Thanks to everyone who commented on chapter one. I'm fairly certain I managed to get back to everyone individually - if I didn't, I apologize. Things are fairly hectic for me at the moment (so what else is new?). But I really appreciate your wonderful feedback. :)

I also need to thank the ever wonderful Haley Kim for the excellent beta (seriously, why do I always forget to do this in chapter one?). Kim, you are the best beta ever and you rock. 'Nuff said. :)

Last, there are just under three weeks left to the deadline for the Young Justice fanfiction competition I'm running with ARL15 (so basically still time if you want to enter! :D). Check out my profile for the information.

Happy reading, folks!

oOo

"How can you say that?" Soloman Thandy demanded. "The Delgrassi contract secured us almost a billion in revenue last year alone! I say we agree to the terms of their new contract instead of quibbling over minor details."

"You can't be serious," argued Amanda Dreyfuss. "Those minor details were partially responsible for netting us that profit margin."

Bruce massaged his temple as the table around him erupted into disagreement. Christ, he hated board meetings. What masochist had decided they were a necessary evil of business? "Enough," he interrupted, tapping the table with his pen. "The Delgrassi contract absolutely needs to be renegotiated. We can agree to some of Lando's new terms, but not all of them. What we need to discuss is which terms are acceptable and which are non-negotiable."

"Well, I can think of one which is absolutely non-negotiable," said Amanda Dreyfuss at once. "The clause prohibiting Wayne Tech from–"

She was interrupted by a knock. The door opened and Bruce's PA slipped her head around the door.

Bruce frowned at her. "Maggie, I said no interruptions."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but Captain Gordon is here and he says it's urgent."

His frown deepened and he turned to his CFO. "Lucius, can you take over, please? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Of course," Lucius replied, looking at him with mild concern.

"Excuse me," Bruce told the board, getting to his feet. There was silence as he walked towards his PA. He could feel every eye in the room following him but he was more concerned with what had brought Gordon here. It had to be something serious for the police captain himself to come.

Bruce stepped through the double doors of the board room into the executive lobby, spying the police captain and his accompanying officer before Maggie had even pointed them out. His heart skipped a little at the grim, hard expressions on both their faces. Closing the door behind him, he quickly walked towards them. "Captain Gordon, what's going on?"

Jim Gordon fixed him with a serious look. "Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry, there's no easy way to say this – Dick has been kidnapped."

The ground rocked beneath Bruce and he stared at Gordon in shock. "What! How?"

"The Gotham Academy school bus was ambushed almost two hours ago on its way back from the field trip. A black van forced it off the road– no one was hurt," he added quickly, "but three armed men took Dick off the bus. They left a message for you with one of the teachers: they said they want forty million in cash by tomorrow."

"Or?"

Gordon hesitated.

"What did they say, Jim? Their exact words."

The officer sighed. "I believe their exact words were that they'd send Dick back to you in pieces."

"Christ!" Bruce held a hand to his head, unable to believe this was happening. Ever since he'd adopted Dick he'd known kidnapping was a threat, but he'd never really believed it would actually happen. Not with the precautions he took to keep the boy safe.

Precautions.

Something clicked and he dropped his hand. "Dick's cell! You can track the GPS in his cell!"

"That's the first thing we did before even getting to the scene," Gordon replied. "They tossed it just a few hundred yards from where they snatched him."

Bruce's heart sank. "Do you have anything on the kidnappers?"

"No. They were all masked and made their move on the most isolated stretch of road that the bus had to travel–"

"You're saying they knew where Dick would be in advance," Bruce cut in grimly.

Gordon nodded. "The abduction was clearly planned – they were on and off the bus in minutes. They were prepared enough to use a cell-phone jammer to prevent anyone from calling for help – we found it beneath the bus and I'm betting they left it there to buy themselves time to get away. They even let the air out of the tires. The bus driver had to trek nearly half a mile before he could get a signal to call the police."

"But how did they know where Dick would be?" Bruce demanded, worry churning in his stomach. "The school's security policy is supposed to prevent anyone but the children's parents knowing where they're going!"

"We're working on that. I have officers on their way to interview staff at the school, as well as the parents of the other kids on the trip, but I need to talk to you as well. Did anyone outside of you and Mr. Pennyworth know Dick would be on that trip?"

Bruce shook his head. "I'm careful about what I say when it comes to Dick for this very reason."

