A/N: References to Batman Court of Owls and Nightwing: Trap and Trapezes along with other Batman comics and Batman sources before the New 52.

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Memories

By AJ

Part 1

Memories are an interesting thing, linear, but fluid. They can flow like water or get stuck like mud. They can be clear as crystal or dark and opaque as an underground cave. They can be lighthearted and bright or oppressive and heavy. They can be good or bad, they can be brand new and as ancient as time. Yes, memories are a part of our existence in the world. It is often how we define who we are. When those memories are gone, we lose a part of ourselves.

A young man wandered the city in a daze of confusion. Where was he? This wasn't his home. His home was back with . . . no they were dead. He saw them fall. Tears fell freely remembering the terrible and frightened look on their faces and the sound when they hit the surface below. The anguish in his heart was unbearable. Images unbridled came to him, but they were confusing. He saw the images of a man in a mask, his eyes at times hard and unyielding, at other times haunted, a reflection of his own pain. He seemed to know those eyes, but the name escaped him. He didn't know where he was and how he got there. All he could remember was the night his parents died. His knees buckled and his back slid along the wall he fell against. A sudden hiss and hitch in the sound of his voice showed there was much more than just emotional pain he was feeling. There was physical pain as well. He pulled up his knees and crossed his arms, resting them on top, his head buried. His body shook with raw emotion; despair filling him so completely he didn't know anything more. He softly cried for help, but he didn't know if anyone would hear him.

/

Clark Kent was late for work. Perry wasn't going to be pleased. Walking toward the Daily Planet, Clark's unique hearing picked up on the sobs and despairing sounds what sounded like a child in desperate need. The person was also calling for help. Clark pinpointed the sound. It was several blocks away, farther than any normal person could hear. He followed the sound until he found a person sitting on the sidewalk, his face buried in his arms with his knees drawn up. Clark observed that the young man's clothing was tattered and torn, and there appeared to be dark stains on the fabric. The man's jacket covered the rest.

"Are you all right?" Clark asked. "Can I help you?"

The young man lifted his head and Clark recognized him despite the tears streaming down the young man's contorted face.

"No one can help me. They're dead."

"Who's dead?"

"My Mom and D-Dad," the young man continues to sob.

Clark was puzzled. The young man was acting as if the incident had only happened moments ago when in fact . . . "Is there something I can do?"

"I don't know where I am," the young man wailed. "I'm . . . lost. I want . . . Poppy."

Poppy? Who was Poppy? Looking at the young man, Clark had a far better idea. He knew whom to call, but he didn't know if he could risk it right here. The young man seemed in a very bad way. He didn't know how he got here. There was nothing on the news wire if him being missing.

'He usually tries to keep things like that private so as not to alert others of that fact. That might cause chaos among those he doesn't want to know'

Clark could easily lift the young man, but he pretended to strain at the weight. "I'll help you. I'll take you to a place where you can rest. And I'll let your folks know."

"But . . . I don't have anyone else," the young man said. "No, that's not true." The young man's face screwed up. He said in a child-like voice and his brow knitted together as if he was concentrating. "I see a face . . . B . . . Br . . . Bruce?"

"Bruce?"

"My guardian. Yeah, that's it . . . He took me in . . . just a few days ago. Oh boy he's going to be mad."

"What's your name?" Though Clark knew, he wanted to see if this young man knew. Something wasn't right.

"Dick . . . Um . . . Dick Gr . . . Gr . . ." The young man shook his head. "Gray . . . Grayson."

"How old are you, Dick?" Clark said.

"Ten." Answered Dick.

'Oh boy,' thought Clark. "Don't worry, I'll let Bruce know, you're here. What makes you think he'll be mad? Did you run away?"

"No . . . I . . . don't know. I don't remember," Dick started crying again.

"Easy now. It's going to be okay. We'll get you back home. I'll take you to my place and then I'll call Bruce."

"Who . . . who are you?" Dick asked.

"Oh sorry. I'm Clark Kent. I'm a friend of your guardian, Bruce Wayne. It's a good thing I found you instead of someone else."

Clark called a cab and both of them went to Clark's apartment. Clark guided the young man to sit down. The young man's eyes were wide like a child's, which disturbed Clark greatly. Dick Grayson had been to his apartment a dozen times, visiting Metropolis with Bruce whenever they had business to conduct, but this, the way Dick was behaving worried him.

