Harrisburg, Pennsylvania:
Dick's short nap had sharpened both his senses and memory. There had been a porter at the bus station who had looked almost exactly like Alfred. The sixteen-year-old knew that Cousin Egbert worked at the water reservoir, but even old men sometimes change jobs. He wasn't going to take any chances.
Dick Grayson was not stupid. Egbert would have recognized him if the old man had seen him. And Egbert would no doubt wonder why the teenager was getting on a bus headed for South Dakota. Which meant he would probably contact Alfred, who would tell Bruce. Exiting at this stop meant that Batman would be passing him by instead of catching up to him.
He shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he climbed off the bus. Dick watched the bus begin to pull away, and he happened to glance at the second window from the back. His eyes widened in both recognition and shock: the school photographer was on the bus!
The man, who had been staring out the window at the teenager, quickly turned his head away. But Dick's recently revived memory had instantly identified the face. And that face brought back a flood of memories: a parking lot, a purple hat with bright beams of yellow light, hitting dead ends in a vent, breaking some glass and grabbing the Golden Scarab, a wailing siren, a pair of handcuffs hugging his wrists while he punched a police officer, sitting in the back of a police car and feeling like he was just waking up, a giant headache that wouldn't go away – which was still lightly throbbing – and a slew of criminal charges that were going to result in a trip to the detention center.
Dick immediately realized that he had been the victim of at least two of the unique hypnosis techniques used by the Mad Hatter. The first had to have been the camera at school, because the rest of that day had been trapped in a dark fog. And then Mad Hatter had used his infamous hat in the parking lot, encasing the attempted robbery in an even darker fog in the teenager's mind. Then came the arrest and the conversation with Bruce, during which he hadn't been able to defend himself because he couldn't remember! No wonder Bruce hadn't believed him – the effects of hypnosis were very similar to those of drug use.
"Idiot!" he whispered, just barely holding himself back from shouting it out loud.
And then Dick realized he had a new problem. The bus was out of sight, and Dick didn't have enough money to buy a ticket that would take him back to Gotham City. Batman wouldn't stop in Harrisburg because Egbert would have told Alfred that Dick was on his way to South Dakota.
There is no us.
Bruce's statement echoed in his head. Maybe Batman wasn't even going to come after him. Perhaps Bruce had decided that bringing Dick back would be more trouble than it was worth. He was just going to be put in the detention center anyway. Neither Bruce nor Batman had any more use for Dick Grayson or Robin.
Glancing around, the teenager decided that he should probably find a different place to sit down and try to figure everything out. Standing on the curb of the bus stop after just getting off the bus was a bit unusual, obviously, because several people were staring at him curiously.
Flashing a friendly smile, he turned away from the onlookers and walked toward the nearest store. It happened to be a grocery store that housed a little café. There were four empty tables, so Dick sat down at one and began thinking about his options.
He could call Bruce. It was the obvious solution to his current predicament. But Bruce had already given up on him. Calling the man would re-open the can of worms that Dick had just closed by leaving.
He could stay in Harrisburg. Grocery stores were always hiring; maybe he could even get an application from this store right now. Dick figured he could build a life here. It wouldn't be pleasant for a while, because he would have to sleep outside and winter was coming, but he could do it.
He could hitchhike to South Dakota, then wait there and see if Batman ever showed up. But South Dakota was a big state, and Dick hadn't chosen a specific city. Egbert could only tell Alfred the state, which meant Batman would have to search the entire state, which meant it was a definite possibility that they would never find each other.
There is no us.
Bruce probably didn't want to find him anyway. Batman would take a road trip to please Alfred, but Batman wouldn't stop to search anywhere.
"Harrisburg it is," Dick said quietly.
Decision made, the teenager stood up and went to find the manager of the store.
Batman was irritated. He had been putting off filling up the gas tank of the Batmobile because he had been extremely busy the last few nights. Now he had to stop and get gas, which was going to waste a lot of time. Time he could be using to catch up to the bus.
