Concerned

Part 2

Author's Note: I am neither a caseworker nor a legal expert of any kind. The legalities in this chapter, and others, are researched and my best guesses but I make no promises that they're completely accurate. Go with the flow, such as it is.

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"Richard? I wanted to be prepared in case this happened this evening, so I have a foster family lined up for you to go to for now. Before we get you settled, we're taking you to the ER over at St. Joseph's to make sure you haven't been too badly hurt. After that we'll take you right over to the family you'll be staying with for a while. In the morning you'll go to school just as usual. I'll be in contact with the investigators and we'll try to get this resolved as soon as we can, alright?" She actually had the gall to pat his leg.

They were all in the squad car, Dick, Ms Clarke and the two cops. The bag Alfred had hurriedly packed with some clothes and his schoolbooks was in the trunk. He had his laptop in the case next to him. They had just passed through the Manor gates and were headed God knew where. It was dark out and if he'd been in a normal car Dick would have gone out the window or door by now, but a cop car was modified with that idea in mind. The back seat had no door or window handles. He was stuck unless he was willing to blow his identity, which he wasn't.

Besides, if he had any chance of getting home anytime soon, he knew he had to play the game. By now Bruce was on the phone to the head of his legal team who, in turn, would be calling the top custody lawyers in the country.

There was no way they were going to lose this, none.

Dick had meant what he said. If push came to shove he'd petition the court and have himself declared an emancipated minor. He'd become a legal adult and screw everyone.

This was complete and total bullshit as far as Dick was concerned. Bruce had never hit him, not really. Bruce, in his screwed up way loved him, cared for him. And Dick loved him back.

Bruce was the only parent he'd had since-well, since his life was destroyed and he didn't know if he could handle having it destroyed again. Nor did he want to find out.

He wasn't that strong. He wasn't and he knew it.

They'd win. He just had to play along for now.

"I'd rather go to my family doctor."

Ms. Clarke, Olivia to the cops in the front seat, patted his leg again. "Would you be more comfortable with someone you know?"

"Yes, I would. Dr. Leslie Thompkins at the Wayne Clinic in Gotham. I want to see her."

"That's fifteen miles out of our way, Livvy." One of the cops had heard him.

"It's almost eight, Richard, she's probably not there right now."

"She'll be there. She always works from noon to midnight. I want to see Dr. Leslie-besides, she's known me since I went to live with Bruce. You'll probably be questioning her anyway, right?"

"Well, I do need to speak to your family doctor. Boys, it's not that far, is it? I think it would be for the best for Richard here." They hesitated in the front seat. "Please?"

A long sigh and then, "OK, but we'll have to call it in. This was only supposed to take an hour or two for us."

The call made and the request approved, twenty-five minutes later they were walking into the brightly lit clinic. The waiting room was only half full and Leslie was writing something at the front desk.

Dick walked in stiffly, between the two officers with Livvy Clarke leading the way. His back and ribs were still a mess.

"Dr. Thompkins? If you have a few minutes could you examine Richard here?"

The older woman came around to where he was standing and saw the look on his face. The boy was equally distraught and angry; it was plain as the nose on his face even if all the others saw was the anger. "Dick, honey, are you hurt?" And why was he being escorted by a couple of police officers?

"I'm fine, I just tripped last night and some jackass at school thinks that Bruce is abusing me at home so I'm being removed from his guardianship until DYFS finishes it's investigation." He practically spit the information out through clenched teeth, whether through his fury or the obvious pain he was in, Leslie wasn't sure.

"Oh, my. Let's get you right inside then. Marcie? Could you please put Dick into number two and start a basic workup? I'll be there in a moment." One of the cops went with them and Dick knew he had no choice; he was just a cog in this machine. As they left he could hear Ms. Clarke ask if they could have a copy of his medical records and Leslie saying something about doctor/patient confidentiality.

She entered the exam room, saw that there was no chance that they would be able to talk privately and so just did her job while causing Dick the least amount of further upset. The DYFS woman followed her into the small room as well. It was a bit crowded in there.

"I need you to take your shirt off, Dick." She saw the look he gave her but there was nothing she could do. The clinic license could be at stake. She was a professional and she'd have to do her job.

"I don't think I can lift my arms, Dr. Leslie." He said it so quietly that she could barely hear him. Oh, dear. It must be bad if he couldn't move. No wonder someone had questioned it.

"I have to check you, sweetie. I'll cut your shirt off and give you a new one, alright?" He nodded mutely, he had no choice. This would happen no matter what. He had to submit to the exam.

