I posted a new One-Shot called "Skipping Stones" that takes place a few weeks after Dick arrives at Wayne Manor. If you'd like to read it, it is within this same AU and is the first in the timeline.

A little background to my universe. Dick's parents were killed in October when he was 8 years old before the circus retired to Florida for the winter. Gotham was one the last shows of the year. He went to live with Bruce in November. He discovered Bruce was Batman in about six weeks, and trained throughout the winter. He turned 9 on March 21, and became Robin in April. This story takes place mid-September of that year. While it isn't necessary to the story, it does make it a little easier to understand where Bruce and Dick are in their relationship to one another.

I use a dividing line to separate days. I use -oOo- to separate scenes and POV's within those days. I hope this makes the story easier to read.

Warnings: A little language here and there.

It was the end of the school day, and like the other kids around him, nine-year old Dick Grayson was stuffing books and papers into his backpack to take home. He was the youngest in the class because he skipped a grade, and he was still a little bored with his subjects. Most of it he already knew, and the teacher didn't seem to want to dwell long on the topics that he was unfamiliar with.

The teacher, Mrs. Simmons, was a grandmotherly sort; nice, but she kind of smelled funny. And Dick suspected it was time to change her glasses prescription. She didn't seem to notice when the other kids picked on him, or maybe she was just too tired to do anything about it. He had noticed she would sometimes nap when everyone was supposed to be reading or doing assignments.

Mrs. Simmons was walking around the room passing out some papers to each of the kids. As the paper landed in front of him on his desk, Dick read it. A Father/Son dinner was to be held next Friday evening at seven p.m. Dick picked up the paper, and reread it, wondering. Did Bruce have any plans next Friday? Would he even be interested in going? Bruce Wayne had tons of obligations, and then there were patrols as Batman and Robin. There wasn't much time left for after-school activities like this.

The paper was snatched out of his hand.

"Hey!" Dick looked up at Tommy Snyder, bully extraordinaire. His father owned a large dry-cleaning business franchise.

"What's the matter, charity case? This isn't for you anyway! It's for fathers and sons . . . Not rich men and their boy toys," Tommy sneered.

"Give it back, Tommy," Dick ignored the older boy's remarks. He didn't know what a boy toy was anyway, and had a feeling that Tommy didn't either.

"Seriously, circus freak," he said. "Guardians aren't fathers . . . That's why they're called 'guardians'. They don't love you or nothing like that. They just have to make sure you get fed, a bed, and well-read." He laughed at his own wit.

Heat rose in Dick's face, but he stubbornly held out his hand. "Doesn't matter," he said. "The teacher gave it to me; it's mine. Give it back!"

Tommy stared at him for a moment more, and then smirked. "Are you going to cry because you don't have a father? Maybe you can ask your 'guardian' to buy you one. He's rich enough."

He laughed and tossed the sheet back at Dick. It fluttered in the air before settling down near his feet on the floor. The bell rang and the boy that sat behind Dick stepped on it before Dick could pick it up.

Dick picked up the paper, staring at the words again as everyone filed out of the room to go home. It wasn't any big deal. He hadn't actually thought seriously about going to it because he and Bruce were really busy with everything else . . . But now? Why had that stupid Tommy Snyder have to say something about it?

He felt the sting of tears in the backs of his eyes and blinked rapidly to dispel them before they could begin. Stop it, he told himself. It's just a stupid dinner! We wouldn't have been able to go to it even if we had wanted to. And he didn't . . . Want to, that is. Not really.

A vision of him and Bruce being turned away at the door flashed in front of his eyes. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. He thought about what Bruce's reaction to the invitation would be, and imagined he would toss it in the wastepaper basket beside his desk, reminding Dick that 'I'm not your father. I'll never be your father.' His parents were dead, and the pain of it suddenly struck him in the chest again; just as sharp as it had been in the moments after it had happened.

He crumpled the announcement into a tight ball, but couldn't bring himself to toss it away. Instead he shoved the reminder of his orphan status deep into the pocket of his jacket, swung his backpack over his shoulder, and trudged to the parent pick-up area with his head down.

It's amazing that they allowed Alfred and Bruce to pick him up and drop him off there. He was surprised they didn't make him enter through a side entrance or something, he snarked inside his head.

Almost all the cars were gone by the time he walked out of the school. Alfred stood next to the Bentley, waiting for him. Dick walked past him without greeting him, not because he was being rude, but because he didn't think he could talk around the lump in his throat without crying like a baby.

Grow up, Grayson, he snarled to himself. You aren't a baby anymore. You're not even a son anymore!

At least, not when he didn't even have a father.

He looked at the park across the street as he climbed into the back of the car, and saw a mother playing with her little toddler. He slammed the door and glared out the window back in the direction of the school. A father had just kneeled down to greet his ecstatic first grader as the little boy ran out and jumped into his dad's waiting arms. Dick closed his eyes as Alfred pulled out into traffic.

-oOo-

Alfred looked at his youngest charge in the backseat with concern. Master Richard was such a polite, happy boy that it was a bit of a shock to see the depressed youngster that trudged past him without a word. Alfred also was surprised when the boy had slammed his door in some sort of pique. He had either not heard a word that the butler had said in greeting or had chosen to ignore it, neither of which was like him.

At the moment, Master Richard had his head propped in his hand like he was looking out the window, but Alfred could see that the boy had his eyes shut.

"Did something happen at school today," he asked. "Master Richard," the butler tried again when he received no answer. "Are you not feeling well?"

At first he thought that the boy was going to ignore him yet again, but after a moment, Master Richard shook his head; not bothering to look in his direction.

-oOo-

"I have a headache," Dick replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Better than admitting to having a heartache, he thought.

"I hope you aren't coming down with something," came the concerned voice of the gentleman whom Dick had come to look on as a grandfather.

But then, he thought despairingly, Alfred's not his grandfather anymore than Bruce was his father. He was alone in the world, dependent upon others for his most basic needs. His fist squeezed the ball of paper in his pocket tighter, even as he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to block out the world and its cruelty.

