to stay out of the detention center was an acceptable sacrifice.

Dick had been a member of a traveling circus for over half his life. Granted, it had been during his early childhood and there had been many adults to watch over him, but he had still traveled the world. Bruce and Alfred had once told him he was a survivor, so that's what he was going to do: survive.

He would find a way to earn money for food. There would always be places to sleep, even if they were out in the open. Robin could fight off any thugs that might try to steal Dick Grayson, because keeping his identity safe wouldn't matter anymore.

But, in order for all of that to work, Dick needed to leave Gotham City. Immediately. Before anyone had the chance to try to talk him out of it or arrest him again. He had to leave tonight.

Neither Bruce nor Alfred had been up to check on him since dinner, and it was almost ten o'clock. Soon they would be going down to the Batcave to prepare for patrol. Batman wouldn't even think about expecting Robin to come with him, because there was "no us" anymore. No Batman and Robin, no Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson.

The sixteen-year-old suddenly wondered if Bruce had ever considered them "us". He had as Batman, Robin knew that, but had Bruce ever used that word to describe Bruce and Dick? Not out loud, not that Dick could remember anyway. Maybe there had never been an "us".

That was a sad thought, one that Dick immediately shoved away. He needed to be focused on leaving, not dwelling on his emotions. Grabbing his backpack, the teenager dumped everything on the floor by his desk so he would have room for supplies. Clothes, mostly, but he might stop by the kitchen and grab some non-perishable food. He also grabbed the money from the box on the top shelf of his closet. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get him away from Gotham City.

Dick quietly opened his door halfway. If someone was there, he could explain the mess away by saying he was reorganizing his backpack. But nobody was, and there were no sounds downstairs. They were probably already in the Batcave.

Silently, the sixteen-year-old made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Alfred usually didn't keep cans of anything, but Dick figured he would at least look. The first cabinet squeaked loudly when he opened it, so he changed his mind about looking for food.

Now he just needed a way out. There were cameras everywhere around the perimeter; there was no way he could escape unseen. He couldn't take a car, because all of Bruce Wayne's cars were easily recognizable. Dick pondered the problem, then remembered that the back kitchen door was a blind spot. That's where they took out the trash, and if anybody tried to get in that way there would be a lot of noise. A camera wasn't needed.

So, Dick strode to the kitchen door and slowly opened it. He stepped out, carefully closed the door, and lowered himself to his knees. The teenager had smartly changed into black clothing, so slithering his way across the lawn would be less noticeable. That's what he was hoping, anyway.

Dick hooked his backpack around his left ankle so it would drag behind him. If he put it on his back, there would be a hump moving through the grass, which would instantly be caught by every camera in the area.

Lowering himself to his stomach, the sixteen-year-old began slowly army crawling his way across the back lawn, heading for the gate that led to the back road. He would have to walk a few miles, but maybe someone would pick him up on the way into the city. From there, he could catch the first bus out of Gotham, leaving everything he loved behind.

A tear threatened to snake down his cheek, but he forced it away by thinking of the detention center. He couldn't go back there; leaving was his only option.

Present time:

Batman and Alfred were in the Batcave, searching for any clue as to when or where Dick had gone. They had rewound the outside cameras to nine o'clock, the last time Bruce had walked past Dick's bedroom door. It had been an hour with no sign of anyone or anything.

"Why don't we have cameras in the house?" Batman demanded.

Alfred didn't answer, because it was Bruce who had decided that no cameras would be placed in the house. His reasoning was that they all needed a break from being watched. It had surprised both Alfred and Dick - Batman was always paranoid - but they had secretly been grateful.

Now, however, Alfred was not at all grateful. It was obvious that Dick had left, but they didn't know what time or direction because of the lack of cameras inside the house.

"There!" Batman suddenly exclaimed.

He was pointing to the camera on the far west side of the Manor. It had caught a quick flash of light from the direction of the trash cans.

"He knew it was a blind spot," Batman growled, immediately recognizing what had happened. "We need a camera there."

Obviously, sir.