As soon as the shirt and the bandages were removed the doctor just looked at him and opened the examination room door. "Marcie? I need a chest x-ray. Now, please." She turned back to Dick, still sitting on the table. "How did this happen?" She'd seen the boy hurt any number of times and he was always the same when it happened-defensive and angry with himself for some perceived failure on his part.

"I misjudged a landing and hit, that's all. It's not a big deal." She gave him an Alfred worthy glare. "It's not like it's never happened before. C'mon..."

He was positioned in front of the machine; the others going behind the lead screen while the pictures were snapped. "I need those right away, please."

Leslie put him back on the table, examining the massive bruising and deep scrapes on his back and around his right side and shoulder, gently feeling his ribcage.

"And I take it you didn't tell anyone you hurt yourself?" He shrugged. Of course he hadn't. Leslie just shook her head at him. "You know better than that. Left untreated, small injuries become large ones." Her assistant brought the films in, still wet.

"You broke two ribs and cracked two more. You also have a deep abrasion that looks like it wants to become infected. Really, Dick, if you weren't in pain I'd be quite cross with you-and you not even telling Alfred. That poor man will be terribly upset. Now you know better than to do something like this. Really."

She retaped his ribs, prescribed him antibiotics and painkillers and wrote him a note saying he couldn't take gym for at least two weeks. "You'll heal. But promise me that you'll take it easy? And I want you back here in five days so I can check how you're coming with this. You hear me?"

He nodded.

"Dr. Thompkins, would it be possible for me to take copies of his medical chart with me?" That was Ms Clarke.

"I'm sorry, but without the proper request you know I can't release anything like that, Miss. I'd risk my license if I did."

"I'll have the paperwork for that done and get it to you as soon as I can, probably tomorrow, Doctor. We're concerned about any previous problems that he might have had…"

Leslie just looked at her. She'd been through this sort of thing too many times to not know how they were handled. She never thought it would ever involve her boys, though and she knew that the charges had to be a mistake.

Bruce ever hurt Dick? He'd cut his arm off first. She'd testify to that if it came to it-and she knew that there was a good chance that it would.

"Dick, honey, if you need anything-anything at all-you call me, do you understand?"

He nodded and seemed close to tears. He seemed so grown up lately and he tried to be so tough when things weren't going well, but at heart he was still a scared boy who'd lost his parents much too young and needed Bruce to be there for him as much as he needed air to breathe. That sweet boy had been through too much in only fifteen years. It was so, well, it was just so wrong and she heard the voice in the back of her head telling her what she already knew; 'whoever said it was fair?'

Dick left the clinic, a police officer on each side of him and was loaded back into the squad car.

Leslie went into her private office, shut the door behind her and dialed. "Alfred? How on earth could this have happened?…"

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"Richard? We're taking you to a temporary foster home now. Like I told you, you'll stay there until this is all sorted out, alright?"

Like he had a fucking choice.

He was looking out the window and had completely tuned the others out as soon as he got into the car, it was a talent he had. Dick could tune out anything or anyone when he wanted to. As far as he was concerned, he was alone and there was an inpenatrable wall around him..

"I think you'll like the family we found for you. They're lovely people and they have a girl almost your age so you'll have someone to talk to."

Nothing.

"Richard?"

Silence.

"Richard? Did you hear me?"

"Fuck off." It was said without emotion, quietly and with his face still turned to the window. Nothing more was said the rest of the ride. About half an hour later they pulled into the driveway of a suburban spilt level tract house. The lights were on and they were expected. Dick got out of the car after one of the cops opened the handless door for him and, saying nothing, he went into the house, the front door opening as he approached.

"Dick, you're welcome here as long as you want to stay."

Christ, Tom Weidman, history teacher and noted sensitive shoulder for the student in need. Dick just stared at him. This couldn't be happening.

"This is my wife, Nancy and our daughter Amber. Honey, could you show Dick where he'll be sleeping?"

Ms. Clarke spoke up before he could disappear, hand on his arm again. "Richard? Tomorrow a police officer will drive you to school and then will pick you up after your last class. Now you have to understand that this is for your own protection-you've done nothing wrong at all. We just have to make sure that you're alright."

"I'm fine. I've been fine all along. All I want is to go home." He sounded exhausted, like he'd been saying the same thing all his life and if he said it often enough maybe someone would finally believe him.

"I know that's what you want, but we have to be sure that you're in the place that's best for you."

"Then send me to Romania and I'll stay with my grandfather."