"I thought you might say that." Gordon sighed and turned to the officer beside him. "Have another unit join those scouting the area surrounding the abduction. Someone has to have seen something and the sooner we get a lead, the better."

"Yes, sir."

The officer disappeared and Gordon turned back to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, calls to your cell can be tracked, but we're going to need to set up a trace on the manor phones…just in case they contact you there."

Bruce nodded. "I'll let Alfred know what's happening so that he'll be expecting you."

Gordon looked taken aback. "Where are you going to be?"

"Here. I need forty million dollars in cash by tomorrow, Captain. I have work to do."

oOo

Ignoring the various GCPD personnel scattered throughout his living room, Bruce paced restlessly, an anxious, sick feeling in his gut.

It had been more than twenty-four hours since Dick's abduction with no word from his kidnappers, and Bruce was starting to feel a little frantic. Why hadn't they called? Had something gone wrong? Was Dick okay? Bruce knew this sick, anxious feeling would persist as long as his son was in the hands of kidnappers, but he might feel somewhat better if he could at least speak to the boy and confirm that he was okay. But this waiting, not knowing…it made Bruce feel like he was going out of his mind.

It didn't help that the only thing the police investigation had yielded was a burnt-out black van at an abandoned quarry which Gordon suspected had been used in the abduction. Forensics were still examining the vehicle, but Bruce wasn't holding his breath: it had been reported stolen two hours before Dick's abduction.

Bruce had also conducted his own investigation, spending all night down in the cave while the officers assigned to the manor thought he was brooding in his study. But a thorough investigation of Gotham Academy's staff and the families of the other children on the bus hadn't uncovered anything even remotely suspicious. Not to mention there'd been very limited CCTV footage of the van theft: a shot of two men in hoodies breaking into the van and a clip of it leaving the city. After that – nothing.

Bruce paused mid-pace and scowled at the phone. Ring, damn you! He wanted them to call, to get this over with. He wanted his son back. He didn't care about the money – they could have it if only they'd fucking call!

His eyes went to the suitcases containing the money. They had been delivered by armoured truck that morning. There were four – ten million per case – made of reinforced steel with powerful wheels to withstand the weight. Forty million in cash was roughly the weight of a horse.

He was about to resume pacing when suddenly his phone rang.

The room fell silent as Bruce glanced at the screen. He felt his stomach flip. Unknown number. He hit the answer button quickly. "Hello?"

"Bruce, what a pleasure it is to talk to you," came a gleeful voice from the other end.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. It was them. "Where's Dick? I want to talk to him!"

"Patience, Bruce, patience," the kidnapper replied, his overly familiar use of Bruce's name clearly intended to antagonize. "I'll let you talk to him in a minute. But first, do you have the money? Forty million in cash?"

"I have it. Now let me talk to Dick!"

"Sure thing, Bruce," said the man with mock friendliness, "just hold on and I'll get him for you. Oh, Dick!" he called in a sing-song voice, setting Bruce's teeth on edge.

After a moment, Dick's voice sounded on the line. "Bruce?"

Relief washed over him. "Dick, thank god!" The slight echo of his own voice told Bruce he was on speakerphone. "Are you alright? Have they hurt you?"

"No."

"I suppose that's something. Listen, kiddo, I have the money and I'll get you home as quick as I can, okay? Just hang in there."

Dick didn't respond. Bruce could hear the man saying something to him on the other end and frowned in concern. "Dick?"

"Um…I'm supposed to tell you what I see," Dick replied, confusion in his voice. "There's a freezer…"

The man in the background spoke again and Dick added quickly, "It's a chest. A freezer chest."

Bruce felt his heartbeat pick up. "Dick, what–"

"Ah…there's two locks on it," Dick interrupted.

A cold, sick feeling settled in Bruce's stomach. "Dick, why are you telling me this?"

"I…" the boy cut off mid-sentence and Bruce could hear the man in the background once more.

Every sense screamed at him with alarm. "Dick?"

"Uh…" Dick's voice sounded horribly uncertain, "it's filled with bags of frozen peas."

"Dick, I don't–"

"Time's up." The kidnapper was back on the line. "Here's how it's going to go, Bruce – you're going to get in your car and drive into Gotham. No cops, just you. You have fifteen minutes to get into the city before I call you again and tell you where to meet us with the money. And just to make sure there's no cops; your kid will be waiting in the freezer he told you about."

"What?! NO!" Bruce shouted. He could hear Dick yell in the background and the sick feeling in his gut twisted into sharp panic. "Stop it! What are you doing?!"

