An hour later, after the broken wires had been examined by the police and the bodies had been removed, the attention of everyone remaining in the big top was drawn by the sound of a shouting female voice. "…That's Soraya," Pop Haly's eyes widened as he recognized the butchered English the fortune teller produced when she was truly upset. He rushed away from where the bloodied earth was being bagged for disposal, Officer Caruso and Bruce close on his heels as he headed for the rear of the tent. There they found a small crowd standing around two women locked in a battle of wills. Close beside the more esoterically dressed of the pair was Dick, his head bowed, arms wrapped around his waist as his fate was argued over.

"No von eez take him!" Soraya protested, waving her hands and throwing her words into the face of the stout social worker before her. "Zis his home!" Several people in the audience they'd gathered nodded firmly, their postures clearly unhappy.

"Ma'am, I understand that you're upset, but he can't stay here," the other woman replied.

"Vy not? Because iz circus? You tink ve're dirty, iz zat it?"

The CPS agent didn't look up from her clipboard, although her eyebrow did arch. "…That's not for me to decide, ma'am."

"Excuse me," Pop Haly wove through the spectators. "Soraya, stop," he touched her arm as she prepared to unleash a tirade. "I'm sorry, we're all very upset right now," he apologized to the stranger. "What's going on?"

"I'm taking the boy with me. He'll be placed in a mass care facility until his case can be sorted out."

"I…I'm sorry? You're…taking him? I don't understand. Like Soraya said, he has a home here. There's no reason to take him away."

Her eyes finally left her paperwork. "What's your name, sir?"

"C.C. Haly," he offered his hand. She ignored it, referencing her notes.

"…You own this circus?"

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed, his hand dropping back to his side. "I do."

"And your first name…? Or is it just…C.C.?" she asked a bit derisively.

"Cornelius," he ground out, trying to smile. "Cornelius C. Haly."

"The middle initial stands for…?"

"It's just C., ma'am."

"Ahh," she smirked as if that told her something important about him. "What's the boy's full name, please, Mr. Haly?"

"I say alveady!" Soraya protested. "What, you tink I lie to you?"

"His name is Richard John Grayson," Pop Haly waved the fortune teller back. "…With an 'a,' not an 'e,'" he corrected when she misspelled the family name.

She sighed, erased a letter, and rewrote it. "Fine. Well, I've already been told that he has no blood relations here. Is that correct?"

"…Yes, but-"

"Any blood relations anywhere that you know of?" she cut him off.

"No, but-"

"Okay, well, that makes it pretty clear. He's coming with me."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I still don't understand. Why can't he stay here?"

"Because he's a minor with no legal guardian-"

"Ve vill care to heem! He iz ov uz!"

"Get her out of here!" Caruso directed angrily. Two other uniforms led Soraya around the corner, leaving Pop Haly shaking his head and many of his people exchanging dark looks.

"-and because your act is scheduled to leave town tomorrow morning," the social worker finished speaking. "The boy can't leave Gotham until the investigation is complete and a suitable guardian is found for him."

"…We'll stay over until then," he said with a wince. It will all but bankrupt me, but…we're all he has left.

"You can't. Your permit expires tomorrow, from what I understand."

"I'll pay for a new one, or a renewal."

"It won't be enough, Mr. Haly," she spoke over the rumble of approval that washed through the crowd, which had now swelled to include virtually every member of the troupe, at the director's words. "The longest you'd be able to extend for would be an additional three days. This process could take weeks, months even. CPS is always backlogged, and given the family's…transitory history," she glanced around uncomfortably, "I imagine the search for any potential relatives will take even longer than usual."

Haly's shoulders slumped. What can I do? I can't sit just outside of town for months and months on end. Even if we could find someplace to park all of our equipment, we have to perform in order to feed ourselves and the animals, and a circus is only welcome in any place for so long before the allure wears thin. "…Isn't there anything we can do? Soraya's right, ma'am; he belongs with us."

"Yeah, he's ours!" someone in the back cried out.

"…Loyalties aside, Mr. Haly, no judge is going to give custody of an eight-year-old to a traveling circus, no matter how long you wait around for it to happen. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."

"That's not fair. This is all he knows. Hasn't he lost enough today?" he asked plaintively, his feet shuffling as he argued.

"That's not my call to make. My job is to bring the boy into the custody of the state until such a time as a blood relative or other interested caretaking party can be found, and that's all I can do at this juncture."

