Chapter Text
"What did it matter what happened to Dick – if Batman was really gone?" Bruce would surely scold him for thinking like that… Dick might spend an hour planning how to get into a building, and the man could still get stern lines around his mouth and grumble about how Robin took too many risks.
Dick shook his head impatiently. He needed to snap out of it if he was to have a chance to save his… to save Batman. And the more information he could gather, the better chance he stood.
He started the web browser on his phone and used it to retrieve a blueprint of the warehouse. He studied them carefully to commit them to memory – once he acted, he wouldn't have time to stop and look. When he was satisfied, he put the phone in the pocket inside the jacket and zipped it closed, silently reminding himself to hoist up the jacket to have free access to the utility belt once he moved in.
Dick rose from his sitting position on the fire escape and took a deep breath. He'd done this on a nearly daily basis for a long time – there was no need to feel jittery, just because he didn't wear his familiar suit. After all, he did have the essential parts with him – a belt, a mask, and a pair of gloves.
Dick pushed his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket and felt the reassuring feeling of a stiff domino mask and a pair of reinforced gloves. The adhesive glue on the spare mask would keep it in place; it only took a couple of seconds to put it on, with the ease of something you had done hundreds of times.
However, the green gloves didn't, it turned out, fit like a glove. They were a bit on the small side – he was a growing boy, after all, and the spare gloves weren't new. It sure was a good thing the base material was flexible. Dick opened and closed his hands a few times – it would be all right for the night.
As ready as he was likely to get for his last mission in Gotham, Dick climbed down to the street and headed over to the building.
As far as one could see from the outside, the warehouse was dark and empty. He took a quick walk around the block, trying to look inconspicuous while he checked on all the windows he could see. There were no visible lights to indicate that people were in there. Unless Batman's surveillance technology was way off, the people with the mobiles were hiding. Quite probable in one of the basements – which were accessible by motor vehicles.
Batman would say that he was throwing away the element of surprise if he came blazing into the building. And sure, the men would hear him coming. But they wouldn't know who he was – he might just as well be a local kid out on a joyride. And if he could find a motorbike – steal someone's bike, to be honest – it would give him some much needed extra power.
Dick pursed his lips – all right; he had a plan. There had been a few bikes parked on his way into the area – he'd be able to hot-wire one in a minute. He would make sure that the owner was compensated later – he firmly pushed down the "if he survived" that popped up unwanted in his brain.
But first of all, he needed to sneak back and check the front doors. A mere bike probably wouldn't be able to crash them open – he would have to do it manually.
– – –
The attack passed almost in a blur. Dick had planned everything he could in advance, but once he set his plan in motion, everything went so fast he didn't have time to make conscious choices.
As soon as the bike pushed open the unlocked front doors wide open, Dick could see a faint light at the end of the ramp down to the basements. He didn't drive very fast – the motorbike's weight would give him a considerable advantage; he didn't have to come in at a breakneck speed that would make it difficult to see what was happening.
When he spotted a group of men on the lower floor, he revved up the motor and steered right at them. The men stared at him, evidently surprised, and once they realized he wasn't going to stop or veer, they didn't have much time to scatter. Dick swiftly slammed the motorcycle on its side and jumped – the 400 pound mass of steel and rubber crashed into several of the men's legs.
Only seconds later, Dick had already knocked out another man one the way out of his flip, using a piece of what had once been the leg of a chair as a makeshift baton. He landed in a crouch and, after a quick look to decide on his next target, threw himself into a handstand and landed feet first on the man's head.
By now, more men were rushing into the place. Dick kept jumping, hitting and kicking, knocking out two more men and definitely hurting a few more – until his last flip was stopped with a hard and unyielding hit to his diaphragm. He fell down on his hands and knees, crouching and trying to catch his breath. In the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the men lowering a worn plank.
He had taken at least six men out of the fight in less than a minute – but it wasn't enough. Dick felt as if his brain was stuck in a loop of hopelessness; why was it that he was never good enough – not enough to save his parents, not enough to save Batman…
He heard one of the men sneer, "You little wildcat", and gasped when a hard boot kicked him in the side. Dick fell over and knocked his head against the concrete floor; he curled up and waited for the inevitable.
