And here's Chapter 3! This is sort of a series of short scenes all squished into one chapter, because they were too short to post on their own. But they're in chronological order. I hope the breaks don't interrupt the flow too much. But I'm always open to constructive criticism, so feel free to leave a review! And if there's a scene you'd like to see, now or in the future, drop me a message or a review and I'll probably write it; I already have half a dozen "interludes" written or half-written for various scenes of the extended storyline that didn't quite fit the overall flow but were either tied into the plot somehow or just self-indulgent fluff. I'll be posting them once this story is finished and as they come up in the extended universe.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Friends, or maybe Brothers

Rescue

Harry thought he was being careful. Since almost getting assaulted, Harry had put a lot more effort into staying undetected during his night wanderings. He'd learned to jump from rooftop to rooftop when they were close enough, so he minimized his time on the streets. But there were still countless alleys and dead ends. And sometimes, Harry was forced to climb down into them from his chosen rooftops.

He'd checked. Harry was positive he'd checked before climbing down the fire escape this time. But the group of muggers must have mysteriously appeared there out of nowhere, because when he started his descent, the alley was empty. But by the time he reached the bottom, he'd barely had time to catch his breath before he was being chased again.

Choking on fear and fighting to catch his breath, Harry ran blindly. The last time he'd been cornered was still too recent, and the panic was just as bad. So when Harry darted down yet another alley and felt a hand close on his upper arm, he opened his mouth to shout.

A second hand pressed over his mouth and dragged him behind a dumpster. Harry squirmed and kicked and fought, but the arm around his chest and over his mouth were like iron.

"Quit fighting me, you idiot!" A boy hissed from behind him.

Harry froze, because he recognized that voice. It was the boy from before, the one with the broken ribs. (Obviously not broken anymore.) And now that he thought about it, the hand over his mouth was too small to belong to a grown-up.

"Don't move, don't speak. Don't even breathe 'til I let go," the boy barely whispered.

Harry nodded against his hand. The arm around his chest loosened slightly, but still held him firmly in place. (It was oddly reassuring.) Then Harry heard voices at the head of the alley.

"They went down here, I'm sure of it!"

"Ain't nothin' down there 'cept Old Ying. No one ever goes near 'im. Those kids ain't that stupid."

"Thought Old Ying got arrested las' week."

Harry froze, because that was one of the men who'd nearly assaulted him before. He held his breath, trying not to whimper or cry. The older boy's arm tightened around him just a little, almost like a hug.

"I ain't riskin' it!"

"Fine, ya cowards."

"'S not like they've got anywhere to go. We'll find 'em another day."

Still bickering, the three men walked away. When Harry could no longer hear their footsteps, the whimper finally escaped, his knees feeling weak.

The older boy finally moved his hand away from Harry's mouth. "You okay, kid?" he asked softly.

Harry shook his head, trembling. "Th-they almost—almost got me. Last week," he whispered haltingly, his breath coming in short gasps that were only now evening out. "I-I r-recognized his v-voice."

"Yeah, he's a real piece of work. You want to stay far away from him, 'cuz there are rumors he kidnaps kids and…" The boy hesitated. "I'd say you're too young to know, but you're out here, so you hafta know. That guy, he…" The older boy shivered, then growled. "He…he touches kids, where no one's supposed to touch, then dumps the bodies in the harbor."

Harry whimpered again, remembering just how close he'd been to getting caught. His knees gave out, and he sank to the ground. The older boy knelt with him, his arms still wrapped around Harry's shoulders.

"Hey, it's okay. He's gone now. And now you know to avoid him. It'll be okay."

Harry shuddered, then slumped into the other boy's chest, closing his eyes to try and hold back the tears.

"You really are just a little kid," the older boy murmured, adjusting his arms to hold Harry better. Harry melted into the hug with a soft whimper, burying his face in the older boy's neck.

A few minutes later, Harry took a deep breath and pulled himself together as he pulled away, averting his face. "'M sorry," he murmured.

"It's okay. That was pretty scary. I was scared, too, you know."

Harry looked up and saw the boy smiling at him. It was a small smile, closer to a smirk really, but it brought warmth flooding through Harry. Other than Tim, Harry couldn't remember the last time anyone had actually, genuinely smiled at him. Harry couldn't help a small smile in return.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I-I'm Harry, by the way."