"We are an 'interested caretaking party!'" he protested.

"Which one of you?" she jabbed.

"…Well, if you need one person in particular, me," he replied. "I'll take him."

"And are you going to give up your circus, settle down, and put the boy into school in a stable home environment? And if so, how will you support him and yourself, since you'll have no reliable source of income and, I imagine, no prospects for gaining other employment?"

"I…give up the circus? But…" The whole point is to keep him with the circus, he faltered. And if I give up the circus, what happens to the others? The people I would trust to keep the show going are gone, and that's…that's the whole reason we're having this conversation. He bit back a sob, not wanting to break in front of this stranger.

"Those are the first questions a judge would ask if I brought forward a petition to name you his guardian, Mr. Haly," she informed him. "I'm sorry."

"But if he doesn't stay with us…where will he go?"

"As I said, to a mass care facility for now. After that, there are several options. Again, not my decision to make. In any case, I have what I need, and it's late. I'll take the boy for tonight, then bring him back tomorrow morning to collect some of his personal effects once the police have finished with the family's…trailer," her cheek twitched. "So…" she turned to where Dick had been standing when Pop Haly interceded. "Where did he go?" Her eyes narrowed as they swept over the gathered troupe. "Who's hiding him? Officer," she turned to Caruso.

"All right, no games!" he announced. "Where's the kid? You can't hide him from CPS, that's kidnapping. A jailable offense," he added.

After several minutes, they finally ascertained that the boy was nowhere among the assembly. Soraya was brought back around along with her police escort, who swore that the fortune teller hadn't had any contact with the child since they'd removed her from the tent. Gathering what was going on and reading the concerned expressions being worn by her fellows, her ire sparked anew. "You lost heem?!" she exploded at the social worker before turning to Pop Haly. "Zey cannot do zis ting! He vill be greatest ever! You not let zem do zis ting!" With that outburst, she collapsed, wailing the names of the dead aerialists and pounding her fists on the ground.

"Marnie, Lana, can you take her to her trailer?" Haly asked, covering his eyes with one hand so as to avoid looking at the spectacle. "Make her some tea, or…or something."

"Miry vill make ze tea no more!" the woman on the ground screamed as kind hands pulled her to her feet and led her away.

Once a door had shut out amongst the tow-behinds, dampening her funereal ululations substantially, Caruso clapped his hands. "All right, let's spread out. If you find him," he said firmly, "you will hand him over. Anyone suspected of trying to hide him or telling him to run away will be pulled in for questioning and possible charges. Is that understood?"

Silence.

"I'm sure we'll all comply," Pop Haly answered finally, sending his people a weary glance. We can't run from the police, not if we want to keep working. And we have to keep working; we can't just become a bunch of fugitives, or charity cases. That's the last thing Johnny and Mary would have wanted their deaths to cause, and I don't intend to see it happen. "Come on, everyone, let's find our missing boy."

As the crowd began to move, the circus director looked over to find the billionaire beside him. "…Mr. Wayne," he said, surprised. "I didn't realize you were still here. I thought you'd left during the…uproar," he euphemized.

"Bathroom break," Bruce fibbed. Realizing that everyone was riveted to the argument over the boy's immediate future, he'd slipped back to the main part of the tent and quickly examined the evidence. …Acid? he'd frowned, peering at the broken ends of the wires. No way to tell for sure without testing it back at the cave, although I don't know what else it could have been that wouldn't have been noticed during the set-up. Finding a discarded candy wrapper near the stands, he'd carefully scooped up a few of the tiny, frayed shards of metal that had snapped from the main cords and tucked them into his pocket. If it was acid, there shouldn't be enough left on it to eat through that plastic. There wouldn't be any metal left if there were.

He'd rejoined the group just as they were realizing that Dick had vanished. Well, I can hardly blame him for running away, if that's what he did, he'd thought. As if seeing what he saw earlier tonight wasn't reason enough to flee, having everyone talk about him as if he wasn't even present would only have made it worse. Setting his mouth firmly, he determined to join the search. Hopefully he's just gone to his family's trailer, but… If he was outside, he stood a good chance of developing hypothermia; the early March air was far from warm, and when he'd last seen the child he was still clad only in his thin performance garb. He's having the absolute worst night of his life. The least I can do is try and keep it from turning into the last night of his life.

