I am including a link at the end of this with just one of the videos that I used as my inspiration for some of the action scenes in this. It was a struggle to try and describe everything in a way that you could follow. If you have trouble still, or are just curious, then check out the video and it will all make sense.

WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE and PERIL . . . Watch for POV changes. There are a few.

After the woman left the bedroom, Dick slid carefully out of the bed. He kneeled on the floor while positioning the pillows and tucking the comforter around them. Then he crawled along the floor to the door. They were talking about him, but he didn't care what they were saying. He wasn't going to be here, so it wouldn't make any difference.

He pushed the door partially closed. It would have to be good enough. Dick knew that if he closed it completely, someone would notice. He just needed a little bit of time. If he stuck close to the bed, he could walk now without being seen. He moved straight to the window.

The table in front of it was loaded with stuff. He didn't want to make anything fall. It might make someone come in to check on him. So, he moved each item; setting it out of his way until the table had been cleared.

He looked out the window. No fire escape . . . Just like Rollie had said earlier, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't get down. Looking to the front of the alley, Dick could just make out a construction site. There were likely a few people there working despite it being winter. Part of the lower floors looked almost complete, but the top several stories were just floors or only girders. That was where he would go for help, he decided.

Looking the other way, he could see the fire escape. It was about ten feet from the window. His feet were small enough to stand on the window's ledge. From there he thought he could jump it if he flew flat out and caught the railing with his hands. Just like at the circus when he would catch the trapeze bar!

Dick started to push the window up when a there was loud banging on the door to the apartment. He jumped a little; the sound startling him, but when no one rushed into the room after him, he continued what he was doing. Worried he'd be interrupted, Dick moved more quickly. His coat was going to be a problem, he realized right away. It was too thick! It would push him off the ledge, and restrict his movement.

He unzipped it and shrugged it off; shivering a little in the breeze. He glanced behind him. The cold might alert someone that he was awake and up to trouble, or even blow the bedroom door completely closed. First dropping the coat out the window, Dick climbed onto the ledge. He would retrieve it when he reached the bottom, but he would need to move fast before the cold could make him clumsy. He adjusted his stance as he slid the window closed behind him.

Judging the distance, Dick placed his feet. This wasn't anything beyond what he did with the trapeze. The only difference was that he didn't have any momentum to help him make the distance. He could do this, he told himself. If he didn't, he would fall and die, just like his parents had. But if he stayed here, he would die anyway.

Better to risk death for his freedom and a chance at life.

Someone was yelling really loud inside. Had they discovered him missing already?

Without thinking, Dick jumped; lunging across the distance with his hands outstretched. A second later they slapped the metal railing; his grip firm as his body swung freely. The railing was so cold, it felt like it burned his skin. He was only a foot above the railing below him. He allowed himself to drop down to it. His landing was perfect. Standing on the rail was easier even than balancing on a tightrope, he noted.

Dick smiled. This was way faster than taking the steps, and he wouldn't have to cross in front of somebody's window to do this. As he crouched on the bottom rail, he heard someone yelling again, but this time the voice was louder; like it was outside with him. He glanced up and met the gaze of Rollie . . . Rollie, who was cursing a blue streak. Dick's mouth dropped open a little. The guy sounded really angry.

Dick smirked. Good, he thought. Let him be angry!

Dick stuck his tongue out at the man. He showed off with a couple of somersaults as he leapt to the ground. Running over, he scooped up his coat; not noticing when his Rubik's Cube fell out of his coat pocket. He threw the coat on as he went; sending up a silent thank you for Alfred. This was much warmer than his little red jacket his mother had bought him just year ago.

He stopped only to check for traffic before darting across the street and heading toward the construction site. He knew that those guys wouldn't give up that easily, however. They would be chasing him. He wanted to stop and ask for help, but his captors had already proven to be killers. Dick couldn't risk people's lives like that, he decided. But he could use the construction site to hide until they either gave up or he could slip away unseen.

This was the sort of place that played up to Dick's strengths, he knew. They wouldn't be able to catch him here. A yell told him that the men were already on his tail.

Yeah, he thought with a smirk. Come, and get me!

"Are you going to let your punk brother and his friends get away with that?" Ewan ranted.

He was furious, but Bart was looking outside as two of Rollie's friends clambered down the fire escape after some kid. Bart turned around; yelling at Tonya.

"Who's that kid, and why are they after him?"

Tonya limped out of the kitchen, and leaned against the wall; pouting. "I don't know. I overheard them talking about heading to Milo's Bar to ask after some guy in Newtown. They had wanted to borrow a car to go there."

"Newtown?" Keagan laughed. "Nothing much there."

Bart ignored him to concentrate on his girlfriend. "What guy? Did you catch a name?"

Tonya rubbed the back of her head and looked at her hand. No blood, but she had a knot from hitting it against the cabinet. She looked at her boyfriend as he stepped in front of her. He should have been asking if she was okay rather than after some loser from a crappy town like Newtown.

"Think, Tonya," he snapped. "What's the guy's name?"

"I don't know. Succo or something like that," she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Zucco?" Bart grabbed her arms.

"Ouch! Don't be so rough, sweetie," Tonya squirmed. Her arm still ached where Mitch had grabbed her earlier.

"Answer me! Were they talking about Zucco?" Bart yelled at her.

Tonya flinched. "Yeah, that's it. A guy named Zucco. Said something about taking the kid to him. Maybe he's his kid," she muttered. "Maybe he ran away from home or something?"

Bart shoved her aside as he ran back to the still-open window. "Ewan, you packing something other than a blade?" He needed to see where they went.

The redhead laughed. "You know I prefer to work up close and personal-like."

He snapped at Keagan. "Give him one of yours. I know you got two on you."

Keagan pulled a snub-nose out of his ankle holster, and tossed it to Ewan. "What gives?"

"Remember me telling you about that hit that was out for that circus kid?" Bart yanked out his own nine and checked the magazine. He pulled a drawer out from one of his end tables and took out two more; stuffing one of them in his pockets and tossing the other to Keagan.

"What about him?" Keagan checked his own load. He shoved the extra magazine in his jacket pocket.

"I think my idiot brother may have found him," Bart told them. "Come on," he threw a leg outside of the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. "We need to get that kid first. He's worth a cool mil to whoever brings his corpse to Zucco or his uncle in Newtown."

Tonya had sat down on the sofa. She looked up. "That little boy? You're going to off that little kid?"

Bart peeked his head back through after his mates climbed out after him. "Didn't you hear me? A million dollars! Baby, I'd off my own grandmother for that kind of money."

"I thought it was five hundred thousand Gs, he was offering," Keagan said as he moved to the window.

Ewan frowned. "I heard it was two-fifty."

