"Do you feel better now, Bruce?" Dick asked after they'd seen Superman out through the Zeta tube.

"…Yeah, kiddo," he nodded slowly. "I do." A small hand tucked itself into his as they made their way to the stairs.

"Yay," he said happily as they climbed. "Sawbones is in jail, you've got a brain shield in case he ever gets out somehow, and you and Superman are friends again. I think that means it was a pretty good break, don't you?"

It would have been preferable if Sawyer hadn't been involved, you hadn't been hurt, and I had been…well…less of an idiot, but…at least all of that is fixed now, like you said. "I agree."

"…I just wish we could do something about the guards," the boy lamented. "…Do you think that we can?"

"Well…" Bruce considered. I could hypothetically get the shield serum to Woodward. The question is, would he actually administer it to the others that Sawyer mind-controlled? Even if he did, I can't imagine him letting them go, or even just sending them to trial, without trying to find out what they know about Sawyer. If he probes too deeply like he nearly did with Reznik, he will end up killing one or more of them. There's no way for us to find out how to get around the memory blocks, not without Sawyer fessing up or us finding an answer in his lab. Which he blew up. Christ. "…Did you find any good leads when you were researching potential sites for the remains of his lab?"

"No. He's…he's really good at hiding things. I mean, Batman's really good at that, too, but Sawbones…it's like his superpower."

"Let's just hope he doesn't decide to chemically enhance himself while he's in prison," the billionaire said. Because that's what the world needs; a genius chemist with a penchant for mind control and putting things where no one can find them making himself into a metahuman. He shuddered slightly. "We'll keep looking for his lab. Maybe he had a second site; we'll look for that, too. To be honest, though, Dicky…he hid himself and his work for five years, and it wasn't just me looking. The Feds had a team assigned to monitor for any sign of him, too. For a while, even NATO had someone keeping tabs on the situation; you don't just shrug and move on to other things when a man like Daniel Sawyer vanishes into thin air. I don't really think we're likely to find it, if it even exists."

"…So the guards are just stuck like that?"

"Unless we figure out how to get around the memory blocks, we'd be putting their lives in danger by making them able to communicate in any way," he sighed. "I'm not happy with it, but I'd be less happy if we freed them and Woodward killed them all trying to find answers."

"But that's no life, Bruce. They're breathing, but they aren't really living. Are they?"

"I don't know, kiddo. But at least this way they have a chance at life again someday, if we ever manage to find the solution or if they get passed back into the civilian world where it's safe to try and wake them up without worrying about agents swarming in and asking all the wrong questions." He glanced down and saw sadness writ large on his son's expression. "…I'll talk it over with Superman, how about that? He's a lot more, uh, accepted by the bureaucracy than Batman is. Maybe he knows somebody who can leash Woodward and make sure that the guards won't be interrogated to death if they come out of their stupors. If nothing else, he should be able to get them to agree to give the others the shield serum."

"Okay," he nodded, somewhat placated by the knowledge that they were going to continue trying to give the other mind-controlled men their lives back. "…Can we go on patrol tonight?" he shifted topics. "It's Saturday."

"We can, but," he stressed, "it will be a short one for you. You have school on Monday, remember? We need to get your sleep pattern back to normal. Well…Robin-normal."

"…Stupid old school," he grumbled.

"Gotham Academy starts a little later in the day," Bruce conceded. "maybe once you're settled in there we can stay out longer on patrols."

"Really?!"

"We'll see." But, as you noted earlier, that probably means yes.

They gained the top of the stairs and stood for a moment. "Dinner was fun. It was cool how interested Clark was in hearing about our tour of R&D. I thought he might get bored, but he didn't."

"He…takes an interest in you."

"…You don't still dislike that, do you?" he frowned.

"Dick, I'm always going to be a little jealous of how friendly you and he are. You're both fairly open people, and that's something I'll never be."

"Except for with me, right?" the boy asked cautiously.

"Except for with you," he smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "I don't understand how you can just share so much of yourselves with others at the drop of a hat. But I know he cares about you, and…he's not a bad ally to have sometimes," he admitted.

"…Does that mean you're going to let him borrow me, like he mentioned?"

"If you're comfortable with it, I'm willing to consider the specifics of whatever plan he comes up with."

"Awesome! And…well, maybe next time you and Barry have a civilian day you should invite Clark, too. I mean, I know he doesn't have a kid, but…I think not being included kind of really hurt his feelings," he informed him with wide, serious eyes.