"If that's what's best for you, that's what will happen. Now we have the medicine that Dr. Thompkins gave you and Mr. And Mrs. Weidman will make sure that the prescriptions for more will be filled tomorrow, won't you? Oh, good. Now, until this is all settled, you're not supposed to have any contact with Mr. Wayne or Mr. Pennyworth, Richard. And they aren't allowed to contact you, either. This is for your protection and theirs as well, so please don't be picking up the phone or anything, alright?"

Dick wanted this to all end, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could close a door and be alone. Barring that he wanted to go to the Tower so he could talk to Donna or Garth. They always listened and he knew they cared about him. They were friends; they weren't some teacher butting in where he had no business. They would understand. Or Clark. Clark was great.

"Now, Richard, you do understand how important it is that you cooperate with us in this, don't you? Everything will be easier for everyone if you help us out because all we want to do is to help you, alright? You know that, don't you? We all want this settled as quickly as possible, that's the best thing for you. It's just that we're all concerned about you, you know that."

"I'm really tired, could I just go to bed now?" It was almost midnight; time to roll from the cave on a normal night.

Nancy Weidman took up the gauntlet. "Of course, dear, let me show you where you'll be." She picked up his bag; he carried his computer in its case and walked up the half flight of stairs without looking back at Ms Clarke or the cops.

Screw 'em.

"You'll be in here-oh, gosh, do you prefer Dick or Richard?"

"Most people call me Dick." Or Robin. Or Robbie.

"Alright, Dick it is then. The bathroom is just across the hall there. I guess this isn't quite as grand as you're used to, is it?" She smiled in apology. It was a small bedroom, maybe ten by ten with a single window and a twin bed. There was a dresser and a battered student desk and a closet. Period. Oh, and a bookcase with outgrown children's books. The collected works of the Berensteen Bears were his for the reading.

"I was born in a trailer, not even a double wide. I'm purebred trailer trash. My parents never owned a house and we didn't have a car, either. This would have been a step up for us." He knew he was laying it on thick, but it had been a pretty crappy day and he wanted to take it out on someone. In fact his father had a really great Harley with a sidecar that they'd load onto the circus train and during the winter layoff they'd usually go visit Papa in Europe and ski the Alps with him. It wasn't half bad. The Harley was in Bruce's garage.

She seemed stopped by his comment and he briefly felt guilty. Very briefly. "Do you need one of your pain meds? They told us you have a couple of broken ribs. Or are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

"I'm alright, I'd just like to sleep, if that's OK. It's been a long day."

"Of course, Dick. You get some rest. I'll be in to wake you at six thirty so you can get ready for school and get some breakfast. There's an extra blanket in the closet and that floor lamp works of you want to read for a while." She was about to leave him alone, finally. "Dick? Do you have a cell phone with you?"

"Yeah, why?" God, he was tried. And he hurt, too.

"That Miss Clarke said that you're not supposed to have one. They don't want you calling Mr. Wayne."

Jesus. He reached into his jeans pocket and handed the thing to her. Like there weren't a thousand phones he could get his hands on. She smiled an apology at him.

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"Lucius? I want the head of legal to meet me in my office at seven tomorrow…Yes, you, too…In fact, call Jud and tell him-No, I'll call him myself…Seven in my office. Sharp."

"Jud?…Sorry to disturb you at home, but I need to see you…Right now…Where are you? Farmington? That's only a couple of miles from here, can you be here in fifteen minutes?…Well, bring your kids if you don't have a sitter…Fine, if they're in bed I'll come to you. What's your address?…I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Ten minutes later Bruce was ringing the doorbell at Jud Breslin's. Jud was the best lawyer Bruce knew which why he was paid enough to make private practice unappealing and why he headed Wayne Corps legal department at the age of thirty-seven. His wife, an accomplished portrait painter, was off sketching a new commission in Rome and Jud was watching the kids while she was away. He'd taken almost a week of personal time to do it.

He didn't have all that much contact with Bruce Wayne, just the necessary office dealings and Jud hadn't quite gotten a 'read' on the man. His rep, of course, was that of an air headed dilettante, but the reality seemed a long was off from the image. No one ran a company the size of Wayne Enterprises if he was an idiot, no matter how good his staff was. He seemed affable enough and God knew he paid well and all of that, but something just didn't add up about the man.

"Mr. Wayne, please, come in. Can I get you anything?" Wayne was as well put together as he ever was, but under the tailored slacks and the cashmere sweater, Jud could see that he was pretty tightly wound.

"No, thanks-well, do you have a beer?"

