Slowly, stiffly, Dick started waking up... confused at the fact that he didn't recall going to sleep. Feeling groggy, he immediately noticed a terrible headache, being nauseous, and..his wrists handcuffed behind him.

Images suddenly came back to him - a U.S. mail truck, two guys, him fighting back and almost getting away... until a third came up behind him; he had tried to fight him off, but then there was a cloth over his face...sickeningly sweet, don't breathe he remembered thinking...chloroform.

He kept his eyes clothes and head lolling forward, chin touching his chest. Gather your thoughts - were they supervillain goons? No, none of the signs were there. Were people around when he was kidnapped? Yes...he remembers screaming and other noise as he had blacked out. So the police, media, and Bruce had to know, which means they were just waiting for the ransom demand. Take stock of the situation...he was sitting in a wooden chair, legs unrestrained, wrists handcuffed behind him to the back of the chair. The room was dark, cold, damp, smelled of mildew...cell phone was gone, but not utility belt. There were sounds of movement around him, his kidnappers presumably. Then there was the voices of his kidnappers...

"For weighing nothing the brat sure kicks hard. Think he broke my rib." one of them growled in a rough voice.

With his bangs hiding his face, he smirked at this.

"Well he got me in the nuts, and I'm still struggling to walk, so shut up." a second voice said, a little higher in pitch.

It took every once of self control for Dick to not laugh at the guy's comment.

"Would you two stop complaining? It's not like he broke your nose." a third one said in a nasally, congested voice. "I've just about got the camera ready, so as soon as he wakes up we'll make the ransom demand."

A camera? So they were going to broadcast it.

Shit.

He couldn't start getting the lock pick out of his utility belt until he 'woke up', and started making a distraction, via his motormouth.

So get your game-face on Grayson. This ain't your first rodeo.

He started to 'regain consciousness', moaning a bit, which he definitely didn't have to fake. He wasn't exactly feeling the aster.

"Okay, now." one of the guys said; it was time to activate the camera. Dick decided to go for semi-consciousness while the camera was on.

The meanest looking guy, with the broken rib, started speaking. "If you are watching this Mister Wayne, you know what we want, and what we will do if we don't get it; 10 million dollars, set to be delivered into the bank account number sent to your Wayne Enterprise office. Do not try and track this signal, or track us through how we delivered the account number; both are dead ends. Please take note of our choice of words, and bear in mind what will happen to Richard Grayson if our demands aren't met."

Dick had raised his head a little as he heard footsteps coming towards him. He braced himself for what was coming; not a moment later he was viciously backhanded, and couldn't help but let out a small "Ngh!" from the blow.

"Alright, end it." the kidnapper with the broken rib told the others, indicating for them to stop the camera.

Dick spat out the blood and spit that had gathered in his mouth from the backhand.

"Things aren't looking too good for you, kid." Nailed-in-the-nuts told him from the other side of the room.

"Maybe not, but I'm still lookin better than you three clowns. At least I've got that going for me." Dick replied, smirking. "Aw and hey man, no hard feelings right? Unless you were planning on having kids, but I wouldn't recommend it. There are enough kids with daddy-issues as it is; why add to the problem."

Dick threw a glance at Busted-rib. "That rib must be a bitch right now," he remarked, and then referred to the nasally dude with the broken nose, and therefore, black eyes, "Nasonex the raccoon over there seems to be looking better than all of you right now, and you know things are bad when it comes to that."

"Go to hell kid." Nailed-in-the-nuts told him, to which Dick immediately replied, "Um, no actually, I can't go to hell, you see Lucifer still has a restraining order on me."

"I believe it." Nasonex the raccoon muttered.

Since he had first started antagonizing his kidnappers, Dick had slowly and carefully been working on getting his lock pick out of the utility belt.

"Oh, a side note" Dick commented, shifting in his seat 'uncomfortably', but really trying to get into his utility belt, "You guys used way too much chloroform, which can be deadly. Hostages are no good dead."

Upon receiving no reply to this, Dick kept talking. He had to cover up the 'click' sound of the utility belt.

"I'm thinking of a number between one and a hundred, and it's the number of minutes it will take before the cops get here, and then you guys are screwed. What number is it."

"F*** you kid."

"This interior decorating sucks, and it's like, freezing down here." Dick complained, then under his breath starting singing '99 bottles of pop on the wall'.

"Will somebody just knock the kid out so he'll shut up!?" Busted-rib yelled, giving his hostage a furious look.

"Well no need to be rude about it, all you had to do was ask." Dick snapped at him, acting offended.

There was silence for several minutes, the only sounds being the kidnappers' feet on the floor as they shifted their weight or moved, and the creaking of the chair as Dick shifted in it. The whole time, Dick had noted everything he possibly could about everything around him, observing, taking everything in. A smirk eventually formed on his face.

"What are you smirking at, brat." Nasonex-the-raccoon snidely asked.

"Oh nothing was just thinking." Dick lightly replied, but then continued. "Did you know, growing up, I had a pet tiger? And the escape artist, magician, tightrope walker, stuntman, and the knife thrower taught me everything they knew by the time I was 8, and as formerly part of the greatest acrobatic group in the world, that means I'm also a contortionist. Course I live with Bruce now, and after the 5th kidnapping, Bruce had some of the best specialists in the world train me in vigorous mental exercises that would help me in these type of situations, which is why I know that you 3 are partners of about 2 years maximum, operating on a shoe string budget, and not carrying out orders given to you by a higher up, but you're actually trying to get money to pay off a drug deal that you got way too deep into."

