Today I'll be posting two chapters, since I feel this chapter isn't enough for today. So watch for chapter 25 later on today!

Dick wasn't surprised to see a very angry looking Alfred come down into the Batcave. He'd screwed up, and it was Alfred's job to chew him out before Bruce got the chance to.

"Young master Richard," Alfred sharply began, holding up some bloodied bandages, "care to explain this?"

"I know. It's my fault. Last night we sort of lost Damian and when we went to go find him—"

"Who is hurt and how bad is it?"

"Tim; he scraped up his knees and elbows." Dick looked to the floor. He felt shame; this was exactly what he'd meant to avoid. He didn't want anyone hurt because of him.

"You broke your promise to me, young man." Alfred sighed and threw the bandages away. "I've kept this a secret, I've been willing to let you go on your tirade, and I've been painfully lax about the danger it ensues."

"I'm sorry."

"You cannot stay here and endanger the lives of those within the manor."

Those words cut through him and he had to hold back the tears. He already knew that. It was why he'd been so reluctant to stay at all. But with the harsh winter, he couldn't help but to finally accept Bruce's offer.

Perhaps he'd made the wrong decision after all.

"How do you intend to remedy this?" Alfred asked, his tone softer.

"Alfie, I… I kind of screwed this up even more." It was time for a huge confession; one that might get him killed by the butler. "Jason and Damian sort of… convinced me to train them."

"To do what you're doing?"

Robin flinched. "Yeah; and Babs and Tim, too. I already said yes and—there's a big problem."

"Go on." Alfred had never sounded so much like Batman before.

"There's a really dangerous criminal out there and Babs and Tim ran into their pets. Babs kind of shot one, and now they've got a big target on their back. So I figured… if they're going to be targeted, they might as well learn to defend themselves."

Alfred was silent for a moment, and Dick did his best to fill the suffocating silence with reassurances.

"But I won't let them come with me out on patrol ever again. I'm going to go put every guy I can in jail so they can't touch this family and—"

"Either way, they will not let you out on patrol alone, now. You do not seem to understand the stubbornness of those boys. They are much like you, young master Richard."

Dick risked a glance up at the old man, who seemed so much younger than the Alfred he knew. Despite being seven years older, there wasn't half as many wrinkles on his face, and he didn't look near as exhausted. Just what had saving Gotham done to their precious Alfred?

"Alfred? Did you go take out my trash?" Tim's voice came from the opposite end of the cave.

"Yes, young master Timothy. Now why would a fifteen year old boy be concerned about his trash?" Alfred looked at the sheepish teen hesitantly coming forward. "You couldn't possibly be hiding anything, could you?"

"Uh, well I…" Tim looked to Dick, who looked guiltily back down at the ground. "Yes."

"Let me see your injuries." Alfred motioned for him to sit upon the sick bed Dick had installed just earlier that week.

Tim didn't do as told. Instead he pleaded with Alfred. "It wasn't Dick's fault! If anyone is to blame, it's Damian. He ran off and when I was trying to find him I tripped on the street. Don't be mad at Dick."

"Sit." Alfred ordered. "I have already discussed the matter with young master Richard."

"You're not going to kick him out, are you?"

For half a second, Dick thought Alfred was going to say yes. Alfred took a moment to examine the bandaged cuts and once he was satisfied they were well taken care of, spoke.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Good, because from what I've heard you're going to be in danger of receiving much worse. Are you prepared for that?"

Tim looked a little unsure. "Dick told you about training?"

"Are you prepared?" Dick asked, repeating Alfred's question.

"I will be."

"Then no," Alfred answered, "I am not kicking out young master Richard. I suppose you'll also want a cape and mask?"

Tim smiled and turned to Dick, who didn't look as happy about this development. "Hey, Dick, can I talk to you alone for a minute?"

"Sure."

Tim kneeled under his bed and took out boxes and boxes full of printed pages and newspaper clippings. Dick watched him dump them all out onto the floor and sort them from there.

"C'mere!" Tim pulled him down and took one of the pages with a picture on it. "This is what I wanted to talk about."

"Superboy."

"Yeah," Tim picked up another picture, this one of Kon and Tim together, "I wanted to ask you about him since I know you recognized him too last night."

"How long have you known?" Dick asked, smiling fondly at the picture.

"About three months. I didn't have a clue until he arrived at my house in fifteen minutes. He lives in—"

"Smallville, right?"

"Yeah. It didn't make any sense. I started to wonder if he was Superman or something. That was when I looked up Superboy. It's him."

"He doesn't do disguises very well, does he? I'm still amazed no one's figured out Clark is Superma—oh. You didn't know that either? Weird."

"How long have you known your Superboy?" Tim asked, looking back down at the picture in his hand. "Is he the same?"

"Nope." Dick chuckled. "He can't fly, use super speed, or shoot lasers out of his eyes yet. He's prone to anger and he's only six—no. He's older now. Let's see, I think he's over a year old now."

"What?"

"He's a clone of Superman. We rescued him after he'd been growing in a test tube when he was six months old. He's got the body of a sixteen year old, so it's really funny to think about it." Dick couldn't help the snicker. "It's nice not to be the youngest on the team."

"Wow. Kon is… well, he makes a ton of jokes and he's always happy. I have to practically fight him for food whenever we hang out and he's always smiling."

"Kon… hm. We've always called Superboy Connor or Supes. I guess Kon is a nice little nick name."

"He's really that different, huh?"

Dick thought for a moment. "I think your Superboy is different because Superman's probably accepted him. Our Superman is… not exactly willing to accept responsibility of a clone he didn't consent to being made. It's like a girl thrusting her son on you out of nowhere. That doesn't mean I agree with him, but I guess I can see where he's coming from. Connor is really hurt by the rejection though. Not cool."

Tim frowned. "Sounds rough. I thought Superman was like the ultimate hero."

Dick snorted. "Fanboy. Batman is and has always been…"

The moment became very awkward very fast.

"Uh, it's about time for training. Why don't you get ready and I'll meet you in the Batcave?"

"Sure." Tim waited for dick to leave and then sighed. There was something weird about the way Dick talked about Batman. Bruce was Batman, but it seemed like Dick resented him or was scared of him. He'd have to try and get him to talk about it another day.