"Are you sure you don't want to press charges?" Grayson asked me. Hours ago, he had taken me out of the interrogation room, after explaining the charges were dropped. He had me sitting at his desk now, filling out forms that said I had no idea about any gun deal, or that Grayson had been a cop.

I shook my head, "None. And I don't want what I told you to go into any incident reports. If word got out, I'd be on every front page in Gotham. News stations would use my story to stir up the people. I don't wanna be some poster child for the LGBT community about abusive churches."

He nodded, sighing. "I just… what they did to you… they shouldn't just be able to get away with it."

"They didn't." I assured him. "I slashed all their tires, all three of their cars."

He chuckled, "Revenge feel good?"

"Well, I would have rather chopped their dicks off, and shoved them down the mom's throat, but time didn't permit for such fantasies." I joked.

He didn't laugh. Instead he just looked really grossed out. "Andy, when your social worker gets here, I wanna see if he can get you into therapy."

"Don't want it." I said firmly.

"The only way you're going to be allowed to, what's it called, um, fully transition? Is if you talk to a therapist and they make sure that you're ready for it." He explained. "And yes, he might ask you to talk about what happened. You didn't have any problems talking about it earlier."

I completely ignored him about the 'incident' with the Duncan family. "Wait, why… why would they let me transition?"

Officer Grayson smiled as a man walked up to the desk, "Maybe Paul can explain it better."

The man, Paul, stuck out his hand for me to shake, and I did. "Pleased to meet you Andy, Dick here has told me a lot about you."

I stifled a giggle, "Dick?"

Officer Grayson cleared his throat, "Um, my name is Richard. Dick is just a nick name."

"That's fucking hilarious." I said, loving the way he practically deflated.

Paul continued, "I managed to find a home that I think will really fit you." He pulled out a folder, handing it to me. Inside were pictures of two men, smiling and holding hands in front of a brownstone. "Arnold and Chris are some of the best foster parents I've ever met. They mostly deal with older boys, a few from similar backgrounds as you. Poverty, criminal activity, you know, what most foster kids get into."

"Older kids?" I asked, "Like, older than me?"

He nodded, "Normally, they don't take anyone under sixteen. Mostly because those are very difficult years to place a boy, and they have a real knack for putting every kid I send their way on a path to success. They've worked with about six so far, but they only have one living with them right now. His name is Cody, and he won't be there much longer. He's finishing up culinary school, and he's got a job waiting for him after he graduates."

I nodded slowly as Paul kept rambling. "Two of the boys they've taken in have gone into the military, I believe one is now a fire fighter. One of them managed to get a full ride to college, and he's studying bio mechanics. I think the last one is on Broadway now. Not too sure about him. He never liked talking about his goals much."

"Why take me then? I'm only fifteen." I pointed out, closing the folder, and possibly closing the door on the nicest foster home I've ever seen. The brownstone looked huge.

"I called them and explained your unique situation. Arnold was a bit hesitant, but Chris wouldn't even consider not taking you in." He smiled. "Once you finish with the paperwork here, we can collect whatever things you have, and be on our way."

I know where all my stuff is… my clothes, second pair of shoes, small stash of money and valuables, my backpack, my duffle bag, my sleeping bag, my toiletries. It's all in one of Tripp's safe houses. No way am I leading the cops there, so I take a deep breath, and gestured to what I was wearing, "This is all I've got. And the stuff they confiscated when I came in."

Grayson looked over the paperwork, nodding, "Looks to be in order. Let's get your stuff."

The guy behind the desk didn't even look twice as he handed me a zip lock baggy with a few things in it. My necklace with the purple crystal (which I immediately put back on), my wallet, my pocket knife, and half a pack of gum. I opened my wallet, and scowled at it being empty. "I had forty dollars in here."

The officer behind the counter glared at me, "You must be confused."

I flipped him off, knowing full well that arguing with him about my money wasn't going to bring it back. Paul rushed me out of the building immediately, not to keen on getting into a fight with a cop.

WITH DICK:

Dick finally relaxed with Andy gone, reaching into the garbage can by his desk to pull out the Chinese food box Andy had eaten for breakfast after spending the night at the station. He pulled the fork out, tucking it into a plastic evidence bag. Under the table, he texted Bruce.

Can I stop by tonight after work? Need a DNA test asap.

A few minutes ticked by until he got a response.

Of course. Damian would love to see you. Although he wouldn't admit it.

The thought of seeing 'Little D' made him excited, but that quickly crashed when he realized that Damian would find out about Andy… and then Andy might possibly be Dick's son… oh good lord.

Dick slumped down in his seat, bracing himself for all of the spite and sass that would come out of Damian's mouth later on. He could hear the quips now.

AT THE BROWNSTONE:

The minute Paul parked outside the brownstone, the door was thrown open. The first thing to walk out was a man with spiked blonde hair. He wore a white button up shirt, dark jeans, and some expensive looking dress shoes. His eyes were covered by sun glasses, and he had diamond stud ear rings. He walked towards us, a certain swagger in his walk that gave off an air of confidence.

He walked right up to me, giving a small smile to Paul, then focusing entirely on me, "Andy, right?"

I nodded, "Uh, You're Chris?"

He nodded, grinning, "That would be me. Andy, I'm sure you've already guessed, but let me just make sure you know. No one here is going to give you a hard time about transitioning, ok?"

