Watch for POV changes. There are a few.
Warning: Language . . .
Dick emptied his pockets into his bedside drawer. The napkin stashed there contained food from both lunch and dinner. He should probably feel guilty for fooling Alfred into believing his appetite had improved so much. The man had been making comments about Dick hitting a growth spurt.
The truth was that Dick's appetite had remained the same, but he had plans for the remnants of his meals. Everything that laid upon the napkin was everything the boy had noticed that Bruce preferred. Nearly all of it was meat.
Bruce had preferred his steak rare, and when Dick had requested the same from Alfred, both men had given him a strange look. Alfred had served him his steak well done. There was nothing else to be done for it, and Dick scooped several pieces into his pockets at every opportunity. At least no one seemed to notice that his pockets had been bulging when he had left the table to run upstairs in order to deposit half of his meal in the drawer.
He had then spent the rest of the evening smelling like steak. It didn't appear to be especially noticeable, although Alfred had suggested he take a bath, brush his teeth again, and removed his clothing to be washed before bedtime.
Bruce tucked him in bed, and stayed long enough to read him a bedtime story; one that was a far cry from the stories his father had once told. Alice in Wonderland was interesting, but had yet to have any witches or monsters in it. It wasn't long before his eyes grew heavy with fatigue. Staying up most of the previous night did a great deal in helping the boy fall to sleep quickly.
Bruce shut the book and set it down quietly. Dick had fallen to sleep surprisingly fast. He had noted the dark circles beneath the boy's eyes during the course of the day. This animal that Dick kept seeing was disturbing him enough that he wasn't getting a full night's rest.
Instead of leaving immediately, Bruce moved to the window that the boy had opened the first two nights that the dog had appeared. Dick continued to be convinced that it was a wolf, but Bruce tended to side with Alfred on this one. Wolves had been unheard of in this part of the country for the better part of a century, and the likelihood that one could have traveled so far without being spotted and the authorities called was ridiculously small.
He looked out toward the area that Dick had claimed the animal showed up each evening, but saw no movement to indicate anything was alive down there. Bruce narrowed his eyes and admitted that the boy's eyesight was indeed excellent.
After several long moments, he moved away. There were other methods to determining if there was a large animal this close to the house. Deer had often been spotted nearby. Perhaps that was what Dick had seen.
"Heading out right away, sir?" Alfred met him at the bottom of the staircase.
"In another couple of hours, Alfred," Bruce told him as the two men headed into his study. "I want to check the perimeter cameras again to see if I can find whatever it is that Dick has been seeing from his bedroom window."
"Didn't you check them last night as well?"
Bruce nodded as he adjusted the hands of the grandfather clock. "I did, but the cameras showed nothing like what Dick described. I'm wondering if we have a blind spot in the area that the cameras miss. If only this blasted rain would cease for more than a few hours, I might be able to investigate it more thoroughly."
Alfred followed him down into the Batcave. "Since when has a little rain stopped you from hunting before?"
"Never when it comes to the urban jungle that is Gotham, but I have no desire to traipse through the surrounding woods in it if I don't have to," Bruce admitted. "That is why I had a security system put into place, after all. But if he is seeing a large animal that hasn't been on the grounds previously, I have to wonder from where it had entered the property."
"You are suggesting that the wall has a breach, sir?"
Bruce sat down in front of his computer and began pulling up the security system that protected the manor. He typed in the command for the video feed and the screen split into numerous windows from which the grounds could be viewed from various angles. He was looking for the particular view of the tree line as seen from the boy's window. He had at least two cameras that faced in that general direction.
"It's a possibility that must be addressed, Alfred. Keeping Dick safe is the whole reason I brought him here, after all. So that the men who would hunt him in an effort to earn the reward money that Zucco has placed on his head wouldn't be able to reach him." Bruce turned the cameras toward the spot he wanted. "Unfortunately, making sure that the estate is secure means that we'll need to walk the entire perimeter."
"You realize that Master Richard would have likely been safe enough from Zucco's hit had he remained ensconced in the detention center," Alfred pointed out unhelpfully. "Surely the thick walls, the locked doors, and guards would have prevented anyone from reaching him. That was CPS' intention in placing him there in the first place."
Bruce scoffed. "Safe from Zucco maybe, but not safe from the juvenile riffraff that roam those halls. Bringing him here accomplished both of those goals, as you well know."
"And how soon does the Batman estimate the boy will remain here at the manor, sir," Alfred asked. "Have you gotten any closer to locating the villain who murdered his family? What sort of fiend would put a hit out on a mere child?"