"Zucco upped the ante a couple of weeks ago when no trace of him had been found," Bart told them. "The guy's getting desperate."

They were laughing as they clattered down the fire escape after the others; talking about what they'd do with their share of the money.

Tonya shivered; getting up to close the window after they were gone. That was a lot of money, she thought to herself, but killing a kid . . .? She shuddered, but this time not from the cold. She didn't doubt that Bart could kill his grandmother for money; and suddenly felt kind of bad for the shit storm that was about to descend on Rollie and his friends now.

Well, not Mitch, she decided. Mitch deserved whatever he got. But Tonya certainly had no illusions about Bart's own loyalty to her if someone decided to offer him money to get rid of her. He'd do it for a hell of a lot less than this amount!

She marched into the bedroom and started pulling out clothes to pack. She couldn't stay here; not after this! God! Look at her! Her hands were shaking she was so upset! But after a few minutes her movements slowed as she realized that she didn't have any other place to go. If she left him, Bart would still kill the kid and collect his money anyway. Her leaving wouldn't make a difference to anyone but her.

Sighing, Tonya sat on the bed and chewed her lip. A million dollars was a lot of money, though . . . a lot! And some of those other bitches that was always trying to hang around Bart and his friends would just step in and enjoy all that money in her place. She glanced out the window, but couldn't really see anything, but the other building from her position.

The boy would be dead within the hour. Nothing Tonya did would save him now, even if she had it in her to try. She didn't, though. Her life sucked, but she had no desire to eat a bullet for anyone, let alone some strange kid she didn't even know.

After a moment, Tonya wiped the dampness from her eyes; probably smearing her mascara again, and stood up. Slowly, she gathered up her clothes and shoved them back into the drawers. She moved to the nightstand and rummaged through its contents until she found their last joint. She grabbed up the lighter and lit up it up. After a few minutes and as many drags, Tonya felt the muscles in her shoulders and back finally release their tension.

A million bucks was a lot of money . . .

She sat back down on the bed and leaned against the wall; wiping away what she knew would be the last tear she would ever shed. Her hands had stopped shaking at some point. She drew in another long drag from her joint and closed her eyes. The boy wasn't the only one dying today, after all.

The last piece of her soul had just died with him.

Dick ran past the open gate and into the construction zone. A guard stationed at the gate yelled at him.

"Hey, kid! You can't go in there," he shouted; trying to climb to his feet from his reclined position.

"Call the police," Dick yelled back at him as he flew past.

He ducked under some two by fours that two men were carrying and took a left. Another construction worker saw him and tried to intercept him, but Dick leapt to the right; stepping on a stack of bagged concrete, and propelled himself over the man's head as he stumbled off balance. Dick landed behind him into a forward roll and kept running.

He had to see if he could lose his pursuers and then hide until the police came. He flipped over a wheelbarrow, and dodged the hands of another guy as Dick used the man's back to roll across. He saw a window opening in the partially completed wall that didn't have the glass inserted yet. Grabbing the sill, Dick flung himself through it and into the building feet first, putting them through the gap between his arms in what his mother had used to call a cat's pass. He did another forward roll to compensate for his balance, and came up running as soon as both feet were back on the concrete foundation.

He skidded to a halt and darted toward a newly installed window to look out. All four of his kidnappers ran through the gate next; arriving almost simultaneously. The guard was on his phone when he saw them. As he started walking towards the four, Mitch pulled out his gun and shot into the space between the man's feet. The guard stumbled backward, then turned and ran. Dick didn't blame him, nor any of the workers that he saw making a run for it.

"Spread out! Find him!" Dick could hear Mitch's voice as it carried through the unfinished walls in the midst of all the construction noise.

Shoot! He couldn't just sit here! They would be here any minute . . . He looked around and saw the scaffolding lined up on the far side of the building. The upper floors weren't complete yet; some areas only had a few beams in place. Dick wasn't afraid of heights, however. He smirked; wondering if these guys were.

But he didn't want to go too high, he determined. There was no place to hide up at the top; no shelter if his kidnappers decided to shoot at him.

"There he is," Jerry yelled.

Dick bolted.

The pounding of feet was coming up behind him. Suddenly, Dick leapt up into a side flip; taking him up and over the top of two sawhorses. He spun as he landed and sprinted toward his goal. A sound of crashing told him Jerry wasn't quite as lucky.

Dick chanced a glance back and saw that Jerry, unable to stop in time or avoid the obstacles, had attempted to hurdle the wooden sawhorses, but had been unable to successfully clear them both. He had crashed down onto his face; the wooden structures falling on him in a painful tangle.

Tony rounded the corner from the other side of the elevator lift in an effort to cut Dick off. Veering to the right, Dick climbed the stacks of two-by-fours and did a forward flip completely over Tony's head with plenty of clearance to spare. He came down in a roll and was back up as Tony nearly lost his footing in an effort to do a one-eighty turn on a dime.

By this time, Dick had vaulted through the metal scaffolding closest to him and grabbed the bars on the other side; using his momentum to swing his body upward hard. Letting go, Dick flew up and over, landing on the platform above on his feet.

And the crowd roared . . . Dick grinned. He hadn't lost his touch!

A gunshot splintered the wood near his feet and reminded Dick forcefully of where he was. Whoops! He bounded over the lip of the floor joists and onto the second floor. The elevator was rising from below! Was that Tony?

A clang sounded on the scaffolding; telling Dick that Tony was clambering up after him with his gun still in his hand. He guessed Tony had changed his mind about taking Dick to Zucco alive. Dick ran to the elevator and placed his hands on the top of the rising car. He did a handstand and held it as he allowed the elevator car to lift him upward to the third floor; its passenger not realizing he had a hitchhiker. Tony climbed onto the scaffolding platform just as Dick disappeared through the floor above. He waved to the irate robber in the last second while maintaining his handstand one-handed.

The sound of yelling followed him as he stood back up. The coat was slowing him down, he had noticed; making him clumsy. Shedding the heavy jacket, Dick took off in a new direction.

The third floor had partially erected walls as well and he used these to his advantage. Seeing the rush of construction workers as they poured down off of the upper floors toward the ground, Dick thought to follow them when he noticed Rollie climbing up by ladder. Dick turned around, but the lift was rising again; getting ready to deposit another of his kidnappers.

Not good. If he wasn't careful, the bad guys would corner him. He looked to the side and noticed a beam extended several feet beyond the outer edge of the floor. A rope dangled from somewhere above him. Dick shot forward just as Mitch emerged from the elevator. Rollie, off to the side, ran at him; intending to cut him off.

