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Chapter Text

Dick Grayson looked proudly at his colorful uniform. Now he truly was part of the Flying Graysons.

“Mama! How do I look?” Dick asked nervously, fiddling with one of the clasps. Today was a big day and it was imperative that he looked good.

Mary Grayson beamed down at her son and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Oh, you look wonderful my little robin.” She stepped back and adjusted his costume. “Can you move well in it?”

“Yeah! Watch this!” Dick flipped and landed in a handstand. “It feels great!” he cheered, spinning on his fingertips, only to be scooped up by his dad. Dick flopped and wriggled quickly out of his grasp. “Papa! You messed up my routine!”

John Grayson just laughed. “Are you ready for your big day? That flip looked great.”

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for the crowd,” Dick said sheepishly. “What if I freeze?”

Both parents shared a smile.

“You’ll do wonderful my little robin,” Mary reassured. “Just look in my eyes the whole time and the crowd will just fade into the background. Did we tell you about the time your father froze and I—”

Dick’s face grew very red. “Yes, yes, yes, I know. You don’t have to tell me that story again.”

“So you know that the worst thing that can happen is a little clothing mishap,” John teased, ruffling his son’s hair. “And that only adds to the crowd’s entertainment. They thought it was part of the routine.”

“You’re going to fly beautifully,” he added. “You’re even better than I was at your age. I’m excited to see how impressive you’ll be by the time you become an adult.”

“I'm going to be the best acrobat in the world,” Dick announced. He was going to follow in his parents’ footsteps and go on to be the greatest acrobat the world has ever seen, making Haly’s Circus known across the world. Today was the first step in his journey.

Today Dick was going to perform in his first performance as a part of the Flying Graysons. Everyone was excited. All members of the circus from the managers to the lion tamers viewed him as part of the family, their little brother, and were really putting their all into this special day. People were dashing about double and triple checking things. Clowns were putting extra effort in their makeup and the contortionists were practicing their routines. Everything had to be perfect for Robin’s first performance.

The sky grew dim, announcing that it would be soon time to start. Dick scarfed down his dinner and started stretching with his mother when Mr. Haly, the circus owner, walked in.

“Haly! It’s great to see you!” cheered John. “We were just about to make our way over.”

Haly nodded. “I see you look very prepared and professional,” he said, smiling at Dick.

“Thank you sir.”

“I just know you’re going to do great, kid. Now, if I could steal your parents for a moment, I have some adult things to discuss with them outside.”

John and Mary looked at Haly inquiringly.

“It has to do with our mobster friend,” Haly said. He laughed as if he was telling a joke, but his expression was serious.

“Ah,” said Mary knowingly.

“I just need some support, that’s all.”

Mary and John both stood up and left the tent. As soon as they had, Dick quietly followed them. He watched as his parents went outside the tent and joined Haley who was standing off to the side talking to a man in a business suit and a large cigar in his mouth. Hiding himself in the folds on the fabric walls, Dick was able to edge closer to the group, so he could hear what they were saying.

“My men are still waiting for you to deliver on that cash,” sneered the man.

Dick could see Haly’s hands clenched at his side in anger. “We’re not going to give you a dime, Zucco. We don’t deal with criminals.”

“We’re only going to perform in Gotham for one night,” added Mary. “You’re not going to gain much through an alliance with us.”

The man, Zucco, looked around the circus tents appraisingly. “I’m not looking for an alliance. I’m looking for money in exchange for my services. This circus is quite valuable. I’m sure you can find some money to cough up. After all, I am offering you protection. If you don’t pay, who’s to say whether something terrible might not befall your circus? This city isn’t a kind place.”

Haly sent the man a piercing glare. “Is that a threat?”

“I am a businessman. You can pay for my services or not. If you don’t, someone else might employ me. After all, you being here has made some waves. Not everyone is so happy with what you’ve been doing.”

“We’re a simple circus. What waves are we making?” John asked incredulously.

Zucco snickered. “Your employees are valuable, Haly. I’m sure you’re aware of the offers they have refused to continue working with you.”

Haly glared. “My employees are honest and prefer the life of a showman to one of a glorified henchman.”

“And my employers prefer that you lend a helping hand in persuading them otherwise. They are willing to pay me to make that happen. But…” Zucco paused for effect. “If you pay me, they’ll leave you and all your little show ponies alone.”

“I’ll ask again. Is that a threat?”

“If the better offer leads me to act against you, I will hurt you in the ways that cut the deepest. So yes, I am threatening you.”

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement,” cut in John, worry-lines etched into his face. “We’re already drawing in large crowds and are sure to make a sizable profit. We can pay. Zucco, You have to understand. Our—our son is joining our act tonight. His safety is our highest priority. His safety is priceless. We’ll pay.”

Zucco scoffed. “That’s a nice sentiment, John, but you are not in charge of the distribution of the circus’ money. Mr. Haly is.”

John and Mary looked at Haly desperately.

Zucco looked on, shining a triumphant smile. “So…”

Haly let out a sigh and stood up straighter. “You know I can’t give you anything. Here, we take care of each other. We are our own protection, always have been.”

“Sure,” mocked Zucco. “But Gotham is a dangerous place.”

“The world is a dangerous place. We won’t help fund your…activities that help make it that way.”

“Alrighty then, if you’re so sure that you can protect your own, then you shouldn’t have a problem then should you?” And with that, Zucco turned on his heel and left.

“Haly!” Mary cried. “You have to pay!”

Haly smiled and said something quietly that Dick couldn’t make out. John and Mary’s posture immediately relaxed. Seeing his parents’ change in demeanor, Dick smiled too. Everything was going to be fine.

Dick watched as the group talked in hushed tones for a while before he noticed that the conversation was seeming to wrap up. Dick rushed back into the tent before his parents saw him and busied himself with cleaning up his dinner.

“What did Haly want?” he asked when his parents walked in.

John waved his hand dismissively. “Just some logistical things, nothing to worry about.”

Dick let out a nervous sigh. Listening to that conversation had really shaken him up.

“Oh honey.” Dick’s mother patted him on the back. “You’re going to perform beautifully tonight. You are ready.”

“What if something goes wrong?” he asked. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you mess up and do better the next time.”

“And if I fall?”

Don’t worry. That’s why we work as a team. Besides, we have good equipment that’ll catch you even if we don’t.”

“I guess that’s true.”

As the family walked over to the main tent where the show would take place, Dick noticed two figures talking in the shadows. He recognized the man from earlier, Zucco, but didn’t know the second one. He was a tall, well-dressed man with black hair and a stony expression.

Dick looked towards his parents for comfort, but they didn’t notice that Dick had stopped and were way ahead of him now. Dick turned his attention back on the shadowy pair. They were talking animatedly, but Dick couldn’t make out what they were saying. Their deep conversation broke as both men looked up and noticed Dick staring at them. Dick and the stranger made eye contact and stared at each other for a long time, saying nothing. Then, the stranger pointed at Dick and said something to Zucco who nodded in response.

Anxiety bubbled in Dick’s gut and he sped up his pace. ‘Haly has everything all figured out,’ he told himself. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’

Chapter Text

“Welcome one and all to Haley’s Circus! We have a thrilling evening in store for you, filled with daring feats of strength and bravery, as well as breathtaking displays of grace and beauty. And now, without further ado, let's get the show started!"

Dick Grayson stood backstage, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched the crowd and looked on as the announcer stepped out into the bright lights of the circus tent and greeted the audience, introducing the first few acts of the night.

Trick riders led their horses around the stage. The clowns tumbled and pratfalled, making the audience laugh with their silly antics. Dick felt his nerves start to calm as he watched the performers, knowing that he was just as prepared as they were.

The night went by smoothly. The popcorn smelled great, they hadn’t run out of peanuts yet, and Haly’s Circus had one of the most enthusiastic crowds they had seen in a long time. Mr. Haly walked into the center of the ring to give the final speech. The audience erupted with excitement, they knew what was coming.

The music started to play, the spotlight shown, and it was time. Dick took a deep breath and walked out onto the tightrope, the bright lights of the circus tent shining down on him, highlighting his costume. The audience gasped as he walked confidently across the thin wire, his arms outstretched for balance.

At first, Dick was slow, but as he took his first few steps, he began to find his rhythm. He moved slowly but steadily across the rope, the wind whipping through his hair as he made his way towards the other side. The crowd below him was silent, their eyes fixed on him as he moved across the thin wire. Dick could feel the weight of their gaze, and his confidence grew.

These people were here for a show. He could do that.

Dick approached the halfway point and felt the tension building. With a burst of energy, he picked up his pace, moving faster and more confidently across the tightrope. The crowd gasped as he performed a series of tricks, flipping and spinning in the air with ease. Finally, he reached the other side and transitioned to the trapeze. The audience erupted into applause as he swung through the air, performing his signature moves with ease and grace. Dick focused on the crowd, trying to ignore the dizzying height beneath him. Dick took a triumphant bow.

The music shifted, signaling that it was time for the Flying Graysons’ joint act. The lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated the Graysons standing atop a series of towering poles, ready to begin their signature act.

John launched himself into the air, flipping and twisting through the air with grace and precision. Mary was next to take the stage. She soared through the air, performing a series of dizzying spins and flips that left the audience gasping in amazement. Her long, flowing hair whipped behind her as she moved through the air, her movements fluid and effortless. The crowd gasped and cheered as they performed twist after twist, never missing a beat. The crowd then fell silent and John and Mary began their ascent up the thin wire, their bodies moving gracefully as they balanced and spun in the air. As he watched from the side, Dick saw his parents swing back and forth on the trapeze, executing their routine perfectly.

Dick stood back, waiting for his cue. His parents flew through the air at an astonishing pace. They flew from bar to bar. Dick prepared to reach out to catch his mother and join her in the air. He caught her and joined the act, launching himself from the bar and executing a double somersault before catching the bar with his hands. The audience held their breath as Dick swung back and forth, building up speed before letting go and soaring through the air to land on the platform below.

No one made a sound, every person was mesmerized and entranced by every turn and flair.

As he soared through the air, he would gracefully arch his back and extend his arms, forming a perfect circle with his body. The move required incredible strength, balance, and control, and Dick executed it flawlessly every time.

