Notes: In which, something is revealed.

Notes2: I'm still feeling somewhat depressed. So to all our new reviewers, much thanks for your appreciation and patience with me.

The next day rolled around with Dick anxiously waiting by the phone for the next call. As predicted, he barely slept a wink last night. Images of his failure sprung on him the moment he closed his eyes and haunted him until the first rays of dawn shone through the curtains.

He glumly went through his morning routine before making his way downstairs. The door to Dusty's room was shut and Dick found himself automatically reaching out to open it before he realized what he was doing. He froze and let his hand fall to his side. Dusty's door had always been left open - the only times the door was closed were when someone in the family wanted to spend a little private time with his son.

Bruce liked to baby Dusty and didn't want the others to see what ridiculousness he could get into with the kid. Damian prefers to interact with Dusty without an audience. Dick wasn't sure exactly what Tim gets up to in Dusty's room - the young man wasn't a frequent visitor to the Manor ever since he got his own group of Titans - so Dick hadn't had a chance to sneak a peek into what goes on in Dusty's room when Tim was around.

Dick sighed and steeled himself to turn away from his son's door.

He still had to find his son's kidnapper and get Dusty back home.

He found Alfred setting the table when he walked into the dining room. The old butler carefully lined up the silver utensils: fork at the left, knife and teaspoon at the right. Dick remembered the first few days when Bruce took him in. He'd always had trouble recalling which spoon to use for which course - he grew up with one-dish-meals in the circus; having a handful of dishes set in front of him had him wondering whether Bruce and Alfred were having a party.

"Master Dick," Alfred called softly. Dick glanced up, just now noticing the dark circles underneath the butler's eyes.

"Morning, Alfie," he greeted the old butler, "couldn't sleep either?"

"I'm afraid the little Master has taken to his father's life much earlier than anticipated." Alfred's tone was bland, but when he turned around to grab the butter plates, Dick noticed his mouth held the hint of a smile.

Dick grinned back, though he didn't feel the humor in the situation when his son was missing. But he recognized the butler's attempt at reassuring him. "Hey, if it helps, none of us expected something like this to happen."

"Indeed, Master Dick," Alfred agreed, setting down butter plates and the accompanying knives.

At that moment, Tim came into the dining room followed by Damian.

"Hey, Dick," the twenty-year old greeted.

"Hey," Dick half-heartedly greeted back.

"Any word from Moore?"

Dick shook his head, already feeling whatever happiness the morning brought go down the drain.

"T-t." Damian snipped as he took his seat by the table. With just two letters, he had conveyed the kind of hell he'll visit on the ones who took his nephew. Once again Dick found himself wondering whether to be glad that his little brother would be protective of his son or worried because his little brother was bordering on being overprotective and possessive.

But before he could reply, Bruce came striding in with a carefully blank expression on his face.

"Bruce?"

The eldest Wayne turned to Dick. "We have a lead."

Three more sets of eyes immediately looked at Bruce, waiting. Dick simply nodded as he asked, "Where?"

"Moore's ex-wife's family owned a house near Otisburg." Bruce explained. "When she married, Moore became co-owner but the couple never lived there. Moore was then cancelled out of the deed when they divorced but Moore's ex-wife decided to move to Metropolis. The house was left behind, abandoned."

"And you think Moore and the others are using it?" Tim ventured.

"Not just think. I know. The house's electricity and water became active yesterday."

Damian shoved his chair back as he stood, fire in his blue eyes. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Damian." Bruce's command quickly had the teen's glare aimed at him. "We need to wait for Moore's call or they might hurt Dusty." If it was possible, the fire in Damian's blue eyes intensified but Bruce continued talking. "We need to make sure Moore, Harrison, and Clarke remain unaware that we know where they are."

"Why?" Damian spat. "They should know by now that Grayson should have the assistance of Batman-"

"They specifically said, 'no capes,'" Tim pointed out. "We can't risk it."

"So we sit idly by and watch?"

"No. We will standby until they reveal themselves." Bruce was looking at Dick as he answered Damian, subtly conveying that he and the others had Dick's back.

