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Here’s the thing; Dick knows what it’s like to be in jail. Or rather, juvie.
It was difficult, at first, putting people into jail. He felt for them. Of course it was a bit different seeing as he was innocent when shoved into juvie, but he can’t see how it rehabilitates people. No, it is simply punishment.
They take everything that belongs to you, nothing you have is really yours anymore. They tear apart your cell every so often to check for anything you might have that’s dangerous. You have no privacy, and then they leave it to you to put it back together.
If other kids decided to beat the shit out of someone, the guards didn’t care.
The food was disgusting. Whatever people say about jail food, it’s worse. On his second day there he found a maggot in his potatoes. Well he thought they were potatoes. Honestly he couldn’t tell.
He stared at the bland looking pile of mush. Dick swore he saw something move in it. Looking towards the corner of the tray, he realized he wasn’t just seeing things. He picked up something wriggling. A maggot, he realized. He held it there for a moment in disbelief. He’d heard jail food was gross, but this was just… something else.
“Hey, kid.” He turned to the voice immediately with a slight flinch, maggot still in between his fingers.
“You gonna eat that??” the older boy gestured towards his hand.
The Maggot? There’s absolutely no way he would.. He glanced around for a moment before looking back.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Dick replied.
They boy smiled and nodded, making a gesture asking for him to give him the bug. He hesitated for a moment, staring back at the wriggling creature.
“Uhm… okay..” he handed it to him, staring with anticipation. There was no way he’d eat it right?
To his relief and slight disappointment, the boy opened his shirt pocket to a baby bird. Dick stared for a moment hoping for some sort of context, but it was clear the boy was done talking, so he turned back to his own tray. He had two options now, eat it, or go hungry. He decided the latter was a better decision, and pushed it away.
It didn’t take long before another kid snatched the tray he abandoned.
The guards made kids do labour. All. The. Time. Like having kids in juvie was just an excuse for free labour.
Among all work he had to do, cleaning the disgusting floors was what he hated most. Who makes hundreds of prepubescent boys share a bathroom? Seriously, if anyone ever dropped their soap, they didn’t want to pick it up.
The first day is the worst for everyone. When new kids are brought in they are immediately humbled and degraded. It sucked to experience and it was awful to watch.
His first day he kept to himself, and he’s glad he did. The first boy that cracked and broke down was ridiculed and beaten.
Dick learned a few things then. Hold your tongue, don’t complain, guard your food with your life. Sometimes, he was glad other kids would hurt him, because he’d get away from everyone for a few days while in the infirmary.
He still vividly remembers his first day, he was the youngest, and didn't speak much English.
There was a stomach-tuning crack ringing through the cell, followed by laughing. He was being held down and mocked.
Another crack.
He couldn't scream, as they covered his mouth to silence him. The hand which soon had bloodied teeth marks sunken into the palm. Dick was rewarded with an elbow to the mouth.
His left hand was held back by the wrist, and a smirk ghosted over one of the kid's features as he pushed his next finger the wrong way.
They laughed.
They bent one finger back. Straight back. The sound of a snapping bone echoed.
He couldn't scream, he couldn't fight. He felt like a rag doll being toyed with by careless children.
Dick tasted copper flooding his mouth, teeth clamped down hard on the soft part of his cheek to keep the agony inaudible. His head felt cloudy. He wasn't breathing right.
“You’re stuck in this hellhole." One of them said. He couldn't tell who. He didn't know what else they said. He wasn't even sure what a "Hellhole" was.
Crack.
He kicked desperately, bare feet scraping against the concrete as his anger waned into pain and fear.
Again, he tried to yell.
A sharp yank from his hair silenced him.
There was more popping, more cracking as the one breaking his fingers curled his hand around all five, and squeezing until blood was running down his forearm.
“Gimme his left.”
They grabbed his other hand.
No.
His breathing quickened.
He tried to squirm away again, and t hey slammed his head into the wall, dazing him into submission.
Crack.
Snap.
Searing pain. His mind went white, he'd broken a bone before. But never like this. Never forced, one by one, e xcruciatingly slowly.
They kept talking in a mocking tone. He was in too much pain and too exhausted to try and figure out what they were saying.
“You listening?”
His fingers were black and blue.
“Pay attention, brat.”
After all was done, the last boy in his cell, his actual cellmate he believed, picked him up, slinging Dick’s arm around him and leading him to the infirmary.
Once he was returned back to his cell he sat on the edge of his bed. His fingers bandaged slightly poorly, dick noticed, but he couldn’t do much to fix it. He turned his head towards the boy who helped him. He was reading a book.
“You sat there, watching.” he accused, voice small and monotone, like he had no energy to be angry.
The boy in question turned to Dick and shrugged, “Every boy for himself around here, you’re lucky I helped at all.” and he turned back to what he was reading.
Dick shifted his gaze back to his own hands, true realization setting in. This was where he’d be stuck for a long while if he didn’t get fostered.
He didn’t even get the chance to process his parents’ deaths when he had to fight for his life everyday.