As the music reached its climax, Dick mentally prepared to pull off his most daring move yet: a series of triple somersaults, culminating in a synchronized landing on a platform at the center of the stage alongside his parents. He just had to wait for his parents to pass each other once more.

Mary and John swung toward each other from opposite sides, grabbing a center rope simultaneously.

The echoing of a rope snapping filled the silent area.

Chapter Text

Dick was in a state of shock. The spotlight, the shouting, it all felt like it was miles away. Everything was quiet. It was just Dick and the echoing of his pounding heart in his ears. Things were happening all around him, things he was barely aware of. He stared down below him, seeing, but not understanding. He saw the twisted hands of his parents holding each other. They were gripping each other firmly, their fingers interlocking perfectly.

No—no, not perfectly. His father’s pinkie and ring finger were jerked back and broken, facing the wrong way, and his mother’s hand, usually the picture of grace and cleanliness, was splashed with a deep, deep red.

Dick was vaguely aware of someone, a friend, slowly dragging him back from the raised platform and down the stairs to the safety of the ground, but he couldn’t summon the energy to make himself walk. Then, like resurfacing after taking a deep plunge, everything became clear again. The lights blinded him and the violence of the sounds and shaking of the masses trampling by, trying to get away, sent him crashing to the ground. The pungent mixture of smells–popcorn, dust, and copper–made him retch and heave.

Dick understood everything now, and it was too much. There were too many people, too many noises, too many hands, and too much touching. Someone, Haly, was standing over him, holding his shoulder and speaking to him.

Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Haly left, ran off to speak with the police who had arrived in cars that shrieked and flashes incessantly. Without Haly, Dick had a clear view of his parents again. Dick squeezed his eyes shut and heard someone call for the bodies to be moved.

The bodies? They weren’t just bodies, they were his parents. Dick couldn’t bring himself to move to protest. What was the point? Dick’s thoughts flashed back to that conversation he had overheard earlier and he knew. This wasn’t an accident. Zucco had done exactly what he said he would do.

Dick vomited. This was his fault. He could have made a fuss, pretended to be sick, or run away. He could have done a million things that would have stopped his parents from performing, but he didn’t. This was his fault. An invisible weight pressed down against Dick’s chest, suffocating him. Memories flashed in his mind. Zucco’s smug look, his confidence. Of course a tragedy would happen if he didn’t get his money and Zucco didn’t get his money. Haly didn’t want to pay.

Hot rage flooded Dick’s senses, but was quickly lost. This wasn’t Haly’s fault. Even if it was, his parents were still dead. Dick opened his eyes. His parents still laid still on the ground, but were now covered by a sheet. Haly, now followed by several officers, walked back over to Dick and tried to ask him to describe what had happened, if he’d seen what caused the rope to break.

“The ropes were in perfect condition,” Haly kept repeating.

The questions kept coming, so Dick held his hands to his ears, clenching until he felt his nails piece his skin. The world was too loud.

Someone was screaming.

Shut up!

The screaming turned into muffled sobs and Dick realized that he had been the one who was screaming. In a rush of agony, he slammed his fists against his head, hoping that the force could wake him up in some other reality, where this didn’t happen, where this was just a bad nightmare. His mom and dad would hold him close and sing softly until he fell into pleasant dreams. Callused hands grabbed his wrists and restrained him. Dick didn’t fight it. There would be no waking up from this.

A thick, scratchy blanket was placed over him and the callused hands loosened into a comforting embrace.

“Shh, shh, just breathe, that’s it, just breathe,” a voice soothed.

Dick sat there for a long time, sinking into the hold of the person who was hugging him. A calmness, an empty and despondent calmness, but a calmness nonetheless, washed over Dick and he was able to take in his surroundings once more. The man holding him was a stranger, a young-ish man with black hair, kind eyes, and deep frown lines. Noticing Dick’s sudden awareness, the man stood up.

“Hello,” said the stranger softly, holding out his hand. “My name is Bruce Wayne. What’s yours?”

With wobbly legs and his breath still hitching, Dick grabbed the man’s hand and slowly stood up.

He would regret that moment for the rest of his life.

Chapter Text

Bruce was really nice, like really, really nice. He was serious, but he didn’t interrogate Dick like the others did. He wore a fancy suit, but didn’t creep around carefully, trying to keep his clothes looking pristine. He even took Dick out of the bigtop tent and they sat down, right in the dirt. He didn’t act like Dick was a baby who didn't understand anything either. He listened to Dick and tried to make things at least a little bit better. He understood.

Bruce sighed and fiddled with the grass blades in front of him. "I know how you feel, Dick. I lost my own parents when I was just a boy, too,” he said. “We went to the movies and we were mugged. One moment they were here and the world was wonderful and bright and the next moment, they were gone and nothing was ever the same again.”

“Yeah,” Dick sniffed, trying to ignore the headache that all of his crying had given him. “What happened after?”

Bruce gave a pained smile. “I was lucky. My parents were very wealthy and I was well provided for. Our butler, Alfred, took charge of my upbringing. He is a great support and dear friend. Friends are very important to have in difficult times. Do you have a dear friend that you want to talk to?”

“Zitka, but she’s an elephant so I’m not sure she counts,” Dick mumbled. “I—I keep seeing them every time I close my eyes. Does that ever go away?”

“The memories fade, but the hurt tends to stick around. It's a pain that never really goes away. It’s important to use that pain in a way that honors their memory."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. For me, I found purpose by helping others. For you, that might be continuing to be an acrobat or just being the kind of person they would want you to be.” Bruce looked at Dick with a determined expression. "I want to help with the investigation. I will pay for it all, if need be. We need to find out the truth and bring justice for your parents."

Dick's eyes widened in surprise. “Really?!”

“Yes, really.”

Dick felt a surge of gratitude towards Bruce. "Thank you," he said, his voice shaking.

Bruce nodded. "We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise. I’m going to call a friend. He can manage everything better than these guys. He’s like their boss’s boss,” he said, motioning to the police that were already on the scene, their flashing lights illuminating the circus tents and rides. Dick watched as several police officers questioned the circus staff and performers, trying to piece together what had happened.

“They know what they’re doing. I promise.”

True to his word, Bruce pulled out his phone, called someone named “Commissioner Gordon,” and, not even ten minutes later, a middle-aged man with a square jaw and large, bushy mustache arrived surrounded by other officers. He has a strong, no-nonsense demeanor, but Dick could see his eyes soften as he came up to them. Bruce got up and talked to the man for several minutes before the stranger walked over to Dick to talk to him alone. He took off his hat and introduced himself to Dick as Jim Gordon.

"Dick," Jim Gordon said, sitting down next to Dick. "I need to ask you a few questions. Can you tell me again what you saw?"

Dick took a deep breath and recounted the events of the night his parents died. He described the conversation that he overheard between his parents, Haly, and Zucco and how he saw Zucco and another man outside the tent before the show. Jim listened patiently as Dick poured out his story, his eyes never leaving the boy's face. "I think—I know that he purposely cut the rope that killed my parents," Dick said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jim Gordon raised an eyebrow, his expression serious. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Dick said firmly. "I know that Zucco did it."

Haly, who had been listening to the conversation, interrupted, "That's not what happened. It was just an accident. The rope was old and worn out."

“Really? Because one of my officers told me that you told them that the ropes were in perfect condition,” said the commissioner, sounding suspicious.

Haly faltered. “I—I thought they were, but we just checked again and there was some fraying that we missed before the show. It was an accident. There was no foul play.”

Dick shook his head, wiping away his tears. "I know what I saw," he said, angrily. "Someone cut the rope."

He clenched his fists and stared Haly down. He could feel the rage bubbling up inside him. First Haly didn’t pay Zucco, and now he was denying ever meeting him.

Haly sighed and looked at the young boy with a mixture of pity and worry. "I'm sorry, Dick," he said. "But accidents happen. It's just a terrible tragedy."

“Are you saying that Dick is lying?" the commissioner asked. "He seems pretty convinced that someone did it on purpose."

Haly hesitated for a moment before finally saying, "Kids have wild imaginations and he’s been through a lot,” said Haly. "He probably just misunderstood what he saw. I don't even know someone named Zucco.”

The commissioner didn’t look convinced and excused himself to continue his investigation, leaving Haly and Dick alone.

"Haly, please," Dick pleaded. "I know what I heard. I know that someone cut the rope on purpose. Why are you lying?"

Haly looked around, making sure no one was listening. “Listen, kid, you don't want to get mixed up in this. It's dangerous, and it's better if you just forget about it," Haly said.

"What do you mean?" Dick asked.

Haly hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "You were right about Zucco," he said quietly. "But you need to be careful. There are some very powerful people out there who don't like it when their plans are messed with. Your parents were caught in the middle of something they didn't understand. And now, you are too. If you don't want to end up like them, you need to keep your mouth shut."

Dick was frightened by Haly's words, but he also wanted justice for his parents. He would never keep his mouth shut.

Haly patted Dick on the back. “Just stay silent and try to move forward. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dick lied, turning on his heel and leaving.
Dick took a deep breath and walked over to Bruce, who was still watching him from afar. Bruce would know what to do. Bruce would help.

"How are you holding up?" Bruce asked, his voice gentle.

Dick shrugged, feeling a sense of anger and frustration bubble up inside him. "No one believes me," he said, explaining what happened. "They all think I'm making it up. Haly knows that I’m telling the truth, he told me to be quiet. I don’t know what to do. I don't want to let my parents' killer get away."

Bruce looked at Dick for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I believe you, Dick," he said. "It sounds to me like Haly is involved with that Zucco person you talked about. I’ll talk to Commissioner Gordon about it. You are being really brave. I want you to know that. It’s not an easy thing to do, to help us find the evidence we needed to put him away. You're a real hero."

Dick smiled shyly and said, "I just want to know what happened and why.”

"Dick," Bruce said, "I want you to know that I'll always be here for you. If you ever need anything, just ask."

Dick looked up at Bruce and was reminded of his dad. "Thank you, Bruce. For everything."

Chapter Text

Dick sat in the lobby of the Gotham City Police Department, staring at his hands as they fidgeted in his lap. He’d been brought by some officers to help with the investigation, but now he was all alone, trying not to cry. He had nothing with him to keep the image of his parents falling from replaying in his mind over, over, and over again. The police wouldn’t even let him speak to Haly or any other members of his circus family. The officers that tried to talk with him were scary, the chair he was sitting in was stiff, and Dick just really, really wanted to go home.

