"Commissioner? Commissioner Gordon? James, you there? John get over here, he's waking up!"

Gordon came to groggy and with absolutely no desire to be conscious. His body felt like it had just been sacked by the Visigoths. His head pulsated with a fresh dose of pain every couple of seconds, and something was keeping him from moving his left arm. A pair of scabbed hands pressed his glasses to his face, giving him a bit more sight. Only a bit; they'd been smashed all to hell in the fight, and he was staring through broken lenses at Renee Montoya. She seemed concerned, but in truth she looked as bad as Jim felt.

Wait. Montoya? So he wasn't dead, then. The surroundings around him began to fade in from the featureless blur he'd seen before. He was back inside the warehouse, propped against a far wall. John Blake was hobbling over, using a shotgun for an improvised crutch, with a first aid kit. Strewn across the floor, the shattered remains of the Workerbeez could been seen in massive heaps of carnage. There had to be enough parts to make over a hundred of the cursed things.

Gordon opened his mouth, and could tell at once that it felt very dry; he could certainly use a drink soon. "Montoya… we won?"

"Yes." Renee told him, before averting her eyes. "And… no."

"What?"

Jim stared at her dumbfounded as John approached, clicking open the box and attending to the Commissioner's arm. As he formed a sling for it, Renee explained, "Everyone survived sir. But, as best as we can recall, we all went down. When we came to, we found you in the corner, with the tar beaten out of you."

She looked back at the decimated droids, and Jim replied "If you're thinking I did all this, Detective, I'm afraid not. Slade… Slade beat my ass pretty hard, tell the truth. I passed out; I wasn't even inside here when I went out."

Renee bit her lip, staring again at the wrecked machines in confusion. "Then… somebody came in here, trashed every last WorkerBee, and then went outside, fought off Wilson, and dragged you in here? And then left? I don't think there's a man alive that could've done that, Commissioner."

"I do." Replied Blake, never taking his eyes away from his work. Gordon glanced to his subordinate and slowly nodded. He knew what it meant very well. He felt strangely serene as he gazed at Montoya, a faint smile beneath his bushy mustache.

"He's back."

On the other side of the room, Victor Sage was crouched over a droid, his hands rubbing a bit of the Pseudoderm he'd ripped from its face. He felt it beneath his grip, deep in thought. He glanced back, and saw the others were pre-occupied. Nobody noticed as he ripped the material from several WorkerBeez, and hid it within his coat's pockets. He could vividly remember a green face standing in the dark rain. He would find it.

Not Batman. Definitely not Batman. But something strong, and inhuman. What though, beyond that? I suppose that's the question…

Harvey Bullock stumbled back in from outside, his doughy frame barely keeping him aloft after the beating he'd taken. He moved quickly, though, waving frantically for Gordon. "Yo, Commish! Just got news from dispatch!"

Gordon looked his way and called back, "Any news on Slade? Sightings?"

Harvey reached them, shaking his head as he panted. "No, no. Something else. Haly's Circus. Total freakin' chaos, a shooting."

As Harvey flapped his hands around to supplement his words, Gordon's face paled. Cold sweat bunched up around the cuts on his face. "What's happened?" he demanded. "Is Barbara safe? Spit it out!"

Three sausages of fingers went up, counting the numbers. "Three, three casualties before the cops showed up. A pair of acrobats named John and Mary Grayson, and the shooter."

"The shooter?!" Jim balked. Harvey nodded and added on:

"Yeah, the shooter 'cause, you're not gonna believe it. The eyewitnesses are sayin' that—"

"Batman showed up."

The wind was sucked right out of Bullock's sails, and he looked at his superior disappointedly. "Yeah, how'd ya know?"

Gordon just smirked and told him, "Call it a lucky guess." The Commissioner rose back to his feet, Montoya balancing him as Victor walked over to them. Gordon looked over them once, and nodded slowly. "You've all done your jobs. You're good soldiers."

He looked at Montoya in particular, and reassured her with a smile. "Every one. All of you go home, and rest; you've sure as hell earned it."

Bullock, Montoya and Sage all said their goodbyes, and returned to the cruisers, leaving Blake and Gordon as the only souls in the warehouse.

"Detective?"

"Let me help you home sir, you're hurt."

Jim chuckled and patted his man on the shoulder. "You're a good kid, Blake. I'm not heading home just yet, but, if you'd like you could follow me to the station. It's high-time something changed around here, and I think I know the first step…"

The normally inky-black night of Gotham's edges was lit up in red and blue. A police blockade that must have consisted of half the force was gathered up around the gaudily colored circus tent. Ambulances were on the scene to take away those who looked like they might have been hurt.

Normally, the first ones on those vehicles would have been Bruce and Barbara. With no coats to warm them, they leaned up against one another, sitting on the ground near the tent. The line of blockades and officers kept the nosey reporters from getting anywhere near the battered children, who had insisted they be allowed to stay at the site, for the sake of their friend.

