Chapter 4

The common room was the place where orphans were supposed to bond over educative board games, exchange their thoughts about the few books available on the shelves and sometimes watch a movie together. In practice, the younger ones where fighting over the various games' pieces which they used to play war while the older ones played on their phones or isolated themselves with their headphones.

Dick had opted on the isolation but, since his phone wasn't exactly able to produce music – his parents had not agreed to release any budget to buy him a phone with at least 4Go memory yet when they'd died – he had picked one of the books and pretended to read.

The plot wasn't that bad, actually, but it was hard to concentrate with the sounds of the TV in background, hard metal playing too loud in someone's headphones and one of the youngest whining about his toy.

Dick was deciding to let his annoyance win and to retreat in his room when a special flash interrupted the TV's program – something about Batman.

"… apparently attacking the mansion, though the force assembled around it wouldn't comment. GCPD lieutenant Jim Gordon refuses to answer any questions, but several witnesses confirm the Bat is on site."

The camera switched on a woman holding an 8 or 6-year old child against her.

"It's him, he's there! He just saved my little Jackie who was being pushed around by a group of rascals on O'Brian's, and he told us to move away because there was going to be trouble!"

More than the woman's story, Dick was convinced by the look of absolute betrayal the kid was shooting at his mother. Batman had just saved him and she was ratting him out to have her minute of fame on the news' channel.

The camera switched back to the presenter, who explained that the Falcone's family was a very respectable one, their factories providing employment to many gothamites. Over her shoulder, Dick could distinguish at least four police cars.

What was Batman doing? Dick didn't get it. If he was working with the police, why did he attack a random citizen? But then, they'd say Zucco was respectable too, wouldn't they?

Dick bit his lips. Could he trust Batman more than he did the media? Or the police? They had said Jim was there. Jim wouldn't go against Batman if he was doing something right. However, Jim wasn't really doing anything to stop Batman. The police seemed to just sit around and wait for something to happen while preventing the journalists to get closer.

How could Dick know who to trust? Batman had made so much sense when they'd met. He had actually talked Dick out of hurting people. He couldn't possibly be attacking an innocent.

Which meant that somewhere in that mansion was a bad guy. And the police couldn't help. They might even have to arrest Batman! He was being set up.

Dick closed his book.

He mumbled something about being tired and headed for his room. There, he stuffed his bed with clothes to give the illusion of someone sleeping and grabbed his bag. This time, he took with him his Swiss Army knife and also some rope, the bandages he used for his wrists and a lighter. He had no idea what he might use those for but they seemed to be useful items to have around.

He traded his blue jean for a black one and put a red hoodie over his yellow shirt – he didn't own any dark one but at night, red was as good as black – then his brown jacket over the hoodie. That would do.

He opened his window to slip outside. There wasn't any convenient pipe there but he didn't need any: the ancient stones gave enough grips for him to climb down. The night's darkness wasn't even much of a problem. One didn't use sight to find grips. He simply took off his shoes to feel the wall with his feet. Thankfully, it hadn't rained.

Yet, the stone was slippery. He had maybe climbed down four feet when the crack he was leaning on gave way. He muffled a gasp and had the fortunate reflex to push himself from the wall to twist his body into a somersault, landing heavily but safely on the ground.

Oh, god. Alright, that one had been close. No more climbing at night. Or at least on another day; one really shouldn't risk his life more than once every 24 hours or so.

He gladly put back on both his shoes and socks. November was chilly. Now, the next step: the sisters kept a few old bikes in a shed at the end of the park. It wasn't closed.

Getting out from the gate without being caught was trickier than just jumping over the wall would have been, but he needed the wheels to reach the mansion before everything was over.

Once finally he found himself ready, with all his stuff, on his bike, safely two streets away from the orphanage, he nodded at himself. So. Where exactly was this mansion?

sososo

Dick was mostly sure there weren't any mansion on the docks. Yep. Positive. So the reason why he found himself there was an absolute wonder.

His sense of directly wasn't usually that bad but Batman had been right last time: he didn't have enough information. He didn't know anything about the city and obviously, there was more than one 'Obrien Street'. Also, the fact that his phone had decided to shut down ten minutes before didn't help. Who knew, maybe this actually was a shortcut through uptown. There were docks about everywhere in this damn city!

He should have checked his phone's battery before going. He should have thought things through. He should… go back to the orphanage and hope no one would have noticed he was ever gone.

With a sigh, he turned his bike around. And blinked. There were lights moving around the corner. No – the light wasn't moving. The shadows were. As if… something was on fire?

