Disclaimer:  I own NOTHING!  Nothing, I tell you, nothing!!  ::insane laughter::  
All right.  I'm okay now.  Just had to get that off my chest.  I have nothing.  
Except my new "Aida" soundtrack, and please don't take that, as I love it.  Love 
it, love it, love it!!  ::more insane laughter::  Adam Pascal and Heather 
Headley have the most amazing voices, you know that?  (Well, come on...  One was 
my favorite in the original RENT and the other my favorite in the original Lion 
King, both of which I own and, hey, let's say I scared my mom when I realized 
whose voices I was hearing.)  So buy it and maybe they won't sue me.  But 
seriously...  I have a new love.  But I don't own "Aida" or Batman.  I'm only 
slowly losing my mind.  Obviously, as I have been a total recluse lately, 
sitting with my headphones on and writing fanfic nonstop...

Rated: PG  (Lotsa angst)

***

Lost Boy
By Sarai  (LtJupiter@msn.com)

***

...The past is now another land
Far beyond my reach
Invaded by insidious
Foreign bodies, foreign speech
Where the timeless joys of childhood
Lay broken on the beach

The present is an empty space
Between the good and bad
A moment leading nowhere
Too pointless to be sad
But time enough to lay to waste
Every certainty I had

The future is a barren world
>From which I can't return
Both heartless and material
Its wretched spoils not my concern
Shining like an evil sun
As my childhood treasures burn
Shining like an evil sun
As my childhood treasures burn

~"The Past Is Another Land"; Tim Rice and Elton John; "Aida"

***

It started like any other show.  But it wouldn't end that way...

Dick passed his mother in the air as they switched places, he grabbing hold of 
the trapeze, and she his father's hands.  Landing on the platform, he turned to 
watch his parents.  He loved to watch them perform- they were perfect.  But this 
time... Dick's smile froze and as he yelled a warning, the trapeze holding his 
parents broke.  Time froze.  Mom and Dad fell.  And kept falling.  Dick felt 
like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs and he was cold...  He knew 
people were shouting, screaming; but he didn't hear them.  All he saw was his 
parents, lying motionless in the center ring.  He couldn't move.  His teeth were 
chattering, and he was shaking, but he couldn't move.  Someone yelled at him to 
stay where he was, and some of the other performers began approaching the ring.  
Before he knew how he'd done it, Dick had climbed down the ladder and was 
running toward his mom and dad.

Larry, one of the clowns, grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to hold him back, 
and Dick began crying as he tried to fight the larger man off.  "No!  Let me go, 
Larry!  Let me go!  Mom!" he screamed, his voice catching.  "Dad!  Let me GO!"  
Dick wrenched a shoulder free and shoved Larry- hard- and ran.  The others moved 
aside, letting him through.

Dick skidded to a halt.  His parents, his mother and father, his entire world, 
lay broken before him.  Nothing would ever be fixed.  His legs gave out beneath 
him and he fell forward, grabbing his mother in a desperate hug as he began 
sobbing.  "No... Mom!  Mommy, please..." he whispered, choking.  He shook his 
head against her shoulder, burying his face in her neck, but nothing happened.  
Her arms didn't raise and hug him back.  She didn't move her head to rest a 
cheek against his temple.  Not a muscle twitched.  Dick found that he couldn't 
breathe.  He was choking, sobbing.  Over and over they fell.  The insides of his 
eyelids played the scene repeatedly.  He was shaking so hard, he didn't realize 
that he was biting his lip until he tasted the blood when he bit too hard.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder, tried to move him, pull him away.  It set 
him off.  Dick lost control.  He screamed, cried, tightened his hold on his 
mother and wouldn't let go.  When he was forcefully lifted off of her, his arms 
pried away, he raged.  He kicked, he yelled, he hit.  But it didn't last long.  
He had no energy, except that given by his grief, and it was burned quickly.  
Mr. Haly accepted Dick's abuse, crying himself as he knelt holding the boy.  
Finally, Dick collapsed against him, sobs coming so hard that the older man 
shook with them.  While Dick cried, Mr. Haly carried him off to the side, 
sitting with him on the bleachers while the police arrived and covered the 
bodies.

After a long while, Dick's sobbing slowed enough for Mr. Haly to leave him and 
return with a blanket and a cup of tea.  Dick took the mug silently, looking at 
the white sheets that hid his parents and didn't respond to anything anyone said 
to him.  Draping the blanket over the boy's shoulders, Mr. Haly turned to the 
police lieutenant approaching him.  "I think he's in shock," he said quietly.

"No, I'm not," a small voice behind them said.  Dick tore his gaze away from the 
center ring and met the officer's eyes.  "They're dead," he added, somehow 
managing to sound both infinitely old and impossibly young at the same time.  He 
set the mug of unwanted tea down and stared at his hands clasped in his lap.  
"Something happened to the rope, after Dad checked it.  I watched him check it!  
There was nothing wrong," he finally said desperately, looking from Mr. Haly to 
the policeman.  "It was that guy- the one who threatened you, Mr. Haly!  I saw 
him coming out of the tent!  I tried- But they didn't-" he broke off, burying 
his face in his hands.

James Gordon sat next to the crying boy, and put a hand on his shaking shoulder.  
"It's all right, son."

Dick shook his head.  "No, it's not."

***

Bruce Wayne stood several feet away, watching Lt. Gordon and the boy.  Almost 
everyone had left, but Bruce hadn't been able to.  He was about the only person 
left in the tent who wasn't with the circus or the police, having avoided being 
forced out by sliding into the shadows.  He could hear pieces of conversations 
taking place around him, but only paid half a mind to them.  His attention was 
focused on the boy, who looked nothing short of stunned.  Bruce knew exactly 
what he had to be feeling, and it was that knowledge that made it impossible for 
him to leave.  In his mind's eye, the falling, then broken bodies of Mary and 
John Grayson resembled far too much those of his own parents.  Bruce knew that 
this was another night that would never leave him.  So he waited, lurking just 
beyond anyone's notice, until he could approach Lt. Gordon.

His chance came sooner than he thought it would.  The boy was allowed to leave 
with one of the lion tamers, and Gordon spoke briefly with Mr. Haly, the owner 
of the circus.  Bruce approached, keeping a respectful distance away until 
Gordon noticed him.

