Title: In Another Land and Time Part One

Author: Simon

Pairing: Dick

Rating: PG-13

Summary: What if Dick wasn't adopted by Bruce?

Warnings: none, well, maybe some angst

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

In Another Land and Time...

Part One

The Flying Graysons had fallen to their deaths earlier in the evening and their son, an eight year old in deep shock, was removed to the temporary care of Foster Services. He had gone quietly, still stunned, with the caseworker who was called in by the police, numbly thanking her for the small things she did for him. She had taken some of his clothes, his favorite stuffed animal—obviously old and worn to the point of shabby and found him a cup of hot chocolate to sip, though he drank less than half an inch; seemingly just holding the paper cup for the warmth.

It was late when she was called, almost eleven in the evening and it had taken her almost an hour to get to the site where the accident occurred. The old fair grounds were all the way across town and the traffic was bad because of construction. When she arrived, pushing her way under the police tape, the boy was sitting almost alone in the first row of now empty seats, largely ignored by the emergency personnel milling around. One man, still in clown make up, was beside him, his arm around the thin child, offering soft words and what comfort he could. The boy seemed not to hear, his eyes fixed on the blood still staining the flooring of the center ring, still wearing a costume made up of bright colors and sequins.

Linda spoke to the Lieutenant in charge then walked over to the child who seemed not to register she was there. She spoke to the man beside him. "My name is Linda Hazlet, I'm from Child Services and I was called in to help tonight. Is this Richard?"

"Dick. Everyone calls him Dick."

She looked at the boy. He was pale, shaking. His eyes were glassy and he leaned against the man for support. He was holding something in his hands, clutching something, though Linda couldn't make out what it was.

"Dick? My name is Linda, do you mind if I talk with you?" No response. "Dick?" Nothing. "Dick, can you hear me?"

"Dick, could you answer the lady?" Nothing. "Dick, you know your manners. The lady would like to talk with you now."

His reaction was to turn his face into the man's chest, put his small arms around him and start crying in that hard almost silent way when it's hurts too much for crying to help, but it's all you can do.

The clown held him in return, gently rubbing his tense and shaking back, enveloping the child in his larger arms, providing warmth, protection and a place to hide, at least for now.

Linda, after saying that she'd be right back, went to find someone in charge. Commissioner Gordon, no less, was talking with Bruce Wayne, rich and vapid society barfly extraordinaire. Seemingly recognizing her, Gordon called her over.

"Have you made arrangements for the child yet?"

"No sir, not yet. I was just about to see if there are any relatives here who would be able to take him in, at least temporarily and after that I'll see what I can do..."

Wayne spoke up, after giving her a blatant once over, the jerk. "The ringmaster? I think he's the owner of the circus anyway, he told me that the boy has no one with the circus other than his parents and that the rest of the family is out of state." He stopped for a moment, looking confused. "Or did he say that the boy has no other relatives? You'll have to forgive me, Miss Hazlet, I'm afraid that details just seem to slip past me." He gave her what was probably supposed to be a charming smile. Jerk.

"I was just asking Bruce here if he might be able to help us out with the child..."

"You know I would if I could, Jim, but I really just don't have the resources to care for a young child, especially one like this who'll be needing all sorts of attention and—whatever else he might need."

"Bruce, just for a few nights, a week at most. You'll be able to place him in a week, won't you, Miss Hazlet? Let the boy go home with Bruce tonight and you'll get right on this, have it all squared away in a few days, right?"

"Jim, Alfred will have my head if I spring this on him and you know how he can be—besides..."

"Bruce, just for a few days and he'll be gone. I promise. You won't even know he's there. And it's late, if you don't take him, I'll probably have to just send him over to Juvie for the night and none of us wants that to happen. The worst possible thing for him right now would be to have him end up locked in a jail cell for the night. Come on, Bruce—I hate to bring it up, but you've been there. You know what the kid's going through."

Wayne looked at Linda, seemingly hoping for a break here, some help. "That can't be good for him, just being dumped with total strangers after what he's just been through? Shouldn't he stay with the circus? It's like a moving town, isn't it? That's what I've always heard, anyway. At least he knows these people and I'm a total stranger..."

"The circus is moving to Metropolis tomorrow, the boy can't go across state lines because he's a material witness."

"Jim, you just told me that this was an accident—that wouldn't make him a witness to anything besides an unfortunate..."

"Well, we're not one hundred percent convinced it was an accident, alright? C'mon, Bruce, help us out here. It's almost midnight, what else are we going to do with him at this time of night?"

Linda sensed that he was caving in and it would make her job a whole lot easier if Wayne would help them out here, give them all some breathing room. "I'll come by tomorrow to make sure he's alright and he'll be my top priority—getting him settled in a decent permanent home. I promise, I'll start on this first thing in the morning—we'll get him placed before you know it."

This was the last thing Wayne wanted and Alfred would go ballistic in his proper, controlled way, but he did owe Jim Gordon a favor from last year when he'd caught that theft ring that had targeted his antique cars and, oh hell, he'd be at work all day. Alfred would deal with it. He'd give him a bonus. This way he could still go out at night and, with any luck, catch the protection racketeers that had targeted Haley.