Bruce's arm was wrapped around Dick's shoulder, pulling him into the huddle. Barbara felt strangely detached, looking at the situation from an outside perspective. To anyone else or, well, even to her, before tonight, this might have seemed strange. Three people her age, cuddling up like this. It felt, sometimes, like even the concept of physical contact with others that didn't fall under the category of lover or mortal enemy was some kind of taboo. But tonight, it felt right.

She watched the officers going by them silently, hoping for some sign of her father. She hadn't seen him yet. All three of them were listening quietly to the snippets of conversations they could catch between the officers.

"…guy's name was Lawton. Records say he had a daughter, man. She's only fourteen…"

"Damn, that's heavy. Hope I'm not the one telling her…"

"Hey Ronnie, you see those kids over there?"

"What about 'em? That's the Graysons' son, right?"

"Yeah, but that other kid. That's Bruce Wayne, swear to God."

"No way…"

Bruce and Dick shut out those conversations, and the former tapped Barbara's shoulder. She looked where he pointed, at the distinguished figure cutting a strapping figure in the midst of the variously rotund, scruffy, or sloppy officers of the GPD. Alfred Pennyworth was standing in the rain, a dark umbrella shielding him and obscuring his somber face in shadow as he spoke with a red-headed, pudgy sort of fellow in a sergeant's uniform. They had been speaking for some time, and finally seemed to be wrapping up. The pair turned and marched up to the trio of teenagers, Alfred's thin hand lifting Barbara to her feet. Bruce and Dick rose together, and stared at the officer. Mr. Pennyworth gestured to him and explained.

"Masters Bruce and Grayson, Miss Barbara, this is Sergeant O'Hara. We've been discussing the matter of Master Grayson's situation."

The officer removed his hat, holding his hat and clutching it to his breast, revealing his balding head for all to see. He bowed his head towards Dick, and in a thick Irish accent told him "My deepest condolences, Mr. Grayson. Tonight's been a tragedy. I can assure you that Crane won't be seeing the outside of Arkham for the rest of his—"

His beady, brown eyes caught sight of the horribly distraught expression on Dick's face, and he shut himself up immediately. The sergeant could see this was not a subject that he wished to discuss. He coughed into a fist, and moved on to other matters. "I've, er, I've been on the phone with a few of the folks down in social services. Presented your situation best as I could, Mr. Grayson, but they're telling me there's no way in Mother Mary's name they'll let a minor stay on the circus with no legal guardian there for 'em."

Dick's eyes widened as the reality dug into his skin. He would be leaving the circus. "N-no, no, I can get a legal guardian!" he insisted. "What about C.C. Haly? I'm sure he'd be my guardian!"

O'Hara gave a sad little smile at the boy, and nearly choked on his own sympathy as he said "Aye, boy, he would and by God, he tried. Came to me himself and pleaded his case, anything to keep you out of the blasted adoption system we've got in this abominable city… but they're denying him, lad. Saying there's too much suspicion he'd be keeping you around for the work you'd do. It's just not an option."

His head bowed even further as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Dick frowned, slowly shaking his head. Bruce tightened the pressure of the hand on his friend's shoulder, unsure of how to comfort him. Barbara was just as lost, watching with a troubled look from Wayne's other side. Alfred cleared his throat.

"Normally, this would mean you would go into Gotham's foster care system, Master Grayson, but… Well, it certainly would not be ideal, like remaining with the circus. But I've been discussing it with the Sergeant and social services, and they seem open to an alternative."

"What's that?" Barbara asked, her curiosity overtaking her.

Alfred seemed to take a moment to gather himself, and said "If… I do pray I'm not over-stepping my boundaries, Master Grayson. But I'm told that if I were to adopt you, there would be no need to put you into the system."

Dick seemed surprised, to say the least. He stood rigid and his eyes glassed over as the consequences of such a plan seemed to play out in his mind. Bruce and Barbara watched him diligently but, eventually, he looked towards Bruce. A strange little glimmer in his eyes was hard to read. But Barbara was fairly certain she had a word for it. Hope.

Bruce responded in turn with a reassuring smile. "We'd be glad to have you."

Barbara nodded enthusiastically, doing everything she could to sweeten the deal with her encouragement. She couldn't think of a tactful way to put it, but she hoped that Dick would agree. She was all for another friend, and was confident it would be good for Grayson as well.

It took a moment, but an upward curve tugged at the edges of Dick's lips. Though it was fleeting, the smile was genuine. "I… I think I'd like that."

The warmth that passed through the others was a welcome reprieve on this bitter Halloween night. A shot of hope that they all desperately needed, that some good may come of all this tragedy. Alfred offered the umbrella to the children, finally shielding them from the rain as he stood diligently in the soaking precipitation. "If you'd like Master Grayson, I can fetch your things and have them placed within the limousine. You can move in tonight, if you wish."

Dick nodded slowly. "Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth, but…" he stared longingly at the trailer that was once the home he shared with his parents. "I'll get my things myself. It's something I need to do myself."

"It's part of the crime scene, whole thing's blocked out, nobody allowed in or out." O'Hara interrupted. Dick's expression grew dimmer, only for the sergeant to smile deviously and whip out his badge. "Come with me, lad, I'll getcha in."