"Mr. Wayne," he said in surprise, gesturing to Haly that he could leave and 
turning his full attention to Bruce.

"I was in the audience," Bruce explained.  "I couldn't leave, after..."  Gordon 
nodded sadly and Bruce continued.  "How is he?"

Gordon glanced over his shoulder at the side entrance the boy had left through.  
"I suppose you've heard of Tony Zucco?"

Bruce nodded.  Everyone knew something about the guy- even those who didn't 
spend their nights as Batman.  So it didn't hurt to admit that he had heard of 
Zucco.  "What about him?"

Gordon sighed.  "The boy saw him leave the tent.  He threatened Haly earlier 
today..."  He shook his head sadly.  "I think we're going to have to find a safe 
house for him.  He's got no family, and there's no way we can leave him here, 
not now.  He's a material witness.  Poor kid..."

Bruce stared at the tent flap, an idea- and his ulterior motive for wanting to 
speak with Gordon- taking shape in his mind even as he said, "A safe house?  You 
mean... something other than foster care?"

Gordon grunted.  "We can't turn him over to the state.  Well, we could.  But it 
would be a mistake.  Besides, Haly is the boy's godfather.  If things were 
different...  Well, if things were different, we wouldn't be here, now would 
we?" he asked wryly.

Bruce nodded.  Then, slowly, he said, "I may be able to help."

***

Dick sat at the end of the impossibly long dining table, fidgeting with his 
napkin in his lap.  Sometimes Wayne Manor was just too quiet.  He was used to 
noise, all the time.  But in the last two weeks, he had been forced to adjust to 
the impossible size and silence that was his new home- for the meantime.  At 
least until Zucco was caught.  What would happen to him then was beyond his 
knowledge.  Mr. Haly had already left Gotham.  Going home didn't seem like much 
of a possibility.

Alfred entered the dining room, carrying a tray with him.  Dick noticed that 
there was only one plate of food on the tray and tried to hide his 
disappointment.  "Where's Bruce?" he asked as Alfred set the plate before him.  
"Isn't he going to eat?"

"Not tonight, Dick," a voice from behind him said.  Dick turned in his chair to 
see Bruce standing in the doorway.   

He smiled, crossing the room and setting a hand on Dick's shoulder.  "I've got 
some late meetings.  Thought I'd say good night before I left."

Dick did his best to smile back.  "Night, Bruce."

His guardian gave his shoulder a squeeze and waved at Alfred.  "I'll be late- 
Don't wait up, Alfred."  And with that, Bruce was gone.

Dick sighed heavily and pushed his plate away, slumping in his chair.  "'Don't 
wait up'," Dick repeated scornfully.  "You always wait up.  And he always has 
meetings.  Who with?"

"Clients, Master Dick."  Even though he was mainly talking to himself, Alfred 
answered as he took Dick's plate from the table, knowing by now that Dick 
wouldn't eat.  At least not until later.  "Some of the most... influential 
clients Wayne Enterprises has dealings with."

Dick shook his head.  "What?  This late?  He's been out past two all week."

Alfred raised an eyebrow at his young charge.  "And how late have *you* been up 
this week?  I would have thought that young men your age would be sleeping at 
two in the morning."

Dick squirmed uncomfortably, not wanting to make Alfred mad.  Alfred was the 
only person whose opinion of him really mattered- Bruce was never around to have 
one.  "I...  I'm sorry, Alfred.  It's just... Sometimes I can't sleep."

Alfred didn't say anything, but the hard look on his face softened slightly.  
"It can be difficult to readjust to new surroundings," he said in a quiet tone.

Dick shrugged.  "It's not so much that.  We were always on the move.  If we 
spent a whole week in one place, that was a long time.  It's just...  Sometimes 
it's so... quiet here."  He bit his lip and looked at Alfred uncertainly.  He 
didn't add that Wayne Manor was also impossibly huge and empty and that he was 
just plain lonely.  For the most part, it was only him and Alfred- which was 
fine during the day, because he spent most of his time with the older man.  
Alfred was tutoring him, catching him up to the other children his age.  His 
education in the circus had been... haphazard at best.  When Mr. Haly could 
afford it, he had hired tutors, but for the most part, his mother had been his 
teacher.  And while he was beyond kids his age in certain areas, he was far 
behind them in others.  So because it was already nearly Thanksgiving, and it 
was decided that he had enough 'adjusting' to do, he was being taught by Alfred 
until the fall came around again and he would be enrolled in a local school... 
Either that or Zucco was caught and Dick left Wayne Manor.  Whichever came 
first.

But at night the quiet really set in.  There was no sound in this place.  Even 
with his window wide open (which made the room cold, anyway), all he could hear 
was the crashing of waves- and those muffled at best, as the cliffs lay well 
beyond the other side of the Manor.  And there wasn't even any traffic to hear.  
Wayne Manor sat at the top of the cliffs lining Gotham Harbor, and was 
accessible only by a winding, twisting driveway that ran at least a mile before 
hitting a road that wasn't exactly well-traveled.  Privacy was not something 
Bruce Wayne had to worry about.  The problem was that Dick couldn't stand it.  
All his life he had lived moving from place to place.  He'd spent more nights 
sleeping on the road than he could count.  He'd never before noticed how used he 
was to the sounds of traffic and people and animals until coming here.  If they 
weren't on the road, the sounds of the elephants and tigers would replace those 
of cars and cities they passed through.  And every single night of his life, he 
had fallen asleep to the sounds of his parents talking in hushed voices just 
beyond his sight.

He missed them all the time- but night was the worst.  Every night, his mother 
read to him.  Or if she had something to do, his father did.  But when the story 
was over, the other always came in to hug him and tuck him in.  If he was sick, 
or sad, his mother sang to him.  Sometimes she did just because.  If there 
wasn't time for a book, they just sat and talked for a few minutes.  No matter 
how crazy and hectic the day had been, or how pumped up on adrenaline he was 
after a show, their voices never failed to calm him down and lull him into 
sleep.  He was having a hard time falling asleep these days.  Staying so was 
nearly impossible.  He could only lie staring at the ceiling for so long before 
he had to get out of bed and wander.  He didn't often leave his room.  He would 
usually grab a book from the wall-length bookshelf and sit on the floor of his 
closet, which had a light in it, reading until his eyes were too heavy for him 
to continue, all the while listening for the sounds of Alfred coming to check on 
him.  But sometimes he couldn't sit still and he would wander- not far.  Just as 
far as the landing, where he could see down the stairs and into the study and 
den.  Almost every night, the lights were still on and he could see Alfred 
wandering about, waiting for Bruce to return.