When they arrived home, Dick climbed out of the car while dodging the elder man's hand when he attempted to feel his forehead. Dick tossed his shoes and jacket in the direction of the closet, and rushed to his room.

"Master Richard, wouldn't you like a snack before dinner? I made some fresh chocolate chip cookies this morning," Alfred called after him.

Dick paused at the top of the stairs. He didn't turn, however, when he answered. "No thanks, Alfred. I'm not hungry." He continued onto his room, but at a slower pace this time.

The butler stared after him, looking seriously worried that the child would refuse his favorite cookie.

-oOo-

Bruce came home that evening later than usual. He had stayed to attend a dinner meeting with an out of town business associate, and it had run over far longer than necessary. As it was, he would barely have time to change before it was time for patrol. Thank God it was the weekend and he could look forward to sleeping in a bit in the morning.

Alfred met him at the door as usual, but Bruce could tell with a look that something was wrong. He handed the man his coat and briefcase.

"What's wrong, Alfred?"

"I'm concerned about Master Richard, sir," the elder man told him.

Bruce frowned. "Why? What seems to be the trouble? Did something happen at school today?"

"Quite honestly, Master Bruce, I can't tell," Alfred said. "At first, I thought so, but then he refused both his cookies and his dinner. I went upstairs to check on him and he had already changed for bed. Apparently, he doesn't even want to go out tonight as Robin!"

Bruce's eyebrows went up. The child lived for weekends and patrols as Robin! "Have you checked his temperature?"

"He has refused me completely. He's never before refused to allow me to at least feel his forehead. I can tell you, sir, that this has me much alarmed."

Instead of heading straight for the Batcave, Bruce went upstairs to check on Dick. Choosing not to knock in case the boy was asleep, Bruce opened the door quietly. Sure enough, the lights were off except for the nightlight, but the boy was not in bed. Instead he was sitting on the window seat staring out at the night.

"Dick?"

The boy sighed, indicating that he heard Bruce's soft voice, but didn't bother to turn around. This was alarming. Usually the boy met him eagerly at the front door when he came home, and always greeted him with a smile and a hug. He walked over and sat on the end of the bed.

"What's going on," he asked. "You do realize that it's Friday night, right?"

Dick nodded, but refused to look at him. The light of the waxing moon shone on his face, highlighting the childish curve of his cheek. He looked indescribably sad. The realization startled Bruce. Dick hadn't looked this sad since his birthday last March; not even during the emotionally trying times of Mother and Father's Day had he seemed this depressed.

No one knew better than Bruce how painful losing one's parents was, or that the pain could return as sharp and as clear as the day it happened at unexpected intervals even years later. But most of the times that had happened there had been a triggering event to bring about the memories and their subsequent emotions out in full. Bruce was unaware of anything that might have done so now for Dick. It was mid-September. Neither parent had a birthday nor was it their wedding anniversary . . . The first year anniversary for their deaths wasn't for another three weeks.

"Dick, did something happen at school today?"

For a moment Bruce thought that he wasn't going to answer him, but then Dick shook his head slowly. The hesitation made Bruce suspicious that the boy wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Are you sick?"

"No," he said in a whisper.

He didn't know why, but just hearing the child's voice sent a wave of relief through him. He was still relatively new at this parenting thing, and feeling his way through it.

"Would you mind if I checked for myself," Bruce asked. "I only want to feel your forehead; just to make certain."

The boy shrugged. Taking that for assent, Bruce stepped over and pushed Dick's bangs up, taking a couple of seconds to gauge the temperature. He felt normal, and Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to go on patrol, and although he trusted Alfred completely with the child's health and welfare, Batman needed to be able to keep his head in the game. A fever would have been a distraction he couldn't afford in the field; a worry that would have followed him persistently throughout the night.

"Is there anything you want to talk about," he asked dutifully. He didn't know where to go with this. He didn't want this to be an interrogation, but wasn't sure how to go about finding the answers to his questions.

"No," The boy finally huffed. "I just want to be left alone!"

"Batman goes out alone tonight, then?"

Bruce wanted to give Dick one last chance to change his mind. The boy had fought long and hard for the privilege of being Robin, and seemed to enjoy it, even thrive on it. For him to voluntarily give up one of his two nights of patrol was worrisome. He harbored a belief that if Dick could get out there and fly through the city with Batman, he would feel better for it.

Dick hesitated, proving that he clearly didn't want to give up a patrol night, but after a minute, he nodded.

"I just want to be left alone," he confirmed, a little less vehemently than before.

Bruce stood up, feeling a little bit conflicted. Part of him told him to stay and force the issue. The boy was obviously upset about something. But the other part of him was uncomfortable trying to comfort the child, and relieved to been given the go ahead to leave.

"Maybe you'll feel better after a good night's sleep then. There is always tomorrow's patrol, after all." Bruce ruffled the soft, wavy hair lightly before turning away.

It wasn't until he had closed the door and was standing in the hallway that the pressure in his chest dissipated, and he could breathe easier. He hadn't even realized that he had been feeling claustrophobic until now. He shrugged off the panic, and headed to the Batcave a little faster than he might have normally. He had no problem acknowledging the fact that, while he enjoyed Dick's company immensely in the normal course of things, children's upsets confused and disquieted him.

Saturday and Sunday saw an improvement in the boy's attitude, although he never admitted to what had bothered him so much on Friday. Robin had gone on Saturday evening's patrol, and the boy had bounced back with the same amazing energy and enthusiasm as he always displayed. And while Alfred still felt a little unease over the child's previous upset, Bruce felt confident that the issue had been addressed and resolved in the boy's own mind satisfactorily.

It wasn't until Monday, as Dick made his way down the hall to his classroom that his hand brushed the crumpled paper in his jacket pocket, and he remembered. He sat down in his chair and hesitantly brought out the flyer from Friday and smoothed it out on his desk.

It wasn't as if he had seriously wanted to go. He knew Bruce was incredibly busy. Just last Friday work had kept him away until nine o'clock in the evening. Had the dinner been last week, they would have missed it anyway. He still wasn't sure if Bruce had any social engagements planned this week or not, but it was just as well that he forget about the dinner and not get his hopes up.

