500 views! A milestone, and, based on how fast it's going up, I reckon that we'll hit 1000 sooner rather than later.

Same requests apply: critique and advice!

Chapter 8: Wishes Old and New

Cherry Hill, North Gotham, Six Forty-Nine PM; December 1989

Batman flipped through the clean survivors of the Peregrine Club's guest records. He sighed. This would be a lot easier with Alfred helping. He'd have to find a way to get a portable computer.

He looked up from the papers, looking down onto the street. Ronald Edwards was talking to a cop. They shook hands as he got into the back of a police car, which went off with a partner car.. Batman didn't trust Edward or the police. He had learned to be observant a long time ago. Judging by the three-number callsign, the car should have been turning left at the next light. He watched as the car drove through the empty black street, and then went right through the light.

Batman sighed. As he swung from the old water towers atop apartment buildings, he thought about how much he hated being right sometimes.

The cars were driving slowly, letting Batman catch up to them eventually. As they stopped at a light before a busy four-way intersection, Batman saw the officer in the passenger seat lower the fiberglass screen to the backseat and draw a gun on Edwards. Batman was surprised, but well-trained enough to act. He hopped down, opening his cape as if to glide, but also pulled his down to drop him onto the car. Before the officers noticed, Batman fired his grapple gun at the officer's hand, with the hook stabbing the glass and wrapping around the gun. Before he could react, Batman slammed onto the hood, bending the whole thing inwards. The jostled officer was now ripe for the beating. Batman pulled the line back and smashed open the already broken windshield. His hand was sprained, at least and his arm cut up and dislocated. The screaming man let off a shot, but Batman didn't even have to move to dodge. He then pulled the cop the rest of the way out of the car and knocked him out against the hood, effortlessly tossing a batarang at the other cop with his other hand. The injured cop burst out of the door, but before Batman could do anything, he got into the back of the other car. They sped off, leaving Batman with Edwards, whom he pulled to the apartment building's rough grey stone steps.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. If you told me, hell, even five mintues ago I'd owe you my life I'd've laughed my ass off."

"You're welcome."

"Yeah. Yeah, thank you." He stood up, brushing off his pants, pulling out a small audio recorder, "You know, I never trusted the cops. I have an audio tape."

"Good. Let's get you to Gordon." He offered an arm.

"No, thanks, Batman, I'm not hurt. But these folks are rubberneckin'. Let's speed up."

Wayne Manor Grounds, Six Fifty-Four PM

Alfred had to get on the phone with Bruce, so he watched Dick from afar as he explored the old Wayne Family Cemetery, under the orange-yellow light. antique oil lamp, which Alfred allowed the fascinated Dick to light himself. It was cold, so cold that the breath in front of Dick's face was nearly blinding. Both of them could see the shimmering lights escaping from the dark, domineering buildings of the Gotham skyline now, as the Cemetery was a quarter mile from the house. Above it, like a dagger piercing into the smoky clouds, was a round symbol in the sky. A bat was painted into the clouds.

Alfred gasped. This was reminiscent of the time Bruce strung Sal Maroni up on a skylight in the shape of a bat. He turned away and opened his phone. "Master Bruce, what the hell is that?"

"Alfred. The mob knows I'm onto them. The light is from the ruins of Falcone's old HQ. It's a challenge."

"What the hell did you do?"

"I interrogated Ronald Edwards at what was his club, and then beat up a police officer."

"What!? Was that really wise?"

"Yes. He tried to kill Edwards. Got away too."

"My lord, Master Bruce. Has anything positive come of this.

"Yes. I have a name. Garfield Lynns, a man in Zucco's mob who betrayed him. I also have names of people he frequented the club with, and admissions of guilt from corrupt GCPD officers. IA'll have a field day. Meanwhile, it looks like the mob fires and the boy are connected after all."

"Yes, so you were correct in adopting him, which, as time goes on, seems like you're trying to make seem more and more utilitarian." Alfred's foot started tapping, crunching down the soft snow.

"What are you saying Alfred? If its about my.. emotional state.. I'll talk about it at the cave. Now, get to researching Lynns."