Now Dick sighed and gave Alfred a pleading look.  "Alfred?  Can I eat later?  
I'm not very hungry."

Alfred suppressed a sigh.  It was the same almost every night.  "Of course, 
sir," he replied, knowing that if he forced the boy to eat, he would do so, but 
would only eat what he had to.  Master Dick was always eager to please- almost 
too eager.  He tried too hard at times.  The boy's insecurities and pain were 
all too obvious and Alfred did his best to make him feel as if the Manor were 
his home.  The problem was that it wasn't Alfred he was trying so hard to 
impress- not anymore, in any case.  He still did all he could to please Alfred, 
but was beginning to understand that he needn't do so.  He seemed comfortable 
around him now, which was a big improvement over his first few days there.  But 
he still sought approval- he was still seeking his place.  And Alfred knew that 
he wouldn't be at ease until he felt he had gained Bruce's approval.  Which was 
proving difficult.

Dick smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, and pushed back from the table.  
"Is it all right if I go outside for a while?"

Alfred looked at him in surprise.  There wasn't much to do outside... It was 
nearly winter, and the grounds of Wayne Manor were hardly an exciting place for 
an eight year old boy.  Though the unmanicured portions of the estate were very 
exciting, he knew, having ventured after Master Bruce many a time when he was a 
boy.  They were exciting- but dangerous.  "Yes," he answered, making a quick 
decision.  "But you must stay within the gardens, and be back inside before 
night falls.  Do you understand?"

Dick nodded, grinning widely.  "Sure thing.  Thanks Alfred!"  He started to 
leave, but stopped in the doorway, turning to Alfred with a hesitant look on his 
face.  "Alfred?  Can I go down to the cliffs?  If I'm careful?"

Alfred gave Dick a stern look before answering.  "If you must.  Stay well away 
from the edge," he added quickly, seeing the grin return to Dick's face.

"I will.  I'll be careful- promise!"  With that, he was gone.

***

Dick ran across the wide expanse of lawn behind Wayne Manor, enjoying the 
feeling of the cold, crisp air as he did so.  The air was heavy with the smell 
of the ocean and approaching winter, and the ground was hard beneath his feet.  
It felt good just to be outside, rather than in.  He didn't know where he was 
going- he hadn't been outside all that much since coming here.  Lt. Gordon had 
taken him here the day after the funeral- of which he remembered very little.  
He knew that there were lots of people, mainly from the circus, and that Bruce 
and Alfred had been there.  He'd had only four days to pack up everything he had 
and say goodbye.  And even if it had been three weeks now, there wasn't a day 
Dick woke up that he wasn't confused at first as to where he was.

He was trying to adjust... It was just so hard, sometimes.  Besides, he wasn't 
sure how long Bruce was going to keep him there.  This whole arrangement was 
originally meant to protect him from the man who had killed his parents- Lt. 
Gordon said he was a witness.  No one had come out and told him this, of course, 
but Dick wasn't stupid.  Nor was he deaf.  He knew that when Zucco was caught, 
he might have to leave.  Where he would go then, he didn't know.  But it wasn't 
really worth thinking about, because no matter where he was going to be, it 
wouldn't be where he wanted.  Where he wanted to be was a month ago.  Which was 
a train of thought he'd discovered to be not worth following.

After a while, Dick slowed to a walk, catching his breath and looking around.  
The grounds were really very pretty and well-kept, and he climbed a small hill 
to see the land give way to sea and sky before him.  The view was amazing, and 
the waves were loud here, even if he couldn't see them yet.  But the cliffs 
weren't what caught Dick's attention- on a small hill a grove of trees stood 
like sentinels over an old graveyard.  Dick looked at it, intrigued.  It was an 
odd thing, to just stumble upon a cemetery like this.  Cemeteries were never 
exactly his favorite place, though he hadn't had much occasion to go into one 
before.  He'd only been in one once or twice, when his mother had taken him to 
see his grandparents' graves- but that had been a long time ago, and what Dick 
remembered most was that she had cried for a long time afterwards.

Dick hesitated, curious about this graveyard set deep within the grounds of 
Wayne Manor, but in his mind's eye seeing his parents' caskets waiting to be 
lowered into the ground.  *But that wasn't here,* he told himself, walking over 
to the nearest of the headstones.  The closest ones were old, and it was hard to 
read the names on them, but he quickly realized that everyone buried here was a 
Wayne.  He felt slightly guilty, walking through and looking at the graves, as 
if he were intruding upon something.  The newer graves were in the back corner, 
facing the water.  He read the names on the last headstone and wondered why they 
sounded familiar, but shaking it off- after all, Thomas and Martha were fairly 
normal names.  He looked back at the Manor, a little in awe of how long it must 
have been there, and how many people must have lived in that house.

He turned around, ready to continue on to the cliffs so he could watch the 
waves, but something in the corner of his eye stopped him.  Set back, slightly 
away from the other graves, was a single headstone.  It sat just before two 
large oak trees, which had by now lost all of their leaves- without them, Dick 
could see how the upper branches had run out of room and begun to intertwine.  
The cemetery was as nicely kept as the rest of the grounds, and not a leaf from 
any of the bare trees could be seen.  It was a pretty spot, and would be 
prettier in the spring and summer, when the leaves had grown back.  But none of 
this was what Dick was thinking as he approached, wondering whose grave it was, 
and why it wasn't with the others.  He felt nervous, seeing that it was very 
new-  getting closer, he could see where a layer of sod had been put down but 
had yet to blend in with the rest of the grass.

Dick watched his feet as he got closer, wanting to avoid stepping on the new 
grass.  A nagging feeling, like deja-vu, pulled at the back of his mind and made 
him want to turn away without looking, but he ignored it and raised his eyes to 
the headstone anyway.  What he saw made his stomach drop out from underneath him 
and his knees lock.  This grave, unlike the others, was not for a Wayne...  It 
was his parents'.  Dick took a step backwards, feeling ready to bolt.  Why were 
they *here*?  He hadn't been prepared for this, even though he'd been wondering 
lately if he might ask Alfred to take him to see them sometime.  *Sometime.  Not 
yet.  Not now.  Notnownotnownotnownotnow...* he thought desperately, feeling his 
throat close up on him and his vision blurred.

