Again, not bataed. Sorry for any errors you may find. WARNINGS for molestation. And pissed of Bruce Wayne.

Dick stepped into the classroom slowly. His feet dragged along the ground and his fingers curled tighter around the strap of his backpack. It wasn't that he disliked Mr. Shimamora. Shimamora was young, fresh out of college, and liked to get to know his students on more than a school level. It was cool. He spent over an hour the other day talking with Dick about the new Justice League based video game. Mr. Shimamora thought Superman was the best character to play as, but Dick hadn't lost once as Batman (he always made sure Bruce was nowhere in sight when he played that particular game. Somehow he couldn't imagine the moment being anything but awkward).

No, the reason he wanted nothing to do with the inside of this classroom today was because of the history essay currently buried deep in the recesses of his backpack. The bright red D still seemed burnt into is eyes. Never, in the history of the world, had Dick received such a bad grade on anything. Totally not astrous. In fact, it was verging on disastrous.

Somehow he didn't think that explaining to his teacher that the last six months of his life had been erased from his mind by a super villain, and subsequently the last six months of history lectures had vanished along with his other memories, was going to be enough to smooth this grade thing over.

Also, it wasn't going to fly as an excuse with Bruce either.

"Ah, Richard. Good, you're right on time," Mr. Shimamora said with a smile. He pushed his chair back from his desk and stepped forward to shake Dick's hand. It was something Mr. Shimamora had been doing lately, the hand shaking. His fingers were smooth and cold and trailed along the inside of Dick's wrist accidentally as they released each other.

Dick shifted from foot to foot and looked anywhere but at Shimamora's face. His teacher smiled and laughed. He clapped a hand on Dick's shoulder and gestured to the comfortable looking chair behind the desk.

"Calm yourself down, buddy. We're just here to talk about that essay, not the end of the world," Mr. Shimamora chuckled as he leaned against the edge of his desk.

Dick pulled the offered chair out a little further, so that he and Mr. Shimamora were on the same side of the desk before sitting down. "We might as well be talking about the end of the world. Bruce is going to kill me for getting such a bad grade," he admitted dejectedly.

Mr. Shimamora cocked his head to the side, his lips quirked upwards into a slightly crooked grin. His teeth were very white against the tan of his skin and the brightness of his blond hair. Lots of girls in his class had a crush on Mr. Shimamora, but Dick kind of thought that was nauseating. It was like having a crush on Kaldur or someone equally big brother-ish.

"Mr. Wayne really pushing for the good grades then?" Mr. Shimamora asked lightly. He leaned forward slightly, so that his face was closer to Dicks, like they were sharing a secret.

Dick nodded. Pushing for good grades was an understatement. He flat out demanded that Dick not fall below a B in any class or Batman and Robin would be cut back to just Batman. "He'll have a coronary, and then be all stern and ask why I did so badly and I'll have to tell him 'Sorry, I have no idea'" Dick revealed, mimicking Bruce's deeper voce and waving his hands around in emphasis.

And Alfred would be 'disappointed' and that was almost as bad as Bruce being mad.

Mr. Shimamora pursed his lips together and seemed to consider things for a long moment. He gestured towards Dicks backpack flung on the floor beside the large chair and asked, "May I see your essay again?"

Dick nodded glumly and reached for the bag. It was fairly terrible, even he'd admit to that. Somehow the big red D looked even bigger and redder as it was pulled out of the backpack. He frowned at the paper as he passed it over to Mr. Shimamora, who seemed to overshoot the paper and closed his hands around Dick's fingers instead of the five page mistake.

He glanced up from Dick's hands and into his eyes, smiling wider in apology. He pulled the paper closer and began to flip through it, contemplative once again. "Honestly, Richard, it looked like you have no idea what the subject matter was. I know this isn't your best work, not by a long shot. What happened here?"

Dick slouched in the large chair and sighed. Again, evil super villains did it was about as believable as my dog ate it. Without any better option he muttered, "Would you believe me if I said I don't know?"

