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Dick knew that things would be different when he left home. He and Bruce had been fighting for so long and they both yelled things they couldn’t take back. Things that Dick didn’t think he could ever forgive himself for. He considered Bruce to be…well, it's complicated, but he definitely missed him most days. Moving into Titan Tower before his 16th birthday had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
He knew a lot of things would change. That he wouldn’t get dinner made for him or questions about how school was going. He wouldn’t have a guardian to call when something went wrong or if he was in the principal’s office. He had thought of all those things and had cried buckets after he finished unpacking. He thought he had mourned every loss, but he was wrong.
He didn't know that things would go so wrong so quickly.
The black bag that came over his head was completely unexpected and unstoppable. Dick had been walking back to the tower, albeit late at night, after a particularly hard mission. The team had come into contact with a domestic abuse case on patrol and there was no Batman to tell the four-year-old why daddy hit mommy into a coma. There was just Robin. Robin and a bunch of rookies who were still learning how to fight properly. Even though they had been working for over six months, they weren’t perfect. No being perfect had resulted in Dick underage drinking at age 16 at a house party full of teenagers he didn’t know and ended with him being kidnapped and thrown in the back of a van.
He felt his shoulder smack into the metal flooring and let his drunk head hit the siding when he slid. Oh Gotham. He knew people were whispering but his head hurt too much to make out what they were saying. Ok, ok think Robin. Don’t let your own stupidity let you die. He had been through too much training for it to go down the drain because he had a little beer. He forced himself to count the distance and turns for a location and did his best to listen for any information. The latter of his two goals didn’t help much since they went quiet shortly after loading him up. There are at least two of them. Maybe more. He knew better than to trust that all the members would talk. There could always be more.
After they left Jump city Dick heard, and felt, the van pull to a stop. His arm skid on the cold surface below him and soon enough the doors were opening and he could feel cold air hit his feet. My feet? They took my shoes then. Or I left them at the party? I don’t remember. Sh*t.
“Boss, He’s awake” someone grunted and Dick noted it was an older-sounding man with no discernible accent.
“All the better. Make him walk” another man answered and he was hauled out of the vehicle by the arm and felt snow hit his feet. Double sh*t. Snow? It hasn’t been cold enough to snow in Jump yet but based on the location I should in Gotham. If it’s snowing we’re farther from the docks which means too far to be in Batgirls patrol area. Dick tried to fight against the rough hands that held him but he didn’t have great balance at the moment and probably did little better than a thrashing toddler.
He was thrown to the floor again but it was a relief for his freezing joints. They were inside and from the feel of it, the place had a pretty nice carpet. Similar to the hallway at the manor. “I t’ink we’re movin’ pret’y f’st h’re guys” Dick slurred moving to sit up and test the ropes around his hands. He hadn’t even noticed them in the car. I’m never drinking again. “Norm’lly I’d h’ve you’re name b’fore we leave the p’rty” he continued and half expected the kick that came to the side of his head and slammed him against the carpet. Which he was now hatting for the carpet burns it left on the side of his face.
“Shut up rich boy. We don’t need anything from you beyond your rich dad’s phone number” the not-boss told him gruffly. He definitely has smoked before. He has excessive lung damage.
It was at this moment that Dick realized he had missed one part of Bruce in his mourning. He lost someone to call when he was kidnapped without his emergency button. He knew Bruce’s phone number…from last year. Sh*t. Bruce was an extremely paranoid freak who changed his number every year and never kept a company phone. I could give them Wayne industries, but he knew if he did that they wouldn't get past the receptionist.
“‘kes on you” he huffed ignoring the increase of pressure from the not-boss’s boot. “‘uce ‘n I don’t g’t ‘long no more.” Understatement of the century.
The kick to the back was unwelcome, but the bag being lifted from his face was nice. He could at least blurrily see the goatee of not-boss and the vague inside of what seemed to be some kind of cabin. No furniture in the room he was in and no windows but that made sense. He also got a clear view of the gun barrel pointed at his face and the phone being dropped in front of him. “You better figure it out because whether you get along or not, you’re about to be dead if he doesn’t come bring us our money.”
Dick really didn’t know what to do or feel at this point. He was tired and drunk and missed his dad. He didn’t know whether these were amateurs or professionals because the boss had made himself absent and even if he does call someone else like Clark or Dianna, the not-boss would realize and shoot him. The gun was real, that much was clear even in his brain fog. He felt his throat well as he thought of the last time he’d been taken.
Bruce hadn’t let him leave the manor for a week. He’d been kicked then too and taken right from school. He’d been terrified, not for himself but for the other student who had been taken as well. Bruce had given him the tightest hug he’d ever felt when he found him and they had milkshakes with dinner for three days in a row. “I’ll always come for you chum” he had promised and Dick let the memory bring tears down his face. I’m going to die and I never even gotta to fix everything.
“That’s right, you should be scared rich boy. Tell me what to press and you can keep your brains in your head.” ugly goatee, not-boss should shave, instructed.
“No one’s coming” Dick mumbled. If he called the manor at this time of night it would only scare Alfred. There was no use.
“Call anyway” the thug repeated cocking the gun for emphasis. “Now.”
Dick hesitated. He didn’t want to hear the number he knew not work. He didn’t want to aid in the quickening of his demise. “(555) 180-200” he muttered anyway letting his tears soak into the carpet feeling no relief when the boot lifted off of his skull. He wished the night was over. He wished he wasn’t drunk. He wished Bruce were here. He watched the man press the numbers and turn the phone on speaker between the two of them. It rang once… again … again… he never picks up on the third ring. Dick let the rest of his tears come.