The older boy blinked, hesitated, then sighed. "I'm Jason."

"Who's Old Ying?"

Jason (Harry liked that name) smirked. "Can you keep a secret?" he whispered.

Eyes wide, Harry nodded.

"Old Ying is a mannequin."

Harry choked on a laugh. "Really?"

Jason nodded, grinning. "Seriously. Some crazy dude somewhere on this block collects life-sized dolls or something, but occasionally he'll throw one out. It scared the shi-the crap out of me once, then I got the idea to set it up to look real. Scare everyone else, too, so I could use this alley to hide. Now everyone thinks some creepy homeless Asian dude claimed this alley and lives in the dumpster. Us younger kids all know the secret, 'cuz kids are more likely to investigate scary shi-stuff like that, but we've all collectively agreed to keep it, so this alley is a safe place for us to hide if we need to." Jason winked. "The bad guys supply the rumors for us. We just keep 'em going."

"That—that's seriously cool," Harry said in awe.

"Isn't it?" Jason smiled again, then got to his feet and extended a hand down. "You ready to go?"

Harry accepted the hand and Jason helped him to his feet. "Go where?"

Jason shrugged. "Wherever you usually go this time of night. How old are you, anyway?"

Harry blinked at the sudden change in subject, then smiled. "I'm eight," he said firmly.

He ignored the fact that his birthday was still a week away.

Jason stared at him in disbelief. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," Harry repeated.

"No, you're not. You're too tiny." Jason ruffled his hair.

"I'm only like three inches shorter than you," Harry huffed. "How old are you?"

"I'm almost eleven," Jason retorted, tilting his chin up.

"So you're ten."

"No. I'm almost eleven."

"Which means you're ten now."

Jason huffed and grabbed Harry in a friendly headlock, knuckling the top of his head. "I'm still older than you, little hero. So show some respect for your betters."

Harry tried to wriggle free, laughing. "Lemme go, Jason!"

"Hmm…nope. No can do. Not until you admit I'm your better."

"We're both street kids. No one's better than anyone else," Harry countered.

Jason stopped, his grip loosening. Harry triumphantly broke free.

Jason was staring at him with something like shock, but also…pride? It made Harry's cheeks feel warm.

"Huh. You're pretty wise for a kid. Good for you. Don't you ever forget that. Those morons with mountains of cash can pretend all they want; they're not any better than the rest of us."

"Told you. So I'm never gonna admit you're better than me." Harry stuck out his tongue, then took off running. "See you around, Jay!"

Jason gaped after him in shock.

Harry's Eighth Birthday

His stomach growling, Harry carefully unwrapped the chocolate muffin in his hand. He'd gotten so lucky swiping it from a round snack display inside one of the bigger supermarkets on the outskirts of the alley. He even managed to snag a candy bar from the same display. Sure, he'd had to run faster than he thought he'd ever run in his life when the security guard at the door spotted him. But he'd gotten away clean, and now Harry sat on his favorite rooftop to watch the sun set on his birthday. He'd kept careful track, watching the news reports on the TVs in the electronics shop window, counting the days with shallow scratches in his cardboard floor to be sure he had the right one.

Aside from being chased out of the supermarket, Harry had had a pretty good day. He saw Jason and taunted him into chasing Harry around the park—according to rumors, Batman had finally nailed the gang that had claimed it, making it safe (well, safer) to play at. He'd managed to snag the chocolate muffin in his hand, and he'd successfully pick-pocketed three different people after weeks of practicing, netting himself almost forty dollars. Some of it was safely tucked into his currently-empty reusable water bottle; the rest was safely stashed in his duffel bag behind his dumpster. He'd used six dollars to buy himself a new pair of jeans at a thrift shop, because Dudley's old ones had been almost literally falling down around his ankles for weeks.

So. He had clothes that fit, a security blanket of cash, and a special birthday treat. And the sun was going down over the city. On days that were only partly cloudy, the setting sun made the office buildings blaze with gold as it reflected off their windows, and the rest of the city was bathed in a soft orange while the sky lit up in flaming reds and yellows.