"Sure." Bruce Wayne drank beer? OK, whatever. Jud went into the kitchen to get a couple bottles from the fridge and was slightly startled when he realized that his boss had followed him. Bruce Wayne, the third richest man in the world in his kitchen with a bottle of Heineken? This was a first. Thank God he had that to offer instead of a Bud. He opened the two bottles and was about to pour them into glasses when Bruce shook his head, "Don't bother" and took a drink straight up. Jud was about to suggest that they go into the den when Wayne sat at the kitchen table.

"This is fine, the kitchen-it's fine." He started right in. The man was as close to upset at Jud had ever seen him, not that he spent all that much time with his boss. "I had a visit tonight from a social worker-case worker, whatever. A woman from DYFS came to the house to check out a suspicion that Dick is somehow being abused. It's complete garbage, but she took him out under police escort and he's been made a temporary ward of the state. I need to know his rights and my rights and how to get him back as soon as possible."

Dick-that would be Dick Grayson, Wayne's adopted son, or whatever he was. Everyone had heard the rumors about why a single man would adopt a young boy and house him in that big pile of rocks up on the hill. You'd have to be blind and deaf not to know about the rumors.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm not a specialist in custody law, I'm a corporate lawyer…"

"You're a lawyer and you work for me. Can you answer my questions or not?"

"I'll try. Anything I don't know I'll find out."

"Good."

"How is Dick related to you, sir?"

"Dick is an orphan who has been my legal ward since his parents were killed seven years ago. He's lived with me since then, as well. We're not blood relations and I didn't know him before his parents were killed. I didn't know his parents, either."

"OK, I can get most of this background tomorrow, just tell me why you think there's a suspicion of abuse-and what kind of abuse are we talking about here?"

"Unknown to me, Dick was injured last night. He insists that he just slipped or tripped and bruised his back, as far as I could tell. He went to school this morning and I gather his teachers noticed that he was hurt."

"How was he injured?"

"I'm not sure. He didn't tell me. He just said he slipped."

"Um…Mr. Wayne, you have a live in staff, don't you? Wouldn't one of them have noticed if something was wrong with the boy?"

"He waited till I had left for the office before coming down this morning and went out the door without stopping for breakfast. No one really saw him."

"How old is Dick?"

"Fifteen."

"There was no suggestion of sexual abuse?"

"No."

"Good. Did the case worker mention any other examples of any problems?"

He took another pull of beer, he seemed nervous. "She brought up an incident from about six, eight months ago when he was left alone for two days when I had to go to London on short notice. The boy became ill and no one was home to pick him up. He ended up napping in the nurse's office."

Jud had two kids of his own. This was lame. "You left a fifteen year old kid alone when you went to England? What about your staff?"

"I'd given them the week off-I do that every year, we just sort of make do by ourselves then. Dick likes it, looks forward to it every year; he doesn't like having people around all the time. He says it's like living in a hotel. Besides, I left him every possible phone number and a large number of friends were looking out for him. He should have been fine, he's extremely independent. He wanted to stay alone, insisted on it. I'd offered to take him to England, but he had tests that week and couldn't miss school." With Clark and Diana and J'onn and the rest checking in on him, what could happen?

"Anything else?"

"They, the social service people, seem to think he's injured a lot."

"Is he?"

"He'd an active, athletic teenager, sure he sprains an ankle or breaks an occasional bone. That's normal."

"Is that it?"

"She also mentioned an incident from a couple of months ago. Some people saw me backhand him across the face."

"…They have witnesses to testify to this?"

"I believe so, yes."

He left a minor child alone in a huge house while he went to London, he'd hit the kid in public and now the boy had been hurt and no one noticed. And they'd have Wayne's rep and the rumors about a single man living with a young boy to contend with. This wasn't going to be a cakewalk.

"I'll call a friend of mine, Kevin Rooney. He works out of New York and he's one of the top child custody and family law guys in the country. If anyone can sort this out for you, he can do it."

"I want my son back. Do whatever you have to, just get him home."

"We'll do what we can, sir. You do realize that the State knows that they'll be up against a good legal team if they bring this to court. They know you'll hire the best you can find."

"So you're saying that they wouldn't bring a case unless they thought they could win?"

"I'm saying they're not going to pull their punches and it could get ugly. This is guaranteed to generate a lot of publicity and there'll be a lot of mud thrown and with a minor and a lot of money-and high profile clients involved it's going to get nasty."

"You don't think we'll win?"

"I didn't say that, but Mr. Wayne? You've got yourself a problem."

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