"Sorry, Bruce, but we need to make sure the cops stay away from our little meeting."

"I promise there'll be no police! Don't do this!"

"It's already done. Kid's in the freezer, so unless you want him to be frozen solid by the time you get here, I suggest you get moving."

Then he was gone, leaving Bruce staring at his phone in horror.

"Mr. Wayne…" Captain Gordon's voice sounded and Bruce spun to face him.

"Did you get a location?!"

The officer, his face full of anger and concern, shook his head. "We couldn't pin one down, they bounced the signal somehow."

"Then I need to move." Setting the timer on his watch, Bruce turned to Alfred, who was standing in the doorway. Bruce guessed from his expression that he'd heard the call. "Alfred, bring the van around."

Without a word the butler disappeared and Bruce turned back to Gordon. "Captain, can one of your officers help me load the cases?"

"Of course. Travers, Wallace, help Mr. Wayne, please."

At his directive, two of the burliest officers moved towards the four cases in the corner. Bruce also made to grab one but was stopped by Gordon. "Mr. Wayne, you can't seriously be thinking of going to face these men by yourself. What if they just shoot you and take the money? Let one of my plainclothes officers tail you, I promise he won't–"

"No!" snapped Bruce, turning on him in panic. "Captain, you heard them. Promise me your officers won't follow me!"

"But, Mr. Wayne–"

"NO!" Bruce shouted. "They've locked him in a fucking freezer! I don't care about me or the money. No police, Jim, please!"

The officer sighed. "Okay. But the second you have a location, contact me. I can send units after them and ensure an ambulance gets to Dick quickly."

"Thank you," said Bruce, grabbing one of the cases and hauling it out the door. Dick was depending on him to move fast.

Hang on, kiddo, I'm coming.

oOo

Bruce drove like a lunatic into Gotham, heart pounding the whole time. He arrived on the outskirts of the city just as his cell went off. Barely giving himself time to indicate, he banked a hard right and pulled haphazardly into a loading bay. Seizing the phone on the passenger seat beside him, he barked a hurried, "Hello?!"

"Are you in Gotham, Bruce?" came the voice of the man he'd spoken to before.

"Yes. Where are you?"

"I'll tell you exactly where after you've followed our directions. Head to the subway station at the corner of eight and twelfth. Take the money and get on the red line to–"

"I can't carry this much money by myself!" Bruce interrupted furiously, because of course these morons hadn't considered that. "It's in four cases that weigh almost two hundred pounds each!"

There was silence on the other end.

"Why can't I drive to you?" demanded Bruce.

"I'll call you back," said the kidnapper abruptly.

"No, wait!" Bruce cried, but the man had already ended the call. Frustrated, he thumped the steering wheel.

He glanced at his watch which was still counting the time Dick was spending in the freezer. Seventeen minutes. The boy had been in there for seventeen minutes. How long could he survive in that cold for? How long would his air last?

Please call back, Bruce thought, watching the precious minutes tick past.

At the twenty-seven minute mark, he was just wondering if he should call Gordon when his phone rang again. "Hello!" he answered quickly.

"Okay, Bruce, change of plan," came the kidnapper's voice. "What are you driving?"

"A grey Ford van, why?" he snapped, close to exploding – what were these assholes playing at?! His son was locked in a freezer somewhere; they didn't have time for this crap!

"Drive to the old candy store on the East side of Gotham City Park. And remember, no cops or the kid becomes a popsicle." Then he was gone.

Throwing his cell onto the seat beside him, Bruce started up the van and peeled out, ignoring the blaring horns of the cars who had been forced to brake to avoid hitting him. He drove as fast as he dared without danger of crashing – Dick would die if he didn't make the ransom drop.

He pulled up outside the boarded-up old candy store almost twelve minutes later. The area was quiet, the bitter January chill keeping all but the hardiest of souls away from the park. Bruce glanced at his watch. Where the hell were the kidnappers? Dick had been in the freezer for forty minutes now and no matter how quickly Bruce got to him there would be no avoiding hypothermia.

He cast his eyes around the deserted street. They had picked their location well: no cameras, no people, no traffic and no place for any possible police tail to hide. It was also situated close to a motorway exit for a quick escape. Bruce guessed this was where they'd always intended for him to meet them and he wondered how close Dick was.

There was a sudden tap to the curb-side window and Bruce jerked his head. Three men in sunglasses, woolly hats and what were clearly fake beards stood outside. He immediately unlocked the van and got out, moving around to speak with them.