Dick blinked . . . Not get his hopes up? He grimaced, and crumpled the paper up once more. He was shoving it into his pocket none too soon as Tommy Snyder entered the classroom a second later. The bully purposely bumped Dick's shoulder with his book bag as he made his way past him.

"Looking forward to the Father/Son dinner, charity case?" Tommy sneered. "Oh, wait! That's right! You can't go."

Dick tightened his grip on the wadded flyer, but didn't bother responding. Tommy Snyder was a punk and a bully. Dick knew better than to let anything that jerk said bother him. He blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened to fall. Darn dust . . . Always getting into his eyes!

-oOo-

When Bruce came home that evening it was again only Alfred greeting him at the door. He frowned, looking around as he handed off his jacket and briefcase to the elder man.

"Where's Dick," he asked, missing the enthusiastic greeting that was usually bestowed on him upon entering the manor.

"In the gymnasium, sir," Alfred sighed. "He's been there all afternoon; ever since we arrived home from school."

Bruce checked his watch although he was perfectly aware of the time. It was a quarter after six. He was forty-five minutes late getting home because of a large, five-car pileup on the highway. Dick got home at two-thirty. He had been in the gym nearly four hours!

"He skipped his after school snack again as well," Alfred informed him.

"Was he as upset as he was on Friday," Bruce asked, concerned. He thought that the boy had worked out the problem over the weekend.

"No," the elder man acknowledged. "He wasn't as noticeably upset this time, but he was quiet and distracted. Monosyllabic answers to my questions rather than grunts and outright refusals to speak this time."

Dick had smiled a greeting when Bruce came to tell him to wash up for dinner, but it didn't reach his eyes. The meal itself was stiff and uncomfortable as well, with the boy picking more at his food than eating it. But all inquiries into his day had the same answer; 'fine'. When Bruce attempted to delve a little deeper, Dick had asked to be excused from the table. Nonplussed, Bruce had let him go.

Tuesday morning dawned, but instead of a happy child at the breakfast table, Bruce had found Dick sullen and sporting dark circles under his eyes, indicating a poor night's sleep. Usually the boy would make his way into Bruce's room in the middle of the night after a nightmare, but there had been no such interruptions.

He watched as Dick tried to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn as Alfred served him his breakfast.

"Bad night," he asked, curious if the child would admit as much.

"Kind of," he mumbled into his cereal.

Information not forthcoming, Bruce angled for more. "Bad dreams, then? You didn't wake me."

There was a decidedly obvious downturn of the mouth. "It isn't fair to you if I wake you up every time I have a bad dream. I need to learn how to handle it myself," he said, staring down at his spoon. His cereal had grown soggy.

-oOo-

Tommy didn't talk to him at school that day other than a mumbled "circus freak" whenever there wasn't an adult around to overhear. Dick was relieved. He had settled into the back seat of the Bentley and pulled out his homework to do on the way home and found a paper shoved into his math book. He pulled it out, curiously, and felt his mouth drop open.

In a child's hand, it was a copy of the Father/Son dinner flyer, only instead of the words 'father' and 'son' there was 'guardian' and 'charity case'. There was a crudely drawn picture of a man and a boy sitting at a table facing away from each other. Where the time and place would have been listed was the word "Never".

He crumpled the paper up in as tight a wad as he could manage. He knew Alfred would have a fit if he threw the paper out the window, so Dick shoved it back into the bottom of his backpack. Sniffling, he drew his feet into the seat and tried to concentrate on his homework, but he had trouble making out the problems through the angry tears that welled in his eyes. Tears he refused to let fall.

Bruce sat down at the breakfast table Wednesday, alarmed. The boy looked exhausted. His head was balanced on one hand as the other stirred his cereal with complete lack of interest. If he were having nightmares, he was not coming to Bruce with them.

Alfred leaned over to take the sodden cereal away. "Master Richard, would you prefer something else to eat? Eggs, perhaps? Or maybe waffles," he offered, hoping to tempt the child with one of his favorite breakfast foods.

Dick looked up with bleary eyes. "No, that's okay," he said. "I'm not really hungry."

The butler looked at Bruce as he ran a practiced hand across the child's forehead. He shook his head, perplexed. No fever, apparently.

"You didn't eat very well last night, young sir, so a good breakfast is vital if you wish to continue to make good grades," Alfred admonished gently. "Perhaps a bowl of fruit, then?"

Dick sighed, but didn't answer with anything other than a shoulder shrug.

"Dick," Bruce tried. "Obviously something is bothering you. We cannot help you unless you tell us what it is."

Dick was silent a moment as if contemplating something. Not meeting Bruce's gaze, he asked, "Are you doing anything on Friday evening?"

Bruce frowned at the question, thrown a little by the change in topic. He took a sip of his coffee as he thought for a moment about his social calendar.

"I have a charity function I'm supposed to attend this Friday. Didn't I tell you about it? It's a fundraising dinner to raise donations for the new children's oncology wing at Gotham General Hospital," he told him. "It begins at seven."

Dick blinked up at him in dismay. "Oncology? You mean like for children with cancer?"

"Yes," Bruce confirmed, proud of Dick's knowledge. "That's right. The new wing is to be dedicated to children with cancer."

"That sounds pretty important, huh?" Dick bit his lip; his brows drawn together.

"Yes, it is," Bruce set his coffee down. "Dick, is there something else going on this Friday that I should know about?"

Dick grimaced, sliding out of his chair. "No. Nothing important. I was just curious, that's all. May I be excused? It's almost time to go."

Bruce grabbed Dick's arm before he could rush off. "Are you sure?"

"Totally," he insisted. "I need to go. I left my backpack upstairs."

-oOo-

At school that day the flyers were posted on every single bulletin board in the school as a reminder to the students. It seemed that everywhere he looked there was a paper or person reminding him of an event that he couldn't go to. He tried to tell himself that he didn't want to go, but every day the event became more important in his mind.