"Hey there, kid," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Dick looked up to see Commissioner Gordon standing in the doorway, looking down at him with a mixture of pity and sympathy. “How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, I guess," Dick replied, not making eye contact, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He didn't know what to say to Gordon. He didn't want to be here, talking to this man. He wanted to be with his family, laughing and performing in the circus.

"I know this must be hard for you, but I want you to know that I'm sorry for what happened to your family," Gordon said, his voice softening.

"I just wish things could go back to the way they were," Dick said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know, kid. I know," Gordon replied, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Dick, I need to talk to you about the circus," Gordon said, his voice serious.

Dick looked up at him. "What about it?"

"Well, we've been investigating the accident and we've found some troubling things," Gordon explained. "It seems that Haly was negligent in maintaining the safety equipment."

Dick's heart started to pound and his eyes widened. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the trapeze ropes weren't properly maintained," Gordon said. "They were old and worn, and should have been replaced a long time ago. It was Haly's responsibility to ensure that the equipment was safe for use, and he failed to do so."

Dick shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "No, that can't be true. Haly wouldn't do that. And besides, everyone checks the ropes before any performance. Someone would’ve noticed. My parents would’ve noticed.”

“That may be the case, but Haly noticed and did nothing about it. He confessed to it all.”

Dick stared at Gordon numbly. He didn’t know what to think about that. The ropes were always double, triple checked and they had just bought a ton of completely new equipment. He knew equipment would have been safe and told Gordon as much.

"I know it's hard to believe, Dick," Gordon said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "But we have evidence to support our findings along with his confession. We've arrested Haly for his negligence. I know this must be hard for you."

It took a second for Dick to realize what Gordon had said, but once he did, anger exploded inside him and he sprang to his feet. "You can’t do that to Haly! You can’t take him away!" he bellowed, heavy tears falling down his cheeks.

Gordon sighed. "I know you care for Haly very much, but he’s responsible for what happened. He should have taken better care of the circus, and he didn't. And that's why he's in jail now."

Dick seethed. He was so sick of these fools who just didn’t understand. They didn’t understand and they were ruining his life because of it. “But it wasn’t him. It was Zucco! I told you before! Why won’t you believe me?!”

Gordon smiled pityingly. "I understand that you want to believe that Anthony Zucco was responsible for what happened, Dick. Maybe you're right. We are still looking into Zucco. He’s a shady character who’s been stirring up trouble for years in Gotham. He’s definitely on our radar. But, Dick, you have to understand that regardless of whether we find a link between Zucco and the circus, the fact remains that Haly was responsible for the safety of the performers. He failed in that responsibility, so now he's being held accountable for his actions.”

“You can’t! You can’t take him away too! The circus needs Haly! How are we supposed to continue going without it?”

“The circus will continue its work after our investigation has completed. It will survive without him, I promise. It will survive without you too.”

Dick’s anger was quickly replaced with a sharp pang of pure fear. “What—what do you mean?”

Gordon took in a deep breath and studied Dick for a moment before continuing. “We’ve also come to the decision that Haly’s Circus is not a safe place for a child to grow up. You will be removed from their care.”

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down as Gordon’s words reached Dick’s ears. The world around him became blurry and indistinct, like he was seeing it through a haze. Gordon’s voice became distant and his vision grayed. Just as quickly though, reality snapped back into focus, and the fear hit him like a freight train. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the news, trying to find a way to fix it, to make it go away. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he blinked them back, trying to maintain some semblance of control. The sobs came anyway, wracking his body and making him feel small and helpless.

"But what about me? What's going to happen to me?" Dick asked, his voice trembling.

“We are going to find you a really great place to live with a nice, nice family.”

Now it wasn't just his parents he would miss, but the rest of his family. The other circus troupe members may not have been biologically related to him, but the circus was his family, his home. He had grown up with the performers, had learned from them, laughed with them, cried with them. He didn't want to lose them too. They were the only people he had ever known, and the thought of leaving them behind was almost too much to bear.

"I don't want a new family," Dick whispered, his voice cracking. "I just want my mom and dad back."

Gordon put a hand on his shoulder. "I know, kid. I know."

Dick held his hands up to his head as he tried to catch his breath. No matter how hard he tried, air was simply not reaching his lungs. He clutched at his chest and barely felt it as Gordon placed a supporting hand on his back.

“It’ll be alright, kid.” Gordon said quietly, rubbing Dick’s back in circular motions.

Dick slumped back against the wall, feeling defeated, and gave up fighting the tears. "I don't want to leave the circus. It's my home.”

"I understand that, but for now, you need to be somewhere safe. We'll find you a new home, somewhere you can be happy and feel loved," Gordon soothed. “And I have some good news. Bruce Wayne has expressed interest in taking you in.”

Dick stopped sniffling and looked incredulously at Gordon. Could that be true? He could feel his racing heart start to slow down. His breaths became deeper and more regular, and the tension in his body started to ease. He was still shaking and feeling terribly anxious, but his panic had receded a bit. Dick's eyes widened as he studied Gordon’s face. “Really?"

Gordon nodded firmly. "Yes. He's very interested in talking with you. What do you think?" he asked.

He gave a hesitant nod. There wasn’t a soul besides Bruce that he knew and trusted outside his fellow circus members. If he had to leave the circus, then Bruce…Bruce would be a good option. He’d heard stories of what happened to kids in Gotham who didn’t have families. Bruce wouldn’t let any of that happen to him.

Gordon smiled, a warm and genuine expression. "I'll make the arrangements. You're going to be okay, kid. I promise."

With a pat on the head, Commissioner Gordon got up and went into his office, presumably to make some phone calls. Dick was still shaking. His mind was a jumble of conflicting emotions, of confusion and uncertainty. He felt a small spark of excitement too. It was a bittersweet feeling, being torn between despair and a touch of hope. Dick sat in his own storm of conflicted emotions for probably twenty minutes before the building’s front door swung open with a bang. Dick looked up and saw Bruce standing in the doorway, his hands fidgeting.

"Hey, Dick. Can we talk for a bit?" Bruce said, sitting down next to him.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Commissioner Gordon tell you why I’m here?”

Dick nodded. “Kinda.”

“Kinda? Okay. Well, I have something very important to talk to you about. Is that okay?”

Dick nodded again, more more hesitantly this time.

“I told you earlier about how I also know what it's like to lose your parents,” Bruce started. “I was lucky enough to have someone take me in and become my guardian. And now, I want to offer you the same thing. I know that we’ve only known each other for a few days, but I heard about what’s happening with you and the rest of Haly’s Circus.”

Dick sniffed. “I don’t wanna go,” he said.

“I know, chum. I wouldn’t either. It doesn’t really seem like you have a say in it though.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“I looked into it. I don’t think there’s anything I can do either. There’s some problems that not even money can solve.”

Dick was touched that Bruce had even considered helping him. He really did care, didn’t he?

“There is another problem that I could help solve,” Bruce continued. “Since you’re not going to be living with the circus anymore, where you are going to live is still up in the air. I’ve been told that you don’t have any relatives or family friends you can stay with so would…would you want to live with me? Is that something you would like, Dick?”

Dick stared at Bruce, not knowing quite what to say. They stared silently at each other for what felt like a long, long time.

"I know it's a big question," Bruce said gently after a while. "But I want you to know that I would be honored to take care of you."

"Sorry, it’s just a lot, a lot of information. I think...yes, I’d like that. I would like to stay with you if you’d want me," Dick said, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.

Bruce grinned. "I’m very happy to hear that. I can give you the life that your parents would’ve wanted for you. Better than anyone else in Gotham can. You know, Wayne Manor is a pretty amazing place to live. It's huge, with lots of rooms. I have a lot of gym equipment. You wouldn’t have to quit acrobatics.”

Dick gave a small smile.

They chatted for a while longer and Bruce told Dick all about the Manor, but the reality of the situation was still sinking in for Dick. He was going to live in this magnificent, strange place, but without his parents. The thought made him sad, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes again. Bruce was quick to comfort him, wrapping his arms around the boy and holding him close. Dick leaned into Bruce's embrace. It was a small gesture, but it gave him comfort, and he knew that Bruce was someone he could trust.

"It's okay to cry, Dick," Bruce said softly. "It's okay to be sad. Just know that you're not alone. You have me, and I'll always be here for you."

Dick clung to Bruce and let himself cry.

"You're a brave and strong kid, Dick. You'll get through this."

Dick sniffled and wiped his eyes.

Bruce stood up and patted him on the back. "I’ve got to file some paperwork to get things all sorted. Want to come with me?”

Dick nodded.

“Great. Let's go then,” Bruce said, extending his hand.

Chapter Text

Dick stood outside the towering mansion, his eyes wide with awe and uncertainty. He had never stepped foot inside a mansion before, let alone imagined himself living in one. The vastness of the estate seemed to stretch out before him endlessly and it scared him. It was so different from anything he’d ever experienced at Haly’s Circus.

Bruce noticed the look on Dick’s face and smiled reassuringly. "Take a deep breath and take things in slowly. Don't worry. You'll get used to it soon enough," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

They walked up the steps to the ornate front door and, as they approached, they were greeted by a figure of elegance and grace: Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce's trusted butler. Dick wasn’t sure how to feel about living in a house with a butler.

"Welcome, Master Bruce. And who is this young man?" Alfred asked, eyeing Dick with a genuine smile.

"This is Dick Grayson, Alfred. He is the boy I was telling you about. He'll be staying with us from now on," Bruce said.

"Ah, I see. Welcome to Wayne Manor, Master Dick. I hope you find it to your liking," Alfred said, extending his hand.

Dick shook Alfred's hand. Alfred stared at him with warm eyes and an air of familiarity that contradicted the formality that he had addressed Dick with. It soothed him.

“Thank you,” said Dick in a timid voice. “You don’t have to call me Master Dick.”

Alfred smiled and waved the suggestions off. “Allow an old man his old quirks.”