"Nice to meet you, Bruce," greeted the tallest one mockingly. It was the man Bruce had spoken to on the phone.

"Cut the crap!" he snapped. "The money's in the back. Now where's Dick?"

"Ah, ah! We need to check it's all there first," replied the man, wagging a finger as the others, who had bags slung over their shoulders, moved to the back of the van and opened it.

"You can't be serious!" Bruce cried. "Dick doesn't have time for you to count all that money!"

"Relax. They each have electronic banknote counters – they're only going to count one case and then compare it to the others. It shouldn't take more than twenty or thirty minutes."

"Dick's been locked in that freezer for–" Bruce glanced at his watch "–almost forty-five minutes! You can't do this!"

"Aren't I already doing it?"

Bruce balled his fists in fury. "You son-of-a-bitch–"

"Watch your language! My mother was a lady."

It took everything Bruce had not to hit him. "The money's all there. Just tell me where Dick is and–"

"Not a hope. Now, stop arguing and put this on." The man held out a hood.

Bruce frowned. "What's this for?"

"Can't have you seeing our getaway vehicle, can we?" he replied, taking out a cell phone and calling a number. "Do it, Bruce. The longer you delay, the more time your kid spends in that freezer."

Scowling and clenching his jaw, Bruce had no choice but to comply. He'd just pulled the hood over his head when the kidnapper said, "bring the car."

He was talking to someone on the phone. Bruce's eyes narrowed. So there were more involved than the three who'd taken Dick off the bus. He filed that information away for later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting to Dick before he froze or suffocated.

Three minutes later he heard a car pull up and a door open. Footsteps sounded and then the kidnapper who'd been doing all the talking said, "Help the others count the cash."

Bruce wanted to scream. These bastards were risking his child's life for their greed! "How much longer?"

"Not much longer," the kidnapper replied. "Have a little patience, Bruce."

"It's kind of hard to have patience when your son is locked in a fucking freezer!"

"Such language. Does Dick know about your potty mouth?"

He clenched his fists. Don't. Hit him. "Look, I don't care about the money and I wouldn't risk Dick's life by not delivering all of it. Please, just tell me where he is."

"We'll tell you when we're ready. Now shut up before I decide not to tell you at all."

Bruce reluctantly did as ordered. He couldn't take the chance this man would follow through with that threat.

Time ticked by with agonizing slowness. Counting silently, Bruce struggled to keep his panic and fear under control – a near herculean task once he reached thirty minutes. Dick had now been in the freezer for almost an hour and a half. Eventually, he began to jitter with agitation, frustration and concern. C'mon, c'mon…

"Goddammit!" he finally burst out, unable to bear it any longer. "The money's all there! Just tell me where he is!"

"Relax, Bruce," the kidnapper said. "They're just about finishing up. So, here's how it's going to play out: three of us will leave with the money and one of my men will stay with you. After we've gotten safely away, he's going to tell you where your kid is."

Bruce exploded. "I don't think so! I've played by every one of your bullshit rules – now tell me where my son is!"

The unmistakable feel of a gun jabbed in his stomach. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Wayne," growled the angry voice of the kidnapper. "I could just shoot you right here, right now and leave with the money. But I'm a decent guy – so keep doing what I say and I'll tell you where to find your spoiled brat kid, understand?"

"But–"

"Can it!" the kidnapper snapped, jabbing the gun hard into his stomach. "It's my way or the kid freezes, you got that?"

"Yes!" Bruce ground out, almost choking on his rage. He wanted to rip the bastard apart, but he hadn't a hope in hell of finding Dick in time without him.

For several minutes, he listened to the men heaving the cases out of the back of the van and into another car. Then came the sound of murmuring from the back of the van before footsteps came towards them. "It's done," said a new voice. "Go."

"Been a pleasure doing business with you, Brucie," sneered the first kidnapper before footsteps pattered away, followed by the sound of three doors slamming shut.

Panicking, Bruce reached up to grab the hood because what if they were all leaving?! But hands grabbed his wrists and the new voice said, "The hood stays on until they've left."

Only slightly reassured Bruce lowered his hands and listened to the car start up and leave. After a minute, the second kidnapper said, "okay, you can take the hood off now."

Bruce immediately yanked it off. "Where's Dick?"

The man in front of him shook his head. "I have to wait ten minutes before telling you."