"Let's check the trailers," Haly suggested. "Everyone, the trailers, the animal pens, the sideshow tents, all of that first," he called out. "Max," he grabbed a burly strongman as he walked by, "go see if he's with the elephants. You know how he is."

"We will find him, Pop," the muscular figure said firmly. "He won't go far."

"…Thanks, Max," he patted his shoulder. Shaking his head, he turned back to Bruce and started towards the double row of tow-behinds sitting just outside of the bright aura that surrounded the big top. As they approached one midway down the line, the billionaire could make out chipped paint and a few dents alongside neat patches and brocade drapes. None of the portable little homes they passed were anywhere near new, but it was clear that they were cared for, and that fact was driven home when he followed the circus director inside the Grayson abode.

The stacked beds at the front of the compact space had their privacy curtains pulled back, revealing the faded but clean quilts that were tucked neatly over the mattresses. A pitted but well-scrubbed dining table extended a short distance from the wall, its bench cushions wrapped in bright tapestries that had obviously been added by the occupants. There wasn't a single crumb on the wedge of counter that served as a kitchen. To the left of the door was a tiny cubicle bathroom facing a shower, and Bruce had absolutely no doubt that both facilities were spotless. Beyond lay what had once been a full bedroom, now converted into storage. Costumes and regular clothing hung on one side; cabinets lined the other. A tiny folding table at the extreme rear held a few sewing implements and what looked like a pair of the boy's pants, a half-repaired hole evident in one knee. Above that hung a child's drawing of a show-outfitted elephant, carefully placed behind glass and given a place of pride on the wall.

As the billionaire took it all in, his stomach twisted in commiseration for the young boy who had to come back to this reminder of the lives that had ended tonight. Returning to the manor after his own parents had been killed had been bad enough; he could just imagine how it would feel to revisit such an intimately shared space as this one after a similar tragedy. At least at home most of the downstairs is relatively impersonal, his lips pursed. But every square inch of this place is an expression of the people who lived here. There's no escape from it.

"…He's not here," Pop Haly said slowly. "Dick?" he called out unnecessarily. Where did you go? Maybe Max found you with Eleanor…please, please have gone to the elephants.

"Why don't we meet up with the others? Everyone should be about done checking the trailers, at least," Bruce advised, sensing the worry pouring off of the older man. "Someone may have already found him elsewhere."

"Max!" the circus director waved him over once they were outside. "Anything?"

"No, he wasn't with the elephants," the strongman shook his head. "I don't know…"

His face verging on panic, Haly turned to where others were now coming out of their own homes, all empty handed. "Anything?!" he cried out down the line. "Anyone?!" A chorus of 'no's' came back, everyone drawing in around the Grayson trailer in a concerned huddle. "Oh, god," the director sat down on the step and buried his face in his hands. First Johnny and Mary, and now I've gone and let Dick disappear, he cried quietly. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…this is all my fault…

Soft whispers were exchanged amongst the gathered circus folk. Surveying them, Bruce noted that there didn't seem to be any other children around the boy's age. Several teenagers milled around, shooting nasty looks at the cops, and a couple of people held sleeping babies on their hips, but no other minors were evident. Strange, he mused. But then it's a somewhat small group, anyway…

The contingent that had been searching the big top and the tents of the smaller acts approached, all of its members looking grim. "We didn't find him," one of them reported. "…He's not here, either?"

"No," Haly replied weakly.

"I even dug through the hay," the roustabout, Goro, reported miserably.

"He likes to hide in the hay," someone else nodded.

These people know each other, their habits, so well, Bruce marveled slightly. They're just…their own community. And unless Gotham CPS has changed a lot since they used to harass Alfred about being a single man raising a child who wasn't a blood relation, they'll tear him right out of here without a second thought, just because they aren't stationary. It's not right, but…it's the law. Damn it!

"Well, we need to search the fields, then," the social worker, whom no one had noticed approaching, announced. "He can't have gotten far, and I'm not leaving without him."

"All right, let's go, people," Caruso, who had come up with her, jumped in. "Grab a flashlight and stay within sight of one another and the camp. Holler if you find anything, and one of us," he gestured to the other uniformed figures milling about, "will come running."

Let's be quick about it, Bruce wanted to add as everyone set off in different directions. It's only going to get colder out as the night goes on, after all, and the last thing on his mind right now is taking care of himself. I can guarantee you that.

Author's Note: Next chapter will have some cuddles!