He looked up. Oh shit. Even against the dark sky he could make out the big, puffy cloud of smoke going up. There was something on fire!

He rode toward it as quickly as possible, checking the name of the street at the corner; it was Obrien. And now that there wasn't a line of building blocking his view he could see the big warehouse burning – and smell it, too, despite the wind blowing on the other side. Fire was already licking its way out of the first floor's window. Thankfully, this didn't look like a place anyone would be in at this hour.

… Or was this a voice?

He abandoned his bike against a wall to get closer, protecting his face with his arm. The muffled sound echoed again and, yes, there was someone inside! He didn't get the words' meaning but it was definitively a voice.

"Don't worry, I'm coming!" he shouted.

However, first things first. He reached for his phone but – right, no battery. He looked around, hoping hard. He had seen public phones several times in this city. Maybe even here… Yes! He ran to the blue plastic case he spotted from afar, wishing for the old phone inside to still work. He found a few coins in his jacket's pocket and dialed Jim's number. He had his card in his bag but didn't even need to read it; without realizing, he had memorized the number by heart.

"Gordon. This better be an emergency."

"Jim? I mean, detective? This is Dick, Dick Grayson, I mean… I'm at the docks, and there's a building burning."

"What? What the hell are you doing… Where at the docks?"

"Right next to Obrien Street."

"I am at… Oh, right, the docks, so it's Obrien, not O'Brian."

So this was how it was spelled! Dick was very tempted to curse. However, if he'd gotten it right, he wouldn't have stumbled upon the fire.

There were more pressing things at hands anyway.

"Yes! And I think there's someone inside. Please, come quickly!"

Jim swore under his breath, then called someone. He exchanged a few words too far from the receiver for Dick to hear.

"Dick, listen to me. We're heading there. Do not try to get inside by yourself, to you hear me?"

"But you won't get here in time!" Dick protested.

"Do not. I'm sending the fire brigade. Do you understand?"

Dick swallowed.

"Alright."

"Good. I'm coming."

The detective hung up. Dick went back to the warehouse. It was far enough from the other buildings not to fear for the fire to spread. The wind wasn't blowing hard, either. However, despite the everlasting clouds, there was no sign of rain.

Nothing was going to stop the warehouse from burning down. Or worse: considering how things were going, it would collapse well before the blaze reached the roof.

A shriek pierced the night, clear and loud this time. Dick flinched. This was a woman!

He stared desperately at the warehouse entrance. Everything was burning. There wasn't anyone else around. Jim had told him to stay outside, to wait for professional help. Batman had told him to stay out of trouble

Actually no, he hadn't.

He'd told him not to put people in danger without knowing the risks. Not to do wrong things for the sake of it.

Here, there wasn't anyone to hurt. Only people to save.

'But there was no one around to get hurt, except for them!'

'And yourself.'

'Alright, and myself. I was ready to take that risk.'

Dick was still ready to put his life at risk, as long as he could help those people inside.

People who would get hurt if Dick didn't act.

Another shriek. Dick rushed to the entrance, pulling his sweater's red hoodie over his head. He wasn't wearing his scarf so he tied Bruce's black handkerchief on his mouth and nose to at least try to filter the fumes. In another life, the door had been locked, but not anymore.

Inside, everything was burning. Dick walked half-bent by reflex, orienting himself by the now regular sound of someone pleading. Thankfully, there was only one big room so he only had to avoid the burning beams and big piles of boxes containing whatever goods had been stocked here.

The fume hurt his eyes. He tried to rub them, but only managed to spread shoot all over his face. Damn, he'd have to buy himself another red sweater after this. If he was still alive to buy anything.

After one last turn around a pallet, he finally found them. The woman was sitting on the bare concrete, her back against a pole. The man had been left lying on the ground, his hands fastened behind his back. He had obviously been beaten and was barely conscious.

"Sir? Can you walk?"

The man couldn't even focus on him, even less answer. His face was vaguely familiar but the bruises and smoke make it hard to recognize it. Dick moved to the woman and paled. Her hands were tied too. With manacles. Around the pole. Getting her out was going to be tricky.

She interpreted correctly the face he was pulling.

"Please save him. Please. He's been hurt to help me."

Dick swallowed. She was trying to put on a brave face, but he could see she was scared.

Something crumbled on the far side of the building, making them both jump. Dick straightened. He had to do something or all three of them would die.

"I'll come back", he said. "Help is on its way."

He went to the man. He was way too tall for Dick to lift him so he grabbed his shoulders instead, dragging him toward the exit. Not ideal, but that would have to do.