Alfred kept that thought to himself, choosing instead to carefully scrutinize every area that led from the back kitchen door to an outside exit. The men stared at the screens for another hour, but nothing was happening.

"Why did he wait so long?" Batman demanded, but Alfred had no answer. "Rewind it again, he wouldn't have waited this long."

So, Alfred went back to just after ten o'clock, when they had seen the flash of light. He stopped the video and slowly went frame by frame. They saw nothing but darkness, even after searching for thirty minutes.

"Again," Batman commanded.

Alfred readily complied, knowing that Batman was right. Dick would not have waited so long to make his way to an exit.

"Wait," Batman growled, his nose almost touching the screen. "Blow that up."

Alfred zeroed in on the location Batman was pointing at and zoomed in on it. There was a small lump of something halfway across the back lawn. The inky blackness had almost blocked it out.

Without being told to, Alfred went forward a few frames. The thing had moved. Only a few feet, but it was definitely in a different location.

"His backpack, sir," Alfred said quietly.

"Why isn't it on his back?!" Batman shouted.

"Sir, we would have seen it much sooner if it had been higher," the butler replied logically.

"Then how did he do it?"

"Does the 'how' really matter, Master Batman?"

"No," Batman snapped. "Keep going."

Gradually, frame by frame, Alfred kept going. The men watched the small lump slowly travel toward the west gate that led to the back road. It was nearing eleven o'clock when Dick stood up, pulled his backpack onto his back, opened the gate, and walked out of sight. Alfred quickly switched the view to the wall camera facing the back road. Dick boldly strode away from the Manor, heading for Gotham City. Just before turning the corner, the teenager paused and looked back. He stood there for several moments, not moving. Then he dropped his head, turned around, and trudged out of sight.

"Why would he leave?" Batman asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Alfred couldn't believe what he had just heard. After everything that had happened and been said, Bruce was so emotionally dense that he didn't understand Dick's actions. The butler debated whether or not to answer, but gave in when he thought about Dick, sad and lonely, traveling out of their reach.

"Sir, you made it sound very certain that he will be returning to the detention center. Master Dick has decided that he cannot handle that, so the only way to avoid that inevitable result is to leave. Especially, sir, since you told him that you were giving up on him. Not those words exactly, of course, but implying that Bruce Wayne wasn't even going to try hurt him. I cannot even imagine the pain he is feeling right now, Master Batman. 'There is no us' was the very worst thing you could have said to Master Dick."

"But I meant 'us' as in Batman and Robin!" the younger man exclaimed as he removed his cowl.

"Did you clarify that, sir?"

Bruce thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.

"Exactly, Master Bruce. A nine-year-old boy watched his parents fall to their deaths, then six years later heard his second – if I may be so bold to say – father tell him that he was giving up. You told him he doesn't deserve your help, sir. Again, not in those exact words, but that is what he heard. It was what I heard, Master Bruce, and I didn't lose two families in less than a decade like he did. Young Master Dick is reliving the pain of losing people he loves. And it is your fault, Master Bruce. He committed a crime, whether he did it on his own or not, and at his critical moment of need you pushed him away."

Bruce was staring at his butler, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with shock. Alfred had deduced all of that from one little comment?! He dropped onto the nearest chair and began reviewing yesterday's conversation. The accusations, his attitude toward Dick claiming that he didn't remember, and the last comment that Alfred had been talking about.

"You're…right," Bruce finally admitted quietly.

"I know, sir," Alfred replied, his tone formal but laced with uncharacteristic anger.

Bruce ran a hand down his suddenly weary face and then stood up.

"We have to find him, and then we have to find out what happened," he stated resolutely.

"I agree, sir," the butler responded icily. "I will not believe that Master Dick acted on his own."

"But all the evidence is against him. No accomplice, no evidence of being drugged by a villain, no leftover fear toxin shadows in his eyes, no…anything."

"You did not even check for drugs, sir. How can you say there is no evidence of being drugged by a villain when you didn't even check?" Alfred asked incredulously.

"Neither did the police," Bruce retorted defensively. "They just assumed that he was on drugs because his eyes were glazed and that man told them he had seen Dick buying something."