Smiling to himself, Harry inhaled the heady aroma of chocolate before tentatively taking his first bite of the muffin. He moaned in pleasure, convinced that the muffin was the best thing he'd ever eaten. He'd rarely had anything sweet at the Dursleys, and treats weren't usually worth the risk when you needed real calories to survive on the streets.

Harry ate as slowly as he could manage, letting each bite melt on his tongue before properly chewing and swallowing while enjoying the changing colors of the sunset. The muffin sat a little heavy in his stomach by the time he finished the last bite, but it was so worth it.

As the light began to fade, Harry tucked the candy bar back into his pocket to save for later, and lay back to watch the stars come out. There weren't many to see, but each one was a reminder that the world was so much bigger than the six or eight blocks of Crime Alley that Harry was startled to start thinking of as home.

A while later, Harry had started to doze when he heard the fire escape rattle. He tensed, unmoving, and listened. It might be Jason; Harry had run into him on a rooftop once or twice. More likely it was Tim; the last time he'd seen him, Tim had hinted at doing something for Harry's birthday. It might even be Batman or Robin, though they had their fancy grapple gun things and didn't need to worry about climbing rusty fire escapes.

Or it could be anyone else, and that was why Harry stayed tense and motionless until he heard how light the footsteps were. Cracking his eyes open and looking around as best he could without moving his head, Harry spotted the familiar and small silhouette of his little friend. (Tim might be older than Harry by two weeks, but Harry was still taller!)

"Oh, good. You're here! Hi, Harry!" Tim chirped as he settled on the roof beside him. He was dressed in his usual black vigilante-stalker outfit, sans the medical mask. "Do anything special today?"

"Ate a chocolate muffin," Harry said, sitting up, "and watched the sunset. It's the little things, ya know?" It didn't take much thought anymore to disguise his British accent. Talking with Jason helped a lot, too, because his Gotham accent was so strong.

Tim's lips twitched toward a frown. They'd met and chatted almost every night for the last two weeks, and every time Harry made an offhand remark about what it was like living on the streets, Tim got a little sadder, like he wanted to help but didn't know how. Harry had insisted he was fine, and Tim never brought it up, but it still hung in the air between them. Harry was aware that he did the same thing whenever Tim mentioned his parents' neglect and perpetual absence, so it was fair turnabout, he supposed.

The frown didn't last long, though. With a grin, Tim pulled a container and a thermos out of his backpack. "I brought chicken and rice soup, and some cookies. Mrs. Mac helped me make both of them when she came by yesterday." Tim passed over the thermos. "I did a little research, about good things to eat when you haven't eaten right in a while." He chuckled nervously. "Learned why I always get sick after Mrs. Mac cooks for me, too."

Harry bit back several comments, from rude to horrified. Tim had mentioned that Mrs. Mac—his housekeeper—only came by once a week. She'd cook a bunch of meals and freeze them, but apparently Tim didn't know how to heat them up without a microwave—and his microwave had been broken for weeks.

"Anyway. I learned that chicken broth and rice are usually the best, and they're nutritious. So I brought some soup. It should still be warm—I tried using the stove to warm it up, and a lot of it burned." Tim laughed self-deprecatingly. "But I managed to save enough for two. And I know you said you had a chocolate muffin, but cookies are good, too."

"…Enough for two?" Harry asked quietly. "You—you're letting me eat with you?"

"Well, yeah. It's your birthday, and while I'm sure you've eaten more than a muffin, you probably haven't had a proper meal in a while. I thought it would be fun." Tim suddenly went shy. "Unless…you don't want to? I mean, you can have it all, I guess. Unless you don't like it? Then I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed—"

"Shut up, Tim," Harry cut him off, trying not to let on that a lump had formed in his throat.

Tim smiled hesitantly. "Okay. Um. Here." He took the thermos and screwed off the lid, which then became a cup slash bowl. He poured roughly half the contents into the cup, then passed it to Harry with a shy smile.

It was still warm. Nearly hot, in fact. Harry's mouth watered at the savory, warm, comforting aroma. Hesitantly, Harry brought the cup to his lips, blew on its contents, and drank a small mouthful.

It was warm, and good. The first hot meal Harry could remember. (Even the Dursleys had rarely let him eat hot, fresh food. It was always cold leftovers.) He almost forgot to take it slow as he gulped down another mouthful, tears welling up in his eyes.