Rollie lunged at Dick, and the boy cut back abruptly; spinning about in a circle as the man flew passed him. Rollie tumbled across the floor and slammed into a stack of plywood while Dick completed his turn and continued as if nothing had happened. The boy grabbed the rope and swung out. Whatever held it wobbled above him, but he was already swinging back toward the building by this time. Dick let go and flew through an uncompleted window opening and back onto the second floor. He ran flat out across to the other side; figuring that the men would come after him where they had last seen him.

He spotted the half-finished stairs as he rounded a wall. He started to head down, but caught himself as Jerry appeared at the foot of the stairs. He threw his knife at Dick, but the boy had lunged to the side and rolled to his feet; scrambling to climb up again, instead of down.

Up was his only option now!

Batman landed on the roof of the building he was looking for. Alfred confirmed the location of the apartment based upon the building plans filed with the city. As he peered over the edge he saw one window entrance from the fire escape and another on the corner that would lead into what was deemed the main living space. Off to the left of the fire escape was a window into the bedroom.

He suspected Dick was being held there. Although he wanted to corral the robbers that took him, it was more important to remove Dickie from danger. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to be hurt in the altercation, and the boy's safety took precedence over any monies stolen from the bank.

He attached his line and lowered himself over the edge of the building; past the two upper floors to the one he wanted. He couldn't see the boy through the window. If Dick was being kept in the living room, it would still be in the boy's best interest for Batman to enter here in order to survey the outer room and plan his strategy.

He was surprised to discover that the window wasn't locked, but it wasn't suspicious since there was no easy escape route from here and the window was five stories up. He carefully slid the frame up. His first look in the room revealed a bare area below the window, but with numerous items lining the floor nearby.

This was suspicious, and Batman pulled himself through the opening silently, so as not to alarm any of the residents.

He saw her even before he had completely entered the room. Batman's hand had already extracted a gas pellet and his rebreather in case she chose to warn the others. She didn't. The woman looked, at first glance, to be twenty-eight, maybe even thirty, years of age, but as he neared the bed, he reassessed his earlier judgement. She was young, he suspected. Maybe twenty-one instead.

Hard living tended to do that to you. Batman thought that she must have gotten an early start. Most of the young people in this neighborhood did, unfortunately.

His nose twitched as he recognized the smell of marijuana. She was high . . . His quick scan of the room assured him that Dick wasn't present. He didn't like the idea of the boy being exposed to drug use.

He spoke softly. "Where is he? In the other room?"

The woman tilted her head at him and smiled. Batman was losing patience.

"How many are there with him?"

Finally she answered, confirming that she knew exactly whom he was asking about. His information had been correct. The men had brought the boy to this location.

"No one," she hummed pleasantly.

He frowned. Had they left him here with her alone? Batman moved swiftly to the door and stole a glance. She had been correct. The room was empty, but not only of the four kidnappers, but of Dick, also.

He swung around, anger and fear warring within him. Had they already taken him to Zucco? He had been searching for months and other than narrowing it down to Newtown; Batman had no idea where the man was hiding. If Dick was gone; this woman was his only hope of finding him before the unthinkable happened!

He placed one knee on the bed; grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She winced, and Batman's eyes narrowed. He hadn't gripped her that hard. Apparently, someone had already been rough with her today. He knew women like this, however, and sympathy would likely just as easily get him killed while dealing with her. Not that it mattered . . . Time was of the essence. Dick's survival was paramount in his mind.

"Where is he? Where did they take him?"

"Who?" She smiled at him again.

He growled. "Don't play stupid. Where did they take the boy?"

"Nowhere," she giggled.

Batman grabbed her by the throat; squeezing, slowly but inexorably, so she understood his strength, and asked her again.

"Where is the boy," he snarled menacingly into her face. "Tell me now if you value you your life."

She glanced toward the window.

"Gone," she sighed. The marijuana in her system had dulled her senses.

He squeezed until she wheezed. "Where!"

"Out the window," she gasped; the tiniest bit of awareness finally seeping into her gaze. "He escaped . . . out the . . . window."

He blinked; his eyebrows rising in surprise beneath his mask as his hand loosened.

Escaped?

His lips twitched, and he released her.

"And the men who had kidnapped him? Where are they?"

"They went after him," she admitted; one pale hand stroking her throat.

"When?" He barked.

"A few minutes ago," she said. "A half an hour? You just missed them."

"There's a big difference between a few minutes and a half an hour! Which is it?"

"I don't know . . ." She looked confused.

He had just missed the boy; by thirty minutes at the most!

Batman spun about; dashing back to the window. He could barely see the construction site from here, but he did notice the sudden exodus of construction workers as a dozen men poured out of the gate. He saw three men standing just inside; not running, but surveying the property . . . looking for something, or someone.

He touched the side of his cowl and the telescopic lenses slid down over his eyes; focusing on the suspects. They looked different, and none of the men in the video had been a redhead. Nor had any of them been wearing anything that claimed gang affiliation. Whoever these men were, they weren't the four bank robbers that had carjacked his Bentley or kidnapped his ward.

His head snapped around. "Who are the other three men?"

She knew exactly what he was talking about. She shook her head. If Batman interfered, Bart wouldn't get the money . . . If she sang for the Bat, Bart would likely kill her.

But . . . But she would keep her soul.

"Bart," she whispered.

"How is he connected to the robbery? Talk! Now!"

She frowned. What robbery? "He's not . . . He's Rollie's brother. Rollie and his friends brought the kid here. They went after him when they discovered he had escaped, but Bart and his friends went after the boy, too."

"For what purpose?" He demanded.

"So, that they could collect the money for the kid." She shuddered.

Batman swung his leg out the window. He had to get to Dick before the others!

"Hurry!" the woman cried out, but he was already outside; repelling down the side of the building. "Bart and his friends . . . They won't bother to try to catch him," she warned, shoving her upper body out of the window to call down to him. "They'll just shoot him!"

As Batman dropped to the ground, his foot bumped into a children's toy. His eye caught sight of the colorful cube. He had seen Dick playing with this at breakfast! As he scooped it up, he heard the gunshots. Then he was running.

The woman's voice called out behind him. "Save him, Batman!"

He planned on it. Batman shot his grapple to the roof of the building across the street. The adjacent brownstone stood next to the construction site. He would get a bird's eye view as he determined his next course of action.

Dick ran up the stairs past the third floor and onto the fourth. Jerry was following, but not as closely as he might have before his run in with the sawhorses. At the top of the steps, Dick saw a bucket. A quick look showed him that it was full of bolts for securing the girders. There were only a few of those on this floor.