Alfred led Bruce and Dick through the halls of the manor and Dick couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. The walls were adorned with priceless artwork and the furniture was of the highest quality. He had never seen anything like it.

"It's amazing," Dick said, his eyes drinking in the splendor around him greedily. He was very careful to step over any crinkles in the fine rugs, scared of tripping and shattering a vase or damaging a painting.

"Yes, it is," Bruce said, smiling at him. "But remember, it's your new home. You don’t have to tiptoe around like it’s a museum. Make yourself comfortable here."

Dick nodded, feeling comforted by Bruce's words, and walked on with more confidence. They walked into the living room, where Alfred had prepared a tray of refreshments laid out for them.

"Please, make yourself at home, Master Dick," Alfred said, gesturing towards the plush couch.

Dick sat down and leaned his head back on the soft fabric. Looking at the ceiling, he felt tears form in the corners of his eyes. He would have loved to show his parents all of the things he’d seen today. They would’ve had so much fun wandering this massive house together, laughing at the silly statues and marveling at the chandeliers.

Showing his awareness of the overwhelming emotions engulfing his young ward, Bruce settled beside him, radiating a sense of support and compassion. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said, sitting down next to Dick. "But we're here for you. You're not alone in this. We’ll be here for you every step of the way."

"Thank you," Dick said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alfred poured steaming tea into delicate cups and settled into an adjacent armchair. He steered the conversation toward lighter subjects and Dick eagerly joined in, desperately wanting to foster a sense of normalcy in this new, strange place.

"So, Master Dick, what do you like to do?" Alfred asked.

"I like acrobatics," Dick said, a small smile forming on his face.

"Acrobatics, you say?" Alfred said, raising an intrigued eyebrow.

Dick's smile widened, though a flicker of sadness crossed his features. "Yes, my parents taught me.”

Alfred and Bruce exchanged a look.

"We are fortunate enough to have a gymnasium within the Manor. Perhaps we could equip it to cater to your acrobatic talents. Is that something you would find interesting?" Alfred asked after a moment.

Dick nodded vigorously.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to have all the necessary equipment installed as soon as possible. In the meantime, I do believe we have some gymnastic equipment you can make use of after we finish our tea,” the old man said.

Soon, Dick finished his tea and was led to a far corner of the Manor to an expansive gym. While Bruce referred to the gymnastics equipment as being ‘nothing compared to what the circus could provide,’ Dick could only gape and wonder what heights the circus might have reached if they’d have Bruce’s wealth.

Using the equipment, he flipped and twirled through the air, his body moving with a grace and ease that came naturally to him. He felt at peace when flying through the air and he felt free, a kind of freedom that he hadn't felt since his parents died.

"Good job, Dick," Bruce called out, admiration lacing his voice, as Dick landed a particularly difficult move. "You're a natural. Together, we can harness that potential, just wait until we get a real acrobatic setup.”

Dick grinned. Pride swelled within him. Maybe he could make something of himself here, with Bruce's help.

His feelings of hope for the future persisted throughout the day, even in his solitary moments. Later that evening, he laid in bed and gazed through his room’s wide windows at the velvety sky dotted with stars. The sky looked just like it had in the past. Some things really did stay the same. But, things were changing too. Dick missed his parents terribly, but he knew that they would want him to be happy. He had to make the most of his new situation.

Dick whispered to the night sky, "Thank you, Mom and Dad, for everything you've given me. I will honor your memory and strive to live a life that you’d be proud of."

With that promise, Dick’s thoughts strayed to Zucco and revenge. While Wayne Manor provided him with comfort, he knew deep within his soul that he could never find true peace until justice was served and Zucco paid for his crimes.

A restlessness took hold of Dick and it wasn’t long before he found himself unable to think about anything besides Zucco's cruel smile. His right sheets and the walls of the manor seemed to close in on him, urging him to break free.

He had to do something.

With utmost caution, Dick silently unlatched a window and slipped out onto the roof. He felt torn, for Bruce and Alfred had placed their trust in him, and he was determined not to betray their trust, especially on his very first night under their guardianship. He’d be quiet. They wouldn’t have any idea he’d even left his bed.

Step by careful step, Dick navigated the rooftop, his senses attuned to every creak and rustle of the night. His determination fueled him, and the flickering lights of Gotham in the distance beckoned him forward. Time was of the essence; he had to find Zucco before daylight exposed his disappearance.

Through winding alleyways and dimly lit streets, Dick raced, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. As the minutes ticked away, Dick found himself surrounded by nefarious figures lurking in the shadows, serving as a chilling reminder of the darkness that permeated Gotham's underbelly.

Dick approached a huddled group of men dressed far too nicely for their surroundings. Their shiny watches and expensive suits no doubt came from the blood money of organized crime. Undeterred, Dick approached one of the figures cautiously. “I’m looking for Anthony Zucco,” he announced, his voice steady and firm.

A gnarled finger pointed him in the direction of a dilapidated building. The flickering neon sign above the entrance cast an eerie glow upon the dark street. Dick's heart raced as he ventured towards the decrepit building. He wasn’t sure what he’d do once he saw the man. He was just a little, weak kid and he knew it. Still, he needed to face him.

As he approached the building’s door, Dick noticed that something felt off, like a presence looming just beyond his field of vision. A chill ran down his spine, the weight of someone's gaze bearing down upon him. Instinct kicked in, and he turned on his heels, scanning the darkness behind him.

In the distance, a solitary figure stood, cloaked in darkness and draped in an unmistakable cape. It was a man, a symbol, he’d only heard about. The caped figure locked eyes with Dick, their gaze meeting in the moonlit gloom.

Batman.

Chapter Text

“Batman,” he called out, sounding braver than he felt. “I need your help. I’m looking for Anthony Zucco. He killed my parents.”

Batman strode towards Dick and stood tall, towering over him in an intimidating manner. “Why are you looking for him?” he asked. His voice was gravelly and…off, like a memory in the back of Dick’s mind.

Dick looked at the white eyes of the Batman cowl unflinchingly. He tried to draw himself up and appear less like the little boy that he was. “I want him to face justice, sir.”

Batman leaned in closer and Dick felt like a specimen in a lab, ready to be examined and dissected. Dick kept himself from stepping backwards despite every instinct inside of him telling him to run far, far away and go back to Wayne Manor where it was safe. Then, Batman did something surprising. He laughed. He laughed right in Dick’s face, a booming, mocking laugh.

“You want justice? I will help you. Come.” Batman sounded pleased with himself.

Dick followed the man and entered the building the well dressed men had pointed out to him earlier. Batman led him up the stairs and into a dark room.

“What’s—”

Batman flicked on a light switch and a dangling bulb illuminated the face of that same man he’d seen outside the circus tent the night of his parents’ deaths, but, this time, the man was trembling in fear.

“You caught him?” cried Dick, astonished. “How?”

“He is a criminal. It is my job to catch criminals,” answered Batman.

Zucco looked at the floor, clearly avoiding looking at them. He was terrified. Dick looked around. No one else was in the room to cause the man to be so afraid. Was Zucco scared to go to jail? Good.

“Do you recognize this boy?” Batman asked Zucco.

Zucco’s eyes flicked up at Dick’s face. He nodded. “He’s the Grayson kid,” he answered.

Dick’s stomach swirled and he wanted to hide under Batman’s cape, away from Zucco’s stare. Batman must have noticed Dick’s apprehension because he softly patted him on the head. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

Dick nodded and tried to appear brave.

Batman neared Zucco and Dick could see Zucco fight the ropes, trying to break free. “You killed this boy’s parents,” he said. His voice was chilling. “That makes you a murderer, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” answered the man shakily.

“Now, tell the boy why you did it. Think of your answer very carefully.”

Dick already knew the answer to that: greed. Disgust filled him as he watched Zucco blab on and on about how he was a businessman…blah blah blah.

“Now how are you going to make things right for this poor boy?” asked Batman darkly.

Zucco opened his mouth, but said nothing.

“That’s right. You can’t. And when you take something that you can’t give back, you have to pay in some other way.”

“I will! I will!” cried Zucco. “I have money! Lots of money!”

Dick felt sick.

“I don't think that’s going to work for us,” said Batman, his voice growing angrier.

Zucco looked back at the ground.

Batman kicked the chair, with Zucco still tied to it, hard on the ground and grabbed the mobster by the hair, jerking his head up. “Look at me. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Zucco brought up his gaze and was promptly spit on. Batman kicked Zucco again and Dick cringed at the sound of Zucco’s cries. Batman continued kicking him again and again with increasing power.

“Stop! Stop!” shouted Dick, grabbing at Batman’s cape. “No violence, please!”

Batman stopped and turned angrily towards him.

“Stop!” cried Dick again. “I don’t—I don’t want this. Don’t hurt him. Just take him to jail please! That’s all I want!”

Not turning his face away from Dick, Batman kicked Zucco again and sent him flying against the wall with a crunch. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No. Please, take him to jail.”

Batman grabbed Dick’s arm with an iron grip and yanked him forward. “Don’t you want justice? He killed your parents.”

“Not like this!”

Batman sighed, sounding exasperated. “Alright. I won’t. Give me your hand.”

Dick hesitantly gave Batman his hand. Batman removed a strange bat-shaped blade from his belt and placed it softly in Dick’s hand. “Do you know what this is?”

“No. What is it?”

“This is a batarang,” Batman said smugly. “I use them to deal with filth like him.” He jerked his head towards Zucco.

Batman held his hand over Dick’s hand and forced him to hold the batarang tightly. He brought Dick’s hand close to Zucco's face.

“What—what are you doing?” cried Dick. He struggled to break free from the vigilante’s grip, but couldn’t escape. “Let go! Let go! Stop! Please!”

Batman moved the batarang in Dick’s hand closer and closer to Zucco’s face until the blade cut a thin line on the man’s cheek and blood cascaded down it. Dick wailed.

Batman ignored him and spoke to Zucco directly. “You are a murderer and must face justice. You won’t stay in jail though, will you? No. You’ll bribe yourself out or plant people inside to break you out, so that’s not going to work for us. Will it? Will it?”

Zucco shook his head. “Please—I did everything you asked! I—”

Batman’s free hand clamped down on Zucco’s mouth, muffling his pleas. With his other hand, he moved Dick’s hand down towards Zucco’s neck. A red scratch traced the movement. He then stopped and looked at Dick.