After four mouthfuls, Harry's stomach was uncomfortably full, and he probably couldn't have swallowed more past the lump in his throat anyway. He set the cup down carefully on the roof beside him, still mostly full.

"Is it okay?" Tim asked hesitantly.

Harry nodded. "The best," he whispered past the lump in his throat. Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, trying not to cry. He felt Tim beside him, sensed him hesitate, then Tim carefully put an arm around Harry's shoulders.

Harry broke down crying, quietly, because someone had remembered his birthday, they'd let him eat with them, not forced him to scrounge together scraps after the meal was over. Because someone had cared enough to cook just for him, and keep him company on his birthday instead of ignoring his existence.

A second arm wrapped around Harry as he continued to cry, and he found himself pulled against a small, slender chest. Harry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Tim's jacket and let himself be eight, a lonely child who finally, finally had found a friend.

The Library

It was odd, when the first chill of autumn arrived and Harry wasn't caught up in Dudley's back-to-school shopping. Seeing groups of kids walking away from bus stops, some of them in uniforms, made Harry feel a bit nostalgic. He missed school. Well, he didn't miss the bullying. But he missed learning. He'd loved hiding in the library during recess and lunch, devouring book after book about anything that caught his interest, because Dudley wouldn't be caught dead with a book.

Sure, he'd recently learned a whole lot about how to survive on the streets, but he wanted to learn more about hawks, and other birds too. Maybe even bats. And he wanted to learn how to fight for real. Dudley had been starting to talk about taking boxing lessons when he finally went to Smeltings, that fancy private school Uncle Vernon wanted to send him to. Harry thought it would be cool to learn real fighting moves, and how to use the pocket knife he still carried everywhere.

Jason had been teaching him a little, when their paths crossed and they both had time. But Jason was really only teaching him street fighting—how to play dirty. Harry wanted to learn something like karate, and maybe some gymnastics so he could do some of the cool tricks he saw Robin do all the time. And Tim was full of random facts. Harry wished he could do more than just nod excitedly. He wanted to share things, too.

Harry jokingly complained about all this the next time he and Jason met up. In the middle of teaching Harry how to throw a proper punch, Jason suddenly brightened.

"I've got an idea!" And instead of correcting Harry's finger placement, Jason just grabbed his hand and started tugging him along.

"Wait! Where are we going?"

"You'll see!"

Harry had to run to keep up. Jason was only a few inches taller, but his legs were stupidly long.

After four blocks of stumbling and tripping and trying to catch his breath, Harry finally stumbled to a stop when Jason paused in front of a boring brick building in the middle of a dozen more boring brick buildings. Seeing the confusion on Harry's face, Jason smiled faintly and tugged him along. He pushed the double doors open, and suddenly Harry got it.

The circulation desk caught his attention first, because there were several bright banners around it. Then he saw the tables with books stacked neatly to show off their covers. Then he saw the shelves.

Harry lit up.

Jason chuckled at the grin on his face. "And no one can tell us we're not allowed to be here. Sometimes, the redheaded librarian gives out snacks to kids who have been in one place for a while. In the winter when it's cold, I like to hang out here as much as I can, since it's warm."

"I've done that, too," Harry said absently, still taking in the sight of countless bookshelves filled with colorful books. "My cousin would chase me and beat me up if he could catch me, so I liked to hide in the library because he hates reading more than he likes picking on me. And the librarian would never allow it anyway."

"Normally I'd be offended by someone hating reading, but your cousin sounds like a jerk, so I'd prefer not to sully the honor of us readers with his inclusion in our ranks," Jason said, affecting a fancy accent that made Harry giggle. Jason grinned at the sound. "So where do you want to start?"

"Can we just…wander?" Harry asked. "I—I like it here."

Jason ruffled his hair. "Sure, kiddo. Want me to come with you, or do you wanna wander on your own?"

Harry hesitated. "Um…maybe you can show me some of your favorite spots?"

Jason ruffled his hair again. "You got it." Casually, almost accidentally, Jason grabbed Harry's hand again and led him deeper into the library. Harry trailed behind him, his attention split between the warmth of Jason's hand around his and the books that soon surrounded them.