A man in a purple suit walked up in front of him – but stopped several steps away. "The brat came, just as I said." The man – the boss of the gang, Dick guessed – glanced at one of his men and nodded. "Open the door and wake him up. I want to show the Bat I keep my promises."
The man limped away towards a door out from the large room while two other men walked up to the boy and yanked him up. With firm grips under Dick's arms, the men followed the rest of the gang inside a smaller room, where three containers were standing in a row.
When Dick was hauled into the room, the door to the middle container swung open. The man in the purple suit turned to him.
"I promised your old man we'd let you live if he left us alone. Too bad for you he didn't listen, kid." He turned his glance towards the four of his men that were still standing.
"What are you waiting for? Two of you get in there and drag him out. Be quick about it, and the knockout gas won't affect you."
The man that had opened the door jerked his head to one of the others, who made a face but stepped forward. It only took them a few steps to disappear from sight inside the pitch dark container. Meanwhile, the men who had dragged Dick let go of him and took a few steps, staring with apparent anticipation at the open door.
Dick was too tired to struggle. He stayed on the floor, hung his head and felt his eyes tear up inside the mask; if Batman was still alive, and the crooks had meant to keep him alive until they could get their hands on Robin, he had been wrong to hurry. Whatever happened to Bruce would be Dick's fault. He knew the gang had Batman – he could have called Commissioner Gordon. He could have called Superman – he would have kept Bruce safe…
A short, hard sound echoed inside the container. Dick flinched – it sounded more like a punch than grabbing someone. Figures, that the jerks were hitting an unconscious man…
Sounds kept coming from the container, but of a different kind. It was neither the short sound of a punch nor the continuous sound of dragging. Dick tried to breathe through the pain and concentrate on finding the correct answer. In front of him, the purple-clad man shifted and called, "Hey! Get him out of there!"
A few second of complete stillness followed – and then the sound of someone running the few steps out from the container. Dick's head jerked, and he stared, wide-eyed, at the opening.
"Batman!" several voices shouted as a dark figure crashed out in the room. With two men down inside the container, Batman felled the Thumb's remaining two henchmen in the blink of an eye. He swung round, and with three long steps, he was standing in front of the mobster. The Thumb had had enough presence of mind to grab his handgun from his pocket, but he was too riled up to fire; the dark vigilante batted it out of his hand before he could pull the trigger.
Batman took a two-handed grip of Thumb's jacket and lifted him from the floor. His voice was ice-cold when he said, "You didn't think I keep everything in the utility belt you made me remove, do you, Thumb? I was out of the handcuffs before you started to fill the container with sedative gas. I wasn't sure how long I should stay put. Considerate of you to open the doors for me."
He kept the man hanging in the air while he was talking; then, quick as the release of a spring, threw him against a concrete pillar. The crime boss collapsed on the floor.
The figure of Batman seemed to deflate when he turned from the gangster towards his runaway child.
"Robin. May I have your communicator to call the GCPD."
Dick grunted, rummaged in a pocket and gave it to him. In return, he got a handful of plastic cuffs that Batman had hidden somewhere in his suit.
"Help me tie everyone up – but don't go alone to the other room. I've cuffed the men in the container."
The boy accepted the plastic bands and grunted again. The first joy of seeing Bruce alive and well had subsided, and Dick remembered that he was disappointed and angry with the man. But he couldn't just up and leave, in the middle of a band of gangsters. He walked the few steps over to the man in purple – Thumb, Batman had called him. The man's eyes were closed, and he didn't move a muscle when Dick turned him over and put on the restrainers while Batman had a brief conversation with the police.
Shortly after, all the Thumb's gang members were handcuffed and ready to be picked up by the police. Dick took a deep breath. Now that Batman had things well in hand, he was prepared to leave and start the next chapter of his life.
Less than two weeks ago, Dick had shied away from the thought of returning to his old home, the Haly circus. If he was unwelcome at Wayne Manor, why would the circus be any different? But now he felt better about himself – for all that his rescue attempt hadn't turned out as he hoped, he had helped save Batman one last time. He could go back with his head kept high, and he felt ready to blackmail Bruce into fixing things so he could stay with the circus.
Dick straightened and turned to Batman.
"Guess I'll make a nuisance of myself somewhere else", he said – and if Dick's voice sounded more sniffling than sneering, it could surely be put down to all the dust in the warehouse.