There was a moment of silence and then Mr. Shimamora placed the paper down on his desk. He stood up and began to walk around his desk and Dick in the chair. The only windows in the room were covered by thick blinds, the kind Mr. Shimamora normally used to block out the light when they watched movies. It was actually kind of dark in the room, now that Dick thought about it. The heavy classroom door was closed as well, blocking out the lights in the hallway. He wondered vaguely if Mr. Shimamora had headaches, because the room was always dark like this after classes, whether he had meetings with students or not.

"Well, I'm willing to give you a second chance here Richard. You're a good student, and this essay is definitely not like you," Mr. Shimamora said, circling back around the desk again. He was behind the chair now, looking down at Dick.

Dick, for his part, felt the sulky dread in his stomach disappear as a new hope appeared. If he could do the essay again, could have more than three hours before school started and it had to be handed in to write he'd have a shot. Mr. Shimamora smiled down at him. He leaned over the back of the chair and placed his hands on Dick's shoulders, squeezing ever so slightly. Dick blinked at the action for a moment. Mr. Shimamora was a lot more tactical then the older teachers, and he'd pat people on the shoulders before, during class so it wasn't as if this was anything new.

Dick chose to ignore his slight discomfort, because he was being ridiculous and Bruce's paranoia might be rubbing off on him more then he'd thought.

"I'll totally write the essay again. I'll write you the best essay you've even read!" Dick assured, twisting around a little more in his seat to see Mr. Shimamora better.

Mr. Shimamora's face was much closer than Dick thought it would be. And then he moved even closer, one of his hands stayed on Dick's shoulder squeezing lightly, while the other ran up along Dick's neck to ruffle his hair. It was a friendly gesture, one that Wally might have done, but it seemed out of place coming from Mr. Shimamora.

"Of course I'll let you write it again. We're friends; I wouldn't want you to get into trouble with Mr. Wayne. We'll just keep this whole thing to ourselves them, hum?" Mr. Shimamora said brightly. He gave Dick's shoulder one more squeeze and stepped back, putting an arm's length of space between them both. His easy smile hadn't changed at all.

Dick nodded slowly. Something was off about this whole conversation, but he couldn't really place his finger on what. He picked up his backpack and returned Mr. Shimamora's smile somewhat less brightly as he made his way to the door.

"Have that essay for me on Friday, ok Richard? You can turn it in after class, and I'll grade it there so you know what you got right away," Mr. Shimamora winked at him and added, "That way you're not in suspense."

Dick smile brighter. That way he'd have a grade for Bruce by the weekend and all Young Justice related activities would be cleared. He shot Mr. Shimamora a thumbs up and left the room.

True to his word, Dick made sure that the essay was the best one he'd written all year. With the notes in his notebook and everything he could find on the internet the gaps in his memories were more or less filled. Dick considered asking M'gann to find his missing school memories, but decided against it in the end. She'd realize what school he went to, and things would just go downhill from there.

He waited for class the end on Friday with an odd sense of dread and anxiety in his stomach. Mr. Shimamora smiled at him as the other students filed out after the bell. Dick watched the last one stop and snag the door handle, pulling the door closed behind her. Everyone knew that Mr. Shimamora liked the keep the door closed. It was an overcast, rainy day out so inside the classroom was even darker once the blinds were closed. He considered asking to keep the door open, but Mr. Shimamora flipped the lamp on his desk on and solved the problem.

"You have your essay for me, Richard?" he asked, settling in his large chair behind the desk.

Dick nodded and pulled the paper out of his binder. Mr. Shimamora accepted it with a nod and a quick, "Fell free to take a seat."

Dick flopped into the desk closest to the front of the room, directly before Mr. Shimamora's seat. He watched his teacher closely as he read, noting every quark of the eye brow and twitch of the lip. This essay had to be good, his weekend depended on it.

"This is much, much better," Mr. Shimamora said vaguely, turning the page and underlining sentences as he went. Dick grinned.

"Much better, this is more like what I expect from my favorite student," Mr. Shimamora said, setting his red pen down and looking up at Dick. He stood up and moved around his desk to stand in front of Dicks. He placed his hands on either side of Dick. His large form blocked out the light from the desk, casting a shadow over Dick.