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania was the next exit, so Batman used the off-ramp and followed the signs to the nearest gas station. It happened to be connected to a grocery store, and every slot had a car. But one man was closing the cap on his tank, so the Caped Crusader decided to attempt to be patient. It paid off, because fourteen seconds later the man was pulling away from the pump.
Batman pulled in and climbed out of the Batmobile. He ignored the stares of everyone else at the station, including the attendant.
"Batman, it's on the house!" the man called out from his spot at the register.
Glancing over his shoulder, the hero nodded his thanks and began filling the tank.
The manager of the store was an angry mess. Three of her workers had called in sick, and right now was the mid-afternoon rush. When Dick walked up to her, the woman assumed he was a customer and curtly told him to take his question to customer service.
"I just need a job," he responded quietly.
"You're hired," she snapped.
Grabbing a bright-green vest, she tossed it at him and motioned for him to put it on.
"Carts," she commanded.
Dick knew what that meant, so he dropped his backpack by the wall and put on the vest.
"Thanks," he said, but she had already moved on to the next problem.
The sixteen-year-old walked out to the parking lot and began rounding up all the stray carts that customers had left in random places. It wasn't difficult, but Dick knew that soon it was going to be very boring. However, he wasn't really qualified to do anything else, and rounding up carts was better than cleaning bathrooms.
Batman heard the long rattle that meant a row of carts was being pushed toward the entrance of the store. He automatically glanced in that direction before returning his eyes to the fuel pump. Then he froze. Slowly, he turned his entire body around and squinted into the afternoon sun.
Brown hair, tall and lean, familiar muscle definition in the arms that were directing the carts. Batman almost laughed out loud in relief. If he hadn't needed gas, he wouldn't have exited at Harrisburg. He would have gone straight to South Dakota and fruitlessly searched for his son. The teenager who was thirty yards away from him pushing a row of glistening carts across the parking lot. Dick already had a job!
"You are resourceful," he stated quietly with a chuckle.
His elation turned to alarm when he heard a set of screeching wheels. A car – going faster than any car should ever go in a store parking lot – was headed straight for the row of carts that Dick was directing across the middle of the aisle.
Batman couldn't move, and everything slowed down. Dick, who had been concentrating on keeping the carts in a straight line, lifted his head. The car smashed into the middle of the pack, sending carts skittering across the asphalt. The jolt of the separation caused the back end of the line to snap sideways. Dick disappeared from Batman's view.
Dick saw the car but had no time to properly react. His perfectly straight line was smashed apart. The last cart was torn out of his grasp, but the three in front of him flew toward him from the side. They were on a collision course with a very expensive car – Dick knew all about expensive cars – and the teenager knew that at least three people would be unhappy if that car got hurt.
So, he threw himself between the three carts and the sleek, black Ferrari. He dove, using his arms to shove one cart away, pushing his legs against the side of another one in the hopes that it would change direction, and allowing the third to plow into his stomach. It knocked the wind out of him, but he hit the car instead of the cart, which harmlessly bounced away. An acceptable sacrifice, since he wouldn't leave a dent.
Dick was shoved against the trunk of the car, which popped open. Apparently the car wasn't as expensive as he had thought, because the trunk of a Ferrari doesn't just pop open. That was a muse for later, because the top of the trunk collided with his head as he was forced into an arch and all of his thoughts disappeared.
It didn't knock him out, but it left him disoriented. Dick was used to flying, but he couldn't figure out why everything was upside down. He automatically tucked into a backward roll, but instead of going over his head he went sideways over his shoulder. The car disappeared and was immediately replaced with the grittiness of asphalt as he slammed onto the ground, landing on his back.
For the second time in less than ten seconds, Dick had the wind knocked out of him. He couldn't breathe, and everything was blurry, and his head hurt, and he just wanted to go to sleep. But a lady was bending over him, asking if he was okay. Dick knew he could deal with this, so he clenched his jaw and ground out a 'yes'.