Bruce sighed. "Believe it or not, Dick, I actually didn't exclude him on purpose. The only reason things happened the way they did today was because Barry kind of forced it, at least initially. I wanted him to just drop Wally off, but he insisted on staying in case he was needed. I was off-kilter enough just having him upstairs and trying to be myself; the last thing I needed was for the issues I had with Clark to be present at the same time."

"I guess I can see that. But next time should be better. You have lots of practice being yourself with Clark, and plus it's easier with Barry now, too, right?"

"Yes, it is." He'd been surprised at how quickly his reserves had fallen with the speedster, but chalked it up to their shared experiences with sudden parenthood. And for all that Batman tends to scowl at Flash's jokes, he confessed to himself, I usually end up laughing at them once I'm home. That probably didn't hurt the transition any. "It's not a bad suggestion. I'll keep it in mind, okay?"

"Okay," he grinned. "…I wonder if Alfred had time to make cookies today?"

"We just ate. Is Wally's appetite rubbing off on you?" Bruce teased.

"Nope. I just like cookies."

"I can't really blame you for that, but why don't we wait until after patrol in any case?"

"Then can we watch a movie instead?"

"I have some paperwork…" He looked down to find a pout in full display, and groaned. "Oh, fine. You win. It has to be kind of short, though, if you want to patrol. What did you have in mind?"

"Toy Story."

Of course, you devious little… "You're going to really pound this jealousy thing into my skull, aren't you?"

"Well, you kind of made it necessary, Bruce. Besides, the movie's only eighty minutes. And I happen to like it."

"All right, but no more beating this particular dead horse, okay? I get it."

"…Eww. Why'd you have to bring dead animals into it? I hate that expression."

"I didn't know that."

"It's okay." He was quiet as they walked into the den. "…You know, it would be a lot easier if you could just be even, like, a quarter as open with other people as you are with me."

"I've never been able to manage it, chum," he confessed as he loaded the disc. "I can fake it – you've seen me do that plenty – but it's not something the real me can do with most people."

"Yeah," the boy nodded. "But…I guess that's okay. This way I get to be, like, your special secret-keeper. And I like that job."

"Good," Bruce said, sitting down beside him as the menu screen came up. "I'm glad you do. Now, come here," he gestured, draping his arm around the boy when he curled against him. Clark got it wrong, he thought as Dick sighed happily. I'm not just a very lucky man, I may well be the luckiest man. He released an exhalation identical to his son's. I just hope like hell that it lasts.

The rest of Saturday and the whole of Sunday passed in a pleasure-filled blur for Dick. Patrol, a dreamless sleep, and one of Alfred's famous brunches preceded a final winter break sledding expedition to the north hill and several hours of intense training in the cave. Bruce showed him a few new moves, coached him through them at least a dozen times each, then released him to his own devices on the bars until bed. By the time he dozed off, securely tucked beneath his covers and with his guardian's goodnight kiss fresh against his scalp, he'd all but forgotten that he had to return to school the next morning.

Alfred, unfortunately, was unaware of his blissful state, and woke him the next morning with a reminder of exactly that. "Come, Master Dick, you'll have to hurry your breakfast if you stay abed any longer."

Oh, no. School. I forgot. Regardless of the fact that Ricky wasn't allowed back until the next day, he still dreaded it. The other kids will say mean things even if he's not there, he knew. Being shot and sick was better than dealing with that, except that it made Bruce worry so much… "I don't feel good," he announced. "I mean, I'm not like sick sick, but…I don't think I should go to school today. I might give it to the other kids, and that would just be mean."

The butler's eyes softened as he perched on the edge of the mattress. I know better than that, dear child, he thought, but I'll play along, because I also know why you're trying to pull this little trick. Placing a hand on his forehead, he frowned slightly. "I'm afraid your temperature isn't up, young sir. What are your symptoms?"

"Um…my head hurts. And my stomach. I feel a little nauseous." It wasn't a lie; thinking about the day in store was enough to make him feel physically ill.

"Hmm…That is a shame. I had made strawberry waffles for you, but if you're unable to eat them, I'll just have to throw them away," he shook his head. "It's unfortunate, really; this batch of strawberries was likely the last really fresh ones I'll be able to get for a few months."

The boy looked away.