Dick was glad for their support. Not only did it mean that he would have help in getting Dusty back, but that his son's chances of coming back safe increased with the entire Batfamily watching out for him.

A shrill ringing cut the silence.

Dick hurried out of the dining room to answer it, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Wayne Manor seldom received calls so early in the morning - most of the calls were from Lucius and involved Wayne Enterprises business, but a few were from family members or friends (more often Dick's than Bruce's). And then there were the few that came in from strangers when one member of the family was missing.

As it did then. Dick had barely gotten past "Hello" when Moore's angry voice snarled at him, "Are you ready with the money?"

Dick shot a pointed look at Bruce, telling him without speaking that yes, it was Moore who called. His adoptive father gave a nod and Dick turned his attention back to the phone. "I don't have it with me, but it'll be ready by eleven."

"Good. Bring it to this address," he rattled off a short address that Dick had no trouble remembering."And remember: no cops, no capes!" Then Moore hung up.

Dick sighed at the sound of the dial tone and glumly returned the handset to its cradle. Even the kidnappers were taking on Bruce's habit of hanging up without saying goodbye.

"Dick?" Speaking of which...

He relayed the kidnapper's message to his impatient family, taking note of Bruce narrowing his eyes at the mention of the address of the drop-off. "Sound familiar to you?"

"Yes." His adoptive father nodded grimly. "The address. It's the same one as Moore's ex-wife's."

"Wait a minute!" Tim burst in, his face tilted down and his eyes darted left and right as he digested the message. "It doesn't make sense. Why would a kidnapper set up a drop point in the same place as his hideout?"

"Perhaps he wishes to finish this quickly." Damian growled, smacking one fist into his open palm. In a lower growl, he admitted, "I wish the same."

"No, that's not it," Tim ignored the teen's second sentence. "Normally, kidnappers set up a neutral ground for the drop off where they can watch who comes and goes, have a ready exit, and is isolated enough so they won't be disturbed. Houses in Otisburg are isolated, yes, but majority aren't in open areas, nor can a man leave the area without being seen by the neighbours."

"It becomes doubly conspicuous if the man in question is popular like a Wayne," Damian agreed.

Dick immediately protested, "I haven't exactly been advertising-"

"You've attended enough charity events to be recognizable in public, Dick," Bruce interrupted. "Tim is right. A house in Otisburg gets a lot of neighbourhood traffic. It would be easy for the GCPD to set up roadblocks or for one of us to entrap the kidnappers as soon as Dusty has been returned. And I highly doubt they are willing to keep a struggling child for long. Setting up a drop point the same as their hideout means they're not looking to make a clean getaway."

"I will feed them with their own entrails if they've harmed my nephew." Damian promised, but Dick felt the blood drain from his face as something occurred to him.

"They haven't killed Dusty, have they?" he couldn't bring his voice above a whisper. "Is that why they haven't let me talk to him?"

But Bruce shook his head in reassurance. "No, you would know there's something wrong the moment they show Dusty for the trade."

Dick nodded, feeling his fears ease. But confusion came in the wake of his fright as he thought out loud, "They're not really after the money, are they?" Bruce, Tim, and Damian all shook their heads but he continued, "So I show up alone, with a bag full of cash. Moore and maybe Harrison..." he trailed off, meeting his family's gazes as another thought came to him. "Harrison."

Tim slowly nodded. "Yes. The drug dealer who promised to get back at you for arresting him."

"So Harrison roped Moore and Clarke into grabbing my kid and forcing a confrontation with me?" But Dick shook his head. He had the feeling his reasoning was close, and yet far from being true. Harrison didn't have it in his profile to lead and Clarke was reportedly fond of kids and wouldn't hurt them on purpose.

That leaves Moore.

"Why would a Blackgate prison guard want to get to you?" Tim asked the same question in Dick's mind.

"That's what I'd like to know." Dick rubbed the back of his neck. "What do we have on Moore?"

In response, Tim pulled out his touch screen phone and started to research. "Moore worked for Blackgate for three years; before that, he was on the police force for fifteen years. He and his wife were married for around twenty years and they had one child, Jacob. They actually lived in Bludhaven to make it easier for Moore to get to work.

