Chapter Text
Bruce could only imagine the look that Alfred would give him in this instance.
The baby had backed himself into a corner, still pointing the taser at Bruce. The loud cries had tapered off into whimpers, but the boy was still watching him with wide, fearful eyes.
The cat, however, ambled up calmly to Bruce and started to nuzzle against his leg. He recognized this one but couldn’t remember its name.
Carefully, Bruce pulled his other leg through the window, not wanting to be caught by someone outside.
“Please,” came a small voice from the corner. “Please, don’t hurt m-me.”
Bruce blinked a few times at the small boy in the corner before answering, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
There was a hiccup. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be b-bad. I-I’ll be g-good.”
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Bruce repeated.
There were a few quiet sobs and hiccups from the boy before the child noticed the animal, which was still rubbing its side against Bruce’s leg. The boy stared with wide eyes at the cat and then spoke in a croaky voice, “She knows you.”
Bruce figured that if the child was familiar with the cat, he must know Selina too. “I know Selina.”
That got the boy moving. The baby scrambled to his feet and started walking toward Bruce, taser still pointed directly at Bruce.
“Where is she?” the boy cried. “What have you done with her?!”
So the boy was connected with her.
Bruce ignored the potential danger of the taser in the boy’s hand (not that it would do much damage to him if the boy actually used it) and started to sweep the room with his eyes.
The room they were in was clearly Selina’s. There were clothes scattered about the room, and the bed was unmade. A computer stood in one corner of the room, and it appeared that several pictures and newspaper articles were taped up on the wall, although it was too dark to see what exactly they were.
Overall, the evidence showed that Selina had clearly intended on coming back.
Earlier that night, the GCPD had received a call from an automated messaging system saying, “The cat’s out of the bag.”
Normally the GCPD would have ignored it if the message had not declared that the message was specifically “To the Batman.”
After receiving the message from Gordon, Bruce had checked the CCTV footage surrounding Selina’s apartment. He had found footage of her leaving the apartment three days ago, but she had never returned.
A personal visit to Arkham showed that the Riddler had not left his cell, and there was no evidence of outside correspondence to or from said cell.
Bruce had told himself multiple times that Selina was fine. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for her to be gone for more than a few days at a time.
But the gut feeling that something wasn’t right was a feeling he couldn’t shake.
Now he was glad he had checked; the fact that she had left a child behind looked all the more suspicious.
Speaking of the child, he looked down to find the small boy angrily tugging at his cape, shouting something about “if you hurt her” and “facing my wrath.”
Bruce knelt to the boy’s level. First, he would ascertain the child’s relation to Selina and then try to glean as much information as he could.
It would save him some time to figure out what to do with the kid.
The boy backed away a little at Bruce’s movement but didn’t retreat back to the corner. He stood before Bruce, clutching the taser in a death grip, tension stored in his little body. There was a mixture of fear and determination written on the boy’s face.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bruce repeated again, putting his hands where the kid could see them and keeping them in a relaxed position. “I’m a … friend … of Selina’s.” Did Selina consider him a friend?
The boy frowned skeptically. Maybe not.
“I knew her in Gotham,” Bruce added.
The boy’s frowned deepened, but this time he spoke. “Are you a demon?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.
Bruce paused, confused. “No,” he answered.
The boy took a frightened step back and pointed the taser. “You hesitated,” he said, his voice starting to crack signaling the onslaught of more tears.
Not at all wanting to experience that again, Bruce quickly pulled off one of his gloves. “See,” he said, holding out his clearly human hand. “I’m human.”
The boy stared at Bruce’s hand for a minute. Then quick as lightning, tased Bruce’s bare hand.
Bruce was slightly embarrassed at the volume with which he shouted in pain and surprise. He had not expected the boy to move that quickly.
Bruce looked up from holding his hand to see the boy had retreated back to the corner.
“I’m sorry,” came the child’s small voice which actually did sound remorseful. “I just wanted to make sure you were human.”
Bruce forced himself to relax so as not to frighten the boy. “It’s alright,” he said, pulling his glove back on and flexing his hand to relieve the lingering sting. The cat returned to lick his hand, almost as if it was apologizing for the boy’s action.
Bruce stood again and took another glance around the apartment. “Where is Selina,” he asked.