"Master Dick," Alfred said gently. "Please don't insult my intelligence, or your own. We both know that you are perfectly healthy this morning. A bit nervous, I'm sure," he smiled understandingly, "but healthy nonetheless. I wish I could do something more to help, but I have no good cause to keep you home today, and I don't imagine that will change tomorrow or the next day, either." He patted his arm, then stood. "If you would like to get up in the next five minutes," he added, "Master Wayne has not yet left for work. He is getting close to that point, however, so I advise that you hurry if you wish to see him off. I will keep your waffles warm in the kitchen in case your stomach happens to settle before we have to go." With that, he left, leaving the door open as an indicator that falling back asleep was not an option.

Despite his hesitations, the day was less miserable than he'd expected. Bruce gave him an extra-tight hug before he walked out the door and reminded him that he had just a few more days, and those two factors helped push him through the remarks and dirty looks some of the other children did, indeed, throw at him. The low point came at the very end of school, when one of Ricky Van Cleave's minions approached him as he pulled on his coat. "Hey, freak," he nudged him roughly. "Don't forget who comes back tomorrow, huh? Your ass is grass, boy toy."

He could have told the teacher about the other child's offensive language. He thought about just punching him, especially when he focused on the final two words that had been spat at him. But instead of doing either of those things he took a slow, deep breath, turned, and fixed the bully with the closest thing to a Batglare he could manage.

Blanching, Van Cleave's crony stumbled backwards, banging into a desk. A second later he pushed past it, all but knocking the table over, and walked swiftly to the door, glancing back over his shoulder the entire way.

Whoa, Dick thought in shock. I knew it was effective, but…just whoa. And I probably didn't even do it very well; it's not like I've practiced or anything. He paused. Maybe I should practice it…

He was doing exactly that later in the evening when Bruce came up to get him for dinner. "…Chum?" he pushed the door open, catching him glowering at himself in the mirror. "Dick, what are you doing?" That's a nasty look to be giving yourself. His forehead creased. I hope this isn't the start of a body image problem. You're kind of young, but then again people with your skill set are promoted as looking a certain way, and you're getting to an age where the natural tininess you possess may not hold. …Anything would be preferable to that, really. You eat little enough as it is sometimes.

"Huh?" he looked up, then blushed when he realized he'd been caught. "Oh. I was just…um…"

"'Um' what, kiddo?" he asked, stepping closer.

"I was practicing my glare," he mumbled an admission.

"…Huh?" Bruce echoed.

"Well…Ricky comes back to school tomorrow. And today one of his friends was being mean to me, and I didn't really mean to do it, but…I glared at him. I thought of how the parts of you I can see when you're giving someone a Batglare look, and I tried to copy it. It worked," he shrugged. "So I figured I should practice, and maybe if Ricky tries anything I can…you know…scare him off. You're…you're not upset, are you? I mean, I know it's kind of your signature thing, but…"

Bruce chuckled, delighted. "Dick, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I don't mind. Especially if you're going to use it against that little bastard." He immediately glanced over his shoulder. "Don't repeat that," he added, low.

"I won't. So…I can borrow it? The glare, I mean?"

"Of course you can. You've got a pretty good start on it, from what I saw."

"…Think it's good enough to work?"

"I wouldn't throw it at a hardened criminal just yet, but a pampered little prick like Van Cleave will probably faint," he snickered. "…Don't repeat that one, either."

"Sure," he giggled back.

Armed with a few pointers from his guardian on producing a really baleful sneer to go along with his stare of doom, Dick barely even quailed at the thought of going to school the next morning. His step faltered only slightly as he entered his classroom and actually caught sight of the hulking pre-teen, but he steeled himself and made his way to his desk as if he hadn't even noticed his presence. Ricky kept his distance, but he knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security. There's still one day left, and as stupid as he is, he knows that. He was whispering with some of the other boys at lunchtime today – I'll bet they were making plans for tomorrow. That's fine, he thought. It just means I have another night to practice.

Wednesday morning, the entire class could feel the tension in the room building as the clock crawled towards recess. Even the teacher seemed to catch that something was off, and kept giving her students strange looks as if she knew they were up to something but couldn't quite figure out what. When the lunch bell rang, Dick wasted no time, skipping the lines for food entirely and heading straight out onto the playground.