Even so, he still had to use his whole body as a lever; this man was probably into sports. Dick gritted his teeth and kept going. The exit was right there. He could do this! Jim was on his way. And maybe Batman had managed to slip out with the police retreating. Please let him arrive soon. The Batmobile would arrive much quicker than any other car. He had to come.

Then the man started to move.

"What…" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Not now! I'm getting you out."

"Where is…"

"I'll go back for her", promised Dick. "You first."

"No", the man protested, thrashing. "No!"

Dick barely managed to keep going, thanking his captors mentally for having tied his hands. The man was still not well enough to walk by himself but he would have been able to push Dick away, had he been able to use them.

"If you keep doing that, I won't have enough time!"

"No, I need… her. Please. Batman…"

"Batman will be there", Dick said, because what else could he have done? He sure hoped it was true. "I promise. He's on his way."

Something snapped over their heads; Dick had barely the time to think, rolling away and dragging the man with him. But he was still struggling, screaming. The burning beam fell right on his face. He stopped moving.

Panicking, Dick tried using his bare hands to move it away, but it was way too heavy. It was also burning. On the man's face. God. God.

He took a deep breath and looked around. Nothing, nothing that could help at all… Until his eyes caught a metallic reflection. He ran at it – and his stomach turned. The iron bar was tainted of blood.

There was no time to hesitate, though, not if the tool used to beam him could save that man. Dick grabbed it with both hands and ran back. Quickly, he used it as a lever to get the beam off him. By a stroke of luck the man was still breathing, his head more damaged by the fire than by the shock – but his face had been badly burned.

Dick managed to drag him on the last few feet, then away from the building. The fire was blazing up and up, the ceiling creaking and moaning.

Dick swallowed, steeling himself. He might not manage to get out in time. But the woman was still there…

He was about to go back in when he heard the sirens. His heart jumped. Finally! Less than a minute later, cars started to park all around the place. Jim got out of the first one, heading for Dick right away.

"Son? Is that you?"

Dick removed the handkerchief from his face, waving at the resting form on the ground.

"Yeah. I got him out but there's still someone inside! There were two of them, but…"

"I'd told you not to go in!" Jim cursed, but he looked more relieved than angry.

"The woman…"

"The fire brigade will be there in a minu…"

A shriek interrupted the detective: the metallic structure of the roof was moaning. Then it just started bending, dragged down by its own weight, weakened by the heat. Dick ran forward, but Jim caught him in time.

"Stop! It's too late."

"But the woman…!"

"It's too late, son, the building is lost. You can't do anything now."

Dick shook his head, tensed, all his being protesting against this fate. He had been talking to her only a minute ago. He had promised! Tears blurred his sight. She had been right there. And now it was too late.

"Gordon!" someone called. "That's Harvey Dent."

Jim released his grip on Dick out of surprise.

"What? But he wasn't missing!"

"Apparently, he had been", was the retort.

Dick paled. Harvey Dent? So the woman had to have been his fiancée, Gilda Gold, the one who had gone missing a week ago. He had found her. He had tried to save her. Dick lowered his head. At his feet, the shadows were still dancing.

The blaze kept burning, long after the fire truck arrived.

sososo

Bruce Wayne entered the hall of the police station, looking distraught, his clothes crumpled as if he had tried to sleep in them or put them on in a hurry. He headed for the reception desk where a tired woman suddenly remembered she had ovaries and blushed.

"Jim Gordon?" Bruce asked. "He worked on Harvey Dent's case, I think? I heard he was on site, when… I heard a child saved Harvey?"

"Oh, Mr Wayne, yes, that's such a tragic story!" the secretary sympathized. "Such a beautiful young woman, they were quite the couple! And I heard he is at the hospital? Did you see him yet?"

Bruce managed to summon a weary smile.

"He's still in surgery, which is why I came here."

"It's his face, I heard? I mean, not that I trust the media much…"

"It is", Bruce confirmed. "Could you please call Jim Gordon? Or is he at his desk?"

She batted her eyelashes at him, oblivious of the dramatic circumstances.

"Oh, he's talking to the captain right now, but I'm sure he'll hear you as soon as he's done!"

"Thank you."

Bruce was retreating; she acted fast, leaning toward him with a scheming look.

"And the poor kid", she whispered out loud. "He looks like a good boy but he ran away, not for the first time. Can you imagine? At his age… He'll never find a family to adopt him!"

She waved her chin at Dick, full of hidden meaning, managing not to take her eyes away from Bruce even for a second. Bruce glanced over there by reflex – then froze. Dick looked down, ashamed. He had let Gilda die.

"Dick!" Bruce exclaimed, astonished. "That was you?"