I shouldn't even want to go, he told himself angrily. It was for fathers and their sons, and his father was dead. Bruce wasn't his father . . . And Bruce didn't want to be which was fine because Dick didn't want him to be his father either . . . He didn't.

Dick brushed his sleeve over his eyes. He really didn't.

Thursday, Dick had decided to ignore Tommy's remarks completely. He refused to allow the boy to bother him anymore. And he tried, too. At recess, Dick made a special effort to avoid the boy and his friends. It was only when he stopped in the bathroom that his efforts failed.

As he moved to the sink to wash his hands, Tommy and two of his friends walked in the door. In the mirror, Dick watched him elbow one of the boy's with him and smirk. Dick rushed to dry his hands and leave, but the three boys blocked his path.

"Move, Tommy," Dick told him.

"Where you going, charity case?" Tommy stepped closer. He was always more daring when he wasn't alone. "Oh, yeah, nowhere."

"Get out of my way, Tommy, now," Dick glared at him.

"Hey, Mark, did your dad get the call from the teacher last night reminding him about the dinner," Tommy smiled as he lied through his teeth.

What phone call? Dick frowned. Neither Bruce nor Alfred had mentioned that his teacher had called.

Mark grinned, going along with Tommy's joke. "Yeah, Dad was real excited to go. He even cancelled a party he and Mom planned to attend so he could go with me."

Dick did his best not to flinch. Bruce's party wasn't just a dumb get-together with a bunch of friends. His party was important. He was going so he could help sick kids!

"What about you, Casey? Are you and your father going, too," Tommy asked.

Casey, the third boy, nodded. "Uh huh. He told the teacher that he couldn't wait to go with me. He even told his boss no when he asked him to work late on Friday just so he could go with me."

"You know why don't you," Tommy grinned, and not in a happy way. "It's because our fathers love us. They like spending time with us."

Dick narrowed his eyes. "I can't imagine anyone wanting to spend time with you, Tommy, unless they had to." He shoved his way between them and grabbed the door.

"How much time does your guardian want to spend with you, gypsy brat?" Tommy's voice followed him out.

-oOo-

That night, Dick ate alone. Bruce was late coming home from work again. When he finally showed up, Dick was already getting ready for bed. He ran downstairs to say hello, but Bruce had already disappeared into his study.

Dick knocked on the door and waited. No voice called out for him to enter, but he could hear Bruce talking on the other side so he knew that he hadn't simply gone down to the cave yet. Cautiously, he opened the door, peering around it to see if he were interrupting something.

Bruce was on the phone. His computer was on and he had several files laid out on the desk. He had taken off his jacket, but had only loosened his tie. He didn't notice Dick slip into the room.

"I know, Lucius. I realize how important this merger is, trust me," he was saying. "He did what? So LexCorps is trying to outbid us? I thought this thing was a done deal. When did this happen?"

Bruce turned around in the midst of his pacing and come to a halt upon seeing the boy standing just inside of the door. Bruce frowned, and waved Dick away.

"What? I didn't hear that last part," Bruce said into the phone. "Hang on a minute, Lucius, will you?"

Lowering the phone and covering the mouthpiece with his hand, Bruce addressed him finally. "Dick, I need to take this call. And I have one more to make after that. Go on up to bed, and I'll be up shortly to tuck you in, alright?"

Dick opened his mouth to reply, but Bruce had already turned around and moved back to the window; staring out of it as he continued to argue with Lucius about some merger Wayne Enterprises was trying to make. He frowned at how short Bruce had been with him, not even taking the time to give him a hug or say hello, but waving him out the door like a troublesome bug.

Sighing, he slipped back out of the door, closing it quietly behind him.

"Master Richard," Alfred's voice startled him. Dick hadn't realized the man was behind him. "Come away from there. Master Bruce is very busy at the moment."

Dick turned and saw the butler holding a tray with food and coffee on it. He opened the door for him, so Alfred could enter the study more easily.

"Dick, I thought I told you to go on up to bed . . ." Bruce's voice rose with annoyance. "Oh, sorry, Alfred. I didn't realize you were there. Come in, please. Dick, close the door on your way out, if you would?"

Dick's mouth dropped open for a moment at the rudeness, but then closed it and retreated. If the door closed much harder than it should have in his haste, it was an accident. His name was barked angrily through the door, and Dick turned sharply and ran away before either Bruce or Alfred could come out and yell at him further. He didn't stop, but ran up the stairs and to his room; slamming his door, this time on purpose.

He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter. That Bruce didn't mean to be rude or angry with him. He was an important man; a busy man, too busy to be bothered by a little kid who was in the way more than not. He bit his lip to stop it from quivering. Bruce was just upset with something going on at work. He would come upstairs in a few minutes and apologize for being rude to him. He would tuck Dick in like he did most nights.

. . . But not every night.

Sometimes he was too late coming home. Sometimes there was an emergency and he had to rush out as Batman. But most nights he did. At least, a lot of nights he would.

Tommy Snyder was a jerk and didn't know what he was talking about!

Dick climbed into bed, sniffling. He wiped his nose on his sleeve angrily. So what if Bruce didn't love him! He knew the man cared about him. Why else would he have petitioned the court to take him in? Him, Dick Grayson, specifically. Because CPS had stuck him in the juvenile detention center, Bruce had even gone out of his way just to find him in the first place. That had to prove that he wanted him, didn't it?

Didn't it?

Dick tried to stay awake. He really did. Bruce said he was going to come up and say goodnight to him in just a few minutes. But as minutes turned into an hour and then two, the boy couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. They were just too heavy. He hadn't slept well for days, so of course it was harder to stay awake than usual. It didn't help that he had exhausted himself the last hour crying either.

Tommy Snyder was still a jerk!

. . . Even if he was right.

-oOo-

It was nearly four-thirty in the morning when Bruce trudged up the stairs to his room, still rubbing the dampness from his hair with a towel. He was exhausted after the extra-long day at Wayne Enterprises that hadn't ended when he came home. By the time he hung up with Dennis Morgan, the CEO of CyberCom, a satellite communications network, he was more than an hour late going out on patrol.