"Why don't you lay down and I'll call Mr. Wayne."

Dick Grayson did as Clark suggested. He was soon asleep from the emotional turmoil his mind was under. His thoughts were about Bruce, sure that he would be mad at him, a child's worry, not the worry of a full grown man.

Clark waited until Dick was fully asleep. He first called the Planet and told them he was sick and would probably not be in for several days. That at least would give him time to investigate on what was going on. Dick had ended up on the streets of Metropolis, believing he was that 10-year-old who lost his parents. How he had ended up that way was a mystery worthy of someone else that he knew, but he would have to tread lightly. He would demand more than he could tell him. This was a territory he certainly was not familiar with and he was going to need all the help he could get.

/

Bruce was beside himself. His and Dick's relationship was still somewhat stained after their last fight. No, the last truth they both faced, Dick had been right, his words hitting the mark like an arrow piercing his soul. And like a fool, he struck out. He never was good at apologizing. Then Nightwing was being accused of murder. It was a turning point in their lives they were forced to face. Then this business with the computer components being stolen had thrown another wrench in their lives. And now it had been weeks since Dick had disappeared. Both him and Tim searched through Gotham, Bludhaven, and even going to Jersey City, but there was no trace of his son.

Damian was fit to be tied. The rage that 11-year-old felt was barely kept in check. It concerned the boy's father greatly. He threatened to go to Wayne Tech and tear the place apart looking for his big brother. Bruce had to smile at his son's way with words, but he also had to remind Damian that no one at Wayne Tech would know about Dick being taken. And with the passing weeks, Damian brooded even more, becoming silent and refusing to come out of his room or go to school. It was all they could do to get him to even eat, let alone sleep. Damian was just a reflection of their frustration and worried emotions.

Jason Todd, the some time anti-hero, some time mob boss, reveled in the fact that the Bat was showing some emotion at the loss of one if his precious sons, but at the same time, the jealousy that he felt for Dick Grayson ruled its ugly head. Secretly, he hoped that the "Golden Boy" would never be found, so he could swoop in and take his place once more, but then he remembered the times when Dick would be there for him. 'I should be blaming Ra's al Ghul for this, but he's probably not the one involved. Neither am I. If Golden Boy's dead, I'll probably get blamed for it. Maybe I better start hoping Bruce finds him.'

Bruce and Tim Drake continued to search for Dick, but there was no trace of his eldest missing son. There was one thing he could take comfort in at least. No one had reported on finding a body fitting his description. That meant Dick was still alive, but Bruce didn't know where, and as time slipped further away from Dick's initial disappearance. The likely chance of finding him even alive was becoming more remote. He did not want to have to declare his eldest son dead, but it was looking bleak as time passed.

Where could Dick be? He had gone to Wayne Tech's manufacturing plant to investigate about stolen computer components. He managed to place tracking devices in some of the boxes. They were able to catch all but one of the thieves. It turned out the thieves were not the ones behind the caper. They had been working for someone else, and had refused to reveal whom that person was, and Dick had disappeared at the same time, going after the remaining thief. Where could he be? Had he been taken out of the country far from their reach? He had hoped that Dick could have somehow found a way to let them know that he was in danger, but no signal had come. The tracking device that Dick had placed in his belt was found along the docks along the Jersey shore.

"Anything Tim?"

"No, Bruce. I've been checking and rechecking. There hasn't been anything on the airways or whispers from the underworld."

"Master Bruce," Alfred approached. "Master Clark Kent is on the phone. He wishes to speak with you."

"Not now, Alfred."

"I believe you will want to take this call."

"Alfred . . ."

The look in Alfred's face broached no argument.

"Very well," Bruce relented. He walked over to the desk and picked up the phone, pressing the line that connected to the Wayne Manor line. "Bruce here, what is it Clark? If you're looking for a scoop or interview for the Daily Planet . . ."

"That's not why I'm calling," Clark interrupted, his voice very serious.

"Why are you?"

"I've found him, but there's something you should know."

Bruce's heart skipped when Clark said those first words, then it dropped like a stone and his face paled when he heard the rest of what Clark was telling him. "I'll be there within the next few hours." He hung up the phone, letting the emotions he felt wash through him. "Alfred, call the airport and have a jet standing by. And call Leslie. We may need her services."

"Sir?"

"Clark found Dick. I'm going to bring him home."

Continues with Part 2