"You are Batman, sir!" the butler exclaimed. "You are the one who carefully checks everything before coming to a conclusion! You are paranoid, sir, but you didn't even check!"

"Why not?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question, Master Bruce?"

Alfred's tone was full of disbelief.

When the younger man didn't reply, the butler sighed and slowly sat down on the nearest chair.

"You were so busy accusing that you forgot to be objective, sir. Master Dick is your son, in every way except biologically, and it blinded you. But you took the wrong side, choosing to believe the evidence instead of him."

"But the evidence was solid!"

"Yes, sir, but his mind was not. He remembered very little, Master Bruce, but you didn't stop and try to figure out why. You just kept pushing for answers, refusing to believe his story even though he has never given you any reason to doubt him. With all due respect, sir, you implied that you were giv…"

"For the last time," Bruce snapped, "I did not give up on him."

"You can say that all you want, Master Bruce, but you are not saying it to the right person. Also, it is too late because the right person is already gone."

Bruce put his cowl back on and strode to the Bat-hacking machine. Turning it on, he impatiently waited for it to warm up. When it was ready, he quickly hacked into the city's system and rewound all the images he saw to midnight.

Alfred stood up and joined him. Batman didn't want his butler's help, but knew he needed it. Without a word, he stepped to his right and began watching the three screens on that side. Alfred did the same on the left, hoping that they would find something soon. Because if they lost Dick forever, Bruce Wayne would be as broken as the boy already was.

While Alfred was explaining to Bruce why Dick had left, the sixteen-year-old was boarding a bus. He was headed for South Dakota. It was a remote location, and it was as far away as he was willing to go with his money. He didn't want to spend it all right away, because he was going to need food and a place to stay when he got there.

Currently, he was fast asleep, his arms wrapped around his backpack and his head leaning against the cool window. The bus was nearly empty; the only other passengers a young family of three and an old man. So, Dick had not been worried about taking a nap, which was a mistake.

The old man quietly moved up the aisle until he was sitting directly across from the boy. Jervis Tetch had decided to keep an eye on Dick for at least a little while. It had surprised him when Dick had left Wayne Manor. He had been very fortunate that he was hidden by the back road, otherwise he wouldn't have even known.

A grin flashed across his wrinkled face. Dick Grayson was running away, which most likely meant that he remembered nothing about his night with the Mad Hatter. Bruce Wayne had been humiliated, and now that humiliation was going to increase. The fact that his ward – a suspected criminal – was on the run was going to ruin the man's reputation. Everyone would assume that Bruce was hiding him to keep him out of juvenile detention, and he was going to be a criminal by association for the rest of his life.

"This is why you don't testify against people," Jervis whispered.

Batman had testified, yes, but the Mad Hatter had failed to get the hero's cowl. The next best person to get revenge on was the other man who had given incriminating evidence against him – Bruce Wayne. That man rarely wore a hat, so Jervis had been trying to find some way to get back at him for a long time. And Dick Grayson had just helped him do it.

Dick stirred, so Jervis moved back to his original seat. He would stay on for another state, and then leave the boy on his own.

Wayne Manor:

"If you report him missing, sir, Batman will be called in and you can be closer to the investigation!"

"The media will jump all over it!"

"Master Bruce, what is more important? Your reputation or Master Dick's life?!"

"It's not my reputation I'm worried about! They will decide that he's guilty because he ran!"

"They have already decided that, sir!"

Bruce growled but recognized that Alfred was right, as usual. He strode to his study, sat down, and picked up the Manor phone. Dialing a familiar number – Dick had been kidnapped so many times that he had it memorized – Bruce waited impatiently for someone at Police Headquarters to answer.

"Gotham City Po…"

"This is Bruce Wayne," the man interrupted. "My son is missing."

There was a pause, and then, "You have a son, Mr. Wayne?"

In every way except biologically.

Bruce agreed with Alfred on that, although it had taken some time for him to come to terms with it. But then he had realized that he had felt that way about Dick for several years now.

"Dick Grayson," he clarified angrily.