He'd planned for this the night before, and decided that he would be best served by starting with his back literally against a wall. He can't sneak around me that way, he'd reasoned, absolutely certain that Ricky Van Cleave would have absolutely no qualms with trying to take him down from behind. Plus, maybe feeling cornered will help me channel Robin if I get scared. If it works against the dark, it should work against a bully, too. I'll just have to keep better control this time, so I don't hit him…

He hadn't been nestled in a corner of the building for very long when, just as he'd suspected, his torturer and five of his supporters swelled out of the cafeteria doors. One of them spotted him immediately, and the entire group turned and made their way over. As they drew to within a few feet, though, Dick had to grin; the walls were close enough that they could only stand three abreast as they faced him, leaving half of their group to stand on tiptoes as they tried to see over the vanguard.

"D'you have a good break, circus freak?" the first charge was sounded.

"Yup," he answered shortly, making it clear that he wasn't interested in playing games.

"Oh, yeah? That so-called guardian of yours really gave it you hard, huh? Like what, two, three times a day? Little bitch, I'll bet you loved it." His followers tittered nervously.

"I'm warning you, Van Cleave," he said evenly. "Stop this now." He hadn't planned on giving him a chance to quit, but after an hour in front of his mirror the night before he'd managed to make himself jump, so he figured it was only fair. After all, he has no idea what's coming if he doesn't.

"Like hell. You need to know what a junk-ass little freak you are, and I'm gonna make sure you go to that queer academy across town with a few marks to remind you for when I'm not around."

"…Think you can actually manage to hit me this time?" he taunted slightly. You're playing with fire, he heard Bruce's voice in his head. Remember, he's got back-up. Don't get overconfident.

"Shouldn't be hard. You're surrounded. But," he went on, eyes dancing with what he was about to say, "I have a question before we put you in the hospital."

Where does he get this stuff, wrestling? Seriously, Ricky, are you capable of original thought? Because I have to admit, I really doubt it. "Well, I'm a captive audience."

"…Huh?"

He snorted disdainfully. Of course you wouldn't get that. "Ask your question."

"Oh. Well, I heard that Batman framed that Zucco guy. I heard," he leaned in, "that the circus director paid him off to do it because it was you who killed all those other freaks. So I was wondering…what's it feel like to kill your own parents? Sure, they were gypsy scum just like you, but still…do you dream about it? Do you still hear them scream? I heard that they screamed right before they hit the ground," he informed his cohorts.

He had a clear shot – several, in fact – and he felt all of his muscles contract in preparation. No, he stopped himself just in time. He's not worth it. You can still get him without breaking any of the rules. Do it that way. It will stay with him longer, and it won't make him a martyr. More importantly, it won't be anything Bruce can be upset about. Decision made, he smirked, showing just the barest hint of teeth as his eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't hear their screams anymore," he lied, speaking as low as he could. "I only hear yours."

"…What the hell is that supposed to mean, traveling trash?" the ringleader asked, shifting slightly as the glare focused on his face.

You know what, Ricky? Fine. You want to tease me for being part Rom? I think I know a way to make you regret the day you first heard the word 'gypsy.' "Heh. I should have known you were too stupid to think about gypsy curses before you decided to make me your target." A couple of the assembled gang gasped audibly at that. Someone swore.

"…He's bluffing," Van Cleave announced with only a mild tremor in his voice. "If he could really do that, he would have done it last time."

Dick had to admit that that was a more intelligent response than he'd thought the boy in front of him capable of. "No," he shook his head, keeping his expression steady. "You see, I was waiting for you to say the magic words." Extending a hand, he leaned slowly forward, splaying his fingers upwards towards the taller child's face and making as if to touch him.

Ricky fell back a step, eyes wide. His minions rushed to huddle behind him, whispering and gawking in terror.

"What's the matter, Van Cleave?" he laughed gleefully. "Scared?"

The bully swallowed hard, his father's voice echoing in his head. 'No son of mine backs down from a fight. You ever run away from someone out of fear, Ricky, and I swear to god I'll disown you quicker than you can say pansy.' It was practically a lullabye in their house, and as much as he wanted to flee, the power the elder Van Cleave still held in his mind prevented it. Someone will tell, he cast a glance around his assembly. They're all rats, someone will tell on me, and he'll find out. I'm not s-scared, he felt his breaths to come harder and faster. You can't call me that, you skinny little billionaire's bed toy. I'm not scared. I'm not- His emotions sufficiently befuddled, he lashed out, lunging forward and throwing a punch intended to cause as much damage as possible.