He had also been more than an hour late saying goodnight to Dick. He had planned to go up before he left for patrol when he saw the Bat Signal reflected in the clouds over Gotham. An emergency . . . Of course. The whole day had been one emergency after another. Glancing at the clock, Bruce decided that Dick was probably already asleep. Determining that it would probably be better to let the exhausted boy sleep rather than wake him up merely for a hasty goodbye, Bruce went straight for the cave.

It had been a busier than usual night as well. Batman hadn't gotten back to the cave until four o'clock. He had only a few hours left to sleep before he needed to get up for yet another meeting to close this merger deal before the weekend, and then there was that fundraiser tonight, before yet another patrol.

On top of it all, was the constant nagging worry about whatever it was that had been bothering Dick all week. He made a mental note to call the school today and speak directly with the boy's teacher. Perhaps she could shed some light on the problem that continued to trouble the child so much. All Bruce knew was that it couldn't go on any longer. The boy couldn't sleep and he was barely eating. It had to stop before he could make himself sick.

He was passing by the boy's door when he heard him call out. Bruce winced. Dick was upset and exhausted, and now he had to struggle with yet another nightmare on top of it all? It wasn't fair! But then no one knew better than he how unfair life could be. As he opened the door to check on him, the low light from his nightlight made it easy to see the child thrashing under his covers.

Bruce frowned. Whatever dream he was caught in seemed worse than usual. He moved to the bed.

"Mom! Dad . . ." Dick cried out. Tears streaked the boy's cheeks as he tossed and turned. "Don't leave me!"

Bruce grimaced. Another dream of his parents . . . He had thought those had ended a couple of months ago. The reprieve hadn't been nearly long enough. He sighed, sitting down beside the boy. Bruce still had dreams of his parents even after eighteen years, but thankfully not often any more. New nightmares had come to plague him since becoming Batman. Dick, however, had been tormented by them almost nightly for the first six months after their deaths. It had only been these last two months that he had seen any relief from them at all.

"Take me with you," Dick whined in his sleep.

Bruce blinked. What the . . .? That was new . . . He found himself wondering suddenly what exactly was going on behind those eyelids.

"No one loves me here . . . Nobody w-wants me," he cried, curling onto his side. "I'm all alone!"

Frowning, Bruce reached for Dick's shoulder, intending to shake the boy awake. He didn't like where this dream was leading him.

"Please, let me come with you," the boy begged, sobbing.

"Dick," he called, giving the child's shoulder a small shake. He didn't want to startle the boy, but he wanted Dick to wake up – now!

"Wake up, son," he said a little louder. "It's okay; it's only a dream."

"No, no, noooo," Dick moaned, shaking his head; his eyes clenched tight. He gasped suddenly, and sat up, reaching. He eyes wide and panicked, he searched the room for the beloved visions from his past.

"Where did they go," he asked, in a whine. He looked at Bruce, but didn't seem to recognize him yet. "They were just here! Mommy! Daddy! Wait for me!"

Dick scrambled across his bed, and raced to the window; climbing onto the seat so that he could reach the latch. Realizing the boy wasn't completely awake and still caught up in his dream, Bruce leapt forward to follow him just as Dick managed to unhook the latch. Dick nearly tumbled out of the second story window head first when he pushed it open; his entire upper body falling through the opening towards the hard cobblestone patio below.

Bruce grabbed the boy's waist at the last second and pulled him to safety, clutching Dick to his chest as terror swamped him. His legs trembling at the sudden close call, Bruce slid down to sit on the floor in front of the window seat as he held the struggling boy in his arms.

Dear God, he thought, his heart pounding in chest. What if Dick had woken from that dream by himself? Would the child have rushed to the window then, as well? He could have fallen to his death! The very idea of Alfred waking him up to sight of Dick's broken body was a horrific one.

The boy was finally settling down in his arms, but was sobbing uncontrollably. Bruce adjusted him in his lap more comfortably and simply held him. He didn't know what else to do for the child, but to hold him close and let him cry. He rested his cheek on top of Dick's head as he waited for the boy to calm down; making shushing noises and murmuring nonsensical words in an effort to comfort him. Dick clutched at Bruce's shirt, soaking it with his tears.

Had the dream been a reflection of what was bothering him, Bruce found himself wondering. Did the child feel unwanted and unloved? To the extent even that he had wanted to join his dead parents? The idea was not only appalling, but resonated poorly on the kind of emotional support that he and Alfred were responsible for providing him.

It was unacceptable. He had to get to the bottom of this. All Bruce knew for sure was that this situation had begun at his school.

Dick's sobs slowly eased into the occasional hiccup and shudder.

"Dick," Bruce murmured softly. He repeated the boy's name before noticing that he had fallen back into sleep.

He had actually cried himself back to sleep, Bruce realized. Even thought the boy had been sitting in his lap at the time, he had still cried himself to sleep!

Climbing to his feet, he carried Dick back to his bed, but hesitated laying him down. What if he had another nightmare like the last one? Making a decision, Bruce carried Dick across the hall and into his room. At least, he thought, this way the child might be disoriented enough to not be able to find a convenient window from which to fall.

Bruce, himself, was wide awake now, however. He wanted this mystery solved, but looking at the dark circles that were still present even in the boy's sleep, Bruce decided to not wake him yet. Later, at breakfast, he could question him. He tucked the boy into the large, king-sized bed; pausing to brush back those stubborn locks of hair that continued to fall into the boy's eyes.

The tiny frown marring Dick's features eased somewhat. Bruce smiled. He was such a tactile child. All that seemed to be required to ensure the boy's happiness was a hug. Bruce blinked. That really was the one requirement that this particular child needed . . . His brows pulled together as he thought back to the last time he had hugged the boy.

