#nighting

Next things next, he's wet. Like. Soaked. Which is understandable considering it's raining and he's currently inside a dumpster—leaning against the walls. His bare legs are smeared with foul smelling juices, and his cape is a solid ten pounds heavier thanks towards the water. He leans his shoulder against the side of the dumpster and searches through his utility belt for his communicator, but when he finds the blocky device and pulls it out, he's disappointed to find it crushed. Little wires poke out of cracked plastic like vines splitting a rock. 

He stuffs the broken communicator back into the belt and inhales sharply through his mouth. His head’s  still pounding, and it doesn't feel like it will stop anytime soon. He needs to… figure out what's going on and find Bruce. Bruce doesn't like it when Dick's not by him. 

Dick doesn't like it when he's not by Bruce either. 

He takes in a few more breathes, preparing himself to fight through what will probably most likely be a very uncomfortable experience. Before he can change his mind, he tightens his grip on the lip of the dumpster and hefts himself over the edge.

He hits the cracked asphalt on the other side hard. He just manages to keep his feet under him as his skull pulses like the seven dwarfs were trapped inside, causing his stomach to plead for rebellion as the only thing he's aware of for a few moments is how he can feel the world spinning.

Once he's pretty sure he isn't going to keel over and throw up, he lets go of the dumpster and begins to study his surroundings. It looks like any old alleyway in Gotham. Long, dark, covered in trash and puddles. He risks light-headedness to look up, but all he finds is a cracked gargoyle staring off from the corner of one of the tall buildings making the alley. 

He has… no idea where he is. If he could climb up and get a rooftop view of his surroundings, he should be able to at least pinpoint where the police department is—because Bruce told him to always pay attention to the police department, and if Dick was ever alone and needed help, he should find Jim Gordon. But… looking up makes him dizzy. The thought of climbing up to the rooftops makes him dizzy. 

It's probably best he searches by foot. 

Step one is leaving the alleyway. 

He looks down both ends, and neither look that exciting or familiar. He curls his sopping wet cape around his shoulders and slowly begins to walk down a random direction. He only realizes that he chose the direction the gargoyle was facing when he catches it in the corners of his eyes. 

Bruce likes the gargoyles. 

Dick decides this should be a good direction, then. 

When he reaches the end of the alleyway, he finds himself walking onto the cracked sidewalk lining a narrowed street caged by buildings that definitely look like they've been around since seventeen hundreds. There's no signs on any of the buildings, and the street names are worn down and spray painted over. If Dick had to give a guess on where he was, he'd say it's probably somewhere in the Theater District. There's no other place in Gotham that's as ratty and disgusting even on the streets where civilian's live. 

He just… needs to find a payphone. Or at least a place he recognizes. He's come into the Theater District enough times, more than any other neighborhood in Gotham, in the times he's been fighting crime with Batman.

Even if it hasn't been for very long…

"Okay, Robin," he whispers to himself as he brings a hand to his temple to rub at the migraine, "you can do this…"

He turns right and goes to take a step, but then suddenly a voice calls out. 

And it doesn't sound like a friendly voice.

Dick spins on his heel to look behind him—which makes him dizzy but he's just able to ignore it. His eyes immediately latch onto a group of men, some standing and some sitting with interested faces on the doorsteps of a run down home, sheltering from the rain under a little overhang, each with a cigarette hanging on almost limp fingers or at the corners of their mouths. 

"Oh shit, it is Robin," one man sneers, bringing the cigarette from his mouth and huffing. 

"Where's the bat?" Another man asks, sounding nervous. "They say the kid's never without the bat…"

Dick swallows and takes a weary step back as someone steps out from under the overhang with a grin on their face. "He's here…" Dick says, trying to sound brave. His voice wobbles against his will through, and he's not sure if it's from the sudden fear of being alone, faced against what must be five men each bigger, meaner, and stronger than himself… or if it was simply because of the cold rain that still poured. "So- so stay away and we won't have any… any reason to hurt you-"

"Look at him shake in those little shoes," someone laughs, joining the first man out in the rain. "He's all alone."

And Dick knows right then that he has to get away. Like. Now. These people… they didn't look friendly. Dick can't fight them, he can barely stand. If they catch him, who knows what they'll do to him. Little kids go missing in Gotham all the time… sent to horrible places Bruce doesn't want him to know about yet because he's too little. 

Now all the men are out in the rain, the smoke of their cigarettes leaving a snake's tail behind them as the rain pelts against the foul smelling flame. They pick up speed, grinning maniacally… and Dick runs. 

He turns heel, his breath catching in his throat and his head spinning, and runs. 

Everything hurts, and his body doesn't want to move the way he needs it to. It's all he can do to duck under a grabbing hand and dodge into another alleyway. The people are hot on his heels though, even as he forces himself to run faster. He's… he's scared. His heart is in his chest and he's so cold and he just wants to cuddle up in his bed and cry. 

In a split second of dangerous desperateness, Dick grabs onto his grapple and aims it towards a fire escape placed above him. He presses the trigger, preparing himself for how much this is going to suck with his concussion and nausea, but as he's about to launch upwards, something violently tugs on his neck. Dick watches in horror as the grapple flys onwards without him. He has just a split second of true despair before he's jerked back and tossed to the rough ground by the fabric of his cape. 