He shifted in his seat, leaning backwards slightly. "So, do I get an A?" he asked, keeping his voice light and calm.

Mr. Shimamora tilted his head to the side and suddenly his smile didn't look quite the same any longer. It looked less carefree and more calculated. There was something teasing in the corners of his eyes as he leaned forward just the smallest bit more. His hands moved closer together on the desk, boxing Dick in between himself and the back of the chair connected to the table top.

"I think we can work something out here Richard," he said, and his voice was different as well. It was deeper somehow, and something uncomfortable churned in the pit of Dick's stomach.

"O—okay. Grate. Awesome. I'll just head out then, because I'm sure Alfred is waiting for me—"he began, moving to rise from the desk.

Mr. Shimamora's hands moved from the desk and onto his shoulders, pushing him back down on to the chair. It suddenly seemed very, very uncomfortable and very, very confining. Mr. Shimamora's thumbs rubbed small circles into Dick's shoulders and he leaned closer still. Warning bells were blaring in the back of Dick's head. This was wrong, very, very wrong.

Was Mr. Shimamora trying to intimidate him? Did he know about Batman or was he just trying to get something out of Bruce Wayne? Dick wanted to kick Mr. Shimamora away, knew exactly the amount of force he'd have to use in order to drop the man to the ground and reach the door. But would Richard Grayson do something like that? Could he get away with it?

"This isn't going to take long, Richard, don't worry. We're friends, and friends help each other out," he said, voice going even deeper and quieter. There was no space between his face and Dick's any longer. Dick leaned backwards in the chair as far as he possibly could, but it wasn't far enough.

Mr. Shimamora was kissing him. On the lips. With his mouth open and his tongue trailing along Dick's bottom lip. His hands had gone tighter, meant to hold Dick in place. They weren't the reason he wasn't moving, that was the shock. Mr. Shimamora was kissing him. A teacher was kissing him. Was this guy stupid?

Dick kicked away from the desk, hitting his face into Mr. Shimamora's more on accident then because he tried, but the sharp curse it earned was satisfying either way. His face was hot, so hot it felt like it was burning and his heart was pounding against his ribs. If he were Robin right now Dick knew how he would react, but as Richard Grayson what was he supposed to do? Yell? Throw things? Threaten to tell Bruce?

Mr. Shimamora rubbed his cheek and watched Dick. He was still between Dick and the door, with a mass amount of desks added for extra annoyance. He wasn't allowed to use his gymnastics in civilian cloths, not to mention the school uniform wouldn't allow for any extra movement.

Mr. Shimamora smiled and lowered his hands from his face. "Spook you? I'm sorry." He moved closer, always between Dick and the door, herding his backwards.

"I need to go now. I don't care about the grade anymore, fail me if you want. I'm not doing this," Dick hissed. His backpack was still next to the desk, but he didn't care. It could stay here, all that mattered was getting the hell out of this classroom right now. How stupid could he have been to not think twice about the drown shades and the closed door. How many students had Mr. Shimamora done this to?

"Don't you want to be my friend, Richard? Don't we get along well?" Mr. Shimamora asked, moving forward again. Dick curled his hands into fists and took a step backwards.

"Friends help each other. They make each other feel good. If you let me, I can make you feel good too Richard," he purred.

Suddenly Mr. Shimamora moved. Dick could dodge blows from fighters like the Flash, could out maneuver almost anyone he faced, but for some reason that meant nothing now. He scrambled backwards, fist aimed for Mr. Shimamora's face. A large hand bated it away with socking ease and shoved Dick hard up into the wall.