It wasn't hard to figure that one out; they'd been doing this sort of thing for six months now. Batman would get them, he already had a couple of good leads, knew who the boss of the thing was—some thug named Zucco— and it was just a matter of not much more time before he had them nailed.

"One week."

They got Dick into Wayne's Bentley without incident—once they managed to get him to release Billy the Clown. He was been checked by the paramedics who worked futilely on his parents and they said that he was physically fine, but in obvious shock. They suggested that he be seen by a pediatrician and prescribed sleeping pills and antidepressants along with tranquillizers in case they became necessary over the next few days and Bruce stopped at the Wayne Clinic so that Dr. Thompkins could make sure that what they'd told him all made sense. She agreed and wrote the 'scripts, handing Bruce a couple of free samples to get them through the night.

He called ahead and Alfred met them at the front door, offering more hot chocolate and a warm bath, neither of which the child wanted.

He allowed himself to be put into a large bed and nodded when asked if he wanted the light on and the door left opened. He took the child dosage sleeping pill and settled in.

Since the moment his parents died, he hadn't said a single word.

As soon as he was assured that the boy was down for the night, Bruce headed down to the cave, spending an hour on the computer and then going out. He found a hireling who was willing to talk about Zucco in exchange for protection and was back at the manor in time to shower and change for the office.

Zucco—a piece of scum in a hand tailored suit and impeccable hair. He was the current head of the most powerful crime family working in the tri-state area, controlling most of the drug traffics as well as the prostitution rings. His new specialty though, was protection—a targeted business would provide kickbacks and payoffs in exchange for things like the Grayson's murders not happening and it was simple luck that the child hadn't been on the ropes when they'd broken. A little thing like an eight year old being murdered along side his parents wouldn't faze the man or cause him to lose a minute's sleep.

"You're leaving me alone with that child? Surely you're not serious, Master Bruce."

"You'll be fine. Besides, that social worker said she'd be here by ten to talk to him; how hard can it be?"

Obviously Bruce had blocked out the immediate days after his own parents deaths.

Around seven the next evening Bruce returned from the office. He found Dick sitting solemnly in front of the TV, with a movie playing—Little Shop of Horrors, of all things. He looked into the room from the door without actually crossing the threshold and was about to say something when the look on the boy's face stopped him—still, withdrawn and not even close to caring what was happening on the screen. He looked like one of those kids you see on the news, the ones in some war zone whose house was just blown up or whose parents were just shot in front of them—the sight playing over and over in their minds on some mental loop. At a loss as to where to begin and thinking the kid hadn't even registered that he was standing looking at him, Bruce continued into the kitchen where Alfred was making hamburgers.

"I thought that the boy might eat these, sir. I didn't think that you'd mind."

"Of course not, no. How is he doing?"

"The social worker was here earlier for several hours, but he still refuses to speak—shock, apparently. Ms. Hazlet informed me that she may have a family who will be willing to give the boy a permanent home and would like to start the paperwork immediately."

"That's quick."

"Evidently the tragedy was featured prominently on the local news and generated quite a bit of interest. There's a family just nearby who made inquiries about their meeting the child." Alfred turned the burgers.

"Yes, well, it's important that the boy be settled in a stable home as soon as possible."

"Yes." There didn't seem to be anything else to say about it. Bruce had less than no interest in having a small child underfoot—anymore than Alfred did. This was very much for the better for everyone concerned.

After a silent dinner with Dick barely touching his food and saying nothing. Bruce asked if he would like to take a swim before bed. Dick looked at him with a questioning glance. "There's an indoor pool." That at least got the child to look up at him. "C'mon, it'll be fun."

Getting up, he led the way through the various twisting corridors and hallways into the solarium, the pool taking up the fifty by thirty foot space in the middle of the large, plant filled room. "There are bathing suits in there"—he indicated a door—"Go get changed and I'll meet you out here in a minute."

By the time Bruce finished changing he heard the splash coming from the water. He walked out in time to see Dick on the end of the one-meter diving board, running, making the jump and launching himself onto the air. Turning a double, he knifed into the water as well as Bruce had ever seen the dive done—and he was only eight years old. Impressive.

"Could you show me how to do that?"

Dick was back up on the board, no longer looking shy. He shrugged, still not talking, then made his approach to the end and this time threw a layout with a twist. Actually, it made sense that he could dive; working in the water and on a trampoline were common training methods for gymnasts and aerialists. He'd probably been doing this sort of thing for years.

Bruce got up and took his turn, performing a reasonable single tuck. Dick followed with another double. Bruce did a back dive; Dick did a back one and a half. Everything Bruce did, Dick one-upped him, back and forth, Dick still saying nothing.

Finally he pulled a couple of kick boards into the water from the edge of the pool, pushed one over to Dick and the two of them rested on them, kicking randomly back and forth in the water.

"You like to swim, Dick?" No answer, just that haunted look. It was likely his parents had taught him how and used it as part of his training. "You're a very good diver, have you ever wanted to compete?" The slightest shake of his head, no. "I never competed in any sports, myself. I just liked to do them for myself..."