Jason showed him a reading nook situated deep in a corner, three big arm chairs situated around a low table with some magazines scattered across it. It was far away from the regular traffic, somewhere in the adult nonfiction section, Harry thought, since most of the books they passed looked like dictionaries or encyclopedias.

"I like to hole up here in the winter. It's out of the way, so no one ever comes over here. I've gotten away with spendin' the night a few times, too. But ya hafta be careful doing that, because if someone finds ya, they'll call CPS on ya," Jason said. "And then ya hafta run away from another foster home."

Harry nodded. He noticed that Jason's accent got thicker when he was talking about his experiences on the streets, but it relaxed when he talked about other things. Harry wondered if he did it on purpose or if it was a result of talking with Harry, who simply by virtue of growing up in England spoke more properly than anyone except the rich kids of Gotham. It was why he tried so hard to copy Jason's accent. Maybe Jason was doing the same thing.

Jason then tugged him to several other spots he liked in the library, tossing out advice the whole time. Finally, they arrived in the young adult fiction section. "There are kid books, too, and you can head over there if ya want, but I've been meanin' to check out a series here. You can look around while I find it."

Harry nodded and (reluctantly) released Jason's hand to look at the books further down the aisle. After some minutes just running his fingers along the spines and admiring the fancy covers, Harry pulled one down that looked interesting. There was a dragon on it, for one, and the title was in a super fancy, loopy script that he couldn't make out. He flipped the book over to read the summary…only to see fuzzy black blurs where the letters should be.

"Oh." Harry bit his lip and put the book back, suddenly very aware of his naked face. He'd gotten glasses when he was six. He'd worn them every day since then, except for the few times Dudley had broken them badly enough that he needed a new pair.

Harry had then lost them within three days of being on the streets.

Glasses just weren't the sort of thing you could keep for long. And it wasn't like he'd needed them. He could see most things fine, though edges and faces were always a little fuzzy. But small print and things up close were just a blur.

No longer excited about being in a building full of books he couldn't read, Harry curled up on a bean bag at the end of an aisle, pulling his knees up to his chest. He tried not to cry while he waited for Jason.

A few minutes later, Jason emerged from the shelves with a book tucked under his arm, looking around with his brow pinched with worry. He relaxed upon spotting Harry, then he tilted his head in confusion.

"Harry? You okay, kid?"

Harry shook his head. "I—I can't read." His voice cracked. "I lost my glasses months ago, but I forgot. I—I can't read anymore."

Jason sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. "That sucks. Glasses aren't something you can hang on to out here, either."

Harry shook his head miserably, hugging his knees tighter. "I really wanted to read again," he said quietly.

"Well…I can read to you, if you want," Jason offered.

Harry lifted his gaze, his eyes widening. "You—you'd do that? For me?"

Jason smiled and ruffled Harry's hair. "Sure I will, little hero. It can't be all the time, obviously. But…maybe I can show you my base? You can come around a few times a week."

"A-are you sure? Do-do you really trust me that much?"

Jason squeezed his shoulder. "It's only fair, since I know where your base is." He got up and extended a hand down. "Let's go pick out a few books for you."

Sniffling, a small smile creeping across his face, Harry accepted Jason's hand. The older boy pulled him to his feet.

"You can see well enough to make out colors and pictures, right?"

Harry nodded. "I can't see things up close very clearly, or small print," he admitted quietly.

"So you can pick covers that look interesting. I can read you the title or summary, and then you decide if you wanna keep it or move on. Believe it or not, I've got my old library card from…before, so we can check out as many books as we wanna carry."

Harry nodded again, his original excitement returning. "Okay."

Jason tightened his hand a little around Harry's. "Anything in particular you were looking at?"

Harry nodded and led the way to the dragon book he'd seen earlier and pulled it off the shelf.

Jason nodded. "Dragon Rider. I've read this. It's really good, actually. I think I read it when I was your age, so it shouldn't be too hard."

Harry took the book and held it close.

"Anything else?"

"I want to read books about…hawks," Harry said shyly. "Facts and things."

"Do you want lots of pictures, or lots of words?"

"Pictures."

"Then let's go." Jason tugged lightly on Harry's hand and led him to the kids' nonfiction section. He scanned the shelves for a bit, then pulled three books down to show Harry the covers. They all had pictures of hawks and other birds.

Harry nodded his approval and Jason handed them over.