The bucket was too heavy for Dick to lift, but he spun about into a seated position behind it, and as soon as Jerry appeared at the bottom, Dick kicked the metal bucket with both feet. The bucket tipped, and suddenly hundreds of bolts went spilling down the stairs; rolling underfoot. Jerry's feet flew out from under him. As he crashed down onto the stairs, his chin hit the step and he was assaulted by flying pieces of metal.

Dick sprang up prepared to run up to the next floor when a bullet struck the wooden stairs in front of him. Splinters flew up. Dick cover his face with his hands but his reflexes weren't enough to prevent several shards of wood from cutting his face. None had gotten in his eyes, however, and Dick sent up a prayer of thanks to his guardian angel.

But he couldn't remain exposed like this. He turned and ducked through another partial wall. The 'room' he had run into had exposed beams overhead still, so Dick ran at the corner wall and used his momentum to run up the newly-installed drywall. He managed three full steps and pushed off into the opposite direction; the movement gaining him enough height to grasp the beam that separated the fourth from the fifth floors. Dick swung his feet up and clambered onto it.

The beam was easily a foot in width; more than enough for someone who had learned to walk a tightrope over a year ago. Dick made tracks over it toward the area that had more secure flooring and presented a barrier between him and the guns below him. The stairs stopped here, so when Dick spotted a pipe, he hurried to it; using it to shinny up to the sixth floor.

This floor and the seventh above it were nothing more than exposed metal girders. He could hear Mitch racing up the steps. Talk about exposed! Dick needed a way to get down fast. Going up had seemed like a good idea when the men had been covering all the lower floors, but now that they had caught up to him . . . This was obviously a mistake. There was no place to hide; nowhere left that could provide cover. He was trapped; a sitting duck for the men with guns to pick him off. Just like those arcade games that traveled with the circus . . .

More voices were yelling. Tony and Rollie had caught up to him as well. Catching sight of a discarded tool belt, Dick beelined to it. He found several types of hammers. He picked up one. As soon as Mitch cleared the floor, Dick hurled it at him.

The heavy tool struck Mitch in his chest and caused him to drop his pistol. It struck the step and skittered between the openings betwixt the treads; plunging to the floor below. Mitch rolled down the steps, taking out Tony who had been right behind him. Rollie scrambled over the other two as Dick hightailed it to the other side; leaping from beam to beam as easily as if he had been on open ground.

He saw the suspended platform before him. It held supplies and equipment for the workers; but now just sat there; abandoned in the chaos. The roof to the other building was just on the other side of it. If he could make it there, he might stand a chance of getting away.

He was just about to make the jump when movement caught his eye. A black shape was barreling towards him from across the rooftop; its cape, like wings, flared dramatically in its wake. Dick skidded to a halt; eyes wide.

What is that?!

Dick panicked a moment and turned around; searching for another way down. Something hit his arm; tearing a hole in his sweater and leaving a burning trail. Dick slapped a hand over the wound as he teetered and suddenly disappeared; falling from his perch.

Noooo!

Batman leapt from the rooftop onto the platform the boy had obviously been preparing to use as well. He had forgotten momentarily that Dick had never seen the Batman before. Only a glimpse of him on the news; a blurry image captured from a traffic camera or ATM. He cursed himself for a fool! Of course, seeing him in person would frighten him!

Pulling a batarang from his belt, he threw it at the man on the floor below. It struck his hand hard; surely breaking a bone or two, as the gun went skittering away. He threw a line onto one of the exposed girders and flew at him like an avenging demon from hell.

His boots struck the man in the chest and sent him flying backward through metal lathing and drywall. His buddies had already ducked back down below; whether to go after the child or to escape his wrath, he didn't know. But the man he had kicked looked down for the count, so Batman rushed to the side of the building that Dick had fallen from; terrified of what he might find.

It was definitely not what he had expected . . .

Dick knew he needed to get down from there – fast! Those guys weren't taking any chances now and were shooting at him! And then there was that . . . that thing that was bearing down on him like some kind of nightmare! If it were this frightening in the daytime, how much worse would it be to run into it at night?

Next time, if there was a next time, Alfred wanted to take him out into the city, Dick was going to put his foot down. Gotham City was scary!

He just wanted to go home! But he couldn't . . . He had no home left! The circus had left without him over a month ago. Barring that, Dick would take the manor. Bruce always made him feel safe. He suddenly wished Bruce was there right now. Dick would rush over to the man and beg him to take him home with him; promise him he would never leave the manor again!

The sting and burn caught the boy by surprise.

"Ow," he yelped; slapping a hand over the wound.

Enough of this, he decided. When he had glanced down at his arm, he had seen it. A skinny bit of scaffolding; just enough to hold a couple of men two floors down. Better yet, the bright orange of a debris chute attached to it. The drop was over fifteen feet, but better than being shot dead!

He dove off head first!

Dick tucked his body as he hit the planking that made up the platform hard. It jarred his shoulder and made his teeth clack together, but he rolled with it just like his father had taught him and came to his feet. He caught at the metal railing; hissing a little at the cold against his bare hands. At least with his adrenaline pumping, Dick couldn't feel the cold so much through his sweater, and the burning in his arm had stopped hurting altogether.

The sound of running feet told him had hadn't shaken his pursuers yet. Another abandoned tool belt lay to one side. Dick pulled out another hammer; this one was clawed. He looked at the debris chute and had an idea. He hesitated another moment until he saw Tony and Mitch round the corner. He wanted them to see where he was going this time.

Before Tony could raise his gun, Dick jumped into the chute feet first. He allowed himself to slide only ten feet or so, and then he twisted about; swinging the clawed part of the hammer into the heavy nylon material as hard as he could. He was rewarded with the sound of ripping and felt his body slow as the metal claw split the material and caught. He jerked the hammer out and let himself continue the rest of the way to the dumpster unimpeded.

"Damn it," Tony yelled. "That little brat took the chute to the bottom!"

"So, let's go after him!" Mitch charged ahead.

He grabbed the bar on the scaffolding and went through the entrance feet first as Tony leapt in after him. He hadn't slid but a few feet before he felt the support of the material give way beneath him. With a loud ripping sound, the hole opened up and Mitch plunged nearly thirty feet to the frozen ground beneath him.

Tony saw his friend suddenly drop out of the chute and realized what was coming. He tried to grab the sides, but there was nothing but slick, taut material. His stomach rose up to his throat as fell through the hole next. The gunshot was loud when his finger squeezed the trigger as a reflex. He didn't know where the bullet had gone, nor did he care when the air was expelled from his lungs in a rush as he landed on Mitch a second later.

Tony groaned and rolled off of his mate. Mitch, he saw looked hurt pretty bad. Hell, Tony was hurt pretty bad, but his friend had broken the worst of his fall.

Damn that kid, he snarled in his mind after a couple of minutes. His back and arm throbbed painfully, and his leg . . . God, had he broken some ribs, too?