“Listen to me boy. This is justice. It isn’t pretty, but it is necessary.”

Dick continued struggling to get away, but Batman held him tightly. Then with a powerful push, Batman plunged the batarang into Zucco’s neck with Dick’s hand still tightly pressed around the blade. Blood splattered along Dick’s arm and face.

He could taste it.

Batman held Dick immobile and he could only watch as Zucco’s screams were distorted by his gasping and gurgling. The man shook and shook, blood coating his shirt and spilling onto the floor, until… he just stopped.

He fell forward, dead, his cooling face landing on Dick’s outstretched arm and open eyes looking through him. Dick shrieked.

Batman just laughed. He let go of Dick and the batarang clattered to the floor. “That’s justice,” he proclaimed proudly. “You may go.”

Dick wasted no time and ran away back to the Manor, choking on his tears all the way.

What was he going to do?

Dick didn’t know.

He could feel the blood drying on his hands. The coppery taste was still in his mouth.

Dick had just killed a man.

Retching, Dick had to stop himself from throwing up. Now stomach acid burned his throat too.

He had to keep running. He had to get home. Bruce would know what to do.

Chapter Text

Alfred was waiting for him when he rushed into the Manor. He was sitting in the parlor by the front door expectantly, his fingers gracefully curled around a teacup that had long gone cold.

He stood quietly and embraced Dick, not flinching or wavering as his neatly pressed suit was ruined with tears and blood. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dick and rocked back and forth slightly. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he murmured softly, as if he was quieting an infant.

Dick grabbed a hold of Alfred's shirt. He could smell it. It was nice. It was clean. Dick saw his own hands. They were not clean. He couldn’t stop himself from sobbing.

“What happened, my child? Are you hurt?” asked the butler. His tone was gentle and only made Dick cry even harder.

Dick shook his head and let out a whimper. He didn’t really want to think about the blood and grime all over him. He didn’t want to think about the life he just took.

“You are covered in blood! Are you sure?” Alfred leaned over to inspect Dick for injuries with careful hands.

Dick looked at the ground, ashamed. “It’s not mine.”

“Oh. I am glad. Let’s clean you up and make sure you are okay.” Alfred wiped the tears from Dick’s face and swaddled the boy tightly in a warm, fluffy towel he fetched from a nearby bathroom. He gently wiped the blood from Dick’s arms and face. The white towel quickly became marred with blood. Dick didn’t feel clean. He vomited on the floor.

Alfred rubbed his back in slow circling motions. “That’s alright. We’ll clean it up later. Just breathe.”

Dick sucked in a breath shakily. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, young man,” said Alfred. He looked at Dick pityingly and ran his fingers through Dick’s hair. “Could you tell me what happened? Where were you? I won’t be angry. I promise you.”

Dick gripped Alfred even tighter and shut his eyes tightly. “I…I, uh, I went to find Zucco.” Dick felt his chest tighten and couldn’t breathe in deep enough to get the air he so desperately needed.

Alfred looked at Dick, his eyes filled with patience. “Just breathe, Master Richard. Take it slow. Breathe in and out. So, you were looking for Mr. Zucco. Then what happened?”

Dick brought his hands to his face and tried to control his breathing. “I…I found him. No, actually. I found Batman, who found him.”

Alfred smiled softly. “You found Batman to help you, that’s good.”

Dick shook his head rapidly and started to sob again. His stomach was in a flurry. There was blood in his hair. He wanted…he wanted anything but this.

“No! No! I thought he would help me, but he didn’t! He made me…” he sobbed a strangled wail. “He’s dead, Alfred.”

Alfred’s hands dropped to his lap. “Batman’s dead?” he asked. His face grayed and his mouth opened slightly, horrified in a way only Alfred could make look dignified. “Are you sure?”

Dick could feel the blood caked under his fingernails. “No, no. Zucco.”

Alfred let out a loud sigh of relief and adjusted the towel around Dick, taking more streaks of blood with it. “Alright. Anthony Zucco is dead. That is not a great tragedy to me, Master Richard. It means that he cannot hurt you anymore. Still, that must have been scary for you. You have been around death far more than any little boy should.”

Dick’s chest stopped mid-breath. Alfred didn’t understand. Dick wasn’t just a little boy anymore. He was a killer. Zucco was a monster. Now Dick was a monster too.

“But I’m the one who did it. Batman made me hold this strange knife and I—” Dick took another moment to breathe. “He moved my arm and I cut his…” Dick trailed off and pointed to his neck. He couldn’t finish the words.

Alfred looked greatly surprised, his eyes glancing up and down Dick’s grimy body in concern. He did not look angry or disgusted though, and Dick found himself comforted, at least a small amount. At least Alfred didn’t hate him for being a murderer.

“Are you going to call the cops?” Dick asked. He felt himself growing small and timid. There was nothing he could do now. He’d already resolved to fully cooperate with the police once he was arrested.

To Dick’s surprise, Alfred shook his head and continued running his fingers through Dick’s hair. “No, no. No one is going to do that. You will be fine, I promise. You are safe here.”

Dick looked at the pristine walls of the Manor. Yes, he was safe here. Nothing bad could happen to him at Wayne Manor. That was a fact. Still, he didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore. Maybe Dick Grayson was just meant to suffer and make the people around him suffer.

“But I broke the law, Alfred.”

Alfred shook his head again. “That is true, but did you do it all on your own?”

Dick pursed his lips. “No. I told you, Batman moved my arm for me.”

“Then you are not entirely to blame. Besides, Anthony Zucco is not a man that I believe anyone will be sad to lose, other than perhaps the other cruel men who benefit from his business.” With gentle hands, Alfred helped Dick stand. “Why don’t you take a shower? You will feel better. I will prepare some tea for you when you are done. We can talk more about this later.”

“Okay,” Dick said, then after a beat, “What’s going to happen next?”

“Do not worry,” Alfred urged confidently. “I will talk to Bruce. We will figure it out. You will be absolutely fine.”

“Where is he?” Dick asked, realizing that he hadn’t seen or heard Bruce since he arrived at home. Dick wanted Bruce to hold him so badly. He needed Bruce to listen to him and tell him that everything would be alright.

“He'll be home soon. He had a little work he had to attend to, that’s all.” Alfred held Dick tight against his chest in a final hug. “Don’t worry. He’ll be home soon.
And remember, we are your closest confidants. You can come to us with anything and we will do anything for you. Anything that benefits you, we will do it.”

Chapter Text

When Dick stepped out of his room, clean and dressed in the lovely pajamas Bruce had given him as a gift on the day he moved in, he could hear Bruce’s booming voice echo through the house. Despite everything, Dick smiled.

Bruce was here. He’d make everything right again.

Dick rushed down the stairs and into the living room where Alfred and Bruce were talking. Bruce was dressed in his office wear, as if he’d just rushed home from a meeting, and Dick’s guilt increased even more. Bruce was working so hard for him, taking him in, helping with the police investigation, and he was about to ruin his life, tie the Wayne name to a crime that Bruce would never have any relation to if he hadn’t made the mistake of taking pity on him. He should have never entered the life of Bruce Wayne.

Bruce’s eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed tight against his chest. His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck tense. Dick’s breathing stuttered and fear filler him. Bruce already knew. Bruce knew what he had done. Tears welled in Dick’s eyes. Would Bruce hate him? Would he throw Dick out? Dick fought the sob that wanted to rip its way out of his throat.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

A step creaked on Dick’s descent and both men turned to face him. Dick and Bruce studied each other for a moment, unmoving. Bruce’s hard gaze softened, his clenched jaw relaxed, and the corners of his mouth drooped in a sad smile. Bruce uncrossed his arms and held them outstretched wide, open for an embrace.

Dick crashed into Bruce’s arms and started crying gross, messy tears all over again. He clung to Bruce as if his life depended on it, his cries muffled by Bruce’s shoulder. All he wanted was to be held tight like his mama did when he came lumbering in after a nightmare. All he needed was for Bruce to hold him, at least for a while.

“How are you feeling, chum? Is there anything I can do?” Bruce asked, his voice quiet and soft.

He sounded so much like Papa. Dick lifted his head and tried not to feel ashamed, but, in that moment, he wished that his father was holding him instead of the kind stranger who had taken him in out of the pureness of his heart.

Bruce looked deep into Dick’s eyes, as if trying to find some change within him. Snot slinked out of Dick’s nose and dirtied Bruce’s white office shirt. Bruce only hugged Dick tighter.

“I was so scared.”

Bruce looked at Dick with intelligent, patient eyes. His expression was grim. “I’m sure you were. Zucco is a scary man. He’s been hurting a lot of people for a very long time. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

With a tender smile, Bruce rose from his chair, carefully lifting Dick into his arms and placed him gently on the couch. He tucked a warm blanket around Dick’s small body, making sure it was snug, before settling onto the couch next to Dick, his gaze full of affection.

“I want to be glad,” Dick said. He sniffled and thought of his parents. “I wanted to make sure he never hurt anyone else again, but I didn’t want to…to hurt him.”

Bruce leaned back and took a sip of his tea. “I know, I know. You are a very kind kid, Dick, but not everyone deserves your kindness. Some people deserve your anger. You were angry. You hated Zucco. That’s okay. I’d be very worried if you didn’t.”

“Master Bruce is quite right,” said Alfred. “You are a kind young man. It’s not in your nature to hurt others, but, then again, that Anthony Zucco was a vile creature who deserved comeuppance. What you and Batman did is okay. This doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Dick was reminded of Batman’s anger as he kicked Zucco again and again, the sound of Zucco’s groans and grunt. The reality that Batman was still out there hit him hard and his heart started pounding rapidly. “We have to stop him, Bruce! We have to tell the police to arrest Batman!”

Bruce choked and almost spit out his tea. “Why would we do that?”

“He killed Zucco! We killed Zucco!” Dick cried, bewildered. Why were Bruce and Alfred so nonchalant about the fact that they were in a room with a killer? Didn’t he deserve to be locked up and never seen again?

Bruce leaned closer to Dick. He smiled the smile of a teacher trying to gently help a student come to a conclusion on their own. “Dick, listen to me. I know what happened was scary for you, and I’m very sorry for that, but Zucco killed your parents. He got what he deserved. He was served justice. You served him justice.”