Dick knew immediately that the result he'd hoped for – just run away, Ricky, run away and cry, bring down that abusive legend you've built up among these other kids – wasn't going to happen. He watched his opponent's face morph from fear, to terror, to determination, and then to rage. Oh. So that was too far. Oops. A fist was raised, then swung. Way too slow, dude, he sighed, dropping into a crouch with plenty of time to spare. I'm sorry about your arm, though. I mean, I was standing against a wall, and-

The crunch and immediate howl that issued as the older boy's hand slammed into the bricks told him that the threat was neutralized. As Van Cleave fell to the snow, wailing and clutching his shattered arm, his compatriots backed away, all staring at Dick as he regained his full height. After a stunned second, one ran off, the others following without hesitation as two teachers hustled over.

"Oh, my god, what happened?" the first adult to arrive inquired as he bent over the injured child.

Dick looked the other straight in the eye and told the truth. "He tried to punch me again," he spoke over his classmate's shrieks. "I ducked, and he hit the wall." He pointed to a small amount of blood that marked where the fist had connected. "See?"

"…Come with me," the instructor jerked his head. The boy followed him silently past the swiftly gathering crowds of students, hearing his name more than once in the flurry of gossip that was already spreading through them. The halls were blissfully quiet, insulated from the bully's ululations and the rumors of the other children. He was completely unsurprised when he was led to the principal's office and ordered to sit down and wait.

Ten minutes passed before anyone came, and in the interim he felt some of his courage drain back down into the well he'd drawn it up from. When the door finally opened, he jumped slightly, gulping.

"…Well, Richard?" the headmaster asked once he'd seated himself behind his desk.

"…Mr. Froelich, I never touched him. I swear, I didn't lay a hand on him." I sure threatened to, though, he grinned internally. Thank you, Hollywood, for perpetuating a bad stereotype. It served me well today.

"Ricky Van Cleave is on the way to the hospital in an ambulance. He appears to have a fractured wrist, several broken bones in his hand, and severely abraded knuckles. Can you explain that?"

"It's like I said outside, sir. He tried to punch me again, so I ducked." He shrugged. "His hand hit the wall. I think he left blood on it, actually."

"So you feel no remorse for his injuries?"

"…I didn't make him hit the wall, Mr. Froelich. I was just trying to keep him from hitting me. Again," he added.

There was a knock at the door, and Geertz entered. "Mr. Froelich, the boy's father is here," he informed them.

Dick's eyes widened. Oh, crap. Mr. Van Cleave is probably even worse than Ricky…and I can't even hit him back, he's an adult and I'm not in costume… He stared at the door as the counselor stepped back to let the new arrival in. "…Bruce?!"

"Hey, kiddo," he answered, looking slightly confused. "Oof," he couldn't help when his son dove into him. "…Dick, what's going on?" he asked, cupping the back of his head gently as he sensed his distress.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm Horace Froelich. We've met before," the principal stood and offered his hand. Bruce took it, raising an eyebrow.

"I get the feeling I should sit down," he said drily.

"If you would, please, sir. Mr. Geertz, if you'll stay as well?"

Once Bruce was seated, Dick standing beside him but keeping his head buried in his guardian's shoulder, Froelich spoke. "What I understand to be the second incident between your ward and Ricky Van Cleave just occurred on the playground, Mr. Wayne."

"Oh?"

"Yes. As you see, Richard is fine."

"…Is that what you call tears and trembling, Mr. Froelich? 'Fine?'"

The principal's eye twitched. "In comparison to the other boy, those are paper cuts. Ricky is on his way to the hospital with several broken bones."

Shit. I said channel Robin, not put him on display! "…Dick?" he asked, low.

"I never touched him, Bruce, I swear!" he cried out, arms locked around his neck. "He tried to punch me, and I ducked because he would have flattened my head, and he hit the wall instead! There's blood and everything, I've told two people now and no one believes me!"

The billionaire's hawk-like gaze turned back to the administrator. "…Mr. Froelich?"

"I'll admit, Mr. Wayne, that I find it difficult to believe that your ward could have purposefully done that kind of damage to a boy so much older and larger than he is, but…the Van Cleaves are already having a fit. I spent five minutes on the phone with them just before you arrived."

"…Is there, in fact, blood on the wall?"

"…Yes."

"And witnesses, too, I assume?"

"We're rounding up the, ah, usual gang that Ricky Van Cleave runs with. I'm sure they'll be able to tell us something."

"So what's the problem? It seems fairly obvious to me what happened. Is there something I'm missing?"