"But prior to Moore's transferring to Blackgate," Tim's eyebrows furrowed as he continued reading, "he and his wife filed for divorce and she went back to live with her parents."

"Hang on," Dick interrupted, "they'd been living together for what, twenty years? Then they get a divorce? Something's not adding up." He tilted his head towards Tim. "What about their kid?"

"You're right." Tim's frown deepened and he scrolled further on his phone. "Ah, here it is. The kid was diagnosed a meta with a low telekinetic degree. He got hit in the crossfire when he came across a robbery. Needless to say, the situation didn't go as he planned, and he was killed."

"T-t. Foolish untrained idiot." Damian snorted.

Dick had half-turned to berate Damian about his comment and how being a meta-kid with good intentions shouldn't be discouraged when a faint memory struck him.

"-just like you, Officer!"

"Call me Dick," he'd crouched down to meet the earnest kid's eyes. "And I'm afraid you've got a lot of growing up to do to get into the police force. But tell you what, you keep practicing control over your powers, and maybe you'll be recruited into something bigger. What do you say?"

"Really? But Dad said I shouldn't. He said my powers make me a freak."

He grabbed the kid's shoulders then, to make sure he got his point across. He'd never been a believer of making a metahuman kid suppress his powers to control it - experience told him time and time again that meta powers hated being suppressed. They ended up acting like ticking time-bombs. "Listen, you're not a freak. If you are, then that makes Flash a freak too. But he's not, isn't he?"

"No way! He's a hero!"

"And you can be one too. Just keep practicing!"

The room was spinning. His knees felt like they could barely hold him up. "Oh God."

"What's wrong?" Bruce's hand on his shoulder felt heavy as his adoptive father kept him steady. "Dick. You've gone pale as a sheet."

"When-" the words stuck in his throat. He had to swallow hard just to get them out. "When I was on the beat in Bludhaven... There was this kid. He was a meta repressing his powers. I-I encouraged him to practice his abilities. I didn't see or heard from him again until a few months later. There was an article in the paper about a kid that had been killed trying to save a lady."

"It was Jacob Moore." Bruce finished.

"It-it fits. Jacob must have told his dad about my talk with him. And Moore must have..." He shook his head, burying his hands in his hair. "It was my fault! I brought this on Dusty. If-if I hadn't talked to Jacob, encouraged him...this, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Dick, calm down. You had no way of predicting this."

"But I knew Moore was going to be pissed!" He paced the length of the hallway. Guilt ate at him, at the memory of a young boy, eager to make his mark on the world; at the grief any parent would suffer with the loss of their child; at the pain and suffering he brought down on poor, innocent Dusty. "I basically told Jacob to rebel against his dad. And now Moore's got my kid and he's gonna kill him. Oh god, Moore's gonna kill Dusty."

"Richard! Calm down!" Bruce's bark and a firm yank backwards brought Dick's attention back to his adoptive father. "This isn't your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame me."

"What-? Bruce...you..."

The original Batman drew himself back as soon as Dick stopped in his frantic pace. Bruce's form was tall, proud, and no amount of powerful winds would ever topple him. "I raised you. I drilled my ethics, my philosophies into you. All of you." His tone rose to indicate the other two behind him. "If you want someone to blame for putting faith in your belief that a metahuman should control rather than suppress his powers, blame me."

Dick met his adoptive father's gaze and saw nothing but conviction. Bruce considered everything that happened was his fault and wouldn't be swayed otherwise. But Dick could neither blame Bruce for being his teacher, nor could Bruce blame himself for being a kid that one night, thirty-odd years ago, when he froze motionless with fear.

Dick closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let his panic go. When he opened his eyes again, he met Bruce's gaze with a solemn nod.

"Are you done?" Damian's voice cut through the silence. The teen's arms were crossed over his chest as he impatiently glared at them. "We need to retrieve my nephew."

"Right, right," Dick smiled at his little brother. "You have a plan?"

"Yes." Bruce answered. "We'll set up a surveillance post in one of Moore's neighbor's houses. We'll be leaving immediately and arrive at the address hours before the drop-off. Dick, you'll be going in alone."

"Got it."

"Good. Let's go, boys."