"YOU'RE FIRED!" the woman yelled in his face before standing up and striding away.
"But…" he mumbled as he closed his eyes.
Batman immediately shook off the shock when Dick disappeared. He began running toward the small crowd that was gathering in a half-circle, ready to yell at everyone to move out of the way. But before he opened his mouth, a voice rang out from the crowd.
"YOU'RE FIRED!"
Batman growled. It hadn't been Dick's fault. The teen had been doing his job; it was the reckless driver of the car who should be in trouble.
"You can't fire him!" the hero roared as he arrived at the scene
Everyone was backing away, and Batman realized that the woman who had fired Dick was already walking into the store. The circle dissipated, and Batman was left staring at a gasping sixteen-year-old with a small scratch on his forehead and blood under his head.
The hero crouched down, reached into his utility belt, and brought out a roll of Bat-wrap. As he did, he examined his son's face. Dick's pupils were dilated, and his eyes were darting around. He looked both scared and confused.
"I'm going to sit you up and wrap your head," Batman explained, hoping Dick would understand that nothing bad was happening.
He put his left arm under the teenager's back and lifted his torso. As he had suspected, the blood was coming from the back of Dick's head. The trunk had left both a nice bump and a long gash. Batman quickly grabbed some Bat-gauze and pushed it hard against the injury. Dick winced but didn't say anything.
When the blood stopped dripping, Batman efficiently wrapped the boy's head to hold the gauze in place. He decided that now was neither the time nor the place for a serious conversation about carrying out the idiotic idea to run away and the almost-as-idiotic idea of throwing himself in harm's way in order to protect a car. Dick was clearly out of it and probably wouldn't even realize they weren't in Gotham City. It was difficult to stop the lecture before it started, but hearing the quiet hitch in Dick's breathing pushed the difficulty away.
"What happened to my car?!"
A man came from around the other side of the Ferrari, pushing the trunk closed as he did so.
"Is that blood?! Who did this?! The kid?!"
Batman stood up, anger already filling his chest.
"I've half a mind to sue!" the man said sharply.
"You don't even know what happened," Batman retorted.
"I'm sure the store has security cameras," the man stated snidely. "I know who you are, and I know you don't work with anyone, so I know you just met him. You have no connection, and I have every right to make him pay for his carelessness!"
"Are you kidding me?!" another man yelled from behind them. "He saved your car from a cart! I saw the whole thing! If you want to blame someone, go find the driver of the car who smashed into this kid's line of carts!"
"Whatever," the owner of the car said rudely. "Just get him out of the way so I can go home."
"You…" Batman began, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
"Less go," Dick said quietly.
Letting go of the hero's arm, the teenager turned around and almost fell over. Batman grabbed Dick's shoulders to steady him, gave the owner of the car a quick Bat-glare, then turned Dick in the direction of the Batmobile.
"Take it slow, there are several bumps to get over," the Caped Crusader advised.
"I'm fine," Dick mumbled.
"I can see that," Batman said as the sixteen-year-old tripped on a pebble.
When they arrived at the Batmobile, the hero opened the passenger door and waited.
"I'm okay, I'll find another job."
"No, I'm taking you home."
"I go home, I go to jail."
"We'll figure it out."
"I already did."
The three words were mumbled, but Batman understood them.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked.
"I'm not going back."
"You said you figured it out."
"Figured what out?"
"Let's get you to Alfred and then we can discuss this."
Batman was more than a little concerned. Obviously, Dick had a concussion, but forgetting what he had said five seconds after he had said it was not a usual symptom. The teenager's uneven breathing also indicated damage to his torso, which wasn't surprising but still concerning.
Unexpectedly, Dick complied with the suggestion by slowly lowering himself onto the seat of the Batmobile. Batman shut the door, strode to his side, climbed in, and began the drive back to Wayne Manor and the healing hands of Alfred.