Shaking his head and wiping a hand angrily over his eyes, he forced himself to 
calm down.  It wasn't as if he didn't know they were dead- he knew it.  Every 
second of every day for the past three weeks, he'd known it.  Except when he 
woke up in the middle of the night...  But here, right in front of him, were 
their names...  Engraved into a piece of rock, with their birthdays and *that* 
day right underneath them.  And over their names, like a headline, "Grayson".  
He squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm 
down.  He knew they were dead, he told himself.  Seeing it in writing like this 
didn't change anything.  Except that now he couldn't pretend that this was all 
some big, stupid mistake.  Like God was going to pull back a curtain, yell 
"gotcha" and make everything right again.  Resolving himself, Dick opened his 
eyes and stared at the marker, taking in every possible detail.

He leaned over closer to read what was written along the bottom of the stone, in 
small, delicate letters.  "That it will never come again/ Is what makes life so 
sweet. Emily Dickenson".  Dick swallowed back the lump in his throat, wondering 
who had asked for that to be put on their headstone- it had been one of his 
mother's favorite poems.  Someone from the circus, no doubt.  He didn't remember 
anyone asking him anything about this, or the funeral.  It had all been done 
without him, and suddenly that made him angry.  They were *his* parents.  No one 
else had any right to decide these things...  Under their names and the dates 
was written "Beloved Parents, Treasured Friends".  Ha.  Like everything his 
parents were could be summed up in four words.

How long he looked at it, he didn't know, but instead of wanting to break down 
and cry, like he had only a few moments ago, he felt fiercely angry.  
Possessive, maybe, but that was okay.  They were his parents.  He should have 
been given some say...  Why were they *here*, instead of a public cemetery, some 
place he could go visit whenever he wanted to?  When he had to leave here...  It 
didn't bear thinking of, just now.  It made him even angrier.  His parents 
weren't Waynes, they shouldn't have been buried with them.  Dick, seething, 
turned and ran back toward the Manor.

"Alfred!" he called, storming into the kitchen.  Alfred looked up in surprise 
from where he stood drying the dishes.  The boy hadn't been outside as long as 
he had thought he would be- only twenty minutes or so.  "Alfred, why are they 
here?"

Alfred looked at him uncertainly.  "Why are *who* here, Master Dick?"

"My parents!" Dick cried, angry.  "Why are they buried *here*?!"

Alfred suppressed a sigh, and lay down his dishtowel.  It hadn't occurred to him 
that Dick would find the cemetery, though he knew it should have.  It didn't 
surprise him that he hadn't remembered where they were buried.  The day of the 
funeral, Dick had still been in a state of shock.  "Master Bruce thought-"

"Who is he to decide that?  He's never even around!"  Dick snapped, crossing his 
arms over his chest indignantly.  "They have to be here forever!"

Alfred frowned, a bit alarmed at how angry and hostile Dick was acting.  It 
wasn't at all like him.  Though what he said about Master Bruce was entirely 
true.  "Master Dick, please sit down and calm yourself-"

"No!"  Dick interrupted, sitting anyway.  He slouched in his chair, an utterly 
miserable look on his face.  "I don't want them here," he said a bit more 
calmly.

"Why not?"  Alfred asked, confused.  Not that there was anything that could be 
done about it now.

Dick shrugged, his anger beginning to give way to exhaustion and grief.  
"Because...  What happens when I leave?"

Alfred sat in the chair next to Dick, honestly surprised.  "Leave?  Where were 
you going?"

Dick shrugged.  "I know I'm only here until the police catch Zucco," he 
explained sadly.  "I heard Lt. Gordon and Bruce talking about it."

"You know no such thing," Alfred countered sternly.  "If Master Bruce were only 
intending on keeping you while absolutely necessary, he would not have arranged 
to have your parents buried here."

Dick looked at him uncertainly.  "Really?"

"Really," Alfred assured him gently.

Dick shrugged, looking back at the tabletop.  He felt a little better- a little 
less panicked- but still uneasy.  When he spoke, it was in a very soft voice.  
"I didn't think I'd be staying here."

"What do you mean?"  Alfred, once again, was genuinely surprised.

Dick swung his foot, not answering at first, because it all seemed suddenly 
stupid to him.  "I didn't think Bruce liked me very much."

Alfred resisted the urge to sigh again, feeling both angry and remorseful.  "Why 
on earth would you think that?"  he asked, though he knew very well why.

Dick shrugged by way of response.  After a moment, he said, "He's never around.  
I only ever see him when he's leaving."  He knew he sounded like a spoiled, 
unappreciative brat.  It wasn't Bruce's fault that he had to work so much.  It 
wasn't Bruce's fault that he wasn't used to having a kid around.

Alfred did sigh now, and Dick looked at him, worried that he'd made him angry 
somehow.  Alfred only smiled sadly.  "I am certain that Master Bruce never 
intended-"

"I know," Dick said, smiling apologetically.  "I didn't really mean it."  He 
looked away, tracing an invisible pattern with his fingers on the arm of the 
chair.  "It just surprised me, finding them."

"I'm sure it did," Alfred said softly, feeling guilty for having let Dick 
venture out without a clue as to what he might find.  And for not having 
remembered himself.  He noticed how tired the boy looked, and hoped that tonight 
he would be able to sleep- though it was doubtful.  He knew that Dick hadn't 
been sleeping; he remembered another little orphaned boy, also unable to sleep.  
For months, unable to sleep.  He could only hope that Master Dick would not fall 
into the same type of depression Master Bruce had.  There had not been a less 
pleasant experience in Alfred's life, than those first years after Thomas and 
Martha Wayne had been killed.  And now, with Dick, Alfred felt as if the past 
were repeating itself.  Everything was the same, except that Dick was still too 
unfamiliar with the Manor and Alfred to let down his barriers and allow himself 
to really grieve.  Alfred dreaded that time, as much as he worried over its 
absence.  It wasn't healthy for him to keep those emotions bottled up, Alfred 
knew all too well.  Standing, he placed a hand on Dick's shoulder.  "Would you 
like your dinner now?"