"Oh, your ward," the officer stated, the confusion leaving his voice. "Please hold while I get a form."

Bruce didn't reply, so on the other end of the phone the officer shrugged and placed the receiver on his desk. He opened a drawer, found the correct form, put it on his desk, picked up a pen, then put the phone back to his ear.

"Name?" he asked.

On the other end of the phone, Bruce almost growled. He was going to have to go through a bunch of easy questions – ones that the officer probably already knew the answers to – in order to file the missing person report.

"Richard John Grayson," he snapped. "Age sixteen, dark-brown hair, light-blue eyes, five feet seven inches," the boy had sprouted recently, "lean body, last seen at Wayne Manor yesterday morning."

"One question at a time, Mr. Wayne," the officer replied. "Age?"

"Get the commissioner!" Bruce demanded.

Nobody, not even a police officer, willingly ignored a command from Bruce Wayne. Placing the man on hold, the desk sergeant pressed a different button.

"Commissioner Gordon's office."

"Bonnie, I need the commish on line two. There's a very angry Bruce Wayne um…asking…to talk to him."

"Right away," the secretary replied.

She pushed the intercom button on her desk and let the commissioner know what was coming his way. Then she pushed a button on the phone and made Bruce Wayne the commissioner's problem.

"Bruce, what can I do for you?"

"Jim, Dick is missing and your idiotic desk sergeant won't let me file a report!"

Commissioner Gordon very much doubted that his capable sergeant was refusing to file a report. The officer probably wasn't going fast enough, and Bruce Wayne was used to getting his way.

"Bruce, I know Dick's description, just tell me what happened," he answered with an internal sigh.

"I don't know, Jim! Last night he was in the house, this morning he wasn't!"

"When did you last see him?"

"Around…"

Bruce had to think for a moment. The last time he had actually seen the teen with his own eyes was just after eight o'clock yesterday morning, after he had bailed him out of jail and they had 'discussed' everything. Dick hadn't come out of his room for lunch or dinner – had refused to even open the door for a tray – so the next time Bruce had seen him had been through the lens of a camera.

With a quiet sigh, the millionaire decided to be honest.

"Yesterday morning, after we talked about what had happened the night before. It's a long story, Jim, a somewhat unbelievable long story."

"Don't tell me anything about that Bruce. I'm doing the investigating on my end, I don't want to hear his side yet. Wait…yesterday morning?!"

"Yes, we may have had an argument. I said some things I probably…well, I worded it all wrong and he misunderstood me. He stayed in his room all day. When Alfred went to check on him this morning, it was obvious that he hadn't even slept in the bed."

"This sounds more like a case of a runaway teen, Bruce, not a missing person."

"But Dick is not a normal teenager, Jim! He wouldn't just run away!"

"Bruce, think of it from his point of view. You just told me that his story is 'somewhat unbelievable'. So, you didn't believe him. He's in a load of trouble and decides to try to run away from that trouble."

"Jim…"

"Bruce," the commissioner interrupted, "I'll make some calls, but I can't guarantee any results, positive or negative. If I were a sixteen-year-old boy who had just done everything Dick is accused of doing, I'd probably be running, too. I'll let you know what I find out."

The commissioner hung up the phone. On the other end, Bruce held the receiver away from his ear and stared at it in disbelief. Jim had said basically the same thing as Alfred – Dick thought he was on his own because Bruce hadn't believed him.

Just then, the red phone on the other end of his desk began beeping. Bruce hung up the Manor phone and picked up the Batphone.

"Yes, Commissioner?"

"Batman, do you remember Dick Grayson, youthful ward of millionaire Bruce Wayne?"

"Yes," Batman stated, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"Well, he has disappeared. I don't think it's a kidnapping. Dick was arrested two nights ago and I'm thinking he's trying to run away from the consequences. Do you have any gadgets around the city that might be able to help find him?"

"You mean Bat-cameras, Commissioner."

It was not a question, because Batman knew that Gordon was asking about them without actually saying the words. After all, the commissioner was supposed to be protecting the people of Gotham City without invading their privacy.

"Yes," the Caped Crusader continued. "Do you have a time for me?"