He turned his head. He couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own drumming heartbeat, so he didn't know what had caught his attention, but there he was . . . the kid! He was standing a little ways off; staring at him and Mitch with huge, frightened eyes, and Tony realized that the boy had been scared that he might have killed them.

Mitch was moving a little, so the brat hadn't managed that, at least.

Furious, Tony tried to bring his gun up. He'll kill that little shit if it was the last thing he did. But the boy noticed the movement, and Tony's arm wasn't working right. The gun felt like it weighed a ton! The kid's eyes widened even further at the threat, and he lit out around the side of the building; leaving Tony and Mitch groaning on the ground unable to follow.

Batman vaulted off the edge of what would be the fifth floor. Spreading his cape to slow his descent, he glided down to the ground below. He had seen the boy standing on the scaffolding just before entering the debris chute. The two men chasing him had followed immediately and seconds later, someone screamed.

The scream had been from an adult; not Dick . . . thank God!

By the time he had landed, Dick was gone, but the two men were lying on the ground disabled. Batman looked up and saw the tear in the chute nearly thirty feet overhead. How had Dick avoided the fall? His eyes widened as the answer came to him. Dick had made the tear! He had, through his fear, devised a plan and implemented it. Successfully, from the looks of it.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed.

The boy had escaped on his own; had avoided his pursuers for at least thirty minutes all by himself; and disabled two, possibly three, of the men after him. But . . . where was he now?

Batman's head swiveled at the sound of another gunshot. That came from the front of the building. He raced in that direction; leaving the two men to await the police where they lay.

Was it the last of the original four or had this come from one of the three gang members he had glimpsed from the window? The three hadn't bothered to join the chase; obviously allowing the four to do the dirty work and waiting to claim the prize for themselves once the boy had been caught. He was sure they had been as surprised as he was that Dick had outwitted his kidnappers. Unfortunately, it was probable that the boy hadn't anticipated the arrival of the additional men.

If one of them had shot the boy . . . That anger that had been his constant companion since Bruce had been ten years old swelled up in defense of the child. How dare they?! How dare anyone try to harm what was his – damn it!

He rounded the corner in time to see Dick dart across the busy street; the three gang members hot on his heels. Batman charged after them; his hand dipping into his utility belt as he went. He swung the bolos over his head and released them with deadly accuracy. The bolos entangled the legs of man who had brought up the rear as he tumbled across the pavement and into the street. Cars' tires squealed in order to avoid hitting the runners; swerving in several directions.

Batman's breath caught as one car very nearly hit the boy as he bolted across the road. But Dick performed a magnificent aerial move that brought him up and over top of the hood of the vehicle. His tennis shoes landed on the hood of the car with a loud thump before he executed a perfect somersault off the other side. Dick had hit the ground already running.

He was heading for the small park on the corner.

Dick had seen the three gang members just seconds before they had seen him. He had dove for cover behind several stacked bags of cement. The muffled whump sounded almost simultaneously with the sound of the gun firing. He rolled but didn't stop. He couldn't stop!

There were three of them! They could easily outmaneuver him; coming at him from both sides and even over top. He had to push on! He hoped that they wouldn't be able to hit him if he kept moving, so Dick burst out from behind the stack with a trio of front flips done as quickly as he could manage without losing control.

It wasn't easy . . . Exhaustion was bearing down on him rapidly now. His lungs, not used to the cold weather, burned as his breath sawed in and out; forming puffs of condensation in front of him. He should have been able to do this longer . . . Being sick had stolen much of his endurance, and he had yet to recover it fully.

Unwilling to re-enter the building with Rollie an unknown factor, Dick spotted a park across the street. He prayed that the gunshots had scared any of the local children away. He wasn't sure he could go much farther.

Where were the police? Why weren't they here yet? It felt like forever since the first gunshot had reverberated throughout the neighborhood!

A tan car squealed and skidded on the asphalt, but Dick saw immediately that he wasn't going to be able to avoid it. Instead of swerving, however, he poured on speed he didn't realize he still had and sprang upward with everything left in him. Dick executed a full aerial flip with a twist and came down onto the center of the hood. He instantly somersaulted off of the other side of the vehicle; sprinting the moment he landed.

There was a low wall surrounding the park and the entrance was quite a bit further to the left, at the corner. Dick stuck his hands onto the wall and vaulted over it. He could hear the one of the men chasing him getting closer. Was the guy actually faster than he was or was Dick beginning to slow down? Whatever the reason, he knew he needed to do something before the guy could either shoot or grab him.

There!

The idea came to him as soon as he saw it.

Dick dove into a front handspring and began flipping over and over; hoping his movements would keep the man's attention on Dick and not his surroundings and also, to prevent him from getting a clear shot. As soon as his feet hit the seat of the teeter-totter, Dick sprang up into a triple front tuck; his rotations giving his pursuer the opportunity to lunge for him. But then the boy came down on the other side of the playground equipment; his weight slamming the board down hard and simultaneously raising the board behind him with devastating force.

The end of the teeter-totter smashed into the guy's extended arm; flinging the firearm out of his hand and then slamming into the side of his pursuer's jaw. Dick jumped off of the board and twisted in time to see the redhead crash into the ground; already unconscious. But he was too tired to feel a sense of accomplishment.

His eyes rose to see yet another man rushing at him, and behind him the terrifying creature in the black cape. Exhausted, the boy felt his body slump in disbelief.

Who were these people? Why wouldn't they leave him alone?! Tears sprang to his eyes even as he started backing up. Dick managed a few steps, but then he stumbled; sprawling onto the ground on his bottom. He tried to get up, but his legs were shaking so hard that they refused to support him.

He couldn't run anymore . . . He stared death in the face as it bore down on him, too tired to feel fear; too tired even to feel angry at his failure.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to his parents.

He hoped that they could forgive him, but felt a surge of relief that maybe now he would get to see them again. He also felt bad for Bruce and Alfred . . . surprised that his last thoughts would be of them. He hoped that Alfred was okay and that neither man felt too sad for his loss.

The last man raised his gun just as the black-winged thing launched himself through the air and tackled him to the ground.

The report was loud!

Louder than all the others, but that could have been because of his proximity.

Batman crashed into the last man's back, but his gun had gone off just as he reached him. The two went tumbling across the patches of brown grass and snow. The punk tried to raise his gun again, but Batman snarled and slammed the man's hand down against the ground. The nine millimeter fell away, but this one refused to give up.

He was a large man in his mid-twenties with angry, soulless eyes.