Without warning Dick pulled himself out of the water and ran out the solarium door, disappearing before Bruce could catch up. He heard the slam of the guestroom door and looked hopelessly at Alfred as the older man hurried past to comfort the now crying child.

The scene was repeated every night after dinner after that, though the first night was the only one that ended in uncontrolled tears. Bruce would make a point of leaving the office in time to eat with Dick. The first two nights he tried to engage Dick in conversation with no results, finally gave up and simply provided a running commentary on whatever came into his mind. He would talk about the weather, the day's meetings, current events, and the food. Dick would listen politely and occasionally smile, but remained mute. Afterwards they would go to the pool and Dick would give Bruce a demonstration of his diving and tumbling abilities in the water, then they would float while Bruce continued his monologue. After that they would retire to the study to watch a movie of Dick's choosing, eating popcorn together but never touching in any way. They would share a couch, but opposite ends or Dick would choose a single easy chair for the evening.

When the film ended he would be taken up to the guest room by Alfred, Bruce would go down to the cave and Batman would continue his search for Zucco—he was getting closer by the day.

Sometimes something unintended—a picture, a word or gesture, would upset Dick or trigger a memory and then the day would end with Dick running off upset, with Alfred trying—and sometimes succeeding—to repair the new damage.

On Wednesday Linda called Bruce at his office to tell him that she had made a number of inquiries and calls but there were no blood relatives who either were able or willing to give Dick a permanent home so she was proceeding with the family who wanted to take the boy in—or at least to meet him. They were friends of hers—wonderful people who had been looking for the right child for a couple of years and she was sure that Dick was exactly right. They would be a good match, she was positive of it. Bruce had been so incredibly generous to open his home to the poor thing, but she knew what an inconvenience it had been and the child should be gone in a few days if it all worked out the way she hoped it would, just like she had promised.

She came the next morning, as she had everyday since the deaths to talk with Dick, and said she would like to take him to meet the people who wanted to be his new family. They were nice people who had wanted their own little boy for along time and were excited they might have Dick come live with them. He would like them, they were kind and funny and knew that Dick had parents whom he'd loved very much so they knew not to try to replace what was irreplaceable. They would like to do the best for him they could though, and they wanted him very much. He could meet them after lunch, if he was willing, and if they all got along, then she would make the arrangements for him to go with them.

He nodded, seemingly believing that he had no real choice in the matter and bowing to whatever wind was blowing through his life now.

Andy and Bonnie Porter were a thirty-something couple who lived in the next town over from Bruce and the Manor. He was a construction foreman with hopes of starting his own contracting business, she was a high school English teacher and they were one of those legions of couples that, for whatever reason, seemed unable to conceive. They were on the lists to adopt an infant, but the wait was long and they now were willing to consider an older child. They were a solid couple, happily married and owned their own smallish home on a quiet street. They were perfect prospects to take in Dick and give him a decent life. They were even Catholic, like Dick's mother had been.

Linda and Dick drove from the Manor to Linda's office where the Porter's were waiting for them. They had been warned that he hadn't spoken since the accident, still deeply traumatized and that they should be prepared for him to be resistant to any initial overtures which they might make. They were kind, gentle people and it was obvious that they were taken with the sad child in front of them at first sight. Dick was immediately appealing—striking looks, all dark hair and those clear blue eyes combined with his melancholy to draw people in easily. He also seemed to warm to them and when, after an hour of sitting in the office, he handed Bonnie Porter a couple of M&M's from a small bag he'd been given, it was clear they'd been accepted.

When Linda asked if Dick would like to go home with them, he nodded and quietly said, "Yes." It was the first word he'd said since being orphaned and was taken as a major breakthrough.

The move to the Porter's was accomplished quickly since Dick had very little to pack. Alfred had purchased him some basic items to augment the few things he'd come with, but it was still pretty meager and easily fit into a single small duffle.

The paperwork was expedited as the case was high profile and had the interest of the media and the police who had felt badly for the small boy. Jim Gordon greased what wheels he could and the papers, at least the preliminary ones, were delivered in a couple of days. In the meantime, Dick had been allowed to go home with the Porters, knowing that Linda Hazlet would be making unannounced visits to make sure that everything was going well. He also had her phone number in case he wanted to talk to her about anything. He had been allowed to say goodbye to Bruce and Alfred and he thanked them both, the first time for either of them to hear his voice. He then shyly asked Bruce if he could come back and use the pool sometimes and Bruce told him that all he had to do was call to make sure someone was home and that seemed to reassure him on some level.

He never did call, though.

Dick was found a good child psychologist and grief counselor whom he would see twice a week for almost two years and who helped him make the adjustment better than anyone thought possible.

At the Manor, Bruce was relieved that Dick was placed and he was sure Alfred felt the same. The boy was too troubled, too needy for them to deal with and he would be better off in a more traditional home where he'd find the stability he needed. If the Manor seemed a little empty, then so too did it seem like his own sanctuary again with no intruders around and no annoyances like balls in the hallway or muddy footprints on the floors. The Porters were good people, Bruce had checked, and Dick would be happy there.

There was no question that this was the best resolution they all could have hoped for.

TBC

9/27/04

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