Alfred patted Dick on the back. “Master Bruce is quite right. I understand that you are very scared right now, which is perfectly normal, but time will pass and you will see that Batman made you do a very good thing. Gotham is now safer and maybe now, some of your own emotional wounds can begin to heal without having the fear of that man hang over you.”

Dick remembered the blood under his fingernails and gagged. “That wasn’t justice! What Batman made me do isn’t a good thing!” With trembling hands, Dick covered his mouth as he began to hyperventilate.

Bruce drew Dick closer. “Chum, look at me.”

Dick slowly brought his eyes up to Bruce’s. The man’s eyes shined with understanding and concern, but also with something else—hunger. A hunger for what? Dick didn’t know. It scared him.

“What Batman did was a good thing. A dangerous man is now off the streets and you have learned how to take justice into your own hands. You can’t expect to ever see justice for the people you care about if you don’t do it yourself. You have killed the man who killed your parents. That is a gift I never got to have.”

“What?” Dick croaked, suddenly feeling very small and very confused all over again. He swallowed audibly, his throat working as he struggled to find his voice. His fingers toyed with the arm of the couch, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“Dick, I don’t think you understand,” Bruce said, standing up so he was directly in front of him. “I am the one who helped you. I’m Batman.”

As Dick looked into the older man's eyes, he saw how much they reminded him of Zucco, full of greed and obsession. Dick’s breath caught in his throat. He slid off the couch and backed away from Bruce’s now looming figure. Bruce's expression changed then, becoming harder, colder. His arm sprang out and grabbed Dick’s shoulder tightly, yanking Dick closer.

“Dick. Listen to me,” he commanded. “This is for your own good. I did this because I care for you. You sought out Zucco on your own. You wanted him to pay. You knew just like I did when I was a kid that your parents’ killer wasn’t going to face any sort of justice. You knew just like I did that you had to take vengeance into your own hands. I had nothing to do with that, that was all you. Your choice.

Dick’s lips parted, but no words came out, only a shaky exhale. His eyes were wide, darting around and searching for an escape route from the iron hands that gripped him.

“You got closer to Zucco than I ever got to the man who killed my parents. I’ve only ever gotten that close in my best dreams. You’re lucky that way.” Bruce’s calmness gave way to a wild fervor, his tone growing more animated and erratic. “You just needed help learning how to go through with it. It’s understandable Dick—I’m not mad that you couldn’t do it on your own—you just needed a little nudge. A nudge to teach you that justice isn’t always pretty. It’s messy, dangerous, and sometimes we have to do things that we don’t want to do if we are going to help people. We have to do what it takes anyway.”

Bruce grinned then and Alfred’s hands found themselves patting Dick’s back in a manner that was reminiscent of a parent soothing a crying child. Dick shrunk in on himself. The kind faces around him were the faces of ravenous wolves, and he could only wait for them to rip out his throat.

“Don’t be scared,” hushed Bruce. “It’s hard, but it’s something you’re going to have to learn before you help people, before you become my sidekick. It’s a hard lesson, chum, but it’s a lesson I’m excited to teach you.”

The strength in Dick’s knees abandoned him and he fell with a clatter. “Your…your sidekick?”

Bruce enveloped Dick in a warm embrace, like a snake wrapping its coils around a tiny mouse. “Of course. You are mine now after all.”

Chapter Text

The Manor was too large and he was too vulnerable. He was new in this territory and he was easy prey for Bruce, who knew the lay of the land so well. He wanted to leave, to run far, far away, but that was impossible. Batman would just catch him and Dick now knew Batman to be a cruel man. Terrified, Dick moved his blankets into his closet, his small body trembling in the dark.

He didn't sleep, instead choosing to listen to the muffled sounds of Alfred and Bruce moving about the vast mansion. Every footstep, every whisper, they sent shivers down his spine, his pulse racing like a drumbeat in his ears.

He knew it was morning; the faint light creeping under the closet door betrayed the dawn. Still, he clung to the safety of the closet's obscurity. Alfred would come soon to summon him to breakfast.

He was scared. He backed farther into the closet. He huddled amidst the coats and shoeboxes, his body and his fears swallowed by the darkness. Alone in the closet, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to happier times. He recalled the comforting warmth of his parents and the loving lullabies his mother used to sing to coax him awake in the mornings. The tune she hummed, now softly on his lips, served as a fragile connection to the past. He thought fondly of his mom. He wanted to go back to being her little robin, as she used to call him with a warm smile. He wanted to be hers again, not Batman’s.

The creaking of wood interrupted his reverie. Someone had entered his bedroom. Dick's small form stiffened, his breath held in fear. He didn't want Alfred to find him.

The footsteps drew nearer, and Dick heard a chuckle, not from Alfred, but from the other side of the closet door. It was Bruce. Panicking, Dick covered his head with the blanket, even though he knew it was a futile attempt to hide. The closet door creaked open, and a beam of light invaded his refuge. Bruce's rumbling voice cut through the darkness in a surprisingly jolly manner.

"If you like enclosed spaces, you'll love the Batcave, chum," Bruce said, and Dick peered out from beneath his blanket, his wide eyes meeting the warm gaze of the crouching man.

Bruce extended a hand towards the terrified boy, offering a comforting smile. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Dick. You're safe here, and we're your family now."

Dick pressed his body even harder against the back of the closet.

Bruce’s smile froze and his voice grew stern. “You’re fine. Get out of there.”

With trembling hands, Dick reached out and took Bruce's hand. He let himself be led through the dimly lit corridor and down a winding set of stairs. The air grew cooler, and the echoes of their footsteps reverberated in the stone passageway.

The descent seemed endless, and each step took them deeper beneath Wayne Manor. When they reached the bottom, a massive steel door loomed before them, a formidable barrier that seemed to separate the world of the Manor from something altogether different. Bruce typed a series of codes on the keypad, and the door slid open with a metallic groan.

Dick gasped as he stepped into the vast underground chamber known as the Batcave. It was a cavernous space filled with an array of high-tech gadgets and sleek, imposing vehicles. The overhead lights flickered to life, casting eerie shadows and revealing an arsenal of batsuits, all polished to a gleaming black. The Batcomputer, an imposing piece of technology, hummed with activity.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" Bruce mused, his voice filled with a sense of pride as he pulled on his cowl. "Welcome to the heart of the Batman operation."

Dick's initial sense of awe began to wane as Bruce's words settled in. "I...I never imagined a place like this," Dick stammered, his eyes darting around the Batcave.

"It's a world few get to see, and even fewer understand." Bruce's eyes, hidden behind the cowl of the Batman suit, bore into the young boy, assessing him with an unsettling scrutiny. "You're a brave kid. I've been watching you for some time. You've got a spirit that's rare to find. I know it's overwhelming, but I see something in you, something special. I think you will be the perfect partner."

Bruce placed a hand on Dick's shoulder, a gesture that should have been reassuring but felt more like a vice closing in. "It's a lot to take in, but I promise you, together we can make a real difference in this city."

Dick followed Bruce further into the depths of the Batcave, where they reached an area set with mats and training equipment.

Bruce gestured to the mats and said, "This is where you'll learn to spar, Dick. It's an essential skill for someone who wants to be a crimefighter."

As Bruce began to explain the basic principles of sparring, the knot of fear in Dick's stomach tightened. He didn't want to learn this. Fighting would only lead to more blood. “I don't know about this," he stammered. "Maybe we should just go back up to the Manor."

"No, Dick, this is where you need to be.”

Bruce went on to explain the basics of combat, demonstrating stances and techniques, all the while watching Dick with a calculating eye. Before Dick could fully grasp the teachings and without warning, Bruce lunged forward with incredible speed, aiming for Dick. It was a blur of movement, and in an instant, Dick was on the ground, pain radiating through his chest.

He clutched his aching ribs, tears welling up in his eyes. "That... that hurt," he managed to gasp. "Why did you do that?"

Bruce's face grew harsher, and the friendly facade began to crumble. "In this world, Dick, pain is a constant. You must learn to endure it and rise above it."

As he lay there, Bruce's grin was a chilling contrast to Dick's anguish. "You see, you've got potential, but potential alone won't cut it in the world we're entering. You can either face your fears and grow stronger, or you can remain vulnerable."

The tears welled up in his eyes, and Dick felt utterly miserable and inadequate. Bruce, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying this process. His grin widened.

"Again," Bruce demanded, his tone unrelenting.

Dick gathered every ounce of strength he had left and pulled himself to his feet, determination flickering within him. He wiped away his tears and squared his shoulders. He had to prove himself, not for Bruce, but for his own survival.

The relentless sparring continued, each charge from Bruce feeling like a hammer to Dick's chest. He tried to dodge, to counter, to fight back, but it seemed impossible. The gap between their skills was immeasurable.

Once more, Bruce charged, and once more, Dick found himself sprawled on the mat, gasping for breath. His eyes welled with tears, and he felt his body trembling. He knew he couldn't go on like this. He had to make it stop.

Bruce, with a calculating look in his eyes, finally relented. "That's enough for now, Dick. You've had a taste of what lies ahead. Now, go upstairs. Alfred has breakfast waiting for you."

Relieved that the torment had ended, Dick staggered to his feet and made his way towards the exit of the Batcave. He wanted to run, to escape this nightmare, but he didn't even know how to leave the cave. He had to listen to Bruce's orders.

Upstairs in the dining room, a grand breakfast awaited him. The scent of freshly cooked eggs and crispy bacon filled the air, but Dick couldn't muster any enthusiasm for the meal. He devoured the food with an intensity that surprised him, as if the physical pain he'd endured had somehow manifested as a gnawing hunger in his stomach. He chewed each bite with a mix of desperation and self-disgust. He despised himself for giving in to his hunger, for becoming a part of this strange world.

"Master Dick, how are you finding the Batcave? It's a remarkable place, isn't it?" Alfred's words beckoned him back to the present, but Dick remained unresponsive. The butler's eyes bore a trace of regret.

Meanwhile, Bruce, with a cross expression, appeared at the dining table. He didn't seem to appreciate Dick's reluctance to converse with Alfred. "Dick, you need to show respect to Alfred."