Batman blocked his punches and threw a right across his jaw. The man grabbed at Batman's head and brought up an elbow; slipping past his guard and catching the Dark Knight in the mouth. He spit blood to the side, but in his fury didn't actually notice the damage. This scum and his friends had hunted a child down for the express purpose of murdering him . . . And for what? Money!

He punched the thug in the face again, and again, and then again.

Bruce had money! He had more money than God, but he would have given it all up; every cent of it for the chance to have his parents back! All of it, he would give in a heartbeat, in fact, for the sake of one child . . . One little boy!

THIS little boy!

When he came to himself, the man lay beneath him bruised and battered, but somehow alive. He blinked and shook his head. If his opponent had managed to get another hit in, Batman hadn't felt it. He probably would in the morning.

He could hear the sirens in the background . . . finally.

Suddenly a memory leapt to the fore of his mind.

The gunshot! Dear God . . .

Batman spun about looking for Dick. Had he been shot? Had the bastard taken the boy away from him, after all?

Where was he?!

It took a second. The boy was no longer in the spot he had been in, but he hadn't gone far. Just a few feet further, in fact; pressing himself up against a concrete park bench. He was staring at him; his blue eyes huge in his pale face. He was shivering, but Batman couldn't tell if it were from shock or the cold. He frowned. Where was his coat?

He tasted blood. His tongue darted out and felt the cuts that marred his lips. Batman wiped the blood from his chin and climbed to his feet. He had probably just terrified the child half to death. He walked calmly to where he huddled; pleased when the boy didn't shrink from him; and kneeled.

"Is he dead?" Dick asked this before Batman could say anything.

He glanced over his shoulder at the lump unmoving in the muck. He shook his head.

"No," he growled low in his Batman voice, but softly as he could so as to not frighten the boy any more than he had been already. "He's alive. Despite what you saw, I don't kill."

It was important to him that Dick know this about him. He would never know that Bruce and Batman were the same man, but he didn't want the boy to be afraid of him; in any guise.

Dick stared another moment at his attacker, and then he lifted those amazing blue eyes to him.

"You're him, aren't you? You're Batman," he said. Despite the question, there was certainty in his expression. He already knew. He just wanted him to confirm it.

"I am," he told him.

They were going to need to move soon. The police were about to arrive, and although he should let Dick go with them, so that he go home and change, and await the phone call to pick him up; Batman didn't want to leave him. Emotions were running through him that he didn't recognize. They confused him, and he didn't like being confused.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave the boy so soon after . . . everything.

Batman had called the car to him by remote as he had neared the apartment. It should be near by this time. He lifted his buckle and pressed the control that allowed the car to roll up to the entrance of the park.

"Are you hurt?"

If he was, then he would have to leave him behind so that the paramedics could attend him. He could conceivably take him to Leslie, but the coincidence of his knowing her and knowing to take Dick to her would be too great. And how would he explain Alfred's medical expertise?

Dick shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

"You weren't hit by any of those bullets?" Batman narrowed his eyes on the swath of red on one sleeve of the boy's sweater. He was reaching even as the child covered the wound with his hand.

"It's nothing," he said. "Just a scratch. I'm okay. Just really tired, and maybe a little cold. I lost my coat while they were chasing me."

Batman tugged his cape free and wrapped it around the boy. Dick's fingers peeked out as he felt the heavy material, curiously.

"I should let the police take you home," Batman told him. "Do you need a little help?" He asked as he assisted the boy to his feet.

"Y-You're a good guy, aren't you?" Dick craned his head to look up at him. Batman's hand supported him when the boy wobbled.

"You will never need to fear me," he replied.

Dick nodded as if making up his mind about something, Bruce knew not what.

"I thought so. Why else would you stop the man from shooting me? Although," he continued, "you did look a kind of scary while you were pounding his face in."

This startled a short bark of laughter from him; surprising them both.

"Just kind of?"

Dick smiled hesitantly and shrugged.

Batman pursed his lips; ignoring the sting in the corner of his mouth.

"You were pretty amazing yourself," he told the boy as he led them toward the park entrance; the end of his cape dragging behind them. Really amazing, in fact.

The police had swarmed the construction site; none noticing the park's current inhabitants thus far.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Dick glanced up at him shyly.

"What's that?"

"If they hadn't been shooting at me, this would have been fun," Dick grinned. He glanced at the two men still lying unconscious on the ground behind them. "Except for the end," he admitted; his smile slipping away. "I just couldn't run anymore."

As if to emphasis this statement, Dick's knees gave out at that moment and he fell, but he never hit the ground. Batman scooped him up in his arms and settled him on his side above his utility belt.

"S-Sorry," Dick mumbled. His adrenaline had finally crashed.

"No need," Batman assured him. "Let me take you over to the police now, so they can get you back to . . ." he hesitated a second; hating to bring it up, but, ". . . to your parents."

The boy shuddered. "My parents are . . . They're . . . dead." His lip trembled and tears of grief and exhaustion welled up. "I live with Bruce, now."

"Who's Bruce?" Batman asked; curious as to how the boy would answer that.

"He and Alfred take care of me now," Dick sniffled; resting his head on Batman's shoulder. "He's nice to me. I-I miss him," he added softly. "Would you take me to Bruce?"

"The police are going to want your statement," Batman said quietly; hating the look of sadness that filled his eyes.

"Please? I just want to go home now." Tears finally overflowed and leaked down the child's reddened cheeks. "Would you take me home?"

He couldn't say no twice. Batman nodded. "I'm sure that Bruce can take you in to give your statement tomorrow. I'll take you home."

He unlocked the car by remote and deposited Dick on the passenger seat; cape and all. He reached across him to fasten the seatbelt. Abruptly, he remembered the boy's Rubik's Cube. It barely fit in the pouch at his back. Batman tugged the toy free and handed it to him.

Dick's eyes widened in surprise. He had forgotten about it. He would have realized tomorrow sometime that he had lost it, simply because he had thought it was still in his coat pocket somewhere in the construction site.

"How?"

"I saw it in the alley across the street," he said. "I had a feeling it might belong to you. Am I right?"

Dick nodded; too choked up to speak. It was one of the few things he still had from his life in the circus. He would have been very upset to have lost it.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't lose it, then," Batman said as he started to pull away, Dick touched his arm.

"Can I ask you something?"

When Batman did say anything and didn't leave, Dick gathered his courage and plowed on. "You catch bad guys, right?"

"I do my best," Batman murmured.

"Th-There's this bad guy," Dick stammered. "H-His name is Tony Zucco." Dick looked up into his face to see if the man recognized the name, but with the cowl the boy couldn't tell. "H-He killed my parents. That's why I'm staying with Bruce."