Bruce frowned and glanced up at his butler. "What's the matter, Alfred? Are you in a hurry to send the boy back?"
The elder man pursed his lips and sent a glare back at the one sitting. "You know that is not the reason why I am asking."
Bruce stared at the man for a moment longer; trying to determine why Alfred was insisting on knowing an unanswerable question. Batman would find him when he found him.
"No closer, damn it," he finally admitted. "It is like the bastard dropped off of the face of the earth. Although hell would welcome such a man, I would prefer it greatly if Batman could find him first in order to convince him to drop the hit. Dick will never be safe outside of these walls as long as there continues to be a price on his head."
"And when that happens, as I'm certain it must," Alfred continued, "what then, sir? Will you just allow CPS to swoop in and take the boy away? What will become of him in such a system?"
Bruce's hands paused on the keyboard, but didn't look up. "The system is flawed, but it is all Gotham has at the moment." What was Alfred getting at?
"And how many does Batman meet on his nightly jaunts that come directly to the streets from this admittedly-flawed system?"
He closed his eyes a second as he blew out a tired breath. "Too many."
"I worry what will become of young Master Richard once this threat is removed and he is returned to CPS' questionable care," Alfred said quietly after a brooding silence. "Not every child manages to navigate the foster care system with success; or even with failure. I have read accounts of those who do not make it at all; those who disappear and aren't seen again."
"You speak of the runaways," Bruce remarked.
"And those whose disappearances occur through other means," the butler told him. "Nefarious means . . . It chills the blood to imagine that sweet child thrust into such a dastardly world."
Bruce suppressed his own shudder. Batman had come across at least two separate incidents in which human traffickers had capitalized on the orphaned and forgotten children of Gotham. He remembered the children he had managed to save; and those lost souls he had been too late to help haunted him still. How many had been victimized before Batman had discovered and put a stop to those criminal rings?
Bruce grimaced. Dick was such a pretty, little boy, too. Those bastards would take one look at him and . . . Gah! He slammed his hand down on the console and swung about in his chair to glare at the older man.
"What are you trying to do, Alfred? What game are you playing at here?"
But the butler's face was carefully neutral when he drop the latest bombshell on Bruce's head with his next question.
"No game, sir. Just wondering, will you will be able to let him go when the time comes? Knowing what is out there," he said softly, and then reluctantly admitting in an even quieter voice, "I'm not so sure that I shall be."
"Damn you," Bruce turned back around without answering the question.
Truth be told, it was a fear that he had been studiously ignoring over the past week; after that first real connection between them had been made. Bruce had felt it before. It had been what spurred him to find and bring Dick into his home in the first place, but now . . . Now that the boy felt it too? As he did with many emotional difficulties, Bruce shoved them into a compartment in the back of his mind to be dealt with on some amorphous day in the distant future.
"We have a problem," Bruce said, returning to the deed at hand. "Neither camera angle covers the area that Dick claims to have seen the animal. Both fall short by several feet; leaving perhaps a ten square yard area that is a fairly substantial blind spot. If there is a dog that is roaming the grounds, there is a slight, yet distinct possibility that the cameras missed it."
Alfred frowned and leaned in, studying the camera angles. "The likelihood is small. Surely one of the other cameras has picked up movement. The chances that it has come so close to the house and yet never stepped foot out of this rather small blind spot is infinitesimal."
"You don't believe him," Bruce asked.
"It is a greater possibility that Master Richard is dreaming about seeing a wolf than he has actually been seeing one in reality. Why have neither of us seen it? Surely it would have left clues to its existence that we would have discovered by now."
"The security sensors on his window tells me he's been opening it at night," Bruce pointed out. "Why would he do that if this is nothing, but a vivid dream?"
Alfred rubbed his chin. "Sleepwalking, sir?"
"Sleepwalking?"
"You sleepwalked several times in the months after your own parents' murders, sir," Alfred told him.
"I don't remember that," Bruce frowned at this news.
"I can't imagine why you would," Alfred said dryly. "You were asleep at the time, after all."
"I don't like that scenario any better, Alfred. He could get lost or hurt stumbling about this old house, not to mention the danger of him falling from his second story window. Perhaps I should install a better lock?"
"Perhaps, until this mystery is solved, Batman should consider keeping close to the roost?"
"Not possible tonight. Batman has a couple of leads he needs to look into that might shed some light on where Zucco's been hiding." Bruce sighed. "In the meantime, we'll just have to keep a closer eye on the boy."
"Very good, sir," Alfred nodded his agreement. "Although I have to remind you that it alarms me whenever you speak of yourself in the third person."