"Since these are short, we can read them here, and maybe get a longer book to take with us. Sound good?"

Harry nodded again. They browsed for a few more minutes, then Jason led Harry to the classic fiction section. He selected a few books with a secret smile at Harry, then they retreated to one of Jason's reading nooks.

Then they spent almost two hours reading and discussing the books they'd picked out. Harry learned all kinds of cool facts about hawks, enjoying Jason's reading voice as he pointed out the pictures.

"Why the interest in hawks in particular?" Jason asked as he set the second book aside.

"Well…" Shyly, Harry explained about the hawk pin he'd found, and even pulled it out of his pocket to show Jason. "I like hawks because they're small, but they're fierce and independent," Harry said quietly. "And…I wanna be like that."

"Hate to tell ya, kid, but I think you already are," Jason teased, ruffling his hair. "Most kids your size and age wouldn't last long at all on the streets, but here you are, with hardly any scars, too. Now you just need to learn to use that knife of yours and you can add deadly to that list."

Harry flushed and ducked his head. "Then we can add martial arts to our list of subjects?" he said with a faint smile.

"You got it. Next time."

Harry nodded. Jason grinned and beckoned him over to sit beside him in the oversized armchair. "C'mon. My turn to read."

Hesitantly, Harry wedged himself into the chair beside Jason. They were both small enough that they could sit side by side without being squished, but there wasn't any real space between them, either. Jason picked one of his books up, then casually draped an arm around Harry's shoulders to hold the book open with both hands. Harry froze, but Jason just started to read out loud, and gradually Harry relaxed. After three chapters, Harry shifted to get more comfortable and ended up tucked into Jason's side, his head on the older boy's shoulder.

Smiling, letting Jason's voice wash over him, Harry closed his eyes and drifted, enjoying the warmth of the other boy's presence against the chilly air conditioning.

A poke in the side made Harry jolt awake, his head nearly colliding with Jason's.

"Jeez!" Jason barely dodged the headbutt. "Sorry, kid. I didn't realize you were fully asleep."

"I wasn't!" Harry protested—except the light coming through the nearby window was slanted at a very different angle than it had been before.

"Sorry; my mistake," Jason drawled, smirking. "Let's go before it gets dark." Jason poked Harry again, prompting him to reluctantly crawl out of Jason's side and stand up. Jason stood and stretched, then picked up their books and headed for the check-out desk. They returned the hawk books on the way, trading the three picture books for a longer, more in-depth book on, specifically, the red-tailed hawk, which Jason had pointed out was the type of hawk represented on Harry's pin when they compared it to the pictures.

They checked out their books and Jason made it a point to wave at the redhead who was now behind the circulation desk. She was a lot younger than Harry had thought, probably no older than eighteen. She gave Harry in particular a gentle smile as he trailed after Jason, once more holding his hand.

"We'll take these back to my base, so you know where it is," Jason said as they left. "Come by anytime, but please don't wander in the middle of the night. If I'm not there, you can wait for me."

Harry nodded and, before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed Jason around the waist in a quick hug.

"Thanks, Jay," he whispered.

He started to pull away, but Jason hugged him back tightly (well, as tightly he could while carrying four hardcover books).

"Anytime, little hawk."

Harry flushed with pleasure at the new nickname and buried his face in Jason's chest for an extra minute before finally pulling away. Automatically, Jason reached out a hand, and Harry took it, and they walked side by side in the evening sun, like any ordinary pair of brothers might.

Harry wished Jason was his real brother.

Selfies

The air was getting colder as October moved in. Harry knew he'd need a coat soon. He was trying to save a few dollars each time he pick-pocketed someone so he could buy a decent coat, hopefully before it got too cold. He'd heard Gotham winters were awful, cold, snowy, and wet, and Harry had no desire to catch hypothermia.

But at present, Harry would be content with just a long-sleeved shirt. Dudley's old clothes that he'd been wearing so far were suited for an English summer, so they had been decently warm through early fall, but now the wind was bracing and Harry frequently returned to his hideout with numb fingertips and ears and a red, runny nose in the evening. And it wasn't much warmer huddled against damp cardboard and icy metal, either.