Batman nodded once, but remained silent; waiting for the child to ask his question. He wanted him to find Zucco for him. He should have been expecting this. How to tell the boy that he had been combing Gotham City, Newtown, and the surrounding suburbs for the criminal without much luck?

"I was wondering, if it isn't too much trouble," he added quickly, "if you would mind helping me find him?"

Bruce's eyebrows rose at the boy's choice of words. "You want me to help you?"

Dick nodded, solemnly. "I could have found him tonight," he told him. "But I wasn't prepared. I would have only ended up dying, and that wouldn't have accomplished anything. But I won't always be unprepared. I have a plan, I think, but I'm going to need a little help with it."

"A little help?" He really needed to stop repeating the boy's words. "With your plan?"

"Please? He killed my parents . . . I need to stop him!" Dick leaned forward with his plea, and the boy's sincerity struck him in the chest.

Batman nodded. "You want revenge."

Dick frowned and looked down at the cube in his hands; turning it over and over. "I-I don't know," he finally said. "I want him to pay for what he did." Though the words were soft, the tone was hard.

"Do you want to kill him?" Batman asked this, curiously.

"I-I did . . ." he admitted hesitantly. "The first few days all I wanted was my parents back, but then . . . I thought about what he did and why he did it, and I was just so angry! At that moment, I did." His voice grew harsh and then soft again as he spoke.

"But . . . then I thought that that would make me just like him." Dick looked up at the masked man; his feelings right out there for anyone to see. "Don't get me wrong! I want him to pay! I will do anything it takes to make him pay for what he did! B-But I think . . . I think putting him away in jail would do it."

Batman was surprised. These were very grown up thoughts for a boy of eight to have.

Dick scowled as he tried to put his thoughts into words; to do his best to convince the Batman to help him. "I think jail would be enough. He's paying a lot of money to keep me from testifying against him because he doesn't want to go there – to jail. He would pay for what he did in there, and I could make my parents proud by not becoming what he is. And . . . And maybe I could prevent him from doing this again . . . to someone else."

Dick stared at the lenses as if he could see the man behind them. "I don't want this to happen to anybody else. So, could you help me? Just a little bit . . . Please?"

Batman stared back at him for a long minute. "You make a very good argument."

"Does that mean you will help me?" Dick looked up hopefully.

"I'll look into it," Batman said simply. "Now, I'll be right back."

Batman closed the door and went to inform one of the officers the location of the two men in the park, and relay the message to their superior that he was taking the child home. He told them that the boy's guardian would see to it they received the child's statement tomorrow.

When he climbed into the car, he glanced over to discover that, despite his passionate plea, Dick had fallen asleep in the few minutes he had taken. The warmth and safety of the car had lulled him into slumber. The cape had fallen away enough that he could see that the boy's hands clutched the puzzle cube in his lap.

The poor kid . . . Unable to resist, Batman ruffled the boy's hair gently before turning his attention to driving them both home.

The cold air woke him up. That, and the feeling of being moved. Voices were murmuring softly. Dick lifted his head during the transfer. Alfred was now holding him in his arms and closing the door.

"Wha . . .?"

"Easy there, Master Richard. You're safe now." Alfred told him in his reassuring British accent.

Dick lifted his head and looked around at the foyer. Doctor Leslie was coming from around the hallway towards them. But it was the roar of the big, black car that brought him fully awake.

He gasped and tried to squirm. "Wait," he cried out. "I wanted to thank him!"

"Oh dear," Alfred held on. "I'm afraid that Master Batman has already left, but I'm certain he knew you were grateful for his assistance."

Dick blinked at him and Dr. Leslie.

"Oh, look at those scratches," the doctor tsked as she lightly touched his cheek. "Let's get you cleaned up and checked out, so you can get something to eat and go to bed early. I hear you've had an exciting day."

The sun was already going down. Dick's stomach grumbled at the reminder. He hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast that morning. He wasn't as tired though after sleeping all the way home. He squirmed again to get down; this time Alfred accommodating him and setting him on the floor.

As soon as his tennis shoes touched the marble tile, Dick realized that his Rubik's Cube was missing! It must have fallen out of his lap when Batman picked him up! He looked longingly at the door, but he knew that the car had already driven away. He bit his lip and said nothing, however. He should be grateful enough to be back at the manor and safe again. Batman could keep the toy.

Thinking of it as a gift, Dick felt a little better over the loss. He squared his shoulders, and followed Alfred and the doctor up the stairs to his room. He looked behind him at the empty foyer and frowned.

Where was Bruce? After all this, the boy wanted nothing more than to see his guardian. Hadn't anyone told him that Dick had been kidnapped? It had seemed pretty serious at the time. One would have thought someone would have called the man and told him about it.

He bit his lip and frowned as he thought about this. Was he still in his meetings? Bruce had told him that he cared about him . . . Didn't he? He remembered Bruce telling him that he and Alfred wanted him. He thought Bruce might have even said that he needed Dick, but caring . . .? Was that the same thing? He didn't know.

Dick allowed Alfred to get him in the tub; hissing a bit when his deep scratches on his arm and face were washed. He sat on the bed in his pajama bottoms while Leslie muttered and murmured over the bruises forming on his shoulder and elbow. He had a few fingerprints on his other arm where he had been jerked and hauled around by several of the men who had taken him.

There was a shallow gouge where a bullet had grazed him, but it had stopped bleeding already. Leslie assured him that he didn't need stitches and had bandaged it up for him, and then dabbed ointment onto the scratches on his face from the splinters flying up. She was packing up her bag as Alfred sat on the bed and carefully picked a few splinters out of his fingers.

Dick was watching the older man work over his fingers with a clean needle, when Bruce finally burst into the room.

"Dick! You're home! Thank God!"

Bruce kneeled down in front of him and took Dick's face in his hand gently; turning it this way and that to see for himself what injuries had been done to him, and to determine whether or not the boy was okay. He looked back over his shoulder at Leslie.

"How is he? Was he hurt?" He demanded.

"He'll be fine," she assured him calmly; pausing in her actions to lay a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Some shards of wood had scratched his face, but they are minor. Nothing touched his eyes."

Bruce blinked and stared at the markings; noting how close they had come to damaging those magnificent blue eyes. He ran his thumb over the worst one; so softly that Dick could barely feel it.

"And? Anything else?" His hand stretched out and plucked the soiled sweater from the floor where it lay, waiting for Alfred to whisk it away. "There's blood on this! Where did that come from?"

Dick looked down in surprise. The way he was holding the sweater, Dick couldn't even see the bloodstain he was talking about. How did he know? The bandage, maybe?

"He had a slight brush with a bullet, apparently. Nothing serious," Leslie was quick to add before Bruce could get riled up. "It had already stopped bleeding by the time he got home, nor did it require any stitches."