Dick considered for a moment, not wanting to hurt Alfred's feelings.  "Not 
really," he said, looking up at Alfred apologetically.  "I don't think I'm that 
hungry tonight."

Alfred nodded.  "Very well, sir."

Dick watched Alfred go back to drying the dishes, and felt like there was more 
he wanted to say, but he didn't know how to go about it or what it was.  "I 
might go to bed, if that's all right," he said instead, pushing away from the 
table.  "I'm kinda tired."

Alfred looked at him for a long moment without saying anything, but finally 
nodded.  "Of course, Master Dick.  I shall be up in a few minutes."

Dick smiled thankfully and backed out of the kitchen.  "Thanks, Alfred."

***

Alfred made his way down to the cave with a tray of food for Bruce.  He reached 
the bottom of the stairs just as Batman stepped out of the Batmobile.  Setting 
the tray down on the table next to the computer, Alfred turned and accepted the 
cape, laying it across his arm as he did every night.  But tonight he only half-
listened to what Batman had to say about his night's excursions.

Noticing Alfred's lack of input, Batman turned to him, confused.  "Alfred?  Is 
something wrong?"

"Of course not, sir," Alfred replied, but Batman could hear the slightest hint 
of sarcasm in his voice.  Anyone other than he wouldn't have noticed it.

Raising an eyebrow, Batman removed his utility belt, and asked, "What is it, 
Alfred?"

Alfred hesitated for a moment before saying, "Master Bruce, while I am sure that 
catching this Zucco is of the highest import, I cannot help but wonder if your 
time might be better spent."

Batman was stunned.  Alfred nearly never openly criticized his actions- he was 
usually much more subtle.  Beyond that, he didn't understand what it was Alfred 
was saying.  "What do you mean?"

Alfred turned to look at him and fixed him with a stern gaze he remembered all 
too well from his childhood.  "There is a little boy upstairs who is aching for 
some of your attention."

Batman frowned.  "I'm doing this for him!" he argued.

Alfred sighed, shaking his head.  "I'm sure that revenge is a wonderful thing, 
sir.  But right now, Master Dick is simply trying to survive.  I would have 
thought that you, of all people, could remember how that feels."

Batman didn't reply, but that didn't stop Alfred.  "He has lost all that he has 
ever cared about- his parents, which I know you must relate to, as well as his 
home and friends.  He is in a strange place with strange people.  Did you 
realize that he thought this was a temporary home?  A safe house?"

Batman looked up at Alfred in surprise.  "He did?"

Alfred nodded.  "Yes.  You have made very little effort to spend time with him, 
Master Bruce."

Batman didn't answer, not sure what he could say.  It was true.

Alfred continued, moving to put away the cape.  "Master Dick has spent all of 
his energy on trying to adjust to life here.  He has not yet begun to grieve."  
Here, he paused significantly, giving Batman a look.  "But he will.  The 
question is not if, but when and how.  And whether or not he will ever feel that 
Wayne Manor is his home."

Batman watched as Alfred began to leave the cave, feeling a bit blindsided by 
the whole conversation.  "Alfred," he called.  Alfred stopped and turned to look 
back at him.  "What-"  He stopped himself.  He felt like a child again, asking 
Alfred what he should do.  He was an adult, for goodness sake- Christ, he was 
Batman!  He should be able to figure this out on his own...

But Alfred knew him too well.  "I would suggest that Batman take a few nights 
off.  Bruce Wayne should spend some time with his ward.  He needs you, sir.  
Whether either of you know it."  And with that, Alfred was climbing the stairs 
and leaving the cave.  

Batman removed his cowl, and stood silently in the center of the cave, Alfred's 
words echoing in his mind.  The older man was right, as always, Bruce knew.  He 
looked down at the mask in his hand, feeling sick.  What good did he do, then?  
Logically, he knew he did the right thing.  Every night, he went out to 'fight 
the good fight', protecting the city.  He was the good guy, wasn't he?  And he 
knew he did good.  He knew he had saved people- he'd seen them; parents, 
children who would have died had he arrived later.  But that didn't change 
anything.  He was, after everything, only human.  And for all the good he had 
done- for all the lives he had saved...  He hadn't been able to save Dick's 
parents.  He hadn't been able to save them any more than he had been able to 
save his own.

Maybe that was it.  Maybe that was why he was suddenly so obsessed about 
catching Zucco.  Because every time he saw Dick, he was reminded of how he had 
failed- again.  *You didn't have to take him in,* he scolded himself.  *If you 
weren't going to pay him any attention, if you were going to use him as a 
reminder of your inner demons, he would have been better off with someone else.*  
Except that every time Bruce thought that- and it was fairly often- he 
remembered the way Dick had looked, that night.  Like his entire life had been 
stolen from him.  It had been.  And Bruce saw himself in Dick.  *Another reason 
to avoid him.*  Which was essentially what it all came down to.  He had offered 
to take Dick in, had given him a home... And was now avoiding him.  *Out of 
guilt and self-pity,* he thought scornfully.

Bruce went to change out of the costume, thinking over Alfred's words.  Alfred 
was what he remembered best about his childhood.  He remembered his parents- but 
small things, moments or impressions.  The memories and idolization of an eight 
year old who had never gotten to know his parents as anything other than 
parents.  It was one of the many regrets he had.  He'd never had the chance to 
get to know them.  Luckily for him, Alfred knew them.  Better than anyone else.  
And it suddenly occurred to Bruce that some of the things he cherished most 
about his parents were things Alfred had told him.  It was disconcerting, 
realizing that some of his memories were second-hand, at best.  But they were 
there, in any case.  And Dick didn't- wouldn't- even have that.  What Bruce 
remembered most after his parents' deaths was Alfred.  Alfred's presence had 
been a constant- there wasn't a time he could recall that Alfred hadn't been 
there.  And since they'd taken Dick in, he realized, nearly every time he saw 
Alfred (except here, at night, of course), Dick was somewhere nearby.  Whether 
tagging along, or being followed, it was hard to tell, but didn't matter anyway.