Before last Friday, he knew for certain. Had he truly gone an entire week without hugging the boy? A week at least, he was suddenly sure, and possibly longer, all without even touching the child except maybe to check for if he had had a fever once. It was one of the hardest things he had been forced to get used to after bringing Dick to the manor to live. As uncomfortable as it had made him, however, it was also the one thing he had been careful to never refuse the boy. But, of course, Dick had always been the one to instigate the embrace; not so Bruce.

Why had he not realized how important this was before now? And knowing that the boy needed physical contact to remain healthy and happy, why had Bruce not instigated a single embrace in the entire ten months that Dick had lived here? And now? He had known the child had been upset about something, but instead of pulling the boy into his arms, he had merely interrogated him with a handful of questions before letting the subject go. Why?

Shamed, Bruce admitted that it was because of his own unease. He knew that the child hadn't been telling him the whole truth, but he had let it go because he had felt awkward and nervous when talking about emotions. He had known that the child wasn't sleeping well, and yet he hadn't looked in on him more than once before heading out on patrol; often that was when he had tucked the boy in. Had he not heard him, Bruce would have gone to bed tonight as well without even doing that much. He wouldn't have given it another thought.

Unable to wait until morning to begin this new investigation, Bruce turned and walked across the hall; turning on the light in Dick's room as he entered. The boy's backpack was sitting on his chair at his desk; his red jacket hanging over the back of it. Although there was probably nothing there that could shed light on the situation, Bruce nonetheless went over to search it.

He pulled out a math and history book and two notebooks. He flipped through the pages of the textbooks, unsurprised at finding nothing. He went a little slower going through the notebooks, but found little other than homework assignments and notes. He noticed that most of the math problems had only the answers written without any sign of the work that went into discovering the solution. It made him wonder if Dick was doing the problems in his head or perhaps working out the problems on a different sheet. Could the work be that easy for him? Bruce thought it was time to speak to his teacher about the challenge being presented in class. Dick had already skipped one grade. Could it be that he needed to skip another?

Bruce was about to replace the books into the backpack when he noticed a crumpled wad a paper at the bottom of the bag. He pulled it out. It had been tightly wadded, indicating . . . anger, perhaps? But why not simply throw it away? He carefully tugged and straightened the paper out, flattening it on the desk.

Bruce felt his eyes widen in shock and no little anger. What was this about a Guardian/Ward dinner? No, not 'Ward'; it said 'Charity Case'! It wasn't a real event obviously, but a child's drawing. It wasn't Dick's handwriting, however, so this had been given to him by another. The picture showed a man and a boy turned away from one another. On closer inspection, he saw that the man depicted was bored; appearing as if he was yawning, with a hand over his mouth. The boy in the picture was drawn with a couple of tears falling from his face. By the time and place was written 'Never'.

He was shocked at the blatant cruelty in the crude flyer. But why make it in the first place? Setting his jaw, Bruce began checking the pockets of the bag for any other nasty pieces of 'artwork'. Finding nothing he picked up the jacket and shoved his hand furiously in the pockets, not really expecting to discover anything else. He felt outrage wash over him when a second crumpled bundle fell out onto to the floor.

He picked it up, and unwrapped the twisted wad of paper, determined to ascertain what other forms of cruel taunts Dick had been forced to endure at the hands of his classmates. His eyebrows rose in surprise. He laid the flyer down next to the callous imitation. This, he thought, explained a lot.

A father/son dinner was being held at his school. That in itself would be hard enough to endure for a boy who had lost his father but a year ago, but the mean-hearted duplicate made it seem as if even Dick's guardian wouldn't want to go with him.

Bruce thought about Dick's dream. He had told his parents that he felt unloved and unwanted; much like the drawing depicted him. And Bruce had no doubt that the man and boy in the drawing had been meant to represent him and Dick. He grimaced when he remembered how he had brusquely brushed the boy off the previous evening. True he had been tired, angry, and harassed, but that was no excuse. He had taken the time to send the boy away, and quite rudely at that, when he could have just as easily spent that minute or two greeting and hugging the child. None of what had transpired throughout his hellish day had been the boy's fault. He had played right into Dick's source of anxiety and insecurity.

Damn! He had a lot to make up for.

He glanced down at the time and place of the dinner, hoping it was not too late, and discovered that it was at seven o'clock that evening. This was why Dick had asked him what he had planned for Friday! The fundraiser for the children's wing . . . He might have told Bruce about the dinner then, but had refrained when told about the fundraiser for the hospital; for children with cancer . . . Bruce smiled. He had to have the kindest, most unselfish boy in the world. How had he gotten so lucky?

Bruce crumpled the cruel copy in his hand. It didn't bear thinking about. He would take it to his office to be shredded. The other paper he folded carefully and tucked into his pocket. He had a few things he needed to accomplish, and one of them was easy enough. It only required his checkbook.

Dick woke up wrapped up in his blankets. He rubbed his eyes and sat up before realizing he wasn't in his room, but Bruce's! When had he come in here? The bed was hardly mussed, he noted, frowning. Bruce wasn't in sight. Had he even come home last night, he suddenly worried. It seemed odd that Dick would climb into Bruce's bed without permission; something he could hardly get if Bruce wasn't here. He jumped down from the large four-poster and ran downstairs to the kitchen.

"Alfred," he called, skidding to a halt inside the door. "Where's Bruce? He didn't come home last night!"

Alfred looked up from where he was pouring pancake batter onto the skillet. "Master Dick, you can hardly go to school in your pajamas! Run back upstairs and get dressed quickly. Your pancakes will be ready in just a few minutes."

"B-but Bruce! I woke up in his bed, but he wasn't there! I don't think he came home last night," Dick cried. "Wh-what if something terrible happened? What if he's hurt? What if he's . . .?"

"Master Bruce came home safe and sound late last night, but had a few things he needed to take care of early. He has that dinner to attend tonight, remember?"

Dick blinked. Bruce had come home? But the bed hadn't been slept in except by Dick; he was sure of it. "So . . . He already left for work?" He tried not to be disappointed.

"Indeed so! Now, run along and get ready for school," Alfred urged.

Dick trudged back up the stairs, unhappy that he likely wouldn't get to see Bruce at all that day. Not until patrol at least, but that wouldn't be until ten o'clock or later.