"Ten minutes?! But Dick has been in that freezer for–" Bruce glanced at his watch and his stomach churned sickeningly "–ninety-eight minutes! You're going to kill him!"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, I'll tell you in five minutes – I just need to wait until they've gotten out of range. You son's not that far from here, Mr. Wayne."

Mr. Wayne?The kidnapper's deferential nature twanged at his suspicions, but he ignored them. Finding Dick was more important than the kidnapper's identity. "As far as I'm concerned, they're already out of range. Just tell me where Dick is."

Even through the sunglasses and fake beard, Bruce could see the man hesitate, so he added quickly, "I don't give a crap about the money; all I want is my son back."

The kidnapper scratched at the hat on his head and glanced at his watch before looking around uneasily. "I– they told me to wait…"

"They don't have to know that you didn't. They're gone and I swear there's no police! I wouldn't risk Dick's life by bringing them."

The kidnapper stared at him through the dark sunglasses, not saying anything, but he was clearly agitated: Bruce could see his right leg jittering nervously and he was chewing on his lip beneath the fake beard. He wondered why this man had been chosen to stay behind – he didn't seem quite so controlled as the other kidnapper.

"Did you know children succumb to the effects of hypothermia more quickly than adults?" Bruce tried again, desperate. "Dick is only twelve – please, don't let him die!"

"Alright…" the kidnapper exhaled, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a slip of paper and a small key. "He's at this address."

Bruce grabbed them from the gloved fingers, and the kidnapper immediately turned and sprinted down the street.

Bruce didn't care – he had Dick's location! Eyes on the address, he moved to the driver's side and climbed in. As he started up the engine, he grabbed his cell phone and dialled Jim Gordon. The officer answered on the first ring.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"I know where Dick is!" he said urgently, pulling out. "He's at a restaurant called Sully's on 615 Anderson Street! I'm on my way there now."

"I'll get an ambulance over there immediately. What about–?"

"Sorry, Jim, I've gotta go," Bruce interrupted, ending the call so he could concentrate on driving.

His heart was pounding violently in his chest as he tore through the streets, teetering on the cusp of panic. Every time he encountered a red light Bruce ran it, almost causing several collisions and leaving behind many honking, angry drivers in his wake. The billionaire knew he was being reckless, but his fear and worry were too great to slow down. Dick had been in that freezer for almost two hours and he was terrified of what he might find.

Turning onto Anderson Street, Bruce scanned for the restaurant. Spotting it towards the end, he increased his speed. Pulling up outside the building, he parked half on the curb and jumped out. Dashing to the front door of the restaurant, he was unsurprised to find it locked. Without hesitating, he kicked the door. The lock made a whining noise, but didn't give. Putting all of his strength into it, Bruce kicked again and the door burst open.

Light from the outside spilled into the darkened restaurant beyond, but Bruce wasn't interested in the dining area. Dick was in a freezer, which meant he had to be in the kitchen – probably located to the back. He quickly entered and headed for the double doors at the end of the room.

Crashing through the doors into the kitchen, Bruce threw his gaze around and immediately saw the freezer. A sign hung over it with the words he's in here and an arrow pointing down. Enraged, Bruce sprinted over and used the key he'd been given to open the locks, before throwing the lid of the freezer open.

Dick was slumped in a corner against several bags of frozen peas. His eyes were closed and his skin was tinged with a frightening blue cast.

"No…" Bruce moaned. Bending in, he carefully lifted the boy out, knowing the heart was hyper-excitable in severe hypothermia and that any movement could result in fibrillation. Dick felt like a corpse and Bruce had to swallow back the fear that threatened to consume him.

Complete assessment first, he thought, as the freezer lid slammed shut and his training kicked in.

Taking four steps away from the freezer, Bruce sank slowly to the floor and sat with Dick on his legs. Keeping his right arm around the frozen child propped against him, his left moved to take Dick's pulse, wavering when he spied the deep welts and congealed blood plastered across the thin little wrists.

Those fucking bastards!

Forcing away his fury and horror at the bloody, torn skin, Bruce felt for a pulse, despair nearly wrenching him apart when he couldn't find one.

That doesn't mean anything, his training reminded him. Radial pulse disappears between temperatures of ninety-one and eighty-six. Check carotid pulse for a full minute as heart rate can decrease to just a beat per minute.

Pressing two fingers to Dick's neck, he held his breath and waited. After an agonizing thirty-four seconds, he felt it: the barely-there, feeble pulse. Bruce exhaled. He's alive.