Bruce turned in his chair and smiled. "No more than it does me whenever you choose to use the royal 'we' when speaking of yourself."
Alfred's lip twitched. "Touché, Master Bruce. Touché."
Dick's eyes opened and searched out his bedside clock. Midnight! He must have been tired. He rubbed his eyes and slid out of bed; heading straight for the window. Sure enough the wolf was present. It was just sitting there as if waiting for him. Dick waved to him.
He ran to his dresser and yanked out a pair of jeans and a sweater and rushed to get dressed. This was his chance to let Bruce know that Dick knew his secret, and for him to reassure his guardian that his secret was safe with him! He pulled out a jacket. It wasn't his winter coat, but Dick didn't plan to be outside for very long.
He paused long enough to scoop up the napkin that held all the tasty treats Dick had saved for Bruce tonight. Shoving the bundle into his pocket, Dick grabbed his shoes and a flashlight and ran downstairs in his socked feet. He knew that Alfred wouldn't approve of what he had planned, but Dick had no intention of returning to the detention center. If he could prove to them that he wasn't a danger to them, maybe they would let him stay with them at the manor.
He came to a halt outside of Bruce's study. The light was on beneath the door. Dick pressed his ear to the panel and listened. When no sound was heard, he held his breath and turned the handle. No sounds of alarm or exclamation . . . He looked inside.
Empty. As it was more times than not.
Dick slipped in and moved to the French door. It was locked, but not with a key. He flicked the switch and went outside. His socks absorbed the cold water on the patio and was soaked in seconds. Ignoring the discomfort, Dick slid his feet into his shoes.
The moon was covered by the moving clouds; its light unreliable. He flicked on the flashlight and scanned the area beyond the light falling from the study. There was a gentle mist falling, causing Dick to shiver as he moved away from the safety of the house into the darkness beyond.
Dick found the hedgerow and followed it; darting past the deeper darkness of the maze's side entrance. He glanced behind him, but nothing appeared to be following him. He came to the corner around which he knew the wolf was waiting. He hesitated nervously, but remembered that Bruce had had multiple opportunities in which to eat him before now. He took heart in the fact that Bruce had chosen not to do so.
Gathering up his courage, Dick eased around the corner along the backside of the maze. The wolf's ears perked and it turned its head in his direction. Its eyes seemed to glow silver. He took one cautious step and then another; closing the distance. The beast was huge! Standing, it was easily as tall as Dick himself! He searched the animal for some sign of recognition.
He stopped a few yards away, and reconsidered the wisdom of running up to a werewolf. Surely, Bruce had to remember him in his wolf form. He remembered seeing Dick's window was open the other two nights when he had returned to his human form, after all.
"I-I know who you are," Dick said with a shaky voice. "I just wanted to tell you that I won't tell anyone your secret. It's safe with me."
The wolf sniffed the air and stood up; licking its muzzle. It took a couple of steps towards the boy.
"A-Are you hungry? I wondered if maybe you got that way when you . . . uh, werewolfed. Do you hunt for rabbits," Dick asked nervously.
The wolf was silent. It took another couple of steps as Dick pulled out the napkin. The wolf's nose twitched in interest, and it came a little closer.
Bruce made a very big wolf, Dick thought to himself. Deciding not to push his luck, Dick tossed the pieces of meat towards the animal, and then bent and wiped his hands on the wet grass as the wolf sniffed cautiously at first, and then began eating the proffered meal. In just seconds the treat was gone and the wolf looked up at him; sniffing for more.
Dick held out his now empty hands.
"That's all I have, Bruce," he told the animal. "Are you still hungry? I can bring you some more tomorrow night, o-okay?"
The wolf stepped closer and Dick stepped back. He could see the wolf's eyes from this distance. They were, indeed, a cool blue similar to his human counterpart, but these eyes weren't warm at all. They seemed cold and alien and . . . a little wild. Dick swallowed hard, wondering how much of his Bruce was still inside of the giant beast in front of him.
Tomorrow, Bruce, okay?" Dick made the promise, so now he had to keep it. "I-I'll be back tomorrow night."
Bruce took another couple of steps as Dick continued to back away slowly. The boy bumped into the shrubs behind him, nearly stumbling. Suddenly, a rabbit darted out from between his feet; startling the boy. It shot past the wolf and Bruce turned and took off after it. The sound of it crashing through the woods after its prey was loud and just a little bit scary!
