Concerned

Part 7

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"Did she just tell us where Dick's staying?" Bruce caught the Judge's mistake as soon as she'd said it.

"Forget it, Bruce. She slipped and that's a first for Jan. You stay away from Dick if you want him back in your house, you hear me? Don't be stupid."

"For God's sake, we already knew-any idiot could follow the car they have taking him to and from school. It's almost as if they want me to violate the no contact rule."

"Well, don't get sucker punched." Kevin stood up. He had work to do and he had to get started. "I'm telling you, don't do anything dumb, Bruce. Patience, OK? That's what you need now. Just be patient."

Bruce sat there for another twenty seconds. "How the hell could this happen?"

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How the hell could this have happened? Dick couldn't take in what had just been handed down.

In the judge's office she seemed to be listening to him, seemed like she cared about what he had to say and what mattered to him and what he wanted. She seemed like she saw him as a person, not just a case number.

Shit. He had been so wrong. Completely, totally, absolutely, entirely and utterly wrong. No one would listen to him; no one gave a rat's ass about what he wanted or what he had to say. He was just some dumb kid. Nothing more. Sit down and shut up and let the grown ups decide what's the right thing, son. We care about you; we know what's best. You have to trust us.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

Dick was led down the hall, out to the elevator and into the waiting car in the underground garage. He went sat hunched in the corner without saying anything, his face turned towards the window, tuning out the driver, cop and Livvy Clarke. There was nothing to say. He knew what would happen now. There would be more interviews, psychological profiling and analysis, a deposition or two, he'd probably have to go through another complete physical with x-rays of his whole body to try to find any old injuries which had escaped being reported and which would be used as more evidence against Bruce.

The tabloids would have a field day and now that they'd moved beyond the prelim stage, the regular media would jump on the bandwagon as well. The Manor would be under siege, Wayne Corp Headquarters would be inundated and paparazzi would be following him around-hidden, barely, because of the gag order, but getting the pictures for when the case went to court. Someone would slip. Someone would offer enough money and the pictures would get out. They'd appear first in Europe then would hit the Internet. They'd be available in no time.

Any idiot knew that.

Bruce and Alfred would be surrounded whenever they stuck their heads out the door and as for Dick-anyone who had ever passed him on the street or sat next to him in class would be offered money for the whole, exclusive, inside story.

Christ.

This was a fucking nightmare.

And it was his fault.

"Now, Richard, for now nothing much will change. You'll go back to live with the Weidman's and I'll be in close contact with you. The one thing that we do need from you is the password into your computer. The people we have working on it have been unable to open the thing so if you could help us with that we'll be able to get started on that. Alright?"

This woman was an idiot, She expected him to help her pry into his life so she could keep him away from Bruce. Screw this.

"No." In fact there wasn't all that much on the laptop. He had schoolwork there, some memos and his-Dick's-calendar. He had homework and some music downloads. Nothing, really. Thank God he had his two lives separated computer wise. The Robin stuff was on an entirely different hard drive on a different machine. All they'd find was stuff any high school kid would have and he'd done that on purpose since he took the thing to school where anyone could look over his shoulder and see what was on the screen. It wasn't like he had minutes from the last Titan's meeting saved there or anything.

"Richard, please think about it, but we really need to get in there."

"Fuck off."

She seemed taken aback by that. Tough shit.

"Richard, I know you're upset, but if you don't help us that's considered obstruction of justice. You really need to do this."

"The fuck I do. That 'free from unreasonable search' thing in the constitution and the Fifth Amendment covers me too. I don't have to do anything for you so leave me alone."

"You're a minor." The cop in the front seat chimed in. Great. "Basically you do as you're told. You got the password, you give us the goddamned password."

"Screw you." Actually the cop might be right, shit. A minor. Of course. He didn't count as a person.

They kept at him the whole ride back to Weidman's, forty-five minutes of three of them going at him and Dick trying to tune them out. Jesus. The second they turned into the driveway he pulled the door handle-this car actually had them in the back seat-and went in the house, up the stairs and into the crappy little room, door slammed behind him.

He could hear them talking to Tom and Nancy Weidman, telling them how the hearing had gone. That was another thing. The walls in this place were made of paper.

Fuck.

There was a light knock on the door. "Dick? May I come in?" It was Nancy.  "Please? I want to make sure you're alright. I'm concerned about you. We all are."