-oOo-

"What's the matter, charity case?" Tommy smirked. "Jealous because you aren't invited to the father/son dinner tonight? Are you going to go home by yourself and cry?"

The day hadn't been going well for Dick and the last thing he wanted to deal with was more of Tommy's snide taunts. He had completely missed Bruce this morning, and last night he hadn't come up at all. Frowning, he stopped to think about that. He couldn't remember going to Bruce's room last night, so how did he wind up in Bruce's bed? Had Bruce come up to see him after all? And if he did, why bother moving Dick from his bed to Bruce's?

"You know that the only reason Bruce Wayne took you in was for the publicity, right?" Tommy was following him.

"Go away, Tommy," Dick muttered. He knew the other boy wouldn't listen, however, so wasn't surprised when Tommy continued to heckle him.

"But that didn't turn out like he had planned. I heard that people make fun of him now for taking in a pathetic, little, circus freak like you," Tommy said. "People pity him because of you now. They wonder when he'll get tired and send you back to the orphanage where you belong."

Dick narrowed his eyes and walked faster. Maybe the other boy would get tired of following and leave him alone.

"Are you listening to me, you little shit," he hissed, pushing at Dick's shoulder.

Dick spun around as soon as Tommy touched him, and grabbed the boy's extended arm and shoulder. He continued to turn, shoving the bully in front of him until he crashed into the wall. The boy grunted in pain as the air rushed out of his lungs.

"No, I'm not listening to you," Dick whispered harshly in the bigger boy's ear. "Not ever again,"

With that, Dick turned and walked out of the school. He sometimes wondered the same thing, especially on nights like last night, but he refused to give bullies like Tommy Snyder the satisfaction of knowing he had hit on one of Dick's greatest fears. Besides, last night Bruce had been busy. He had been busy all week, and he would be tonight as well. But after that fundraiser, he would probably want to go out as Batman, and every Friday and Saturday night Batman always patrolled with Robin. So, even if Bruce Wayne didn't want or need him, twice a week Batman did.

Dick knew that as long as he continued to be Robin, he would always be needed. It would have to be enough.

-oOo-

Alfred hung out his navy blue suit. Dick scrunched his nose. He didn't like wearing suits unless it was his Robin suit.

"What's this for," he asked.

"You are attending the dinner tonight with Master Bruce," Alfred informed him. "You need to hop in the shower now so as to be dressed and ready to go on time."

The fundraiser? Dick didn't know whether to be excited to hang out with Bruce or to groan. He was usually the only kid present at these kinds of shindigs, and so many people wanted to talk, flirt, or schmooze Bruce that it was likely that Dick would only see him for a few minutes besides the ride there and back. But Bruce probably wanted him there as a token since the new hospital wing was going to be dedicated to children.

It was a good cause, he reminded himself. He trudged into the bathroom to comply as Alfred picked out a shirt and tie for him.

-oOo-

An hour later.

"Dick, come on! We don't want to be late," Bruce called him.

The boy ran out. He hadn't even realized Bruce had come home! Now the man was standing at the bottom of the stairs in a dark blue suit with a red tie. Didn't he usually wear a tuxedo to these affairs? He didn't say anything because a tux was even more uncomfortable than the suit Dick was currently sporting. He ran down the steps.

"Isn't it a little early," Dick asked; his feet flying.

"No, because we have a quick stop to make on the way," Bruce told him, smiling. He caught the boy on the third step from the bottom, swinging the surprised child around once and giving him a quick hug.

"Don't want to get you too wrinkled," he laughed a little guiltily at the shocked expression on the boy's face. Dick shouldn't be surprised to get a little bit of affection from him. "Come on, let's go," he told him.

Dick grinned back at him and trotted out to the car that was waiting in front. Bruce watched Dick go out ahead of him, astounded that the boy had already forgiven him for not tucking him in the night before like he had promised. One hug was all it had taken. Bruce shook his head in amazement.

They stopped by the hotel where the fundraiser was being held. Dick looked at him inquisitively.

"I thought we were stopping somewhere first," he said.

"We are," Bruce winked. "This will only take a moment. Come on."

"We aren't staying," Bruce told the valet. "Please keep the car here. We'll be right back."

Bruce kept a hand on Dick's back as they rushed toward the large ballroom where the fundraiser was being held. They were early, Dick thought. People were still setting the tables and placing the flower arrangements. Bruce moved past Dick upon seeing an elegant, white-haired woman in a lavender ball gown directing several workmen hanging a large sign with Gotham General Hospital's name across it above the stage. The woman glanced back, looking startled to see Bruce climbing the steps to greet her.

"Bruce! You are a tad early," Holly Jared, GGH's administrator, smiled. "Guests won't start arriving for another twenty minutes yet."

"Holly," Bruce smiled, giving the older woman a kiss on the cheek. "You look lovely as usual. Everything is coming together nicely." He nodded to the decorations with appreciation.

She gave him the once-over, and tsked lightly. "And you are underdressed. I thought the invitations were specific in mentioning this is a black tie affair."

"It did," he assured her. "But we can't stay," he said, nodding his head in Dick's direction. "I only wanted to stop by to drop this off. I added a little something extra since I have to cancel my reservation last minute."

Holly took the envelope with a questioning look. "What's this?"

"Why my donation, of course! It's a worthy cause, but something more important has come up and I simply cannot make it," Bruce told her. He squeezed her hand. "I have to run or we'll be late."

With that, Bruce turned and directed the wide-eyed boy out in front of him. Holly watched them go before sliding her finger under the flap and tugging the check and a note from the envelope. Her eyes widened in shock and appreciation. Reading the note that had accompanied the check, it looked as though the name of the new wing was taken care of. The Grayson-Wayne Oncology Children's Ward would look very nice, she thought, counting all those zeros. There were seven of them in all, following the two.

Mrs. Jared glanced at the doorway the man and boy had disappeared through just moments before. She found herself wondering briefly where the two of them were going that was so important before she returned to the business at hand.