“Hello? Who is this and how did you get this number?” Dad. Dick’s head shot up and he stared at the phone in disbelief. That- that was Bruce. On his old number sounding as if he were just asleep even though it was patrol time. But why? Why would he answer some random number on an old cell phone in the middle of patrol?
Dick snapped out of it when he felt the man nudge him with the barrel of the gun and show him a piece of paper with a time and location on it. Ransom. They’re going to have Bruce bring the money then. Dick knew the drill. He knew how to tell Bruce how to find him. So long as Bruce answering wasn’t some drunk fever dream. “‘ruce?” he asked, hating the sound of his own voice.
“...Dick? Is that you? What’s going on?” Bruce questioned sounding much more awake. “Give me details robin” that’s what Dick heard.
“‘m hurt” he confessed feeling the kick to his back even worse as he forced himself to speak. Always update injuries. “Hurt” was manageable but unable to escape. “Don’t feel good” was for active death impending situations only. “Kidn’pped. They w’nt you to go to 46th ‘n 3rd. di’mon’s or som’thin.’”
“What hurts? I swear if they-” Bruce didn’t get to finish his threat before the call was ended.
“You better hope he brings enough money, rich boy” ugly goatee scowled and Dick let the pistol whip knock him unconscious. He wondered if Bruce would realize he was drunk. He wondered if he cared.
“‘ck” oh my head is going to explode. Dick still felt cold but could feel that he was being moved. “Dick, wake up” A voice called again. No I know who that is. Batman was staring at him when he managed to pull his eyes open. It was easy to figure out that was moving him into his arms and was wrapping him in the cape. “Where are you hurt?” he asked gruffly.
“M’ back. Head. dunno” he answered eloquently, feeling no soberer than he did before he fell asleep. That was ok though because Bruce apparently accepted that as enough information and picked him up to walk to the car. He glanced over the cape and saw that the two men were beaten bloody on the floor. That looks a bit extreme. He didn’t say that. Instead, he pretended that Bruce was his Batman and that he wasn’t going to have to scream at him when they got home. That he wouldn’t have to hide from the Titans when he got back to Jump City. That he didn’t miss him.
He didn’t feel when the crying started, but he did feel the rumble of Bruce’s chest when he started talking.
“It’s ok. I’m going to bring you home.” home. The manor would always be home. Dick had screamed at him that he hated that place the last time he was there, but Bruce didn’t act like it. He just gently sat down in the car and let the batmobile auto drive. He didn’t yell or tell him that he failed. He didn’t ask him a million questions about what happened. He just…was there.
Dick went boneless when Bruce started stroking his hair looking for bruises. There were more than a few. He didn’t understand why this was happening after… I was fired . After he had told Bruce he wished he never fostered him. He came for me still. He kept the crying up the entire drive.
“Sweetheart, did they drug you?” Bruce questioned pulling down the cowl as they pulled into the cave. Sweetheart. It's been years since I’ve heard that. He rubbed Dick’s back and carried him wrapped up tightly to the med bay where Alfred was waiting. Dick shook his head but couldn’t bring himself to talk. Couldn’t bring himself to jeopardize the hold that Bruce had on his hands. “Did they scare you?” No. I did this to myself.
He felt like he should be anywhere else in the world. That he didn’t deserve any of this after what he said. After what he did to get himself into this complete mess. How was he going to tell Alfred, the man who was currently helping to apply cream to his now bareback that he had entered a stranger's house to get drunk at a random frat party because he missed the family that he had run away from.
“I don’t believe that’s the main issue Master Bruce” Alfred answered to Bruce’s earlier question. Dick didn't miss the disappointment hidden there. “His blood alcohol content indicates that he had quite the night before our thugs scooped him up.” He felt Bruce’s grip loosen and saw his face morph into the typical stone wall he had remembered before he left. Dick gripped tighter.
“I-I’m s-sorry” Dick cried, leaning forward and almost falling off of the examination table. Bruce easily steadied him against his chest, securing a hold on the teen once more by bringing a hand to rest on his hair. “I-I d-didn’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean? What happened?” Bruce asked gentler than Dick expected. He wasn’t going to take it for granted. Not again. Screw pride. Screw that he was right. Being right and without his family sucked.
“I missed you” Dick cried gripping Bruce’s cape as best he could. “I-I wanted to c-come home. I d-drank a-and I- I thought I didn’t kno-ow your number anymore a-and-” he disappointed even himself when he couldn't form a coherent sentence. He was acting like a child. He was very drunk and his head hurt and all he wanted-
Bruce hugged him. Fiercely and with all the strength that Dick remembered. Like if he held on tight enough all of Dick’s problems would magically fit together into a whole perfect person again. He melted into the embrace. “Listen to me right now kiddo” Bruce ordered and Dick nodded into his chest. He owed him that. Even if he resented the nickname. “You are welcome home anytime. We can talk about everything else later. For now, I’m just glad you’re home safe.” home. “And for the record” Dick whined and Bruce pulled his face away so that they could see eye-to-eye. “I missed you very much too. I’d never make it so that you couldn’t call me if you need me. “ he swore and Dick pushed back into the hug, hiding his face.
“I don’t hate you or the manor” he mumbled letting Bruce lift him from the table.
“I know Dick.”
“‘m glad you foster’d me”
“...I know. It’s ok”
“‘m sorry I yelled”
“Dick?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re very drunk and you should probably shut up sweetheart.” While the words sounded exhausted Dick could hear the subtle hint of amusement as they neared his old bedroom. He was barely awake by the time Bruce set him down on the mattress and whispered, “I’m sorry too.”