Wide, empty gray plains stretched out from the big top in all directions, and even with the entire troupe searching and calling out the missing child's name it was easy to find pockets of silence when the breeze blew just right. This is no good, Bruce grimaced as he studied the tiny dots of light that marked the locations of the others. We're too spread out. We could walk right past him. He had overheard Caruso mentioning something to the social worker about calling in more support, but he hadn't seemed hopeful about getting it right away. No surprise; there aren't exactly spare officers to pull off the streets of Gotham on a good night, let alone in the middle of one that Batman isn't likely to make an appearance during.

The only bone that was thrown to their efforts was the presence of a full moon, which at least lent a gentle glow to the world. Surveying the huge fields, the billionaire could only shake his head. If he's laying in the grass somewhere, the odds of us finding him are slim to none, he considered. But if he headed for a landmark… His gaze fell on a gnarly, denuded maple that stood by itself at the far end of the tract. …Kids like to climb trees, right? And he's probably one for heights, anyway, as a trapeze artist, so…it's worth a try.

The last hint of the circus disappeared behind a low swell as he approached the lone specimen. There, a vague sense of relief washed over him as he spotted the boy perched on a thick limb some fifteen feet up. …I don't know that anyone else would have seen you there, he thought, his interest piqued. You blended into the shadows very well, especially considering how bright that costume you're wearing is.

As he drew up to the tree, he saw the child's head turn towards him, watching warily. "…Hello," he greeted quietly, stopping a short distance away and keeping the light he'd borrowed from the circus director pointed at the dirt. There's no need to make him nervous. He's already riled up, and he was slick enough to sneak away from the middle of a crowd and disappear into the night to begin with. If he starts to feel threatened, he might try and run. The thought of tackling a kid who had just watched his parents die and then dragging him back to CPS made his stomach churn, so he shoved it away, concentrating instead on making it clear that he wasn't an enemy.

After a long moment of staring at one another, the young aerialist decided that the man wasn't an immediate threat and returned his attention to the vista that stretched out below. The billionaire looked, too, and couldn't help but appreciate the view. The cleared ground sloped away from them, ending in a thin strip of forest that marched down the remainder of the hill. At the bottom was another broad plain, its freshly turned loam devouring the light that hit it. A few bright pinpricks shone beyond that, here and there at first and then quickly accumulating and rising to form the downtown skyline of Gotham. The river glinted as it slid through the metropolis, looking healthier and fresher under the moonlight than Bruce had ever seen it during the day. It had been a long time since he had stepped back and considered his city as more than the sum of its parts, and doing so now stirred something in him. …It really is beautiful from here, he thought with a mild shock. I guess it's hard to remember the good qualities that something possesses when all it ever seems to show you is the bad. Huh.

They stayed like that for some time, both admiring the valley. The faintest trace of a shout for the boy whispered past, but neither reacted. As Bruce moved to lean against the base of the maple, a long-ago banished memory crept back into his consciousness. His eyes never left the brightness between him and the horizon as he began to speak. "…Where I live," he ventured quietly, "there's a great, big hill, taller than this one. If you climb all the way to the top, you can see the city, like this," he nodded to indicate the panorama. "Or at least, you used to be able to. The trees have probably gotten too tall now…" They have to have, it's been twenty years since I was up there last, he calculated. "…When I was a boy, my father took me to the top of that hill and showed me the lights. There weren't as many then, I'm sure, but…it all seemed even bigger than it does now. I guess age is probably responsible for that." It seemed flawless then, he thought. I know better now, of course, but…tonight, like this, I can almost pretend that it's perfect again. If I hadn't witnessed what happened earlier, maybe I could trick myself into believing it, if only for a second…

"…Someone killed them, didn't they?" The threat he'd overheard coming from Pop Haly's office after yesterday's show, the double broken wires tonight…Dick may only have been eight, but he could put two and two together. They were murdered. My parents…were murdered. Why? They never hurt anybody…

The steadiness of the small voice over his head surprised Bruce. Looking up, he met his eyes, wide and serious even at a distance. "…Yes," he answered gravely. There's no point in lying to him, although I do have to wonder how he knows. This wasn't the time to question him on that fact, however; to even attempt it would be cruel. "Someone did. I'm sorry."

He'd already known, of course, but that fact didn't keep fresh tears from running down his already-wet cheeks. …He said he was sorry differently than the others did, he pondered, gazing out towards the river again and trying to think of anything other than the alien flexing his parents' bodies had done when they hit the dirt. Everyone who had stopped and given their own sobbing condolences while he sat numbly on Tanti Soraya's lap had been sincere, he knew, but… None of them really understood. They were sorry, but…all they knew how to be sorry for were their…their deaths. Not the how or why behind them. He frowned slightly. …So how come this stranger seems to get it, when people who knew them for years don't?

His answer came without being asked for. "…I know you don't know me, Dick," the man on the ground went on, "but I know how you feel right now. I remember how it was, the first night after my parents were…well. After they were gone." And I at least had Alfred, he grimaced. CPS didn't dare to even try and take me from him right away, not with the media sniffing around like they were. They won't have any compunctions about removing you from what you know, though; I have no doubt about that.