Feeling guilty, Bruce finished buttoning his shirt and made his way back into 
the cave.  He was the one who had offered the boy a home.  He was the one who 
had made the decision to take him in.  And yet it was Alfred who had the job of 
caring for him.  Alfred who knew Dick well enough to come down here and give 
Bruce a scolding like he hadn't received in years.  Not that he ever scolded 
Bruce outright.  Alfred was a subtle man, when he wanted to be.  It was more the 
tone of voice that Bruce knew well, having heard it often growing up.  And one 
he suspected Dick was getting used to.  Dick had been with them for two weeks, 
and Bruce had barely seen him.  He shook his head.  He remembered, all too well, 
what he had felt.  It had taken months for Bruce to come out of his self-
inflicted depression.  One he wasn't certain he was entirely through with.  But 
what Bruce remembered was how much he had needed Alfred's support, whether he 
realized it at the time or not.  And he knew that Dick was getting just what he 
had.  The problem was that while Alfred had cared for Bruce since he was an 
infant, Dick had only just met the man.  So it meant different things.  What 
Alfred said made sense...  Not only had Dick's parents been taken from him, but 
he'd had to leave his home and everything and everyone familiar to him.  Bruce 
didn't want to try and put himself into that scenario.  He'd had enough trouble 
being in his own home with Alfred.

Bruce slowly began the climb up the stairs toward the Manor, still feeling 
guilty, but resolved to fix things- if he could.  Alfred was right.  Dick needed 
him, even if neither of them knew it.  And he needed Dick.  What he needed, he 
wasn't sure.  Looking at Dick was like looking at himself again.  Except that 
Dick wasn't Bruce.  And he wouldn't be.  Bruce just knew that all he could do 
was all he should have been doing.  Dick hadn't asked to be taken here.  He 
hadn't asked for his whole life to be turned on its head.  But it had been, and 
he was here, and Bruce was going to help Alfred make it as easy for Dick to 
adjust as he could.  It was the least he could do, really.  He just wished he 
had realized all this before.

He made his way into the kitchen, where Alfred was cleaning up.  "Alfred?"

Alfred looked up, surprised.  For good reason.  Lately it was typical for Bruce 
to spend a good hour or more in the cave after his return.  "Master Bruce.  Is 
there something wrong?"

Bruce considered for a minute.  "I've been stupid, Alfred.  I'm sorry," he 
finally admitted.  Sighing, he chose to ignore Alfred's undisplayed shock, and 
turned to leave, pausing in the doorway.  "Do you think he's awake?"

Alfred shook himself mentally, considering the question.  "He reads in his 
closet," he finally said.  "Though not usually this late.  You might check in on 
him, sir."

Bruce smiled appreciatively at Alfred.  "Thank you, Alfred."  *He reads in his 
closet,* Bruce repeated to himself as he left.  It was so typical of Alfred, to 
know everything that was being done in the Manor, even if it was done in hiding.  
If Dick hadn't been hiding, he would have used the lamp.  But Alfred knew 
everything.

Bruce paused outside Dick's door- his old door.  He wondered, now, how wise it 
had been of him to give this particular room to Dick.  It already held enough 
grief for one room...  To add to it seemed stupid now.  Bruce shook his head.  
He had been very stupid in this.  Very stupid, and very impulsive.  *Let's take 
this little boy away from everything he knows, give him my old room and then 
pretend he barely exists.  Great going, Bruce,* he thought scornfully.  Sighing, 
he rested his hand on the doorknob, hesitating.  It was terribly late...  Dick 
would probably be sleeping.  It might be better to wait until the morning, he 
thought.  He could take the day off...  Spend some much needed time with him...  
But even as he thought it, he was turning the handle, knowing that for his own 
peace of mind, he had to check in on Dick tonight.  Make sure he was sleeping.  
Make sure of...  something.  Bruce didn't know.

He stood in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark.  The tall windows 
let in the moonlight, and it illuminated the room enough for Bruce to make out 
furniture and the small figure in the bed.  The light from the hall cast his 
shadow almost all the way across the room to Dick's bed, and Bruce stood there 
for a while, watching Dick sleep.  He wasn't going to wake him, he decided.  He 
would let him sleep whatever sleep he could, knowing too well how sleepless his 
nights probably were.  He turned to leave, but stopped, hearing something.  
Bruce looked over his shoulder, and stared at Dick's huddled form, watching it 
for some sign of movement or distress.  There was nothing, and Bruce finally 
sighed, leaving the room.

He stood outside the door for several minutes.  It was odd.  He was a little 
frightened, really, because he felt such a strong pull to the boy.  Some sort of 
deep connection that made him want to go back in that room and simply watch him 
sleep the night through, just to be sure that he did.  And that, along with his 
own guilt and grief, was why he had been avoiding Dick.  He knew that.  He also 
knew that while he would never be Dick's father- as Alfred would never be; as 
Alfred could never be Bruce's father- he would do his very best to just be 
there.  To be... something to Dick.  Whatever that something may be.  And he 
would try.  That was all he could do, when it came right down to it.  He could 
only be there for Dick, and try to help him.  Which was originally how Bruce had 
explained wanting to take Dick in, in the first place.

Bruce finally turned away, heading down the long hall toward his own bedroom.  
He didn't know if he would get much sleep that night- somehow it seemed 
doubtful.  But that didn't matter.

***

Bruce awoke a few hours later, having fallen asleep fully clothed in an armchair 
by a bookcase.  He stared out the window at the moon, letting himself slowly 
wake, before glancing at the clock.  Three in the morning.  Not quite time to 
get up, but almost.  Though he was- at the moment- tempted to let his morning 
routine fall by the wayside.  Of course, that would never happen, but it was 
still a thought crossing his mind.  He stretched, standing, and wondered why he 
had woken up.  It wouldn't be the first time he had spent the night in a chair 
without changing.

After a trip to the bathroom to get a glass of water, Bruce discovered that he 
wasn't terribly tired.  He wandered about his room for a while, after a failed 
attempt at reading, before wandering into the hall.  He didn't have any specific 
destination or action in mind, but he found himself outside Dick's door again.  
This time he didn't hesitate, but softly pushed open the door.  The room was 
brighter now, as the moon was higher, and Bruce could see better because the 
hall was dark behind him.  He frowned, taking a step further into the room.  
There were muffled whimpers coming from Dick's bed, where he was lying on his 
stomach, but tossing fitfully.