So, that brought Harry here, to one of several donation boxes scattered throughout the city. This one was in a nicer part of town behind a big supermarket. He'd picked one in the nicer part of town because it was more likely to have suitable clothes inside. The one closest to Crime Alley was regularly filled with little more than rags, so worn and threadbare that not only could you not tell what color anything was supposed to be, but that wouldn't be suited for wearing at all unless you were truly desperate.

Because of this, recently Harry had expanded his wanderings, so he was at least passingly familiar with most of Gotham's middle class shopping districts, at least. He'd waited until dusk to go digging through the donation box, though, because street kids stuck out like a sore thumb anywhere outside Crime Alley and the Narrows. Harry didn't want to get chased out of the parking lot for his ratty clothes before he found what he was looking for.

After prying off the back panel with the screwdriver from his pocket knife, Harry started digging. It was hard to find clothes in his size, because people usually kept kids' clothes for younger siblings, or they were so ruined that they were better suited for the trash. And, unfortunately, most donated clothes were women's clothes. Which Harry could wear if necessary, but he'd prefer not to until he had no other choice. Harry had never understood why Aunt Petunia insisted on a whole new wardrobe of dresses each year while she let Uncle Vernon wear the same suit and tie from year to year. But stupid fashion trends led to more women donating outmoded clothes than teenagers donating clothes they'd outgrown.

Through nearly an hour of sorting, though, Harry found some real treasures. First was a pair of biking gloves, which weren't particularly warm, and didn't cover his fingertips, but they looked cool and were better than nothing. Next was a grey beanie with a bird on it. Harry couldn't distinguish what kind, thanks to his less-than-stellar eyesight and the fading light, but from the style of the logo, it probably belonged to a sports team. He immediately jammed it onto his head, and the tips of his ears stung as they started slowly defrosting.

Harry also found a couple of faded flannel shirts that were definitely men's shirts, but would be warm and welcome when the weather got colder. He pulled one on and tied the other around his waist. Harry also found a few pairs of socks without holes, which were boring but necessary.

But Harry's favorite find was an emerald green hoodie with some nature park logo on it that was too cracked and faded to read, and only a little too big for him. Harry pulled it on immediately. He shivered and curled into the newfound warmth, pressing his nose into the collar. It stank of smoke and sweaty socks, but Harry knew he probably smelled worse, so it didn't bother him.

Curious as to what else he might find, Harry kept digging. After a few more minutes, Harry also found a big red hoodie and a matching beanie that he thought Jason would like, so he stuffed them into the tattered backpack he'd started carrying around to pass on later.

Happy with his finds, Harry carefully replaced the back panel and made sure he didn't leave anything laying out. Then he made himself scarce with his new treasures, because the supermarket was due to close soon, and Harry didn't want to get spotted while they took out the trash. He did stick around until they'd tossed all the day-old bakery goods, though, and stole two long loaves of bread and a smushed box of donuts. It would be a nice treat.

Stashing his goods into his backpack, Harry jogged back toward Crime Alley, mentally deciding which rooftop to stake out tonight to watch for Batman and Robin (and wait for Tim). Tim didn't always show up, especially within Crime Alley itself, but over the last few months, Harry had learned that the rooftops just outside the Alley were some of Tim's favorite spots. Or at least, Harry could reliably run into the smaller boy on a fairly regular basis. Plus they were more likely to spot Batman and Robin on the outskirts, since for some reason they tended to avoid Crime Alley itself.

Harry picked the roof of an old, mostly abandoned apartment building for tonight. He scrambled up the rickety fire escape as quietly as he could, because a grumpy older man stayed in one of the apartments right next to the ladder, and Harry always got yelled at if he made too much noise climbing up. The man's angry shouts reminded Harry too much of Uncle Vernon, so he avoided disturbing him as much as possible.

Winded once he reached the top, Harry flopped down on the gravely roof to catch his breath, his eyes lazily unfocused as the first stars came out.

Soon enough, Harry heard the fire escape again, rattling as a small person ascended. Angry shouts echoed up from the alley below and Harry flinched for his own sake and for whoever was climbing. Moments later, there was the shuffling sound of small footsteps, then a chirped,

"Hi, Harry!"

"Hey, Tim." Harry sat up and grinned at the other boy, who pulled his mask down and grinned back. Harry pulled out the smushed donuts and set the box between them. "I rescued these from the back of the supermarket on Eighth street. I'd make myself sick eating them all, and they won't keep for more than a day or two."