I felt a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes get watery, but I blinked a little, refusing to let it show. After so long of getting sneered at, yelled at, or outright assaulted because of being trans, hearing something like that, it almost made me wanna hug this guy. I don't like hugs. But so far, I like Chris.

Paul cleared his throat, "If you can sign here? I have to go check up on three other kids today."

Chris signed the papers, then turned to me, "Where's your things?"

I gestured to what I was wearing, a dark red hoodie, a black v-neck, dirty blue jeans, and some torn up converse. His eyes widened as Paul drove off, then he grinned. "We get to go shopping then. Come on in, let me introduce you to-"

Before he finished, a boy a few years older than me with his hair up in a messy bun rushed out, panic in his eyes, "Dad, where's the sauce pan!?"

Chris turned to me, "Andy, this is Cody. He's in culinary school. Cody this is-"

Cody grabbed Chris' shoulders, "The curry is billing! I need the sauce pan!"

Chris frowned, shruggin Cody's hands off. "Cody, you put it in the dishwasher."

Cody let out a yelp, and took off into the house. Chris sighed, "Ignore him when he gets like that. I'm told all culinary students have a very high stress level in midterms."

I nodded slowly, and before either of us could continue the conversation, the biggest dog I've ever seen walked down the stairs, fixing me in his sight. He had black and white fur, but it grew like a wolf, a few inches long, and longer around the neck. My first instinct was to run, cause that's what you do when you're on the street, and some big ass dog looks at you like you're a T bone. However, I managed to remember that I wasn't robbing the place, and the dog might not attack me if I just stood still.

Chris noticed the tension, and smiled, "Harvey! Come here boy, meet Andy."

This dogs head came up to my shoulder as he stood in front of me, sniffing. "Oh, don't be afraid of Harvey, he's a mix between a husky and a mastiff. I'm told that the Husky they bred him with as actually 80% wolf, but we didn't bother to confirm it."

"You have a wolf…" I mumbled.

Chris chuckled. "Harvey is very friendly."

Easy for you to say, he isn't glaring at you. Harvey, as if sensing my fear, friggin smirked at me. I kid you not, this dog smirked at me. I knew exactly what he wanted to say too. 'This is my house, and if I get hungry, your ass is dinner. Do you hear me? I will snap you like a twig. You. Are. My. Fillet. Minion.'

I swallowed my fear, and slowly lifted my hand, patting his head gently. "Hi Harvey."

He barked, and I just about pissed myself. Chris put an arm around my shoulder, guiding me past the dog, "I think he likes you. Anyways, this floor had the living room, kitchen and dining room. There's a screen door in the dining room that leads outside, to Arnold's garden. He mostly works on that himself, but on Sundays, he might ask you for help. Beneath us is the ground floor, we don't really use it. It has a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and its own kitchen. We rent it out sometimes. Beneath that is the basement."

"How many floors does this place have?" I asked.

"Five. Basement, ground floor, this one, and two above." He lead me up the stairs, and gestured to the two doors on this floor. "That's me and Arnold's room, leads out to the terrace. That other one is unoccupied right now."

He lead me up to the top floor, and gestured to the three doors there. "That's the bathroom you and Cody share, that's Cody's room, and this last one, you guessed it, it's yours."

He opened the door, showing me a room I was almost terrified to stay in. The floors were dark, blackish wood, a grey rug with red and white patterns on it covered the floor beneath the bed. The wall the bed's headboard was against was exposed brick, and the bed itself must have been a queen, covered in dark grey and bright white stripped comforter, and matching pillows. There was a nightstand on the right side of the bed; the wood looked like it was good quality, but had been intentionally treated to look like cheap crate wood (probably for artistic reasons), but with the drawer handles and padded legs, it looked great. A dresser on the opposite wall was made with the same style.

Two paintings hung in the room, one was an oil painting of the Brooklyn Bridge, as heavy rain poured down. The other was of the Empire state building, with an unrealistically starry sky. You could never see stars at night around here.

Still, I liked the room. The furniture wood reminded me of the crates and broken boards that usually littered the warehouses I slept in. It felt kind of like home. Then again, home is an abstract concept to me.

Chris interrupted my train of thought. "Mikey had this room just a few months ago. He was here since he was sixteen, chose all the furniture in here. I think some of his things are still in the closet…"

"Which one was he?" I asked, "Actor, military, or fire fighter?"

"Fire fighter." He answered. "He planned on renting the ground floor from us, but he put in a station so far away, he needed to rent closer to it. He comes over every other Friday for dinner. You might see him this week."

I raised an eyebrow, "He still comes around?"

He nodded, "Yes. That's most people's reaction, but we maintain a pretty strong bond with most of our foster children. Oscar, he's in the Marines, active duty. And Patrick went into the Navy, oh you should here those boys bicker about their branches, every time they're in the same room. We haven't had them over in a few months, but Oscar is planning on being back here around his birthday."

He seemed to snap out of his reminiscing, and looked me up and down, "Right… we still need to go shopping."

I nodded, "Yeah, cause I don't have anything besides what I'm wearing."

He grinned, "Perfect opportunity to max out my credit cards."

Had so much fun writing this chapter! Review please, it would mean a lot to me!