"…Were you a kid, too?"

"Yes. A little younger than you are." There was a scraping sound, and Bruce tilted his head upwards just in time to see the boy leap from the tree. Christ! Before he could react, however, the falling child grasped another limb, spun around it once, and then dropped to the ground, rolling as he landed and popping to his feet a dozen or so feet away. Brushing a few splinters off of his palms, he turned and came back, stopping at the billionaire's side.

"Does it ever stop hurting like this?" he asked in a high whisper, his face begging for an affirmative answer. You know. You've been there. Tell me what's next. Tell me…tell me how to go on.

I wish I could tell you that it will stop, kiddo. I really, really do. "…It hasn't for me."

"…Oh." He bowed his head and hugged himself tightly. Seeing him shiver, Bruce shrugged off his wool sport coat and placed it gently around his shoulders. "Thanks. Won't…won't you be cold?"

"No, I'm warm enough," he answered. Polite as hell. Alfred would like that. He shook himself. …What has that got to do with it? Alfred's not likely to ever meet him, so why would I even think that? Pull yourself together and get him back to the others. As he observed the child, though, he couldn't bear to suggest that they make their way to where a social worker with police backing was waiting to cart him away. The one thing I wanted the most that night was for someone who understood to stay with me, he recalled painfully. …No one where he's going to be taken is likely to be able to offer him that. So maybe…maybe we can wait just a little bit longer before we go back.

"…You have to take me to the police now, don't you?" was asked miserably.

"Eventually, yes," he nodded.

A pixie face rose, its dark brows knitted. "…'Eventually?'"

"Yes. But…not necessarily right now, if you don't want. If you want to talk," he offered. "Or if you just want to keep looking at the lights for a little while."

"…I'd like that," he nodded. "Um...is it okay if we sit down?"

"Sure," Bruce agreed.

Having received permission, the boy curled up on the sandy soil at the base of the tree, then watched as the man joined him. There was a long silence as they adjusted themselves to each other's presence. Finally, a soft question was broached. "What…what happened to your parents?"

The billionaire froze. I should have expected that, but…what do I say? Reflecting, he realized that he'd never been straight out asked before. Everyone he interacted with either already knew the basics of the story, didn't care, or would never dare to inquire directly. "They…they were killed," he explained unevenly. "It was a long time ago, but…"

"…But it doesn't go away."

"Right. It doesn't go away." A sudden weight on his elbow made him look down. The boy had reached over with one hand, and was now gripping his arm tightly as he looked sorrowfully upwards at him.

"I'm sorry."

"…Yeah, I know. So am I." He paused. "For both of us."

"Yeah…" He bit his lip, struggling to hold everything back. He's so nice, and…and he gets it. And…they're gone, they're really gone, and I just don't know what's supposed to happen now, because they weren't supposed to leave me like that… His walls failed. Burying his face against his knees, he raised his arms to cover his head as he broke down.

Bruce gulped heavily as he watched the sobbing child out of the corner of his eye. Um…shit. What…I should do something, I know, but… He was comfortable with physicality only when it came as a violent blow, a business-like handshake, or a bout of necessary intimacy with the socialite of the month; anything outside of those three forms of contact was foreign to him. Pretty much anyone in the world would be better at this than me, he thought as he patted the boy's back gingerly. I brought this on myself, though. I should have just called for the police when I found him…but how could I, knowing as I do what he's feeling tonight? How could I walk away from him like that?

He'd hoped that his distant consoling would be sufficient, but he discovered just how misguided that idea was when the slight figure turned and dove into him, dampening his shoulder with tears. Clever, calloused fingers curled into the throat of his shirt, gripping tight. At a loss as to how he should respond, the billionaire just continued his light tapping and tried to tune out the keening wails that were making his eyes smart. Jesus, did I sound this awful afterwards? How did Alfred put up with it? I don't even know this kid, and this is torture…

"'M s-sorry," Dick moaned suddenly. "It's j-just that you und-d-derstand…"

Understand…Oh. Oh, god. I wish I could have said that, at his age… Something snapped within him, and his arms wrapped around the boy of their own volition, dragging him close and holding him there. What am I doing? he boggled at himself. …He's just a child, another voice spoke up. Who else is going to do this for him? No one, probably, once he's taken from the circus, and even if he were to be left with them, he doesn't seem to think any of them will…will understand. He closed his eyes as a few drops of hot liquid rolled to his chin. I get it, kiddo. I know. I know it hurts, and I know how it hurts, too. And I'm so, so sorry that you have to wrestle with that pain. No one – especially not a child – should have to feel the way you do tonight. I remember. I remember.

