"…He's dead?" Bruce repeated. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I checked. I thought maybe I could save him, but…it was too late." He shook his head. "It's his blood."

The billionaire closed his eyes as Alfred pulled out his mobile and stepped away to call 911. After a second he sat down next to the boy, pulling him in tightly and hushing him as he felt shudders running through his body. "Where are the others?" he asked gently.

"Matt's down there, too. I don't know if he's okay or not, he wasn't moving…I didn't check, I just came back when I realized Bryant was dead."

"What about Gina?"

"I dunno. I think…I think they took her."

"They?"

"There were four of them. I…Gina…" Pushing away from Bruce, he straightened, took a deep breath, and shook himself. "Okay. Let's try this again," he started over, his face still pinched with emotion but seeming more controlled.

"…Robin?" he ventured quietly, seeing no one along their side of the street who might overhear.

"Sorry," came whispered back. "It's easier this way."

"It's okay. Tell me."

"I went to get my shirt. I didn't see anyone on the way down, until I turned onto the section that the boat was docked on. Matt was already on the ground, and Bryant was talking to four people, all wearing ski masks. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I slipped over into the shadows so they weren't as likely to see me. It seemed like Bryant was getting angry about something, and then…and then one of them shot him. The gun must have been silenced, because it was really quiet. I didn't realize he'd pulled the trigger until Bryant dropped."

Bruce remembered the pop he'd heard shortly before Dick reappeared, and cursed. I knew it sounded familiar. Why the hell didn't I investigate?

"They all got on the boat. I don't know where Gina was, I didn't hear her scream or anything, and I didn't hear another shot, so…she must still be alive, right? Right?"

"I hope so, chum," he murmured.

"They took the boat. I don't know where they were going, I couldn't hear them talking." He smashed the palm of his hand into the metal beneath him. "I should have done something!"

"No," the billionaire shook his head. "You couldn't have done anything."

"I could have stopped them! Bryant is dead because I didn't do anything."

"How would you have explained that? You were maskless, and obviously the same person who had just left the boat a few minutes before. You didn't have that option."

"Who cares?" he burst out, his control breaking. "Bryant would be alive, and Gina wouldn't be a captive being carted off to who knows where. I think they'd probably be willing to keep a secret in exchange for their lives, don't you? She's beautiful, Bruce, you know what they're likely to do with her. They didn't hesitate to shoot a guy point blank, so what would keep them from hurting her?" A single police car pulled up to the curb, lights flashing, and in the red and blue Bruce could see tears pouring down the teen's face. "We have to do something," he insisted, gripping his guardian's arm tightly.

"Master Dick," Alfred called, alerting them to the fact that he was approaching with an officer in tow. "The police need to speak with you."

He told the police the same story he'd told Bruce. "After the boat pulled away and I knew they couldn't see me, I went to go check, you know, if Bryant was alive. He…he wasn't."

"Is that where all this came from?" the officer queried, gesturing to the drying blood on the teen's shirt and pants.

"Yes, ma'am." Her radio squawked as her partner called to report on what he'd found on the docks. "Go ahead."

"Bryant Graves is dead."

"Goddamn," she said. "He and I went for a while in high school. What a shame. Is Matt down there with him?" she asked.

"Unconscious, but breathing. Looks like he took a blow to the back of the head. I've already called for an ambulance."

"…What would you say caused the death?" she asked, trying to corroborate what Dick had told her.

"Someone blew his head off."

Grimacing, Bruce pulled his son close again. "I'm sorry," he whispered as the police chatter continued. "I should have gone with you."

"It's not your fault."

"Okay," the officer broke back in. "Is there anything else you think I should know?"

"…I think Gina was still on the boat when they took it. I mean, I don't know that, but I didn't see her, and there wasn't really time for her to go anywhere. I turned back right after we got up here."

"…Why'd you go back down, again?"

"I left a shirt on the boat. I just went back to get it."

"Huh. Okay. Well, I'm going to need a good way to get in contact with you, in case we have any more questions. You're visiting, right?"

"Yeah."

"Better give me your home info, too, in case we don't get this wrapped up this weekend." Bruce handed her a business card, and she whistled. "So…just here on vacation, then, Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes. Didn't you hear what Dick told you?"

"You considering investing around here at all? We could sure use a shot in the arm, economically speaking," she went on, ignoring his warning tone.

"I don't know, officer," he sniped, standing up and pulling the teen with him. "Are you considering investigating this murder?"

"…Excuse me?"

"I'm hesitant to spend money in places where homicides witnessed by children are of less concern to the police than local revenue. If you want to speak with him, you go through me. If you require proof of guardianship in order to do that, I'll have my lawyer contact you. Have a nice night." With that, he stalked away, guiding Dick across the street, Alfred right behind them.

"Hey, wait, Mr. Wayne, you should have the boy checked out for shock," she called after them. The butler turned back to explain his qualifications in such matters, leaving his charges to shut themselves in the car.