Bruce crossed the room quickly and sat on the bed next to Dick, reaching out to 
put a tentative hand on the boy's shoulder.  Suddenly unsure, he said softly, 
"Dick...  Dick, wake up."

Dick gave a strangled cry and nearly fell off the bed in his tangled sheets.  
Blinking, he stared at Bruce as if he had never seen him before.  He stared for 
a moment or two, before an unbelievably lost and frightened look crept into his 
eyes.  He swallowed hard, sat up, and pulled his knees to his chest, hugging 
them to him.  He looked at Bruce and opened his mouth to say something, but then 
stopped.  His eyes filled and he buried his face in his arms before letting go a 
cry that seemed to echo from somewhere deep inside him.

Bruce wasn't sure what the best thing to do was, but just did what came to mind 
first.  He reached out and put his arms around Dick.  "It's okay," he said 
quietly.  "I know."

Dick stiffened when Bruce first touched him, but as soon as he had spoken, Dick 
collapsed against him.  He uncurled and turned, burying his face against Bruce's 
collarbone.  He clung desperately, clutching at him as if frightened that if he 
let go, Bruce would vanish.  And then he cried.  He cried like he hadn't let 
himself since that first horrible night without them.  And it just made it 
worse.  He held onto Bruce with all of his strength, trying not to think about 
how it wasn't his father he was holding, or his mother, and how it never would 
be again.  He failed desperately, and it only made him cry harder, until he 
didn't think he could take it anymore.  He couldn't breathe.  He was gasping 
more than crying, struggling to catch enough air to continue his crying.  He was 
shaking, his teeth knocking with the force of it.

Bruce had to fight back tears himself, holding Dick as tightly as he dared.  He 
could feel Dick trembling, could feel his fingers digging into his back, and 
honestly couldn't have cared less.  His heart broke with Dick's, hearing the 
agony behind every sob and feeling it himself, as if he were eight and suddenly 
alone again.  He didn't know what to do or say, but knew that nothing he said 
now would even be heard, so he held on, letting Dick cry.

How long they sat like that, neither knew nor cared.  Dick was lost, deep inside 
himself, and couldn't see a way out.  Bruce held on, giving Dick the time and 
opportunity to let go of all he'd been keeping bottled up for weeks now.  After 
Dick had long since lost the ability to breathe sufficiently, his tears began to 
slow.  He kept his grip on Bruce, though, as he struggled to find a breath.  He 
began to find it harder and harder, and soon had to let go when, unable to 
breathe, his aching lungs forced him to begin coughing.  Bruce rubbed his back, 
feeling slightly alarmed at the strength of Dick's coughing.  Eventually, Dick 
managed to regain enough control to force himself to take a few deep breaths.  
After the coughing had mostly stopped, he was left with the hiccups and a 
horrible headache along with finding it difficult to breathe.  He couldn't ever 
remember having cried that hard, and was suddenly aware that Bruce was still 
there, offering him the glass of water he kept on his night table.  He wiped his 
eyes, hiccupped and took it, avoiding Bruce's eyes.

Bruce watched Dick closely, seeing the blush that was beginning to creep onto 
his tear streaked face.  He didn't say anything, but placed a hand on Dick's 
shoulder gently.  Dick's eyes were red-rimmed and tears still clung to his 
eyelashes; occasionally, as they sat there silently, waiting for Dick to find 
his breath, a tear or two would escape and trail down his face.  Dick finished 
the glass of water and handed it back to Bruce, looking hesitantly up at him.  
"I'm sorry," he said in a shaky whisper.

Bruce looked at him in undisguised surprise.  "Sorry?  Why should you be sorry?"

Dick shrugged, looking away as fresh tears began to threaten.  He didn't answer 
because he knew if he spoke, he would start crying again.  But Bruce surprised 
him instead by saying, "I'm the one who's sorry, Dick."

Dick looked up at him, confused.  "What?  Why?"

Bruce heaved a sigh, looking sadly at Dick.  "I haven't been around much, I 
know.  I should have been.  I should have...  I should have remembered."

Dick frowned, took a shuddering breath and asked, "Remembered what?"

Bruce looked away and Dick began to think he'd said something wrong, he took so 
long before answering.  But finally Bruce replied in a vaguely choked voice, 
"What it feels like.  At first."

Dick looked at him, more confused than before.  He followed Bruce's gaze to the 
wall over the fireplace, where a portrait of two people was hanging.  He could 
only just make them out in the dark, but an idea suddenly occurred to Dick and 
he asked wonderingly, "Your parents...?"

Bruce nodded, looking back at Dick, a remorseful smile on his face.  "My 
parents.  I was eight.  Just like you."

Dick stared back at him, trying to digest this information.  Suddenly the grave 
he'd seen earlier- the one with the with familiar names- made sense.  He fought 
back a new batch of tears and repeated, "Like me?"

Bruce nodded again.  "A little different.  They were shot."  He stopped, 
composing himself before saying, "But yes.  Like you."

Dick drew his knees to his chest again, and leaned his chin against them, 
looking into the shadows that hid the portrait.  Neither said anything for a 
while, until Dick spoke up in a whisper. "I was dreaming."

Bruce looked at him, hearing the way Dick's voice shook and knowing that he was 
going to break down again soon.  "About your parents?"

Dick nodded, shaking as he tried to keep himself under control.  "They wouldn't 
listen to me," he said, an edge of desperation to his voice.  "I was warning 
them... And they didn't listen.  But then...  They were okay.  They fell, but 
they didn't-"  He stopped, wiping his face furiously.  "And then... Then I woke 
up," he finished, looking up at Bruce with haunted eyes.  "I always wake up," he 
added, before burying his face in his arms again.

Bruce reached out and drew Dick into his arms, holding him while he cried a 
fresh batch of tears.   

"It's not fair," Dick sobbed, the words coming in gasps.  "It's not fair..."

"I know," Bruce said softly, holding Dick closely.  "It's not.  I know."

Dick shook his head against Bruce's chest.  "I don't understand...  Why them?  
What did they do?"

Bruce sighed, resting the side of his head against the top of Dick's.  "Nothing, 
Dick.  They didn't do anything- and neither did you.  It just... happened.  
There was nothing you could have done," he assured him, telling himself the same 
thing.  "There was no way to know, Dick."