Batman sighed internally. He could understand what was going on in the boy's head. And he had promised himself to hug Dick as soon as he could – but surrounded by crooks in a state of more or less consciousness was rather crossing the line.
He glared at the tied-up mobsters lying around. Some of them were still conscious. It wasn't like anyone in Gotham didn't already believe that Batman and Robin were family – The Thumb had practically made that his business model. But he still didn't feel comfortable confirming it and paint the target on Dick's breast in even brighter colours.
Nevertheless, the boy deserved to be reassured. The police were well on their way – Batman and Robin could leave. He made a point of relaxing his facial expression as he walked up to his boy, put a hand on Dick's shoulder and squeezed for a couple of seconds before he steered him lightly against the way out. Dick moved stiffly, but he did follow the silent instructions.
Batman cleared his throat and spoke.
"You know I'd rather lose both arms than you."
He could feel Dick tense up even more. The boy pressed his lips together and stared down in the ground – presumably he didn't want to speak as long as anyone could hear.
Right enough, after another minute, Dick shrugged off Batman's hand and spoke in a strained voice.
"You could have fooled me, Batman!"
They were well out of eyeshot from the gang – and if there were any security cameras active, well, Batman could take care of that later. He stopped and dragged the boy in for a tight hug, one hand around Dick's back, the other cradling the black-haired head.
"I know, I know, I made such a mess… You heard the man – he threatened your life; I wanted you safe for the duration. I was sure if you knew, you'd insist on helping."
Just as it turned out – Batman didn't add. Sometimes, his brain-to-mouth filter actually worked.
Dick's body was still stiff, but at least he didn't make any movement to get out of the hug.
"What about the other… Robin?"
Batman lowered his head and rested a cheek on the mop of black hair.
"There never was one. I just hacked old footage of you and me into a few cameras, so The Thumb wouldn't start looking for you."
"Oh."
It felt as if Dick's body shrunk when he relaxed into the hug and cautiously lifted his arms to grip around Batman's body. Not until the sound of approaching police cars reached their ears did they let go and step apart.
"Ready to go home, son?"
Dick surreptitiously dried a few tears away from his cheeks and nodded.
"Sure", he said, in a scratchy voice that made Batman's heart sink with the realization of just how much the boy had been hurting.
Batman kept a hand on Dick's shoulder and steered him in the right direction to reach the Batmobile.
"You must have left your things somewhere. Why don't we pick it up on the way."
Dick's mouth twitched, ever so little.
"Of course", he answered easily, "it saves me a trip tomorrow, and we wouldn't want anyone snooping. I was staying at a hotel in Upper East Side.
"Well, then. Lead on Macduff!"
Dick groaned and threw his hands in the air.
"Baaat-maaan! You know that's a misquote from Macbeth! Al… You-know-who would be disappointed!"
"I look forward to you telling him all about it…"
– – –
Much later that night, Dick crawled under the comforter and made himself comfortable in his old bed. After the last week's emotional roller-coaster, it felt both weird and fantastic to be back.
It smelled like an enormous, almost empty house where not even Alfred could keep the dust at bay. Like old furniture and textile and antiseptic and leather and grass, soil and trees from the grounds.
It smelled like home.
Alfred had hugged him tightly and asked if he wanted something to eat or drink – Dick had accepted a cup of Earl Grey because he was far too tired to think about eating, but a cup of tea was always a good way to wind down.
Bruce had hovered, promised they would do whatever he wanted the upcoming weekend, but the look in his eyes gave away that he was brooding over something. Probably how to do damage-control, get Dick back to school and explain why he had run away from Hillside Academy. Well, no doubt he could blame it all on Dick being such a drama queen – it wasn't even the first time he had run away, after all.
He couldn't just turn off the feelings of abandonment, sorrow and anger that Bruce's action the last few weeks had ignited in him. But he knew without a doubt that Wayne Manor was where he wanted to be and that Bruce Wayne, for all that the man was emotionally inept, was his second father.
Dick curled up in his bed. He was happy to be home. He knew that his feelings would settle; he would calm down and forgive Bruce.
But that didn't mean he couldn't take the opportunity to play some pranks, while Bruce was suffering from his guilty conscience, and Alfred was clearly displeased with the master of the manor. Dick smiled into the soft pillow and started making plans…
THE END