Dick turned and ran; not stopping until he reached the patio and Bruce's office. He didn't think to stop and look first. He slammed the door shut behind him and dropped the draperies; hiding him from the world outside. He was breathing hard. His limbs felt heavy and shaky, although he knew he should have more stamina than that. Dick chided himself for being afraid. This was Bruce! Bruce wouldn't hurt him!
Sliding down to the floor, Dick pulled off his muddy shoes and socks with cold, stiff fingers. He would need a heavier coat tomorrow night, he thought. He would also need more food. Despite eating a large meal earlier, Bruce had seemed very hungry to Dick. The transformation must use a lot of energy, he determined.
Standing back up, he stared in dismay at the muddy footprints he had tracked into the room. Dick scrubbed at them with his hand, but that did little for making them disappear. Glancing around him, Dick spied a trashcan just a couple of feet away. He pulled it over and sat it on top of the worst of the muddy prints.
He was still trembling as he climbed the stairs to his room, but at the same time, Dick felt elated. He stripped off his clothing and stuffed it into the back of his closet with his muddy tennis shoes. Even his feet were dirty where the mud had seeped through fabric of his shoes and socks, although Dick was too tired and cold to notice by this time. He climbed back into his pajamas and crawled back into bed.
He was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.
Alfred had searched the house for an intruder, and had been alarmed when discovering the boy missing from his bed. He paused only to send an emergency signal to Batman that told the younger man he was needed at home immediately before taking a flashlight and his shotgun and moving out into the gardens to search for the boy. There was no indication of a break-in, however. The French door had been unlocked from the inside, leading the older man to believe the child had gone out on his own.
After an hour with no sign of the young master, however, he returned to the house for reinforcements. Master Bruce had surely returned from Newtown by now. Alfred noticed immediately that the draperies had been pulled, although the door remained unlocked. As he pushed through the heavy material, Alfred kicked over Master Bruce's trashcan and discovered two muddy footprints on the Aubusson carpet.
The quiet rumble of the clock was the only warning before Bruce burst through into the study.
"Alfred! What happened? Why didn't you answer me when I called the house phone," Bruce exclaimed.
Alfred stood up and faced the younger man. "Apologies, Master Bruce! I had been under the false impression that an intruder had entered the house and taken the child from his bed. Time was of the essence," he said, propping the firearm against the wall and turning off the flashlight. He set it on the edge of the desk.
"I don't understand," Bruce barked. His voice was harsh still from fear. "Where is Dick?"
"If I don't miss my guess, I would say he is back upstairs, tucked safety in his bed once more," Alfred told him.
Bruce was frowning at the shotgun, but said nothing. It was the only firearm allowed in the house and was kept in Alfred's room. Despite his discomfort, Bruce had always kept his own council where it was concerned.
"What happened?"
"I suspect the lad just went for a midnight stroll in the gardens," Alfred explained. "I am holding to my theory that the boy has been sleepwalking."
"We best check that theory for holes," Bruce snapped, already heading into the hallway and towards Dick's room.
They both let out breaths at the sight of the sleeping child that they hadn't realized that they had been holding. The two men entered the room and approached the bed. Bruce set his hand on the boy's forehead and glanced at his butler.
"He's as cold as ice," Bruce whispered.
He lifted the edges of the blankets away carefully, not wanting to wake the boy. Sure enough, Dick's feet were filthy. Alfred made a face at the dirty sheets, but said nothing.
"His feet are freezing as well," Bruce confirmed.
Although there was the question as to how the boy kept his pajamas so clean. They were already dry as well. Bruce frowned. Something was wrong with the picture, but he couldn't place it at the moment. It would be something that would keep him up for the rest of the night, he was sure.
"Well, if he isn't wet, there is no sense in waking him up," Alfred murmured. "I'll heat up a blanket and add it to the bundle on his bed. He'll warm up in no time now, I'm certain. But this is an activity that will need to be addressed. Serious harm could have come to the lad from this. Had he awoken outside in the dark, he might have been disoriented enough to become lost. He could have easily contracted hypothermia in this weather."
"Agreed, Alfred," Bruce concurred. "It would appear that Batman's wings have been clipped temporarily. I'll need to stay close to home until this is remedied unless there comes a dire emergency."
"Very good, sir," Alfred led the way out of the room. "We can deal with this in the morning, however," he said as he headed toward the linen closet.
Bruce took one last look at the child sleeping peacefully in the bed before closing the door quietly.
His heart was only now returning to its normal rhythm. He hadn't felt fear like that since his parents had died; recalling the terror that gripped him during his race back to the Batcave. The worry that Dick was quickly embedding himself into Bruce's life and . . . his heart . . . was moot. It apparently had already happened.
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