Dick, his mouth full, mumbled a quiet response. "Sorry. The cave, it's... something."

“And how did you like your training?” Alfred asked.

Dick wiped his mouth. “I’ve, uh, never sparred before,” he said. “I’m more used to acrobatics.”

“Of course,” Alfred said, his tone encouraging. “I’m sure once we get the basics of sparring out the way, you’ll really be able to focus on the type of training you prefer.”

Just as Dick was about to form a response, Bruce interrupted. "Dick, enough dawdling. Back to the Batcave. We have more to do."

Dick's heart sank. He couldn't refuse, even though every fiber of his being screamed for release from this life that had been thrust upon him. He glanced at Alfred one last time, and for the briefest moment, their eyes locked. Alfred's eyes might be kind, but Dick no longer trusted them.

Chapter Text

Dick was nursing a particularly nasty bruise on his ribcage, a result of the previous day’s intense hand-to-hand combat exercise with Bruce. The ache from the injury radiated through his torso, reminding him of each blow he'd taken. He felt the sweat clinging to his skin, the taste of salt on his lips, and the relentless pounding of his heart as he waited for Bruce’s next order.

"Today's training will be harder," Bruce announced, his voice a resonant authority in the cavernous training room. "I need to push you more, test your limits."

The young trainee swallowed nervously, his eyes darting around the room. He noticed the training mats laid out and the various pieces of equipment that seemed to promise pain and exhaustion.

Bruce’s eyes were cold, unyielding, and Dick knew that whatever he had endured the previous day would pale in comparison to what was coming. Bruce had woken him up even earlier today. The sun hadn’t even risen yet. Breakfast would have to wait until after this first bout of training.

"Take your position on the mat," Bruce instructed, already donning his training gear with practiced efficiency. There was an unspoken command in his movements, a discipline that Dick knew he had to mirror if he wanted to survive this place with his mind and body intact.

"Pay attention, Dick. Your stance is crucial. It determines your balance and power."

Dick mimicked Bruce's stance, his legs trembling slightly as he tried to hold the position. Bruce circled him like a predator, scrutinizing every detail with a critical eye that missed nothing.

"Now, let's see you move," Bruce said, stepping back to give Dick some space.

Dick shuffled his feet, trying to stay light on his toes as Bruce had taught him, but his exhaustion was evident in his sluggish movements. He threw a jab, but it was weak and uncoordinated.

"Pathetic!" Bruce roared, slapping Dick hard across the face. The sting was immediate, but the shame hurt more. "That’s the best you’ve got?”

"I'm trying," Dick panted, his small frame trembling with exhaustion.

"Trying isn't good enough," Bruce snapped, his voice like a whip. "You need to be better."

The words hurt, but Dick held back his retort. Arguing was pointless. Bruce's demands were absolute, and resistance only led to more punishment. Dick’s cheeks burned from the slap, but he bit down on his lip, refusing to let the tears that threatened to spill over show. He reset his stance, focusing on the basics: hands up, chin down, weight on the balls of his feet. He threw another jab, this one slightly more precise.

"Still weak," Bruce sneered. "But at least it was in the right direction. Now, pivot and throw a cross."

Dick did as he was told, pivoting his back foot and putting his body into the cross. He could feel the power behind the punch, but before he could take any pride in it, Bruce’s iron grip was on his shoulder, spinning him around.

"Your guard was down," Bruce barked, driving a knee into Dick’s abdomen.

The wind rushed out of Dick’s lungs, and he doubled over in pain.

"Never drop your guard! How many times do I have to tell you?"

Gasping for breath, Dick struggled to return to his starting stance. His body screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain. His mind raced, focusing on the techniques, the stances, the movements. He couldn't afford to think about anything else. He raised his gloves again, his arms feeling like lead. Bruce feinted with a jab, and Dick instinctively flinched.

Seeing the reaction, Bruce’s face twisted into a cruel smile. "Scared, huh? You think flinching is gonna save you? You think your opponent's gonna go easy on you because you're scared?

Dick shook his head. The motion caused his head to pound.

"Focus, damn it!" Bruce shouted, throwing a series of rapid punches that Dick barely managed to block. "You need to read your opponent, anticipate their moves. If you can't do that, you're just a punching bag.”

Dick gritted his teeth.

Bruce sighed. “Don’t give me attitude. Listen to what I say. I’m trying to help you. Now get back into the proper position.”

Dick’s arms were numb from the impact, but he forced himself to keep his guard up. He tried to watch Bruce’s eyes, looking for any hint of his next move. Bruce’s left shoulder twitched, and Dick saw the hook coming. He ducked under it and countered with an uppercut.

The punch landed, but Bruce’s body barely moved at the impact. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and he delivered a savage hook to Dick’s ribs, followed by a brutal uppercut that sent Dick sprawling to the floor.

“Don’t get cocky. One punch doesn’t make you a fighter. Why the hell are you spending so much time on the floor? Get up!”

Bruce sent Dick sprawling to the floor a few more times before Dick couldn’t get up anymore. By the time they finished, Dick was exhausted, his body drenched in sweat. He collapsed onto the mat, his chest heaving.

Bruce, shifting between mentor, father, and jailer, kept a watchful eye on his young charge. He extended a hand to ruffle Dick's hair, a rare display of warmth.

"You're making progress, Dick," he admitted, his eyes locking onto the boy's. "But remember, you have to do better.”

Dick looked up at Bruce, a mix of relief and satisfaction washing over him. He had earned Bruce's approval, and it felt like a small victory in his otherwise bleak existence.

Bruce nodded to himself, coming to a silent decision.

“You’re free to spend the next few hours as you wish.” The offer was unexpected, a sudden shift from the relentless training. “I want you to enjoy your time here.”

Dick’s eyes lit up. “Can I—”

“You can’t leave the Manor. Do not try. I will know,” Bruce interrupted.

Dick nodded meekly, accepting the conditional offer with a sense of resignation. He swung his legs over the side of the mat and stood, his body protesting with every movement. The clock in the cave read 5:47 a.m.

Alfred wouldn’t have breakfast ready for several hours. The man was likely still asleep. Dick would have to entertain himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, so instead of returning to his room, he decided to wander the halls of the manor, seeking some semblance of peace.

The vast corridors were dark, the only light coming from the occasional morning light filtering through the clouds by the tall windows. As he walked, his footsteps echoed, amplifying the loneliness that seemed to envelop him. He found himself drawn to the library, a place he had discovered in his first few days at the manor.

He glanced around at the towering bookshelves, filled with volumes bound in rich leather, their spines gleaming with gold leaf accents. The room exuded an air of opulence that sickened him. He settled into an armchair near the large bay window, his eyes drawn to the manicured lawns and the dense woods beyond the secluded estate. All the money in this fancy house couldn't buy what he truly craved: companionship.

He’d rather be lost in those woods than trapped here. Here, he had Bruce and Alfred, but they were not the family he had hoped for. In the circus, life had been simple, though far from easy. Their clothes had been patched, and money was always tight, but there was a warmth and camaraderie that filled the gaps.

He ran his fingers along the smooth leather armrest of the chair, wishing it were the rough canvas of his old tent. His gaze drifted to the window again, imagining himself running through the fields, back to the life he knew.

Dick felt a pang of loneliness so acute that it took his breath away. Escape was not an option. Bruce had made that clear. He was to stay within the confines of the manor, for his safety, he said. That was, of course, just a nice sentiment, a cute excuse.

Dick got up and paced by the bookshelves, looking for some reading material to take his mind off his aching body. Between two books the edge of a photograph peeked out. He picked up the faded photograph from the shelf. Its edges were worn from years of handling. It was a picture of Bruce as a young boy, standing between his parents, their faces lit with joy. The sight of Bruce looking so happy and carefree was startling.

The sight of Bruce’s youthful face, unmarred by the lines of anger and grief that now defined it, struck a chord within Dick. Bruce had also lost his parents, and in that shared loss, Dick found a semblance of understanding and empathy.

The photograph trembled in his hands, and he quickly set it back on the shelf, as if the image might burn him. He turned away from the reminder of Bruce's humanity, preferring to hold onto the image of him as a tyrant whose kindness was just a mask he used to control others.

He knew what it was like to lose everything in an instant, to have your world shattered and be left to pick up the pieces. Bruce's way of coping, turning into a cold, unyielding figure, was something Dick couldn't understand. He hated Bruce for it, hated him for ripping him from the life he knew, for subjecting him to relentless training, for treating him more like a soldier than the child he was.

Still, there was a small part of him that couldn't shake the feeling of connection, of shared pain. He wanted to hate Bruce entirely, but seeing that photo made it difficult. It was a cruel twist, finding empathy for the man he resented the most.

A door slamming startled Dick.

"You're not allowed to touch that," a voice like iron shattered the fragile moment.

Dick flinched and turned to see Bruce standing in the doorway, his expression a mask of fury. "I-I'm sorry," Dick stammered. “I put it back.”

Bruce's eyes blazed with an intensity that made Dick's heart race even faster. "Leave. Now." His voice was a low growl, the threat of violence clear. The fury in Bruce's eyes brooked no argument.

"I didn't mean to—" Dick began, his voice trembling with fear and regret.

"I said leave!" Bruce's voice was a thunderclap in the quiet room.

Chapter Text

Dick fled. He stumbled through the hallways, disoriented. He had no clear destination in mind, only a need to get away from Bruce's wrath. Reaching the grand staircase, he took the steps two at a time. His breaths came in ragged gasps, but he did not pause to get a lung-full. He darted through the kitchen and toward the back door. The door, a heavy oak barrier that usually required effort to budge, swung open with an ease that startled him. High levels of adrenaline, he was vaguely aware, was the likely culprit.

He dashed through, and ran across the expansive lawn of the Manor, the meticulously manicured grass blurring beneath his feet. He ran to the edge of the Manor’s lawn, as far as he dared go. Fear of Bruce’s previous warning to not leave the property held him back. Dick stopped with such abruptness that he tripped over his own feet, his momentum carrying him forward.

He fell hard, his body hitting the ground with a force that knocked the wind out of him. Pain shot through his palms as they scraped against the rough earth. He lay there for a moment, stunned and breathless, feeling the cold, damp ground beneath him. Slowly, Dick pushed himself up, wincing at the stinging pain in his hands. He rubbed the dirt off on his clothes, smeared mud on his pants, and tried to calm his thoughts.