There were hands everywhere, touching him and pulling at his cloths. Mr. Shimamora's mouth latched onto Dick's, covering up his cry of surprise. A leg was shoved between his own, rubbing upwards his painful force. His hands were trapped, one between his body and Shimamora's and the other somehow behind his back and the wall. He couldn't breathe, and somehow his belt was being undone and this wasn't happening, this didn't happen to Dick, it didn't—

There was a bone shattering clash of wood on stone as the door hit the wall hard enough to bounce right back off of it. Hands reached out and wrenched Mr. Shimamora backwards and hurled him into his large wooden desk. Dick pressed his back up against the wall, eyes wide and chest heaving. Bruce loomed over Mr. Shimamora, radiating dark anger the way he only ever seemed to when in uniform.

Somehow it was scarier without the mark.

"Dick, are you alright?" Bruce growled, his eyes never leaving Mr. Shimamora's face.

Dick nodded. There was something stuck in his throat and he couldn't speak past it.

"You are going to seriously regret ever stepping foot into this city," Bruce hissed with absolute conviction. Mr. Shimamora continued to stair up at him, blinking slowly like he couldn't quite figure out what had just happened.

Without another word Bruce turned and swept his arm around Dick. He guided him from the room, making sure to keep himself between Dick and the teacher. Dick found his eyes glued to the floor. He didn't want to look at Shimamora, didn't want to look at Bruce. All he wanted was to get out of that room, get away from this school and pretend like none of this happened.

Bruce led him down the hallway, out the door and to the back seat of the waiting limo. Alfred opened the back door, an eyebrow raised at the look of dark anger on Bruce's face. Rather than answering the unasked question Bruce made a gesture that clearly meant "I'll explain later" and ushered Dick into the car.

Dick stared at his feet and stayed silent.

"Has this happened before?" Bruce asked, his voice tight and strained and unable to achieve the clam Dick knew he normally used when interrogating people. Because that was what this was; an interrogation.

He shook his head and muttered, "No."

There was silence in the car for a long, long moment. Dick counted the seconds in his head as the car pulled away from the curb and out into traffic. Now that he was out of the room, now that Mr. Shimamora wasn't hovering around him, he couldn't understand why he'd allowed something like this to happen. Dick wasn't helpless, or stupid, he should have been able to tell something was wrong with the way Mr. Shimamora acted. The fact that he hadn't was more than humiliating, it could have gotten him into trouble he didn't even want to think about had Bruce not shown up when he did.

"Dick—"Bruce ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the strands.

Dick squirmed, looked out the window and watched the rain drops slid down the glass.

"Sorry," he muttered, hoping the sound of the rain the and hum of the engine would swallow the sound.

"Why are you sorry?" Bruce demanded angrily, his head jerking up with a sharp snap.

Was this a trick question? Was Bruce honestly going to make him explain? Even for Batman that was harsh. When Bruce didn't look away, Dick realized that yes, he was going to have to explain. Even if his face felt so hot with shame it was sure to catch fire soon.

"For not stopping him. For letting it happen." Somehow those two little sentences hurt. For half a second Dick entertained the thought of opening the car door and diving out into the rain. Anything would be better than sitting here in the back of this car.

Bruce made an odd choking sound and something close to pure rage flashed across his face. For the first time in almost four years Dick found himself slightly afraid of him. He knew he'd screwed up, but did it really warrant this sort of a reaction?

"You did nothing wrong," Bruce said slowly and carefully, enunciating each and every word fully before moving onto the next one. His eyes locked on Dicks and he moved his hands as if to reach for him, but aborted the gesture at the last moment.

"He was a teacher at your school, someone you interact with every day. He was supposed to be a person you could trust. He was the one who did something wrong, not you. Do you understand, Dick?"

It was the use of the nick name more than anything else that did it. Dick nodded hastily, swiping at his eyes were he was definitely not crying, not at all. None of that anger was meant for him, it was all Shimamora's and it wasn't just that Dick was too stupid to recognize a dangerous situation when he was in one. He nodded again, because it seemed like the thing to do and this time Bruce didn't stop himself from pulling Dick into a tight, safe embrace.

"Thank you," he croaked, and very firmly ignored the way the not-tears were making his voice go thick. Thank you for saving me, thank you for not blaming me, but those were tings that he couldn't say out loud.

Bruce held him tighter, understanding everything that hadn't been voiced. "Anytime."