"But I did!" Dick cried, bringing on a fiercer tide of tears.  "I knew he didn't 
belong in the tent!  I heard him threaten Mr. Haly!"

Bruce simply held him, not sure what else to do.  "Dick, listen to me.  There 
was nothing you could have done.  Nothing.  There was no way to stop it.  Some 
things are just... out of our hands."  If only.  He wished he could believe his 
own words.

Dick took a few gasping breaths, clinging to Bruce.  "I just... miss them so 
much," he whispered, pressing his face against Bruce, wishing he could just fold 
in on himself and disappear.  Wishing that he could just stop hurting.  "It 
hurts too much."

Bruce held him tighter.  "I know, Dick.  I do know...  It won't always hurt this 
much."

Dick pulled back just far enough to look into Bruce's face.  "Does it ever stop?  
Will it ever just... go away?"

Bruce looked pained, regretting that he couldn't promise Dick that yes, the pain 
would stop.  It would vanish.  If he could have taken Dick's pain from him, he 
would have, looking into those bloodshot blue eyes, rimmed with tears.  "I wish 
it did, Dick.  But it *will* get better.  In time.  I promise."

Dick's lip began to quiver and he buried his face against Bruce again as he 
started crying again.  "I want my mom and dad," he sobbed, his voice muffled.

"I know."  And he did.  There were times that Bruce's grief and guilt threatened 
to overwhelm him, even now, years after the fact.  But he had forgotten just how 
much it had hurt in the very beginning.  He'd blocked most of that time out.  
And Dick was going to lose himself in his grief- he wanted to, Bruce knew.  
"It's all right, Dick," he told him softly.  "It's all right.  I'm right here."

Dick cried.  He hadn't before let himself do this- every time he was faced with 
breaking down, he would give himself a mental slap and stop himself.  But for 
some reason, he couldn't do that now.  Now, all he could do was cry and cry, 
holding onto Bruce like he was a sort of life raft.  He couldn't have stopped 
crying now if his life depended on it.  But eventually there weren't any tears 
left, and Dick slowly regained control, sniffling and hiccupping while he 
coughed and tried to breathe sufficiently.  But he didn't let go of Bruce.  He 
repositioned himself, leaning against Bruce's chest, and feeling his eyes grow 
heavy.  He was exhausted, completely drained- but he did feel better.  Safer, 
somehow.  Bruce was much bigger than his father had been, and it cut into him 
sharply when he thought about how he would never hold his dad like this...  But 
he still felt safe.  He couldn't summon any emotion other than his exhaustion, 
and that deep ache centered in his very core.  But he felt better, anyway.

Bruce unconsciously rubbed Dick's back, feeling him relax and begin to calm.  
Neither said anything for a long while, as it seemed Dick was content to just 
settle into Bruce's arms and cling, still shaking.  After a while, Bruce felt 
Dick's grip loosening and he looked down, seeing that Dick was fighting to stay 
awake.  He smiled sadly.  It looked like he was going to wind up skipping this 
morning's routine after all, because he didn't particularly feel like leaving 
Dick now.  Carefully, Bruce pushed himself up in the bed so that he could sit up 
against the backboard.  Dick stirred, looking up at him with a frown.

"Bruce?"

"It's all right, Dick," Bruce said.  "Just getting comfortable."

"Oh."  Dick laid his head back against Bruce's chest.  "You don't have to stay," 
he told him sleepily.

Bruce smiled.  "I know."  He looked around, trying to find the blanket Dick had 
somehow lost.  Finding it, he pulled at a corner and revealed a very worn 
stuffed gray elephant.  Smiling, Bruce reached for it and gently nudged Dick's 
shoulder.  When he glanced blearily over, he smiled upon seeing the elephant.  
Bruce handed it to him and then grabbed hold of the blanket and covered his 
young charge.  Dick hooked an arm over the elephant and repositioned himself 
against Bruce, finally drifting off to sleep.

Bruce leaned his head back, and looked down at Dick.  By no means did tonight 
make everything all right- it would be a long, hard journey for Dick.  For both 
of them.  But right now, he was content to recognize their minor victory.  The 
three of them- he, Dick and Alfred- would take it a day at a time.  It was the 
most they could do.

Fini

***

A/N:  Honestly, I'm not sure which continuity this belongs to.  You have to 
understand- my experience with Batman (while highly obsessive), is based mainly 
upon the cartoons I grew up with.  My daily schedule went like this- come home 
from school, talk to my mom, have a snack, go outside.  Outside, I would play 
with my little brother and the little boy next door- now, my brother is four 
years younger than me, and our neighbor a year younger than him.  So we would 
play all kinds of stuff- I will readily admit that once upon a time I was a bit 
of a tomboy.  We played a lot of police, superhero, dinosaur stuff.  Anyway, we 
would always stop and go inside between 3:30 and 4.  Know why?  Batman was on.  
Uh-huh.  The world stopped for Batman.  Especially if Robin happened to be in 
that day's episode.  'Course, a few years later, it was Power Rangers and I 
didn't play outside as much, but Batman was the coolest thing our neighborhood 
has since seen.  The only thing that successfully wound up getting everyone 
inside.  So now I'm all grown up (or so I tell myself) and I can get the deeper 
meaning in these shows... The problem is that I don't have many of them, thanks 
to the lack of reruns these days.  But I'm stuck in those glory days- when Dick 
was Robin, Barbara was Batgirl, my neighbor didn't sound like James Earl Jones, 
and my 6'3" brother was shorter than me.  But I wasn't ever really into the 
comics (why, I don't know), and so I know few specific details.  That doesn't 
stop me from writing this stuff, though.  I borrowed a bit from the episodes 
"Robin's Reckoning" when writing this, because I own it and have seen it too 
many times to be considered healthy.  But I was never entirely happy with it, so 
I changed some stuff.  (Tried not to directly quote, despite the voices in my 
head repeating entire scenes as I wrote.)  Thus...  I don't have a clue what I 
did.  Where this belongs.  It just... is.  And I'm extremely happy with it, 
so... there.  Have I covered my butt entirely yet?  Oh, right- if out-of-
characterness abounds, please forgive me.  These are the Bruce, Dick and Alfred 
who live in my head and have happily done so since I was seven or eight.  I will 
readily admit to shamelessly making up details when I wanted to.  It's my fic, 
darn it!