He opened the door for her, just enough so that she could see him standing, blocking the doorway. "Leave me alone, please. I really don't want to talk to anyone right now."

"I understand, but Livvy wants to see you for just a minute before she goes, will you speak with her?"

God, he was so tired. Whatever. If he saw her she'd go away. He nodded and the woman must have been right there because she was there in about three seconds, by the clock.

"May I come in, Richard?"

Sure, why not? Nothing he wanted mattered. He didn't matter. What mattered was these people justifying their paychecks and covering their butts. They could do whatever they wanted to him, what was one more thing? "I know you're unhappy with the way it turned out this morning, but it's not over yet and we still have work to do. We all have work to do." He gave her a look that was a cross between fury and boredom. Nothing she had to say was anything he wanted to hear. "Please, will you give me the password?"

Christ. If he did she would leave him alone, at least for now. He was sure of it and right now he wanted that more than anything else in the world, well, besides going home. Sighing, taking a spiral bound school notebook from the desk and a cheap pen he wrote down the three passwords, tore out the sheet and handed it to her. There was nothing on the damn computer other than English compositions and Trig homework. It was all nothing. It would waste their time and at least that was some small revenge.

"Now leave me the fuck alone." And at least for now, she did.

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"This is just schoolwork and things like that. Here, an essay about 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and this looks like math homework. This is just some stuff for a government class. I'm telling you, there's nothing here."

"Yeah, maybe. Let me check something-bring up 'programs', will you?…There she is…Bingo."

"What?"

"The kid loaded DEADAIM onto this thing. Let me just pull this up...just a minute…"

"What the fuck is DEADAIM?"

"Anything the Grayson kid said to any of his friends is still here. Any IM's he traded is locked in here."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. Let's see who his friends are…"

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"Sir…Bruce, please eat something. You'll do none of us any good if you make yourself ill." Alfred had a bowl of soup on a tray, standing in front of where Bruce was sitting in his favorite chair in the study. The fireplace had been lit and the flames gave the only warmth in the room. They weren't nearly enough.

"Alfred, I'm sorry. I just keep seeing the look on his face when that judge gave her opinion. He looked like he did when he first arrived here, remember?"

"Lost, frightened, heart broken."

"I keep thinking that there must have been more that we could have done for him, said something." He uncrossed his legs, stretching slightly. "He was counting on me and I've let him down today. I've failed him-again."

Alfred put the tray on the desk knowing that the food would likely go to waste. "It's not over, you know. There's still much to be done and you know he's counting on you to bring him home at the end of the day."

Bruce ignored the attempt to buck him up a bit. "I was looking at the list of his injuries. Did you realize that he'd been hurt that often? I know I hadn't, and the judge was right-there were a lot of things Leslie didn't deal with, the things you took care of."

"Well, yes, but he's…"

"He's a young boy who I put in the position of being beaten and shot at and God knows what all else."

Alfred sat in the chair next to Bruce's. "This accomplishes nothing. You know that as well as I. You allowed him to fulfill his destiny and watched over him while he did so. He is happy being Robin and he would be devastated if it were taken from him, just as he would be devastated if he were not allowed to come home."

"But…he might be killed."

The old man sat straighter, if that was possible. "As might you. You've known that for years. Are you having second thoughts at this late date?"

He raised his hand in a gesture of frustration. "Seeing it all laid out, hearing the lapses I've been guilty of. I did hit him and I do forget his birthdays and his school functions. I have put him in danger and I do tend to forget that he's still only fifteen." He was in one of his black moods, Alfred knew them by heart. There was nothing for it but to let him work through it. "Maybe he would be better off somewhere else."

"He would be miserable, as would you. As would I. Look at us sitting here without him. We're incomplete without him. We must have him back and he would entirely agree, sir."

Bruce made a move. He would be alright if Alfred could get him working on this instead of flagellating himself about what had passed today.

Bruce seemed to reach inside to rally himself a bit; he produced the smallest of half smiles. "You're quite right, Alfred. I'll have that soup and then I'll be going out."

"Very good, sir." Now perhaps they would see some progress.

