Author's note: Normally I like my chapters to be at least 1k words long each. But I was already struggling to squeeze this much out. Anyway, I figured it'd be okay since I'm posting both the prologue and the first chapter together.

Feel special. I almost did this entire story in Racetrack's POV, complete with accent. But then I realized that writing an entire story like that would get on my nerves, especially with the grammar. So from now on each chapter will merely start from his POV. Oh, and I've started pickin' up da accent in my normal ev'ry day speech as a result a dis, so's you better be happy 'bout it...

Chapter 1: Orphans

When Spot, Blink, and I stepped outta dat fancy automobile at the end of our long trip, we was met wit somethin' none of us ever thought we'd see. Well, maybe we'd seen our fair share peddlin' papes, but certainly not from the inside. I'm talkin' 'bout one o dem iron fences. The real fancy kind as goes alla way round a really big yard. Sure, there's a few on the edges of Queens, an' abouts. But like I's sayin', none of us'd ever seen one from inside.

"Lorda mercy," I whispered as I pulled my cap off my head. Spot didn't say nothin'. Blink's mouth was hangin' open. Cowboy – I couldn't rightly remember what he said his real name was – he just kinda stood there an' grinned at us. By golly, was dat house ever big! Already we was startin' to forget bein' lied to…

* * *

Bruce Wayne stood and stared at it. Just stared at it for a moment. Everything was exactly the way he remembered it. Visually, of course. There had been some… improvements made, a few things put in that hadn't been in the building he had grown up in. Somehow, he loved it all the more for that fact. This was not his father's mansion. This was his.

"Lorda mercy." He turned to see the three boys standing behind him, staring wide-eyed and gaping at the mansion, and couldn't help but grin. Racetrack had taken his hat off and was holding it in both fists, almost reverently. Kid Blink – having only one eye to stare out of – had his mouth hanging wide open. Spot Conlon was completely silent.

Spreading his arms wide, Bruce stepped into their line of view to get their attention. "Welcome home, boys." He swept a hand in the general direction of the house. "This is your home now, all of it," he went on. "Nothing's off limits, you can go anywhere you like on the grounds."

Racetrack finally shook himself out of his trance and ran a hand through his dark hair, a little self-consciously. "S-so," he started, stuttering a little. "Anywhere, huh?" Bruce nodded. "Where we be sleepin'?"

"Anywhere you like. You can each have your own room, if you want. Or there's plenty of room for you all to fit in one comfortably."

"More so'n the lodging house?" Blink asked incredulously.

"Much more so. Either way, it's up to you." With that, he turned and led the way to the enormous front door, talking as he went. The boys quickly fell into line beside him. "If you need anything," he was saying, "just ask Alfred. Kitchen's on the first floor in the back, though, if you feel the need to help yourselves."

As they stepped inside the expansive foyer, he paused and let them look around, though they all stayed rooted to the floor just inside the doorway. "My room's the third on the left down the hall at the top of the stairs," he said, pointing to a grand flight of marble steps sweeping away to the right. "Now, that room is off limits at ridiculous hours."

Blink's snicker was met with a smack from Racetrack's hat. Spot brought his cane up to rest casually on his shoulder, initial shock clearly dissipating. "So," the Brooklyn ringleader said at last. "You expect us ta work?"

"Not at all," Bruce answered immediately. "Like I said, Alfred is here to provide anything you want." He paused a moment, considering, then decided to go on. "I may enroll you in school when the summer's over, but we'll see how things go til then."

"You enroll us?" Race scoffed. "Hey, Cowboy, just how old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-seven!" Racetrack paced up and down the length of the room while Spot sat on the giant canopy bed and watched. "Twenty-seven. An' he passed hisself off as seventeen! An' we believed him!"

"Di'n he say he was a runaway just the same?" Spot asked calmly.

"And an orphan, to boot." Race swatted at Blink, who had been picking through the wardrobe for the last few minutes and pretending not to listen.

"Ah, whadda you know 'bout it?" Race muttered.

"More'n you!"

"Hey! Hey!" Before the two could start a scuffle, Spot stepped between them and held Race back with his cane. "Blink was beat at da orphanage, and you was abandoned by yer mother. Ya both know dat, so no reason ta be flingin' insults around. So his parents was shot. So what if he got him a big house an' a heap o' money from it? Dat don't make him no less an orphan than either o' you's."

Albeit reluctantly, Race went back to his sullen pacing. Blink scowled and turned his attention back to the contents of the wardrobe. "If you's feelin' dat bad about it," Spot went on, "den might I suggest you demand he show us around town? Makin' 'im tell da truth 'bout himself for once'll make ya feel better." Race muttered something incoherent in reply. "Or," Spot mused, "if not, we could always… I dunno, find some way ta amuse ourselves while we's out'n'about."

There was a pause in the pacing as the three boys exchanged glances. A dark grin of satisfaction grew slowly on each face until the trio fell to rowdy laughter at the insinuation.

If nothing else, they were in for an interesting time.

Author's note: Oh, also, please review!