His face was flushed with the kind of intense embarrassment that only children know, the kind that overwhelms and stings so deeply that adults, with their so-called wisdom and 'life experience,' seem to forget the sensation, the way it feels to have one’s entire world crumble over a harsh word or a moment of failure, unable to rationalize or brush it aside.

He cried. That cry morphed into a wail. Dick hoped no one would hear him. Still, he didn’t stop wailing.

He wasn’t sure why Bruce’s yelling at him upset him so. Bruce had yelled at him before, and it wasn’t as though Dick particularly valued Bruce’s opinion or sought his approval. Still, Dick was acutely aware of the way his legs shook and how his head and heart pounded.

He sat in the grass, the cool blades pressing into his skin through his clothes. He didn’t bother moving to a drier spot and allowed the mud to soak into his pants.

His mind drifted back to the confrontation with Bruce. Bruce scared him. How could he continue to live in this situation, surrounded by people he hated but couldn’t escape? The thought of enduring this existence indefinitely was unbearable. He loathed the isolation, the constant training, the cold, unyielding presence of Bruce, the false friend found in Alfred, the memory of the blood.

A whimper wormed its way out of his throat. He wanted out. He needed out of this life that had become his.

Dick let his thoughts stray to the photograph he had seen in the library. The image of a young Bruce, standing between his parents, their faces lit with joy, were easy to remember. He knew the story of how Bruce’s family had died, murdered in a senseless act of violence. The tragedy had shaped Bruce into the man he was today: cold, obsessed, and dangerous. Dick saw the parallels between their situations, and it terrified him. He didn’t want to become like that.

He pulled a blade of grass from the ground, twirling it between his fingers. The simple act of focusing on the grass helped to anchor him, to keep his emotions from overwhelming him more. His cries eased until he inky felt his trembling in his hands.

The sky was growing lighter, the sun becoming fully established in the sky. The soft, golden light bathed the lawn, casting long shadows and giving the world a surreal, dreamlike quality.

The Manor, his prison, really was beautiful.

Lost in his thoughts, Dick didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until they were nearly upon him. His heart leapt into his throat, fear gripping him as he realized someone was coming. He stayed still, too scared to move, and hoped that whoever it was would pass by without noticing him.

To his dismay, the footsteps stopped beside him. He didn’t dare look up. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until finally, the person sat down next to him.

“It’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” Bruce’s voice broke the silence, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Dick didn’t respond.

A sigh escaped Bruce’s throat. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I really am. I shouldn’t have done that. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but I don’t like for my parents’ things to be touched—not that that’s an excuse for my behavior. I’m sorry,” he fumbled.

Dick still didn’t say anything but found himself nodding despite himself. Internally, he wanted to push Bruce. Ask him why he was sorry for a few loud words and not the physical violence that preceded it during their spar, for the bruises that littered his skin, for what they had done to Zucco.

Bruce left his mouth open for a moment, as if unsure of what to say. Finally, he decided on the proper words, "I know this is hard for you."

Dick blinked, not expecting such an admission. "You do?"

Bruce nodded, his gaze distant. "I lost my parents too. I know what it feels like to be alone. I also doubt that your time here, the training, the time spent with me, has been the soothing balm to your grief that you likely wish for."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken grief. For the first time, Dick saw a flicker of vulnerability in Bruce's eyes.

"Why do you keep me here?" Dick asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Because out there, the world is dangerous. And you... you need to be strong to survive. I’m the only one that can help you get stronger."

"But I don't want to be strong," Dick said, his voice breaking. "I just want to be free.”

Bruce's expression hardened again. “You’ll understand eventually.”

Dick shook his head, feeling brave. “I doubt it, but I definitely won’t if you don’t explain it.”

Bruce copied Dick’s manner of fiddling with the grass. “Alright. I’ll try. It’s hard to put into words. It’s something you understand with life experience, not a few minutes conversation.”

Dick waited expectantly.

Bruce continued. “Well…we are similar—in a way that we should never be. Both of us lost our parents in red young, in a single night all because of some worthless greedy bit of scum.”

Dick nodded. He was well aware. “That’s why you took me in.”

Bruce shook his head. “Not completely. You’re a sweet kid. You need someone to take care of you. I knew you didn’t have anyone—”

“The circus! I want to be with the circus!”

Bruce let out a long sigh. “You know that’s not in the cards for you, chum. Remember what Commissioner Gordon said? It’s not safe for you there. Frankly I agree with him.”

Dick’s stomach clenched. “Is that why you won’t let me leave? Think I’ll find them and they’ll pull me back into the backward lifestyle you rescued me from.”

“Now, now. I did not say that. I did not say the circus was backwards.”

“You think it, though.”

“No I don’t.”

Dick was sure Bruce was lying. “Will you let me see them before they leave Gotham?”

Bruce smiled sweetly. “Of course. I’m not trying to trap you here.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Dick muttered. He was pretty sure Bruce was lying. “I’m not allowed to leave,” he reminded Bruce. “You are trapping me here.”

Bruce looked genuinely horrified. “No! No! I hope Alfred and I didn’t give you that impression! You’re not trapped here! It’s just that you’re a minor. You’re not allowed to wander the city streets by yourself. You know, the circus gave you more liberties than most children have. It’s actually completely normal. Kids shouldn’t be left alone away from home. If you want to go explore Gotham, you need an adult like me to come with you.”

Dick considered what Bruce was saying. It sounded reasonable. It was strange. Why was Bruce being so much nicer? Just from the way he held himself, Bruce was less scary. It didn’t make sense. “Okay. But you haven’t taken me out.”

“I’m sorry, chum. It’s just that there’s been a lot of work here since you arrived. Paperwork, you know. Also setting the baseline for training is really important to get right early on. Once you get a better handle on your training and things are all set legally with you staying here, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity to leave the manor grounds.”

“I don’t want to train.”

“That’s okay, but you have to. There’s some things you have to do just because an adult tell you to. I have experience with these things. Training isn’t exactly fun, I know, but it’s good for you.”

“You keep on saying that. It’s not true.”

“It’s good for your psyche.”

Dick scrunched up his nose. He didn’t know what that was. “Psyche?”

Bruce laughed. It sounded kind. “I forget that you’re a kid sometimes. Psyche is a big word for a kid in elementary school. It means your mind. Training is good for your mind.”

“Like school.”

Bruce laughed again. “A bit. When my parents were killed, I thought I’d drown in my grief. I had no one to show me a way out. So, I made my own path. It’s not perfect, but it gave me purpose. I found that the best thing I, or anyone in a similar situation, can do is help keep others safe.” His words hung heavy, laced with an offer. “If you don’t find a way to channel your pain, it’ll eat you alive. It’ll turn you into something you don’t recognize. But I can help you—give you the tools to take control, to fight back. That’s why I am training you.”

Bruce paused, watching the boy’s eyes, his posture. “The rage, the anger you feel… they’re not weaknesses. They’re fuel. You can make sure what happened to you doesn’t happen to anyone else. You can make the pain mean something. It’s something I already know you want to do. That’s why you went looking for Zucco after all.”

Dick felt the nausea of guilt rise in his stomach. He had gone looking for Zucco.

Bruce knelt, looking Dick in the eye. “You have a fire in you, Dick. You can be more than just the boy who lost his family. You can be my sidekick. You can be my partner. And together, we can stop others from feeling this kind of pain. Isn’t that what your parents would want? For you to rise, not fall?”

Dick thought about it. His parents would be proud of him if he joined Bruce in helping keep Gotham safe, but not…definitely not the killing. “I don’t want to hurt people,” he said.

Bruce nodded. “I know. You’re a sweet kid. As you get older though, you’re going to realize that you can’t help people without hurting others. Do you know how many people Zucco has killed?”

Dick shook his head. He didn’t know. He only knew what he had done. He felt his tears returning as he remembered that night…the feel of Zucco’s blood on his skin.

“A lot, chum. He destroyed many lives. He was never going to stop either. That’s why he had to go. It was the only way. I know it’s scary. I know it’s terrifying. But, think of all the lives you’ve saved? All the families that aren’t going to be torn apart. That’s what being a hero is all about. If you don’t take this chance, so many people will be hurt, and you will not be able to help them. That’s what pain is. You think you’re angry now? You haven’t even scratched the surface.”

Bruce stood, towering over him again. “This is how you take back control, Dick. This is how you win.
I know you’re angry, Dick. I understand that you hate me right now. I know training is scary and painful. But everything I’m doing, it’s for your own good. The more you do it, the easier it will get, the less it will hurt.”

“Training hurts,” Dick mumbled.

Bruce nodded knowingly. “Did your hands hurt the first time you started learning acrobatics?”

“Well, yeah.” Dick thought that was obvious.

“It’s the same thing. You’re new to martial arts, so it’s going to hurt in the beginning. Once you learn more and fall into a groove, you’ll be fine.”

Dick supposed that made sense. “It’s just…it’s too rough.”

Bruce but his lip thoughtfully. “It has to be for you to learn anything. You won’t think it so rough once you learn more. I know I’ve been a bit cold since we started training, but, I think you’ll find that Bruce is a much nicer guy than Batman.”

That confused Dick. Were they not they same person? Maybe it was an adult thing. But, hey, if Bruce was nicer than Batman, if Bruce laughed and didn’t hit him, then Dick decided he liked Bruce.

“You’ve been through a lot. Losing your parents, being thrust into this new life… I know it’s not easy. But I’m trying to help you, to heal you.” Bruce took Dick’s little hand in his, he soothes the bruised skin with his thumb. “I was harsh this week because I have to be. I don’t want you to be miserable though. I don’t want you to be scared of me. I care for you, chum.”

Bruce’s eyes twinkled with the same kindness they did the first night they met on the circus grounds. “How about this? For the rest of the week, I’ll be Bruce, not Batman, and tomorrow I’ll take you to see your circus friends before they leave town.”

“Okay,” Dick said softly. “I’d like that.”

Bruce ruffled his hair. Dick leaned into the touch. Maybe Bruce wasn’t so mean all the time. Maybe Bruce was just broken, broken like he was.