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Dick was twisting, thrashing, tangled in the bedding of the small mattress. He was sweating, trying, trying to run, trying to stop it before it happened again. He was almost there, shouting but unheard above the crowd noises. The ropes broke, and his parents fell as they had in his nightmares for seven years. He saw their bodies broken, he saw the blood and he saw his mother's eyes focusing on him as she died. He would never forget that, all his life he would see her looking at him and knowing that he was the last thing she saw. He saw her eyes, his eyes, looking at him and knew there was nothing he could do.

He could never save them and he could never save himself. He still couldn't.

His hands shaking, his breath coming hard, his eyes tearing, he knew that he wouldn't sleep any more that night. He never did after that dream. It was a pattern, one he knew too well.

Silently getting up and putting on his jeans and a tee shirt, he slipped out of the house, moving down the quiet street. He ended up at the small park where he'd met Clark a week ago, but this time no one was there.

There was a slight breeze, very slight and he sat on one of the swings, creaking and needing oiling. The moon was about half full, there were a couple of streetlamps here and there. His feet on the ground, he swung himself gently, just a few inches, back and forth.

It was obvious where this was going. There would be a full custody hearing. Bruce would have the best lawyers in the country who would bring in evidence and character witnesses. The state would present documented proof of his injuries and the times he'd been neglected or ignored or left to fend for himself. There would be too much talk about Bruce's money and his houses. The media would have a field day and a lot of people would make money off of them, maybe even get rich.

But the bottom line was that the deck was stacked. They would lose because they couldn't, wouldn't tell the truth.

He would be declared a ward of the state, assigned a new foster family and that would be that.

Oh, sure, he had his own ideas and plans, but that was how DYFS and their toads were writing the scenario. They thought they knew how it would end, but they were wrong. They wouldn't win. He would. And then they could all go straight to hell.

The boy spoke without looking up. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. I couldn't sleep so I went for a drive and here you are."

Dick half turned to where Bruce was standing under one of the big trees, shadowed and hard to see. "If anyone finds us together we'll get in trouble."

"Are you alright? This morning you were pretty upset. Alfred has been worried…so have I."

Dick shrugged. "It sucks, you know?"

"Yes, it does. Do you need anything?"

Dick sniffed a little. He wasn't crying, it was the chill. "I had a nightmare so I came out here for a walk."

"The same one?"

"It's always the same one, ever since they died. I see my mother looking at me as she's dying and then her eyes are still opened, but I know she can't see. Then people pull me away and I'm alone. My father was still alive then, I saw his fingers curl-a reflex or something, but they wouldn't let me go to him."

"Dick, this isn't over."

"It might as well be. You know we'll lose." His voice was detached, calm. The swing squealed again as he moved his weight, swinging in place a few inches.

"Even if we do, you'll be of legal age in less than a year. After that you can do whatever you want."

"I know." He tried to be less pessimistic, just a little. Bruce was here, Bruce needed some cheering up. "But we'll be OK, right?"

"Sure we will." Bruce started away, back to wherever he'd parked his car. "Dick? Are you alright? Really?"

Why of course I am, Bruce. I'm a fifteen year old orphan, I've been forcibly removed from your house, I'm living with strangers, I can't see my friends because I'm being watched. I have a couple of court cases hanging over my head. The fucking press is waiting to find out what exactly you did to me all these years and the girl in the next room wants to jump my bones. It's peachy.

"I'm OK. You know me, Bruce-circus rat-I can take it. I'm fine."

"Well, good." There was a pause before Bruce asked the next question. "…How did you get hurt? Something happened on that last patrol, didn't it?"

Dick exhaled. So Bruce really didn't know about it. "I slipped on the rope, remember it was raining that night? I slipped and misjudged a landing. I hit a wall or chimney or something."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It wasn't that big a deal." He almost laughed. "Well, I didn't think so, anyway. Everyone else seems to."

"Yes, they do. I have to get back, but be careful, you hear me? We'll win this thing. You take care."

No, we won't, Bruce. "Sure. You too."

Bruce disappeared and a minute later Dick heard a car door followed by the engine starting. It sounded like the Jag.

Standing up, Dick turned to go back to Weidman's. He'd gone about half a block when Tom came out from between a couple of parked cars and stood in front of the boy.

"This is the second time you've met someone in the middle of the night, leaving the house without telling us. This isn't going to happen again, do you understand? Bruce Wayne may have let you wander the around at all hours, but you have a different set of rules when you live in my house."

"Then it's a good thing that I won't be living there much longer, isn't it, Tom?"

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