The kidnappers were giving him looks of either deepest loathing, shock, or both. Dick continued. "Nasonex the raccoon was in the army, Busted-rib over there is a small time bookie, and Nailed-in-the-nuts is an ex con, but none of you want a murder rap, so most likely won't kill me, but you are willing to hurt me to 'make a point'. I can also tell you that this building has been abandoned for at least 7 years, probably didn't pass the new building code put out after the Carson Ave fires, so that sounds about right. The chill and slight smell of pond suggest we are on the harbor, probably between Docks 17 and 24 going by the lack of noise from traffic or people. Hm, terrible draft and no windows, must be in basement."

He was now being looked at with rage, at having found out so much. "Don't be a smart ass kid." Busted-rib told him in disgust.

The whole time he was 'sherlocking' them, he had finally gotten his hands on the pick, and was a second from having the cuffs off.

"You know, out of 17 kidnappings I've gotten out of 10 of them by myself." Dick informed them. A smirk then formed on his face. "You people need to stop underestimating me."

In the next instant he was out of his chair, tossed it at Nasonex-the-raccoon, and flipped over Busted-rib, making a break towards the door. Nailed-in-the-nuts knocked over the table with the camera on it as he hopped up to try and grab the kid.

Dick had reached the door, but it was locked, and there wasn't enough time to pick the lock; the key was somewhere in the room, he just had to find it. But before he could do that, he had to get through the three jokers.

One of them grabbed his arm, but he contorted himself in a way that allowed him to slip right out of the grip.

"Kid's a f***ing rubber band -"

"Knock 'im out!" Nasonex-the-raccoon exclaimed; every time they tried to punch the kid, all they met was empty air, and he somehow managed to kick them instead.

"Ah, my rib!" Busted-rib shouted as Dick landed another blow, but the tables suddenly turned...

"Dammit, let go of me!" Dick yelled as he lost the upper hand,

"Don't kill him, we need him alive for the money! Let go of his throat!"

"Ghn - he head-butted me! Gonna kill you kid!" Nailed-in the-nuts shouted as he lost his hold on the brat,

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that what you were trying to do 3 seconds ago?" Dick gasped, staying out of his captors' reach.

It took a serious effort and several more minutes, but Dick eventually had two of them handcuffed around a pipe, one on each side of it, and the other one unconscious.

He surveyed his handiwork, and addressing the two who were cuffed, he made the remark, "And it's a win for the circus freak."

There was an old desk in the corner, which he started going through. "Come on, gimme the key, a phone, something!" me muttered to himself. Upon finding nothing, he figured both items were on one of the conscious former captors, since he already searched the pockets of the unconscious one.

"Fine!" he exclaimed, talking to himself and extremely aggravated, "I'll just pick the lock then find an old car to hotwire."

"The gypsy can pick a lock, why am I not surprised" Busted-rib sneered, his lip bleeding.

Dick whipped around, glaring at him. "Yes, I CAN, because I lived in circus and my surrogate Aunt was an escape artist who taught me all her tricks when I was bored, and as surprising as this may be to you, being an escape artist means you can open a frickin lock without the damned key!" he furiously yelled as his temper rose.

The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, and he was starting to feel horrible again, with the after effects from the chloroform, plus the knocks he got during the fight. "Idiots used WAY too much chloroform." he complained under his breath, heading towards the door again.

Walking past the overturned table and camera, he saw a small, red light below the lens...indicating that the blasted thing was on. It had been pointed towards the ceiling since it was knocked over.

"Morons!" he spat, disgusted that the entire incident had accidentally been recorded, even if the latter part was only audio. With a kick, he shattered the device. Nothing it could do for him anyway.

5 minutes later the police, medical crew, media, and Bruce had all arrived, thanks to the camera being on the whole time, which Dick was still ticked off about.

With a bloody temple, cut lip, bruises on the neck, and angry red welts around his wrists, the 13 year old brushed off the medics, ignored the reporters, pushed past the police, and comforted himself with the presence of Bruce, who was the only anchor he had in this sea of chaos.

Sitting on the bumper of the ambulance while Bruce cleaned his cuts, Dick was able to stop 'acting' and allowed a moment to 'react'.

These things had a way of not sinking in all the way until it was over, and all Dick could do was try and ground himself while things still seemed to be going nuts around him.

He was weary. Exhausted. Wrung out.

Bruce held an ice pack to the bruising on his neck.

He was safe.

I think this is one of my favorite stories that I've written so far. I dunno. Wrote half of it on my phone at midnight, these things are just spontaneous, haha

Anyway, shoutout namelessandgameless; I found your review to be wonderful. I love the things that bring a person back to their childhood; for me it's classic rock, thunder storms, Disney movies, bonfires, and tire swings. Miss being a kid.

Next update will be the YJWYJ fic, cheers :)

As they say in rummy,

"I'm out."

(except I suck at rummy and never get to say it.)