AN:- Hey, I've started up over at AO3 now, but I'm back - till April at least. This is because despite everything - I want to try and save Dick Grayson from the fate DC seems to have planned out for him - after all better safe than sorry eh? So I'm back, till April.

The petition to save Dick Grayson is (remove the spaces): change en-GB/ petitions/ dc-comics-save-di ck-grayson-2

I hope you help out, sign and spread the word. And! March is Dick Grayson Month! Show your support via the information stated on the petition site!

Also, the reason why it's here and not over at the Nightwing section? Well, Dick ain't going to separate himself as much from the Bat as in the comics.

All of these will be continued after April on AO3. Enjoy the story.

Cheers,

Eastonia

Gotham. January 2009. 2153 hours.

"You sure about this Dick?"

"Positive Oracle,"

The streets of Gotham passed as the sleek black motorcycle streamed by, leaving blue streaks of lights in its wake. A smug smirk graced the mouth of the rider as he continued

"Besides, I did my research. And Bats did his. Don't tell me you don't trust his research."

"Whatever Former Boy Wonder."

"Hey, I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

"Never FBW."

"And... you just acronym-ised it. Great I'm stuck with that huh?"

"You'll always be stuck with the ..."

"Shush. I'm closing in."

True enough, the bike slowed and came to a standstill. The man on the bike reached up and removed his helmet before running a hand through his hair. The black with a blue 'wing' that extended down to his fingertips, Kevlar-Nomex mix bodysuit clung to his body like a second skin. Something that would strike a watcher at that moment would be that this masked man was obviously very handsome.

And dangerous.

He held himself in a confident manner, but the tilt of his head indicated his caution as he entered the warehouse.

...

Gotham City Hospital Morgue. January 2009. 1942 hours. Earlier that night.

"That all of them Bats?"

"Yes."

"Twenty-one dead men."

The morgue was quiet and cold as Batman and Nightwing surveyed the victims. Twenty-one dead men, every single one of them with broken necks and crushed tracheas.

"The police fished them out of the river. Not too sure where they came from. Then they found this,"

The Dark Knight held up a shard of a splinter from one of the dead men. Nightwing moved closer to the Bat to examine the tiny piece of a lead that they had managed to extract from the bodies. Whomever did this, they were good at cleaning up after themselves.

Nightwing smirked.

"Good thing the Clan is better at finding spots eh?"

Batman swept his cloak around and let it flare out as he moved towards the.

"We'll need to do some analysis at the Cave."

...

Gotham South Wharf. January 2009. 2155 hours.

That was where that tiny sliver of wood led him to. The warehouses of Gotham's South Wharf – near the estuary. Whoever killed the one and twenty men could still be there, waiting for one of the Clan to show up. It couldn't be Tim – he had his Dad to think about, and besides – Batman needed Robin for patrol.

Creeping through the shadows, Nightwing checked each warehouse for evidence of a fight – or lack of one. See, sometimes when the killer gets careless they leave a mess. Other times – they leave it too pristine. And even when they manage to strike the balance between scuffed and clean, there was always a bit left behind. Nightwing tapped the side of his mask as the star-lite lenses shone blue in detective mode.

Example?

That scrap of cloth that looked like something that belonged to the twentieth victim. And the stain on the floorboard that looked like it had recently seen bleach. But the first thing that pointed to the perpetrator in terms of evidence?

The trace of asbestos on the floor and the whiff of whale oil in the air.

See, despite everything, for some reason Gotham did not actually do asbestos, in fact most of the crime lords seemed to stay away from it.

"Huh, I guess Gotham does have standards."

But there was one place nearby that did have a history of whaling and asbestos – Bludhaven.

...

Wayne Manor. January 2009. 0901 hours. The next day.

"Bludhaven?"

"Yeah... Thanks Alfie."

Alfred smiled at his younger charge as he set down the heaped breakfast plate. Dick took a couple of bites before looking up at Bruce.

"The warehouse was expertly cleaned, but they couldn't really get rid of the scent of whale oil. The asbestos was hiding in a corner – looks like the clean-up team were in a hurry."

"Dick. Batman can't be seen for long periods in Bludhaven..."

"Batman can't, you are too well associated with Gotham – they would see it as you abandoning her, I get it. But Nightwing is not as well known – he could do it."

"Not as well known Mister-Leader-of-the-Titans."

"Our roster changes very often. Half the time I'm at the Tower conducting the group instead of being on the field – besides, Tim is doing a great job at learning the ropes with the Teens. And Donna can take over for a while."

"But..."

"And Bruce Wayne can't drop everything in Gotham. And setting up a Wayne Enterprises branch there will be tricky. Face it Bruce, I'm the best one to transfer over there."

"But what about your place on the force?"

"I thought you were against me becoming a cop?"

"Can't do much about it now – you have already graduated from the Academy."

"Which is why I can do this so much more easily than you, I've already withdrawn my application to the GCPD and submitted one to the BPD."

"Captain Redhorn will accept you, only because of who've you got on your emergency contacts list."

"Don't you think I know it? With the GCPD at least it has been turning around over the past decade. We've got good cops in high places there, it's easier to root out the problems. Bludhaven is bent from the top down. You'd have to be crazy to be an honest cop there."

"Should I send you to Arkham then?"

"And... you grow a sense of humour. Should I be worried?"

Bruce rolled his blue eyes as he looked at the young man who looked so much like him.

"You've got it covered?"

"I had to fly the nest sometime."

"Then..."

"No Bruce. No handouts, no startup cash. I want to do this by myself."

"You'll always have a home here Dick."

Dick drained the last of his orange juice as he set down the cutlery he used.

"Yeah. I know."

...

Bludhaven Bus Station. January 2009. 1045 hours. A week later.

Dick Grayson pulled the Gotham Knights baseball cap low over his eyes as he stepped out from bus. He looked around at the grimy transportation hub – it was hard to believe that he was only an hour's drive from Gotham, Bludhaven felt a million miles away.

Then again, the Bat had been cleaning up over there for several years now.

But, first things first – get a place to stay.