They sat like that for a very long time. When they had both calmed, the thought of having the boy move back to his spot flickered through Bruce's mind. …No. This…this isn't so bad. I thought it would be, but…it really isn't. The question of why that was plagued him as a tousled dark head rested against his chest, its owner giving a delicate sniffle before going quiet. …He ran away from an entire camp of people who know him, and who knew his parents, and ended up crying with a complete stranger, he mused, trying to find an answer. I don't know for certain that he didn't let some of it out while I was busy with Haly, but judging from the violence of the fit he just had it seems like a safe bet that he didn't. He cried with me rather than them because…because I understand. He lifted one hand just long enough to dry his own cheeks, then returned it to where it had been resting on a thin, goosebumped arm. I suppose that's the reason I cried with him, too...

"…That lady isn't going to let me stay with the circus, is she?"

The query drew a deep sigh. "…I really doubt that you'll have that option, Dick."

"But…what will happen, then? I mean…I don't have anywhere to go."

"You'll go to a…a mass care facility," he spit out the distasteful words the social worker had used, "for a little while. Then they'll try to find someone to take you in, I guess."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"…No. My situation was…different." And that's saying the least.

"…Oh." He didn't speak for a moment. I wish you could…no, I can't say that. Don't even think that. He's just a really nice guy who understands stuff that no one else does, he wouldn't want…well. He's just a nice guy, and that's all. Kind of sad, but…nice. "Do you think…do you think anyone will…want me?"

The fearful tone in his voice made Bruce's throat tight. Judging from the statistics in this city…no. "You're a good kid," he said instead. "I'm sure someone will." He glanced down to find the boy giving him a look. "…What?"

"How do you know I'm 'a good kid?' I don't even know your name."

Insightful much? "Call it a hunch. Besides," he countered, "you don't know my name, but we've been talking for…" he glanced at his watch, "almost an hour, so..."

"…I had a hunch, too, I guess," the boy shrugged. "You're not like the others."

…Kiddo, you have no idea. A sudden shout at the top of the nearest rise interrupted them. "I'm afraid we can't hide any longer," Bruce told him quietly. I kind of wish we could, though.

"Yeah…"

They stood slowly. "Well, it's about time," the social worker grimaced as she hustled up, several others coming close behind her. "You can't run away like that when you get upset," she lectured Dick immediately. He recoiled, pushing in against the billionaire's leg as he automatically sought protection from the harpy of the law currently beaming her flashlight into his face.

"Excuse me," Bruce frowned at her. "That's uncalled for. He was distraught, and he fled a loud environment for some solitude. Considering what he's been through tonight, it was a perfectly natural reaction."

Her torch was directed upwards, seeking him out. "And who are you to…oh," she trailed off. "Mr. Wayne. Officer Caruso told me you were…around. I take it you found the boy?"

"Yes. I did."

"Well." They stared at one another for a moment. "…Well?" her voice went up.

"Well what?" the billionaire retorted.

"If you would release him, please, so that I can get on with my chore?"

Your chore? Bruce felt his gut flare. At the same time, he looked down and discovered that his hand had clasped itself to the child's shoulder. Everyone was staring at it expectantly other than Dick, whose eyes stayed distrustfully on the CPS agent. …I'm really sorry about this, the billionaire's lips tightened as he loosened his fingers. I wouldn't want to go with her, either.

Feeling the pressure at the top of his arm relent, the young acrobat directed his attention to the man who had held him through his first deluge of grief. …He doesn't like it, either, he read the pursed look on his face. But I don't think he can do anything about it. "Will…will I see you again, Mr. Wayne?" he asked, repeating the name the woman had used a moment before.

"I don't know," he said, looking away. He's sharp, he noted. He caught my name, at least, which is more than most could do on a night like this. Resilient, too, then…Shit. Stop it. This is pointless. You've done what you can, short of throwing a little help his way through the Foundation. Let it go. Let him go.

Dick's mouth quivered as a rock dropped into the pit of his stomach. …Oh. I think…I think that's a no. "Well…goodbye, then. And…thank you," he whispered before shuffling over to the social worker, who made a little tsking sound and began to hurry him back towards the circus grounds.

"Wait," Bruce ordered roughly before they had gone more than a few steps. Where are you going to take him?

"Oh, for heaven's sake," the woman halted, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "I have work to do, you know, Mr. Wayne."

He ignored her completely. I don't know what I'm doing. This is insane. Stop it, you fool, he chastised himself as he strode to where the boy had turned back around. There's just one more thing, he argued. He doesn't deserve the nightmares, and maybe…just maybe, if I say the right thing...maybe with the right support, knowing that someone else understands…maybe I can spare him that extra pain. He dropped to one knee before the child, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and looked straight into his eyes, his brain glitching for a second as it noted how close in hue they were to his own. "…Have a dreamless sleep, Dick," he managed finally. "No nightmares. Nothing. Okay?"

…I don't think he'd say that unless he knew what kinds of dreams I'm in for, he swallowed hard. And…and I'll bet he only knows that because he's had them, too. He cocked his head, seeing something sad but hopeful glimmering in the man's gaze. …He said it hasn't stopped hurting him, even though it must have been a long time ago now…maybe he still has them. That's…that's so awful, to have suffered that long. "…You too, Mr. Wayne," he answered, managing a tiny, grateful smile. "Dreamless sleep for both of us."