Bruce was examining the bandage as the doctor spoke, but refrained from taking the gauze off so that he could see for himself. One of his hands slid up Dick's other arm next; his fingers lightly brushing over the dark bruise.

"And here?" His voice was sharp. "This looks painful. Shouldn't he have X-rays? How can you tell that there isn't something broken?"

Leslie smiled at the younger man's obvious worry. "I think Richard would have mentioned it had anything been broken. He's sore, and will be for a few days, but he has full range of motion, and no sharp pain to speak of . . . He's only bruised it, Bruce."

Bruce was frowning. He looked up at Dick. "Are you okay, Dickie? You don't have to be brave for us. It's okay to tell us if you're hurting." He glared at Leslie. "Did you give him anything for pain?"

The doctor looked like she wanted to laugh, but seemed to come to her senses. "I did. It should be kicking in any minute. Now, quite fussing like an old mother hen, and give the boy some room to breathe."

Bruce paused in the process of checking the boy's fingers for more splinters. "Do you want me to stop fussing over you?"

Dick lips twitched into a smile. "You're doing alright," he mumbled, shyly.

Bruce's fussing helped Dick forgive him for not being there as soon as he came home. Surely, he wouldn't be so worried if he didn't really care!

Bruce ruffled the boy's hair. "Hey! I think you forgot something downstairs," he said, lightly. He picked up something off of the floor by his knee and handed it to the boy.

Dick's eyes grew large as he turned the item over in his hands.

His Rubik's Cube!

But he had left it in the Batman's car! He was sure of it . . . At least, he thought he was. Alfred hadn't been holding it because Alfred had been holding him! He had seen Dr. Leslie come into the foyer from the back of the house after Batman had left. She hadn't been holding it either. But Dick had looked around on the table by the door and on the round table with the flower arrangement as soon as he first realized the toy was missing, and he hadn't seen it . . .

He hadn't seen it because it hadn't been there. He looked up at Bruce from the cube in his lap, confused . . . and stared.

There was a cut on the corner of Bruce's mouth . . . His bottom lip was a little swollen and slightly discolored. Just like . . .

Dick shook his head, scowling.

Bruce noticed. "What's the matter, chum? Do you want to lie down a while? Or maybe have something to eat? I know I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Dick's stomach answered for him.

"Oh, I say! My apologies, Master Richard," Alfred exclaimed. "How about I bring up a tray of chicken sandwiches and some hot chocolate for you both? I think that under the circumstances you two can eat up here tonight."

Bruce smiled. "That sounds like it would hit the spot, Alfred. Thanks! Leslie? Would you care to join us?"

Leslie had already picked up her black bag. "No, thank you, gentlemen. I ate with Alfred earlier. It's time I head home. I can show myself to the door, thank you, Alfred. Bruce, if either of you need me for anything in the morning, you can call the clinic."

"How about I at least walk you down the stairs?" Alfred asked. "Since we're heading in the same direction."

"A pleasure, as usual," she smiled. She waved at Dick. "I'm very glad you're home safe, young man. But let's try to avoid anymore carjackings in the future, okay? Doctor's orders!"

Dick waved back at her, distracted. "Thank you, Dr. Leslie, for coming to help."

When the two were alone, Bruce pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

"Are you sure you're alright? Is there anything you want to tell me?" He asked.

Dick turned the Rubik's Cube over in his hands. He had only gotten the red and green sides completed. He had never even had the chance to try for a third side today. He had lost it until Batman had returned it to him . . . and now, Bruce.

"You know, Uncle Jack . . . Um, that's Mr. Haley, the circus owner," Dick clarified; repeating part of the story he had told to Alfred that morning. "He gave me this last summer."

"I see," Bruce murmured. "Well, I'm glad you didn't lose it, then."

Dick looked up sharply, and sucked in his breath. Now that the idea had begun, it grew roots.

"It's you," he gasped.

Bruce frowned at him. "What do you mean? Of course, it's me! Who else would I be?" He ruffled the boy's hair again. "Let's get your pajama top on you while we're waiting for Alfred."

Dick slapped his hand down on the top where it lay beside him. That's why Bruce wasn't there when he arrived! He had to go change clothes and come back!

Bruce looked up at him, confused. "What's wrong, chum?"

"It's you, isn't it?" It wasn't really a question.

Bruce was silent for a moment. His smile wavered slightly. "I thought we established that already."

"You're him!"

The smile fell away. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." He didn't like the way that Dick was staring at him.

"That's why you disappear every night," Dick continued; something like awe shone in his face.

"Dick . . . I'm not sure where you're going with this, but it's obvious that you've had a very trying day. You're tired . . ."

Dick interrupted him. "That's why you took me in, too, isn't it?"

"What?"

"To help me!"

Bruce sighed and smiled once more. "Of course I wanted to help you. So did Alfred."

Dick was shaking his head. "But you have! Been helping me, I mean, haven't you? . . . All this time!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, chum. Maybe you better lie down, and we can discuss whatever you want in the morning," Bruce told him.

He started to rise when Dick stopped him. He slid off of the side of the bed, stepped between Bruce's knees, and looked the man directly in the eyes.

"You. Are. Batman." Dick covered Bruce's mouth when he started to deny it. "You are Batman," he repeated confidently. "You are!"

Bruce grasped Dick hand and lowered. "Dick . . ."

"You are," the boy insisted firmly.

Bruce sighed. The boy knew . . . Bruce knew the child was clever, but this . . . Most people's memories and observation skills during times of crisis were often faulty and unreliable. He had never expected the boy to able to put together the clues and come up with the truth!

Alfred entered the room at that point; setting down the tray on the dresser. He stopped as soon as he saw their faces. Something was up.

Dick looked at him. "Did you know?" He didn't give Alfred time to answer. "You did! You had to have known! You know everything!"

"Oh dear . . ." Alfred glanced at Bruce. "Good heavens."

Dick was looking back and forth between them; a slow smile spreading across his face.

"I think we have some things we need to discuss," Bruce blew out his breath.

Dick grinned suddenly. He had them, and they knew it.

Bruce scowled at him, but he wasn't intimidated in the least.

"Inconceivable," Bruce muttered, not even bothering to deny anything at this point. The boy knew . . .

Dick crawled back onto the bed and crossed his arms stubbornly.

"So," Dick's grin turned smug. "What do you think? Could you use a little help?"

REACTIONS?

So, this is how it really happened . . . ;D Don't forget to review and tell me what you thought of this! If you love it - Please add it to your favorites!

The link doesn't show up well, so, you can find one of my inspirations for Dick's Parkour/Freerunning scenes by typing: High level of Parkour & Freerunning | RUSSIA 2014 in the search space on YouTube.