Even through his tears, Dick almost smiled at the question. If only they knew who they're talking to, they'd know what a silly idea that is, he thought. Bruce's hand snaked around and rested comfortingly on his back as Geertz broke in.

"Mr. Froelich, Roderick Van Cleave has a history of bullying, as you are aware. He has certainly been in this room enough times in the past to answer for that very offense. While it is true that in their last encounter Richard caused Roderick injury, it is my firm belief that the slanders that Richard had endured over the preceding months were sufficiently cruel to warrant some kind of response. I have no doubt that the same circumstances were the driver behind today's incident, and I am prepared to state as much in a court of law if necessary."

"Well, you may have to do just that, Hans. Van Cleave was already talking lawsuit when I spoke with him. Not just against the school, but against you personally, Mr. Wayne."

"That's cute."

"…I'm sorry, sir, I must have misheard you," Froelich asked for clarification.

"I said, that's cute. Their son has a known history of abusive and violent behavior towards other children, including towards my son specifically. The possibility of a nine-year-old inflicting the kind of damage you described is non-existent. Even if it was likely, there are bodily fluids that back up Dick's account of events and which have been witnessed by, from the sound of things, several adults. Broderick Van Cleave has been a cruel, abusive ass since we were children, and I'm not surprised in the least that his child is of the same character. I hope he does sue me, Mr. Froelich, because I'm looking forward to watching him flounder in front of a judge." He stood. "Was there anything else? We have an appointment to get to."

"I…no," the principal shook his head. "I'll contact your office if I have anything else I need to discuss with you."

"Good. Oh, and Mr. Froelich, I'll be sending my butler back by later to collect Dick's personal items from his class. I assume that will be fine?" His voice didn't leave any room for it not to be, but he asked the question in any case.

"Of course," he slumped. Wayne will get out of this without a problem, but the school is screwed. How did the playground monitors not see what was going on before it got to this point? Hell, we'll be lucky if Wayne doesn't sue us himself…from the looks of things, his kid whould have landed in a coma if that punch had connected...

"Mr. Geertz," Bruce nodded to him gratefully. "C'mon, kiddo. Alfred's waiting." Keeping a hand on his shoulder, he guided him from the office and out to the car. "Let's get out of here," he said as soon as they were inside and buckled.

The butler cast a concerned look at the still-crying child in the backseat, but didn't say anything.

"…Dicky?"

"Uh-h-huh?"

"…He punched the wall?"

"He d-did," he nodded tearfully.

Bruce chuckled lightly. "What'd you have to say to get him to do that?"

The boy straightened, his sobs quieting as he stared at the man beside him. "You…I…how'd you know?"

"The glare should have scared him off, at least if you managed as good of one as you did last night when you were practicing," he answered. "So you must have said something to make it more than just fear he was feeling."

"I did get him to back off," he admittedly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Bruce quickly handed him a tissue before Alfred saw him switch to his nose. "Thanks. But…well, he stepped backwards, and I saw that he was scared, and…and I wanted to make sure the others didn't see him as being brave anymore. So I asked if he was scared, because I was trying to discredit him, and…he tried to punch me. I ducked, and…well, you know the rest."

"What others?" His eyes narrowed.

"Oh. He had five of his friends with him when he came up to me."

Son of a bitch. Trust a Van Cleave to be too afraid to face his battles on his own merit. "Guess he didn't know you spend your weekends taking down gang assault squads and crazy chemists, huh?"

"Of course he didn't. Besides, I had help those other times," he shrugged. "I was alone today."

"But the glare got him to step back, did it?"

"Well…partly." He blushed, a little embarrassed as he looked back on what he'd used to rile Van Cleave up.

"What else did you use?" the billionaire asked, curious.

"…You know how he always teases me about the circus, and being part Romany?"

"Yes." He bristled slightly as he recalled the nasty phrase Janine Van Cleave had uttered about his son during their last encounter.

"Well…I might have threatened to put a gypsy curse on him, and then acted like I was going to do it right then and there."

Bruce blinked several times, his face frozen, and then burst out laughing, bending forward over his knees helplessly. "Oh, oh my god, Dick, that's perfect," he gasped. In the front seat, Alfred, too, was chortling, one gloved hand covering his mouth discreetly, the other clutching the steering wheel. "He probably wet himself with fear, oh, god…"

"Please, Master Wayne," the butler tried to keep a straight face. "This is a child we're – oh, do you know what? Never mind. The little hellion deserved it. Well done, Master Dick."