Pulling his seatbelt across, Dick's hand brushed the tacky substance he was covered in. Baring his teeth with a faint moan of disgust, he stripped off his shirt and pants, dropping them to the floor and kicking them under the seat in front of him.

"Hey." Bruce's hand on his shoulder stopped him as he was about to strap in wearing nothing but the thermal bottoms Alfred had laid out with his other clothes that morning. "Here." Seeing what he was doing, the man had removed his own flannel, perfectly willing to ride back in his undershirt in order to give the boy clean clothes.

"I'm fine," he insisted, refusing.

"You're cold. I can see the goose bumps on your arms. Take it."

"I'm fine, Bruce. Just leave me alone, okay?" Buckling in, he crossed his arms, pulled his knees up to his chest, and stared out the window.

The billionaire slid over and wrapped him back in an embrace. The boy remained rigid for several seconds, mounting a stand-off, before he gave up and sank against him. "Dick, I know you wish you had done something. But you have to understand how dangerous it would have been to try."

"I know. That's why I didn't."

"This is one of the hardest things about what we do," he breathed against his hair. "Sometimes bad things happen when you're out of costume, and you can't stop them as a result. And it's a terrible feeling, Dick, I know it is, but it can't be helped. You know it's a very fine line we walk. Every person who suspects what our real identities might be is another step closer to the end of it all."

Sniffling, he broached a question. "Tell me something. If Erwin had managed to take me away from you before you had evidence of what he was doing – if you had known, but couldn't have proven anything – would Batman have still come?"

"…That's not a fair question. And you already know the answer."

"…He wouldn't have, would he? Because it would have been too risky." His voice was contemptuous, but the hurt beneath it was clear.

"Don't ever say that," came a growl. He pulled away and forced the teen to look at him. "You are the exception to that rule. I will always come for you, regardless of the cost."

"…I know," the teen whispered, tears dampening his face. He buried his head in his arms, ashamed. "I…I didn't mean that."

"It's okay," he promised, coming back down. Draping the warm flannel over the still-shaking boy, he rubbed his back in slow, soft circles. "It's okay. I know. I know it's hard."

"This isn't right, Bruce. We're here, we should do something. We have to do something. Things like this are the reason we do what we do, aren't they?"

"You know why we can't. This isn't open for discussion."

"Aren't they?!" he repeated angrily.

The driver's door swung open, allowing Alfred to enter. "Sirs," he said quietly. "I assume we are returning to the beach house?"

"That's fine," Bruce nodded. "…Dick?" he asked, feeling the figure under his hand suddenly stop shaking.

"…What's the point, if we're not even going to try to help?"

"Damn it, Dick," the billionaire sighed, a little exasperated. "What do you expect us to be able to do in two days? We have no equipment, no leads, no knowledge of the local area or customs, and no time. We can't do anything."

Then why the hell did you have me pack masks behind Alfred's back? he railed mentally. "You realize Gina's an orphan now, right?" he said instead.

That stopped him. True, he hadn't heard any mention of the girl's mother, but that hadn't been reason enough for him to just assume that Bryant was the only parent in her life. "No. I didn't know that. But I am sorry to hear it."

"That's it? You're sorry?" was fired back. Dick's voice dropped into a low, steady tone beyond his years as he asked a barbed question. "So what, Bruce, are you telling me that you don't think she deserves to know who made her one?"

"That's what the police are for, Richard," he ground out. I can't believe he said that.

"Yeah," the teen laughed shortly. "They seemed really interested, too, didn't they? I'm sure they'll get right on the case. Maybe you should throw a little money their way, it might help speed things up. At least then there'd be a chance that they would take enough initiative to try and find Gina before she's dead, too."

Having seen the attitude of the officer they'd spoken with firsthand, he had no argument for that logic. His mouth opened, then closed again when he realized he had nothing to say. Instead, Alfred spoke up as they passed the last buildings of the town. "It has been a very long day all around, sirs. You might find that you are both better able to communicate your respective feelings after a little rest." His visage in the rearview mirror made it clear to both of them that what he had said was more order than suggestion. Sufficiently cowed, each retreated into his own corner of the seat and glared out the window.

That was cruel, Dick, Bruce lamented. I know why you said it, but it was still cruel. The worst part of it was that he suspected the teen's words might actually work to change his mind about where to go from here.

I'm not sorry, Dick tried to convince himself as the shocked look that had flashed across his mentor's face at his words replayed over and over again in his head. It was really mean, but I'm not sorry, especially not if that's what it takes to get you to realize that we'll be betraying ourselves if we don't try to help solve this. He gulped heavily, a pair of tears slipping down to drip off of his chin. Shivering again, he pulled the thick shirt closer around himself and took a deep breath, catching a little of his guardian's scent on the fabric. Okay, he gave up. I am sorry. But we have to do something, and it just…it just seemed like saying that would get you to admit it. He turned his head to apologize and found Bruce's attention fixed outside of the car. When the man didn't acknowledge him – I know you know I'm looking at you, Bruce, you always know when I have something I really want to say – he went back to his own night-black windowpane, fresh liquid filling his eyes. I'm sorry…