"No, not a specific time. The last time Bruce Wayne saw him was yesterday morning, so it could be anytime between then and now."

"That's a lot of time to search through," Batman commented.

"I know," Jim said with a sigh.

"I'll put his description in and see what I can find. No guarantees, Commissioner."

"Of course, Batman, I understand. Thank you."

Bruce hung up the red phone and twisted the switch that would reveal the Batpoles. He jogged over, grabbed his pole, and slid down. Thirty seconds later, Batman was typing Dick's description into the Bat-camera receiving machine. Frowning, he realized that this situation was really messing with his head. Why hadn't he and Alfred even thought about doing this? This was the first thing they should have done after discovering that Dick was gone!

It was a question for later, because Batman immediately got what he was looking for: Dick Grayson, entering the Gotham bus station at 4:32 this morning. He had left after ten at night and arrived at four-thirty in the morning. Had he walked the entire time?!

"Geez, kiddo, you're probably running on fumes," he murmured.

He flipped the view to a Bat-camera inside the station. Batman watched Dick buy a ticket, but he couldn't see the destination. Dick sat down with his backpack on his lap and waited. For almost three hours, he sat perfectly still and waited. At seven-twenty, the teenager stood up and walked out the front door.

Batman flipped the view back outside the station and watched Dick climb on a bus. There was no visible number, so he couldn't check bus schedules. He still had no idea where Dick was planning to go. And then something else caught his attention, something that caused him to pause the video.

Closing his eyes, Batman brought the image of the purported eyewitness – the old man – to the front of his mind. He looked at the man's height, and build, and face, and especially the eyes. Opening his own eyes, the Caped Crusader leaned closer to the screen and examined the old man who was about to board the same bus as Dick.

Similar height and build, but he couldn't be sure. Batman zoomed in on the face. It was a bit pixelated, but the eyes were unmistakable. The eyes that had looked so honest at Police Headquarters looked…shifty. No, wary was a better word. He was following Dick while also watching his back, as if he was doing – or was about to do – something illegal.

"What are the chances that an alleged eyewitness to an alleged drug purchase would get on the same bus as the accused person two days after he allegedly saw the alleged event happen?" Batman mused aloud, allowing the question to reverberate around the empty Batcave.

"Very low, sir."

It wasn't as empty as he had thought. Alfred had silently entered through the service tunnel a full two minutes earlier, and Batman hadn't even noticed.

"Do you know his destination, sir?"

"No, there was no number on the bus. He's been gone for several hours now, he could be anywhere!"

Without saying a word, Alfred picked up the Manor phone and dialed a number. It took thirty seconds for someone to answer. Batman knew he would only be able to hear Alfred's side of the conversation, and that fact was already frustrating him.

"Hello, Egbert, I'm sorry to disturb your slumber."

Egbert? As in cousin Egbert who works at the water reservoir?

Batman was confused as to why Alfred would decide to talk to his cousin, who would have no knowledge of any of these events, when they were in the midst of searching for Dick.

"Yes, I see."

Batman had missed something.

"Thank you, Egbert, you've been most helpful."

Alfred hung up the phone and Batman couldn't stop himself.

"How?!" he exclaimed. "How can Egbert be helpful when he works at the water reservoir?!"

"Master Batman, my cousin recently switched jobs. He is now a porter at the bus station, sir."

Batman had just opened his mouth, intending to demand that Alfred keep his mind on the more important matter of finding Dick. The butler's statement effectively shut the hero up.

"Master Dick is on his way to South Dakota, sir."

Batman's jaw dropped open in shock.

"South. DAKOTA?! What on earth would possess him to choose South Dakota?!"

"I'm sure I don't know, sir. Is trying to figure that out more important than going after him?"

"Of course not," Batman snapped. "A bus would take the shortest route from here to South Dakota. It will be easy to catch up to them in the Batmobile. Call the commissioner, Alfred, I told him I would update him."

"Of course, sir. Good luck."

Without responding, Batman raced to the Batmobile, practically jumped in, revved the engine, and sped out of the Batcave.