-oOo-

Dick was thoroughly confused. Alfred had told him they were going to a dinner tonight, and Bruce had specifically mentioned the fundraiser the other day. But Bruce had ushered him back to the car in a hurry, and they had left before the fundraiser had even begun.

He had started to ask, but remembered that Bruce had said it was even more important than the dinner for the hospital. He couldn't imagine anything more important than helping the hospital. But then, Bruce did just hand that woman a check, so technically he already did help them.

It wasn't until they were pulling into the parking lot of his school that Dick realized where they were. He swung around to gape at Bruce.

"W-we're at my school," he yelped unnecessarily. Bruce obviously knew where they were since he had driven them there.

"Yes, we are. Help me look for a parking spot, would you," Bruce asked with a hint of a smile.

In a few minutes, he and Dick were following a number of other fathers and sons toward the doors of the school gymnasium. Suddenly, Dick stopped, pulling on Bruce's arm. Startled, Bruce looked down at the stricken boy.

"Dick, what's wrong, son," Bruce asked, perplexed.

Dick swallowed, glancing around nervously. "That's what's wrong," he whispered.

"I beg your pardon? I'm not certain I understand," Bruce crouched down in front of the boy.

"I-I'm not your son," he said, ducking his head.

Bruce raised his eyebrows in question. "I am aware of that," he said.

Dick bit his lips, and then looked up at Bruce miserably. Tears hovered on the child's lashes. "This is the f-father/son dinner," he explained. "You're not my father."

Bruce winced, and rubbed his hand over his face. He had screwed up again. Obviously Dick had wanted to go, but with his own father rather than his guardian. Apparently, he had been upset simply because his own father couldn't take him.

"I'm sorry, Dick. I know you miss your dad. I know that I'm a poor substitute, but I thought that maybe you might have wanted to come tonight anyway . . . with me." Bruce sighed. "I'll take you home if you like."

Dick blinked. "No! That's not it!"

Bruce hesitated, confused. "Then what is the problem?"

The boy blushed and took a step closer; until he was standing almost against Bruce's chest. "They won't let us in."

"What? Whatever gave you that idea?" Although as soon as the question left his mouth, he thought he knew the answer. Dick confirmed his suspicions a second later, and it was all he could do not to growl in anger at the cruelty of some of Dick's peers.

"Because we're not father and son. Don't you see? I'm not a son anymore," he sniffled. "I just a ward."

"Dick, you are not 'just' anything. And I am your foster father," Bruce said, using another term besides guardian. "I act in the stead of your actual father; making the same decisions for you, caring for you just as if I were really your father. While I haven't adopted you officially, I've already changed my will, making you my heir . . . Just as if you were my own son."

Dick was frowning at him now. "B-but you don't love me!"

The boy's statement was loud enough to garner a few stares of a few of the fathers and sons that were passing close by. Bruce ignored them to concentrate on the child in front of him. Bruce wasn't even sure if he were capable of love anymore, but what he felt already for this child was likely as close as he would ever come to that elusive emotion. That it easily equaled what he felt for Alfred, shocked him. It was that realization, topped off with the boy's dependence on him, that neatly tipped the scale solidly in Dick's direction, he decided.

"How do you know that," he asked the boy quietly.

Dick bit his lip. "Well . . .Y-you've never said it."

"Do you want me to love you?" Bruce wasn't sure why he asked that question, but he was suddenly anxious to hear the child's answer.

The boy's cheeks reddened again, and he looked down at his shoes as he toed the gravel. He answered hesitantly. "Y-yes?"

"Dick, look at me," Bruce commanded. "You realize that you are the most important person in my life now. That is never going to change."

Dick tilted his head as he studied the man in front of him.

"More important than Alfred," Dick's question echoing Bruce's earlier thoughts.

He pulled the boy into a fierce hug. "Even more important than Alfred," he assured him; leaning back to give him a conspiratorial wink. "But let's not tell him that, okay?"

A hesitant smile edged up the corners of his mouth for a moment, before he frowned and glanced longingly at the door to the gym.

"But will they let us in if we aren't really father and son?"

Bruce smiled, ruffling the child's hair, and then spent a moment trying to finger comb his bangs back out of his face. "I don't think that will be a problem."

He stood up and held out his hand. Dick took it, watching as his smaller hand literally disappeared inside Bruce's larger one; only his fingertips peeked out one side. Dick's heart pounded nervously as they neared the gymnasium doors.

Mrs. Simmons and a few other teachers, and Mr. Hammond, the principal, stood greeting the students and their fathers as they entered.

Mr. Hammond smiled broadly at Dick, and held out his hand to Bruce. "Richard, I'm so glad you could make it. It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Wayne! Welcome!"

"I couldn't think of any other place I would rather be tonight, Mr. Hammond, thank you," Bruce told the man. He was a little surprised to discover that he was being completely honest. This was far better than the stuffy fundraiser would have been.

He glanced down at the boy beside him to find Dick smiling so wide that he wondered if the boy's face might crack. The child's eyes practically sparkled with happiness, and as soon as he had greeted his teacher, the boy was dragging him over to one of the tables by the hand; a skip in his step back after it had been missing for an entire week.

Bruce noticed the startled faces of three boys at one of the tables they passed. Dick's smile turned decidedly smug for a minute, but then he returned his focus to Bruce as he began talking excitedly. An entire week's worth of news, ideas, and revelations that had been building up came pouring out all at once.

As Bruce squeezed his large frame onto the cafeteria table's bench; dizzy with the lively, non-stop chatter coming from beside him, he realized that he wouldn't willingly trade that moment for anything else in the entire world.

REACTIONS?

This story covers the events that lead Bruce to discover that Dick is more to him than just a ward, and moves Bruce out of the role of guardian and firmly into the position of parent. He discovers however, that parenthood is turning out to be a lot more hand-on than he had expected.

I find how children's minds work to be fascinating, and this is a great reminder how the things we do and say can be so easily misinterpreted by a child; even by one as precocious and intelligent as Dick.

Don't forget to tell me what you think!