"I'm sorry", Dick mumbled.

There was a silence, as if Bruce was blinking. Dick looked up. He was blinking.

"Why are you apologizing?" the adult wondered. "I should thank you. You saved Harvey. That only is exceptional, considering the circumstances."

"But I didn't save his fiancée. I promised I would…"

"Hush", Bruce interrupted. "You can't promise to make miracles. Only to try." He smiled. He had a nice smile. "And you did try."

Dick nodded. He felt… exhausted – and thankful to hear he wasn't to blame. He had known, intellectually, that what happened hadn't been his fault. He hadn't kidnapped Gilda, nor tied her to a pole, nor set anything on fire. But still. He should have been able to do something. He couldn't stand the idea to have – not to have been able to grab his mother's wrist as she fell.

Dick swallowed. The now familiar hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Hah, I won't be able to give you back your handkerchief", Dick announced, getting the shredded piece of cloth out of his pocket. "I'm afraid it's beyond repair."

"It looks like it's been even more useful than intended", Bruce commented.

Dick swallowed again, nodding. Then he breathed out, got up, and hugged the man, gripping his coat as if his life depended on it. For a few seconds, he felt Bruce tense, but the man quickly relaxed and soon two strong arms closed around him.

"Everything is alright", Bruce said at his ear. "I've got you."

Dick buried himself in his warmth, his strength, savoring the softness of his clothes' expensive fabric. He still smelled of the same cologne, fresh as morning.

They just stood like that for a while, silently, present for each other. The secretary didn't dare to interrupt. Except for them, the hall was empty.

In the end, they stayed like that until Dick heard Jim's familiar pace approaching. He expected Bruce to let go, but he didn't; he probably was looking to the detective over Dick's head.

"Can I come back tomorrow to talk?" Bruce asked, instead of news from the case or about Dent or Jim or whatever reason he had been coming to the precinct in the first place.

"Of course", Jim answered. "I'll have to be there for the day shift as well, considering. 10AM?"

"Make it 11. It's been a long night."

Dick stepped back. He would have kept enjoying the warmth but he hated people to converse literally over his head. Jim was observing them. He certainly must have a good poker face, Dick decided.

"I can call St Rita's", the detective said.

Dick cringed. The place was nice. The sisters were adorable. He was going to be in so much trouble for running away – and for the second time, too. The secretary had been right. Not that Dick wanted a family. His parents might have died but he had had parents. No one would replace them.

Bruce's hand found its place back on his shoulder.

"Dick. Can I… Can I offer you to stay at my place tonight? You need to rest."

Dick blinked. Bruce looked serious. At his place? The hand was still on his shoulder, reassuring. The idea felt… safe.

"But… After what happened…" Dick still protested.

"You need to rest", Bruce repeated.

Dick bit his lip, then noticed tension in the man's shoulders. He wasn't only serious: he was anxious, hoping Dick would agree.

The teenager turned to Jim.

"May I?" Please?

"Like I said", the detective agreed. "I can call them."

Ten minutes later, they were at the back of Bruce's Lamborghini, his chauffeur driving them to his home. This car purred too, but the sound was muffled, making it sound more like a cat's purr than a panther's. Outside of the windows, the light of the city were blurring.

Dick let his head rest against Bruce's shoulder. He wondered what his home looked like. How it smelled. Was there a garden?

He'd have to wait for the next day to find out: when they arrived, he was asleep.

sososo

"… should be alright… very lucky… half his face… Nothing a good surgeon can't fix."

Harvey blinked, then moaned. His face hurt. Everything hurt. He couldn't see from his left eye.

A nurse appeared in his line of sight.

"Mr Dent? Doctor, he's awake!" she called, before turning back to him. "Mr Dent, don't worry, you're at the hospital."

He tried to talk. His throat hurt, too, it was so hoarse.

"Don't try to talk", the doctor stopped him, pointing a blinding light pen at his eye. "You have inhaled too much smoke."

Harvey kept trying. He needed to know… Had Batman arrived? That kid, who worked with him, had he kept his promise?

"He has to calm down. Give him 5mg of diazepam", the doctor ordered.

Harvey panicked, willing his throat to work.

"… ilda", he managed.

The nurse paled.

"He's asking for…"

"Obviously. Don't tell him anything. We need him to calm down."

"But…"

Harvey fought against the sedative but he could feel it pulling his awareness away. Gilda! Gilda… It was all that kid's fault.

sososo

Notes: Dick is at the manor! - and Harvey Dent is on his way to becoming Two Face.

The chauffeur, of course, is Alfred, in case anyone wondered.

I hope you like the fic so far! :)