Dick couldn't help but give a huff of amusement, slowly walking towards the trailer with the officer. Barbara, Bruce and Alfred were left alone. Alfred looked towards Barbara and offered, "I could bring you to your home on the way, Miss Barbara?"

She smiled wearily and nodded, adding "That'd be great." Nothing sounded better to her than going home and seeing her father. Seeing her brother, even. Just to talk on the phone with her mother would be a wonderful thing. A dark thought she couldn't escape, that she was the only one of her closest friends with a family left unscarred by this city. She grieved for them, but she would cherish what she still had.

Bruce, meanwhile, remained silent. The other two looked at him and were met with a steely gaze. They were looking at Batman now.

"Alfred." He said quietly. "Send a signal out and bring the Batmobile up to Dredge Street, two blocks north of here. There's an alley big enough to hide it."

The butler stammered, caught off guard by the sudden order. "Of course, Master Bruce, but… why?"

Bruce nodded towards the sky. "I'm still needed tonight."

Before they had even looked, Barbara could hear the growing din. Murmurs became shouts of surprise, as the crowd in the distance called out surprised exclamations of "Look! Up in the sky!" "What is that?!"

She spun on her heel, looking up into the air and following the pointing fingers as startled eyes of the masses. What she saw nearly made her heart stop.

The clouds rolling over the city were nearly black. But rising from the city, a single beam of light was burning brightly and casting a yellow canvas against this roiling canopy. Nearly a perfectly circle, but in its center was the true source of the shock, the terror that some felt in their hearts, and the bewildered enthusiasm in Barbara's. A black silhouette bared itself against the night sky, spreading its wings for the whole world to see. A black bat, its frame looming like a sentinel over Gotham's highest buildings and looking down on the fragile world beneath. In a single image, Batman's message was visualized. He had branded the night itself. It no longer belonged to the criminals. It was his. Theirs. Gotham's, once more.

All these words played through Barbara's mind as she felt the poetic impact of the moment. She swore she could hear a swell of strings and powerful brass, a movement of power and nobility. Bruce smiled and whispered to himself.

"A Bat Signal. I like it."

Thirty minutes later, the signal of the Dark Knight continued to plaster itself to the clouds above. At the Gotham Police Department, Jim Gordon stood on the roof alone. He'd sent John home some time ago, leaving him alone. Alone, and free from prying eyes. After a few teasing false starts, he managed to ignite his lighter, and pressed its flickering yellow tips against the end of his cigar. It lit up like a tiny torch, and he bit into its butt with relish. The smoke relieved him as he watched the rain splatter against the lenses of his spare eyeglasses. He took a deep breath, and exhaled a blue-gray cloud from his nostrils, watching the scene he had created.

This was it. The official declaration. War on the criminal scum and Gotham. And Gordon had just announced his first, and greatest ally. Once people realized where the signal was coming from, there would be an uproar. He knew it. The lax citizens would call him a fascist, an anarchist, a socialist, any kind of ist they thought accurately described a monster, for supporting someone outside of the law. Every criminal in Gotham would be gunning directly for his head, for daring to support their greatest foe.

He took another puff, and spat it out into the soggy air.

"Bring it on." He told them.

A voice called out behind him. A familiar one. "I chose well when I picked you, Commissioner."

He'd been expecting it, but it still spooked him. Gordon played it off as best as he could, turning around with a forced expression of calm, looking at the shadow standing on the edge of the roof. The glowing white eyes stared at him with an imperceptible analysis being performed, scrutinizing the Comissioner.

"Still as disturbingly quiet as always, I see."

They stepped closer to one another, Jim getting another look at the costume that had broken into his own office not so long ago. It felt different, seeing it now. Then, it had been intimidating. Horrifying, even, when he knew he was fighting the thing. But now, it felt different. Still powerful, but… maybe noble wasn't the right word. But it was close. The suit was immaculate, but the mouth and jaw that it showed were battered and bloodied. He'd been busy.

"What is this?" Batman demanded, obviously referring to the light. Jim backed up to it and slapped it with his working hand.

"This? It's a symbol. I don't like you working outside of the law, Batman. But this department, this city, they need to know that you're always there, watching out for them. And the men you fight, well, they need a reminder that you're looking for them. You're the best weapon we've got in this fight, and I'd be a fool not to see it."

He stretched out the hand and offered it. "I'm giving you my support, Batman. Whatever I can get you, you'll have."

Batman stood stalwart, and for a moment Jim thought he'd turn and walk away. But then the next, the Dark Knight took his hand and shook it.

"All I need from you," the Bat told him. "is the promise that you'll never stop fighting the good fight. You're the kind of man this city needs. Not me."

Jim smirked and gave a grim chuckle. "God, I wish I could believe that. I can promise that and more."

"Good." The man in the cowl told him. "Go home now, Jim. Be with your family."

"I will;" Jim answered, a twinge of relieved happiness beneath his professional tone. "I'd suggest you do the same; we've both had a long night."

"There'll be longer."

Jim took a moment to let his gaze linger on the signal in the sky. With a flip of a switch, the light powered down. "Eh, I'll be ready for 'em. Will you?"

…No response. Jim turned to look. The Batman was already gone.