There was silence from the boy before he finally whimpered, “I don’t know.”
“Do you know when she will be back?” Bruce asked without looking at the boy in the corner. He instead focused on the pictures and newspaper clippings scattered around the computer. Many of them focused on a certain Haley’s Circus.
“She said she would be back in the morning. But that was three days ago,” the boy answered, evidently trying to hold back tears.
“Why did she leave?” Bruce picked up one of the photos. It was a picture of a man dressed in a shiny red, green, and gold costume shaking hands with another man in a long overcoat and pulled low over his eyes so that his face wasn’t visible.
There was another pause from the child before he answered. “She went to look for the people who killed my parents.”
That got Bruce’s attention. “Your parents were killed?” he asked, kneeling before the boy again but not so close as to frighten him.
The boy nodded, sniffling. “They were acrobats, and they f-fell. Someone c-cut the ropes.” Tears started to pool in the boy’s eyes and spill over onto his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce said with genuine feeling in his voice. After a minute he said, “Was Selina there?”
The boy wiped his eyes with the ear of the elephant toy he had been clutching under his arm. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “She kidna—I mean rescued – me from the circus.”
“And she went after your parents’ murderers three days ago?”
The boy nodded.
“Did she say who they were?”
The child shook his head. “She just said she had a, a sus, a suspicishan.”
Bruce looked back at the desk. He could hack the computer and see if Selina had saved any further information there, but that might take a while, and he needed to figure out what to do with the boy.
Evidently, Selina thought the boy was in danger too from whoever had murdered his parents. Either that, or there was some greater connection the kid had to the case that made it necessary to whisk him away from the police investigating.
Either way, simply dropping the boy off with CPS or the police was not an option.
“What is your name?” Bruce asked the kid.
“Richard, but everyone calls me Dick.”
“How old are you, Dick?”
“I’m eight!” Dick said, proudly displaying his age on his fingers.
“Hm,” Bruce grunted.
“His name is Dick, and he’s eight.”
“Master Bruce.” The curt words from Alfred showed that the added information did not help in the slightest.
The boy in question was currently spinning around in the chair at Bruce’s computer sucking on a lollipop that Bruce had given him, Selina's cat curled up in his lap. Bruce had found it useful to carry lollipops in his belt when rescuing frightened children from the wreckage of the flood three months prior.
It had taken a considerable amount of convincing, the bribe of the lollipop, and the compromise of bringing the cat (that was apparently named Isis) to convince Dick to come home with Bruce. The boy had been positively starstruck at the sight of the car and was even more excited that he got to sit in the front seat.
Bruce was pretty sure he was breaking just about every child safety law out there and especially cursed his decision not to put seatbelts in the car when he had done the modifications. However, Dick hadn’t seemed to mind and was completely filled with an energy Bruce was extremely unused to.
Alfred, on the other hand, shared absolutely none of that energy.
“And just what do you plan to do with this young Master Dick who is eight?” Alfred scolded.
“Well I couldn’t just leave him there,” Bruce retorted.
Alfred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No I suppose not. But really Master Wayne, could you not have taken him to CPS?”
“No,” Bruce said sharply. “Whoever murdered his parents is likely still out for him. He’s safest here.”
A light of understanding seemed to enter Alfred’s eyes when Bruce mentioned the boy’s murdered parents. He softened his tone ever so slightly. “And I suppose your plan is for the boy to stay here for the time being.”
“I suppose,” Bruce answered, although to be honest, he hadn’t quite given himself time to fully think that one through and the repercussions of letting an outsider into his life.
“And potentially compromise your secret identity?” Alfred pushed, saying the part that Bruce hadn’t wanted to fully evaluate yet.
“The boy will keep the secret,” Bruce concluded quickly. “He won’t be going anywhere anyway.”
“Master Wayne, unlike you, children need sunshine and fresh air to grow, you can’t keep him locked away in the tower indefinitely.”
“It’s not indefinitely. It’s just until I figure out what’s happened to Selina.”
Alfred seemed to realize that no matter which angle he tried to argue with Bruce from, the outcome would be the same. “Very well, Master Wayne. But the bulk of the responsibility in caring for this child will rest on you. I will provide for his meals and that is it.”
“That’s fine, Alfred.” How hard could taking care of an eight year old for a few weeks be?