He looked between them, laughing a little but also slightly confused. "I…you're not mad at me? I mean, he wasn't supposed to get hurt, I just…I just didn't want him to pick on someone else once I was gone, you know?"

"I couldn't be mad at you right now if I tried, chum," Bruce told him, still slightly breathless as he leaned back against his seat and reached over the ruffle the boy's hair. "Didn't I tell you that you could best him?"

"…Bruce, you told me to avoid him," he crossed his arms.

Oh. Right. "…I only told you that because I knew you would figure out a better way," he attempted to cover.

"Nice try," Dick grinned knowingly, beginning to feel much, much better. I don't ever have to go back to that place again, he realized. Bruce even said he'd send Alfred back for my stuff…

"No good, huh?"

"Nope."

"That's okay, because I have a surprise for you."

"…What?"

"Aren't you wondering why I came to get you, and at lunch at that?"

"Honestly, I thought maybe you'd taken pity on me since it was my last day there, and decided to leave work early so we could get ice cream and then maybe go for a snowmachine ride."

"…Is that what you really thought when you saw me walk in?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Um…it's what I hoped for subconsciously?" he ventured. "You know brains are weird, that's totally possible."

"Brains are weird, yes, but I don't believe that's what you were thinking when you saw me." I'm guessing it was more likely along the lines of 'help me, please,'" he mused. "Still," he allowed, "that doesn't mean that those two things are completely out of the realm of possibility. But we have an appointment first."

"…Oh, yeah, you said that to Mr. Froelich. I thought you were just trying to get us out of there. So where's our appointment?"

"Gotham Academy."

He stiffened. "But I don't start until tomorrow…"

"I know. It's a teacher workday for them, and they offered to give us a tour. You'll get to meet your teachers, we'll pick up your books, and when you go in tomorrow morning you'll know where all of your classrooms are. Remember, you have to move between classes now."

"You…you took off of work just for this?"

"I did," he nodded. This, and maybe because I had an idea that you weren't going to have such a great last day at your old school. Call it a gut feeling brought on by the fact that you felt it necessary to practice glaring in the mirror for the last two nights.

"…Thanks, Bruce," he shot him that special smile.

"No," he shook his head, "thank you. This gave me a great excuse for ducking out of a really boring media relations meeting."

"You're really bad at lying to me, you know that, right?" I know the real reason. You're here because you love me. Even if you can't say it. He smiled. I love you, too, daddy.

"…Yeah, I know, chum," he whispered back as he read the certainty in his gaze. I wouldn't miss this for the world, Dick. Not for anything.

His eyes flicked away for a second, then back to his guardian's. I know.

A fierce expression came onto the man's face, settling there for a moment. Good.

Author's Note - I just couldn't help it, readers. Van Cleave had to taste justice firsthand.

I hope you've all enjoyed this little ride; I certainly enjoyed writing it, and appreciate that you've followed the story all the way through to the end. I'd like to take a moment to clarify a few things regarding plot arcs, as well as to outline where I'm going next with this universe. As I mentioned before, this story was the direct sequel to 'The Princely Pardon;' it was also a prequel to 'Ache of Cowardice' and 'To Catch A Predator.' Now I realize that at this point in time there is nothing linking these two multi-story arcs besides my say-so, but I assure you that a linking story is in the works. That story will be set after 'To Catch A Predator,' and will feature a smarter, even more dangerous Sawyer, along with (of course) Batman and Robin. Kid Flash will have a role to play, as will Woodward.

Before that, however, I'll be posting another story in this universe that will be set just a few months after this one. So many of you have expressed a desire to see more young Dick and Bruce that I've decided to write that story (ideally somewhat shorter, but we'll see how that goes, haha) before beginning the linking tale. I also want to develop the growing relationship between Dick and Clark some, since their bond plays a role in 'Ache of Cowardice' and is important in Dick's life in general. So, a few little spoilers, for those who want them; babysitting, pining, and guilt. Oh, and more fluff than you can shake a stick at, but I think you've rather come to expect that from me by this point. I anticipate beginning to post the new story sometime this coming weekend, and will likely post a few shorter things in the interim. I don't quite have a title for the new piece yet, but I will be sure to make it clear in the story description that it is the sequel to this story.

Thanks so much to all of you who have read, and especially to you who have reviewed. Your continued support keeps my muse eager. Happy reading!