But Dick didn't feel alive. He was ice cold, and his breathing was so shallow that to someone not trained he would have appeared dead. Still keeping the boy upright, Bruce tilted his head back and began rescue breathing. Oxygen aside, his warm breath might add heat to Dick's frozen body.

After several minutes of rescue breathing, Bruce was beginning to feel light-headed when he heard noise from the front of the restaurant.

The ambulance.

"Back here! We're back here!" he yelled, jerking his head up. "We're in the kitchen! Help!"

Seconds later, two paramedics toting a gurney came through the door, starting at the sight of Gotham's most famous citizen sitting on the floor with an unconscious child clutched in his arms.

"He's got a pulse but it's really weak," Bruce told them, not caring about maintaining his bubble-head 'Brucie' persona. "And he's barely breathing!"

"Okay, Mr. Wayne," said the taller of the two men, putting the gurney down and kneeling beside them. "We're gonna look after Richard, I promise. But it's important that we move him as little as possible, so I'm gonna leave him where he is until we're ready to transport him, and I need you to stay calm and not move around too much, okay?"

The patronizing tone made Bruce want to hit him, only he couldn't because as far as the paramedic was concerned, he didn't know anything about hypothermia. So he nodded and the paramedic smiled reassuringly.

The other man was unzipping a bag and pulling out a non-rebreather mask, which he quickly slipped over Dick's mouth and nose before attaching the tube to a strange-looking oxygen tank. Bruce squinted at it and recognized it as a RES-Q-AIR tank.

"It's res-Q-air," the paramedic explained, misreading Bruce's glance. "It'll feed him warm, humidified air to help raise his core temperature."

"Why is his tie around his ears?" interrupted the first paramedic, who now had a digital thermometer out and was removing Dick's tie, something Bruce hadn't noticed in his panic.

"Probably for the same reason his pants are tucked into his socks," the billionaire answered, surveying Dick and spying the fumbled clothing. "He was trying to conserve heat, or maybe protect his extremities."

"Clever kid," said the first paramedic. The thermometer beeped and he removed it from Dick's ear, frowning at what he saw. "I can't get a reading – his temperature is too low. How long was he in there?"

"Almost two hours," replied Bruce, tightening his hold on Dick.

"Two hours, bloody hell," the paramedic muttered, now peering into Dick's eyes with a flashlight.

"Will he be okay?" Bruce asked anxiously.

"Hard to say until we get him to the hospital. But kids tend to recover better than adults from hypothermia so I'd say he's in with a good chance."

The other paramedic had been recording Dick's vitals, and was now taking his pulse with a frown on his face. "Hey, Marv," he addressed the first paramedic, "look at his hands…does that look like frostbite to you?"

Marv glanced down and narrowed his eyes, before carefully taking Dick's hands and gently pressing them with his thumbs. "Yeah, I think it is. Those wrists don't look good either."

Bruce sucked in a breath. He knew how bad frostbite could be. "Don't people lose toes and stuff to frostbite?"

"They can, but that's usually only in severe cases and this looks like first-degree frostbite. Richard should be okay," replied Marv. "We're gonna move him now, Mr. Wayne, so I want you to put him on this gurney, really slow and easy. You think you can do that?"

"Yes," said Bruce, sliding his left arm beneath Dick's legs and gently lifting him up, while Marv pulled the gurney up alongside them. Carefully, he placed Dick on the gurney, angry and fearful at just how stiff and frozen the boy felt.

"Will you be riding with us, Mr. Wayne?" asked Marv, tucking a blanket around Dick while the other paramedic collected their medical instruments.

"Absolutely," said Bruce, not taking his eyes off Dick's face. He could make out bruising on his left cheekbone and jaw through the frozen features and clenched his fists in fury. When he got his hands on those bastards…

"Okay," Marv continued. "Then you might want to lock up the van out front – 'cause I'm guessing it's yours – the door is wide open and this ain't exactly the friendliest of neighbourhoods."

Bruce blinked at the man who was now buckling Dick in. He'd completely forgotten about the van. He didn't particularly care what happened to it either, but the kidnappers might have left some evidence when they were counting the money. He'd have to ring Gordon and get him to check it out because he didn't plan on leaving Dick's side after this. "I'll do it on the way out."

Marv nodded while the other paramedic affixed the RES-Q-AIR tank to the gurney. "Alright, we're all set, let's go."

Heart beating painfully hard and eyes still locked on Dick, Bruce followed them out, hoping desperately that his son would be alright.