"The boy and I are outside, sir. I'm sorry to say I won't do that. His childhood is more important than your crusade. I hope you understand."

Batman sighed. A growley sigh. "Fine. I'll go after the people at the light. You just... keep doing what you're doing."

"Yes, sir."

"And Alfred," Bruce said before hanging up. "I know you wish the best for him. Just like you did with me. I still see myself in him." He then hung up without waiting for a response.

Alfred sighed. Yes, his decade- old wish was still alive with this boy. This one, however, seemed so much more hopeful. Alfred couldn't see how a boy, after such a tragedy, could enjoy himself in a cemetery. Still, the boy had fun in the garden of snow-coated graves, dusting off the stones and reading all the names he had become so enamored with earlier that day. The only spot where he was not allowed was the crypts, which where the property holders of Wayne manor where- the head of the family. He could see some names. Kenneth. Laura. Patrick. The closest of the marble crypts had both names visible- Thomas and Martha Wayne, as inscribed in stone cut into a banner, held by two cherubim.

Another time- months ago, when he lived another life- Dick would have hopped around on the gravestones, climbing obelisks, and balancing on crosses. But now he had a sense of duty. He looked into the sky, admiring the shimmering bat. He remembered what he heard in the GCPD the day after he became an orphan. That the Batman would fight mobsters and go after corrupt cops. Considering how many of the officers at the Lemmars GCPD were assholes, at the time Dick was happy there were people watching them.

That seemed shallow now. For Dick, who knew nothing but the circus and the orphanage, that city represented evil and rot. And, above it all, sat the Bat in a white shadow. Batman fought the people who tore Dick's life apart. Who tore his family apart. From the Manor, where he kept himself entertained for a short while, he could't see the city, and for this, he was glad. He couldn't have handled it there. But now, in the dead of night, It filled him.

Dick had felt alone. Empty. Filling with hate over a period of months, he hadn't felt himself slipping away. He had forgotten his dreams of happiness. The wishes of his family would have been abandoned to Dick's fickle transformation from lightness to hatred. He would have never killed Tony Zucco, only himself.

But there, in the blistering cold, with dirty boots and ill-fitting winter clothes, standing atop the flat gravestone of a centuries-dead man, he saw, miles away, the white bat. The wishing bat, fulfilling Dick's wish of a purpose. Of a place to go. It felt with him. In his face. In his soul. Glowing brighter than any street lamp or skyscraper. Bright as the moon. Bright as the sun.

Dick felt the city stop. It's bustling, violent speed seemed to slow. He wasn't sure if his awe made his senses neglectful or if the whole city was sharing in it, stopping to sit in the ethereal bat in the heavens. The great light, meant as a threat and a call for the Bat was seen as just that, except it wasn't Batman that it was threatening, but the mob, the criminal rot that was killing the city, the disease that no one dared attack. Except the Batman. The signal in the sky showed the hope of the city. And, for Dick, the hope of his life, which had been snowballing downhill, now emerged, concentrated and ready.

Dick Grayson had been angry and afraid for a long time, and he had been one with the rest of Gotham in this for just as long, but now, feeling victory in the middle of the darkness, he felt at home. In this city devoid of hope, he felt a sense of belonging at the climax of his hope. Like the White Butterfly in Hugo's Les Miserables, the Bat rewnewed the last Grayson. His fruitless 'need' for revenge was replaced with a sense of justice, and, at that moment, blanketed in the piercing brightness of the symbol, Dick new what he wanted. He reached forward.

Dick saw the bat pour through his fingers, and stepped closer. He started walking. Hopping over graves, he began to run. He ran, looking over the water to the docks where the symbol sat. The waters disappeared behind the stone wall of the cemetery, then the docks, then the spotlight. When he hit the fence, Dick only saw the reflection of the light on the clouds. He clambered up the wall, ignoring the rough bricks and vines. He threw his leg over the grey stone top of the wall, and slowly balanced himself on top, standing up straight, fully exposed to the symbol's light. His exposed skin, his face and hands, shone white. His clenched fists were even paler. The brightest part of him was his eyes. They shone with reflection, and with inspiration.

He didn't anticipate the gunshot.