His knees and hands scrape painfully on the asphalt, causing various cuts to open up and weep pink into the water. His neck hurts, his head spins, and he's shaking from exhaustion and fear. He tries to scramble to his feet, but then large arms wrap around his middle, pinning his arms to his side, and dragging him up so his legs kick in midair, his back pressed against someone's chest. He can smell tobacco. He can hear laughter cutting through the pounding in his heart. 

"Let go!" Dick shouts, doing everything he can to choke down cries. He struggles in the grasp and kicks out his legs, but nothing works. He goes to scream at them, but one arm transfers from his chest towards his mouth and he's effectively hand-gagged. 

And now he can't keep back a sob. It's all so awful. The people are all laughing and sneering while they drag him back further and further into the alley. 

And for a moment, Dick thinks that this is when it will happen. This is when Bruce will swoop in and save him. 

He looks up towards the rooftops, and all he finds are uselessly staring gargoyles.

Bruce isn't... coming? Dick is alone. If he wants out of this… he has to do it himself.

Which is so much easier to say that it is to do. The hand on his mouth presses harshly against his jaw, which only serves to make his skull pound worse. His limbs feel so weak to where he can only wiggle in the arms holding him captive. His kicking isn't doing anything. He's so small and light—even for an 8 year old—that his struggling is basically useless. 

What can he do- what can he do? 

His fingers brush on his utility belt and he almost stills. That's right, he has more things than a broken communicator and a  missing grapple. Dick's not very good yet at thinking ahead and keeping track of all the tools Bruce gave him. There's so much to remember… but now he thinks… he might just be able to do something.

Which is better than giving up here and now. 

"I have a buddy who works for Riddler," one man says excitingly. "Maybe we can hook up and sell the brat."

"I have some rope at my place…" another puts in. And while being the Riddler's hostage isn't exactly the worst thing in the world—much better than Joker or Scarecrow that's for sure—Dick isn't exactly eager to be put in any death traps that are riddle encrypted.

So, even as his head spins and his body shakes with both fear, adrenalin, and the cold rain, he forces himself to take in a deep breath of air through his nose before grabbing at the small, round cylinders hidden inside his belt. 

He pulls them out, and before anyone can say or do anything, he presses one of the buttons.

He closes his eyes, and he knows the flash bombs have worked the moment the people around him all yell and the arms around him drop. He plummets to his feet and just manages to not faceplant by throwing his scraped up hands out in front of him. Before the flash can dim or anyone does anything, he jumps to his feet and forces his legs to move as quick as he can pump him. 

He runs. And runs. And he doesn't stop, even as he blinks tears out of his eyes and gasps for breath. 

He turns a random corner, as he has done several times before during this night, but he's immediately met by a solid wall of flesh. Large hands fall to his shoulders and he panics. 

"Stop! Let go!" Dick throws his fists out but his wrists are immediately grabbed. Dick hiccups and struggles, even as the shadowed person tightens their hands around his arms and ignores his shouting. 

Dick can't do this anymore tonight. He's so tired. A sob tears through his mouth and his legs give out. He can't he can't he can't he can't-

"Chum, calm down-" a graveled voice says, and Dick freezes like he's just been doused with a bucket of ice. 

Dick… he knows that voice. Sobbing and kneeling on the soaked ground, his wrists still in tight holds, Dick opens his eyes to get a better look at his new captor. 

He recognizes the jaw. The clothes. The cowl. The eyes. 

Bruce. 

Somehow, the realization just makes him cry harder. Only, this time, instead of trying to escape, he flings himself forward and wraps his arms around Bruce's neck the second Bruce lets go of his wrists. His throat feels clogged and snot is probably running down his nose, but he's so relieved to finally be safe. He buries his head into the crook of Batman's jaw and clutches. 

Safe. He's safe. 

And he thinks somewhere at the back of his mind that he shouldn't feel so safe. He's only known Bruce for a couple of months… have only been Robin for a little less.

But when Bruce finally relaxes and wraps his arms around Dick, lifting him up in a way that's so gentle and caring compared to the men who tried to kidnap him… safe is all he can think about. 

Bruce speaks softly, his voice rumbling through his chest like a cat's purr, explaining that he tried his best to find Dick earlier, and that he didn't mean to take so long. He mentions something about Poison Ivy but Dick's too tired and relieved to care. His skull still pounds. He can bug Bruce later on details, figure out why he woke up in a dumpster with a concussion and no memory of how he got there. 

He just holds on tighter, shaking his head when Bruce asks why he's so upset. 

"I want to go home," Dick gasps through a wet sob, and Bruce stiffens all over again. 

Home. Has Dick… ever thought of the manor as home before? 

Before he can panic and take back the word, Bruce tightens his embrace around Dick's body and huffs. "Okay… let's go… home. We can talk later."

Dick can only nod and try to quiet his ongoing hiccupping sobs as Bruce begins to walk away. He wants to fall asleep now, especially with the adrenaline falling, but Bruce notices the concussion and forces him to stay awake until the Batmobile comes to a stop in the cave and Alfred checks him over. 

He goes to bed immediately then, and when he wakes up in the morning he finds Bruce had taken the day off from work. He doesn't ask questions on why Dick was so upset the night before. He just smiles and holds up a pair of car keys. 

"Zoo?"

Dick grins back, even though the concussion still hurts and will probably hurt for a long time. 

But at least he's safe. 

At least he's found, and he has a feeling Bruce won't let him get lost ever again. Not on his watch. 

"Let me grab my shoes!"