"Thanks! I brought hot chocolate, too, since it's getting colder." Tim pulled out a now-familiar thermos and set it next to the donuts. "I like your new hat, by the way."

Harry grinned. "Thanks. What bird is it? I couldn't tell."

Tim giggled. "It's a robin, actually. I think it's from the Robbinsville Robins baseball team."

"Huh. D'you think the real Robin would like it, too?"

"If we see him tonight, we'll ask."

Harry grinned, and helped himself to one of the donuts. They were super squished and extra messy, but somehow that just made them even more delicious. Tim portioned out the hot chocolate, and for a little while they sat in content silence, sipping the warm drink and helping themselves to the sweet pastries.

When half the pastries were gone, Harry put the box away. "I'll save the rest for me and Jason tomorrow," he said.

"Hmm. How's the fighting going?" Tim asked, grinning.

Harry grinned back and eagerly shared the story of how he'd taken down a mugger all by himself a few days ago, after a few weeks of practicing martial arts from library books and videos Harry and Jason had found on the library's computers. Tim knew about Jason, and Jason knew about Tim, because lately Harry had just been so excited by the idea of actually having people to talk to that he just couldn't help himself.

Just as Harry finished his story, and Tim finished wiping the glaze off his fingers so he could use his camera without getting it dirty, a familiar flash of yellow caught their eye. Tim gasped and spun, lifting his camera and clicking away even before Robin was fully in sight. Harry watched in awe as the young vigilante did a quadruple flip as he grappled between buildings, then landed on the roof of the next in a perfect handstand.

"Please tell me you caught that," Harry said, his eyes wide.

"That was so, so, so cool," Tim breathed as Robin jogged across the rooftop for the next one. Batman was just behind him, with much less flashy moves. "This might just be the best day of my life."

"You say that every time you get a good picture of Robin," Harry said, laughing. The two vigilantes disappeared from sight and Tim turned around. This time he took a picture of Harry, mid-laugh.

Harry froze.

Tim lowered the camera, his eyes wide. "Sorry. I just thought—I mean, I—"

Harry shook his head. "I—it's fine. Just…no one's ever taken my picture, except for school photos."

Tim's eyes went wide. "What? But didn't your parents—"

Harry pulled his knees in, but not from the cold. "I'm sure they did. But they died when I was one," he said quietly. "I lived with my aunt until…and she never showed me any." Harry scoffed to hide the unexpected urge to cry. "She took plenty of pictures of my cousin, though."

Tim opened his mouth, closed it, then grinned. "Then we'll just have to make up for it!" he raised the camera again. "Smile!"

"What?" Harry turned just in time to hear a click. "Tim!"

Tim cackled and dodged as Harry tried to force the camera down. He kept clicking the shutter as he danced around the rooftop, neatly avoiding Harry's every attempt to stop him.

Finally, Harry flung himself at Tim's waist, tacking the boy to the ground, and unclipped the camera from the neck strap using the same stealth that let him snatch wallets. Then he jumped to his feet and held it up triumphantly.

"Hah!" He pointed it at Tim and snapped a photo as the smaller boy scrambled to his feet and reached for it.

"Harry!" Tim's face turned beet red.

"Payback, little stalker!" Harry held the camera up high, aiming it to still take pictures as Tim jumped for it—the extra inches he had on the smaller boy were really paying off. (In fact, Harry was certain he'd actually grown more in the last four months than he had in the whole last year of his life. He was half convinced it was the exercise and the better food he was eating. And wasn't that a sad thought, that he was eating better on the streets than he did at the Dursleys'.)

"Harry, give it back!" Tim whined. "I'm the photographer; I'm not supposed to be in any pictures!"

"Too bad." Harry held the camera back as Tim's fingers grazed it, then the smaller boy overbalanced and toppled into Harry, sending both of them to the ground. After a gasp of surprise, they both burst into laughter. Harry kept holding the camera out of reach, and Tim kept wrestling him for it.

Then the flash went off and they both froze in surprise.

"Oops?" Harry said sheepishly.

"You must have accidentally turned it back on," Tim said with a giggle. "Here, let me. I don't like using the flash because it draws attention."

Harry passed the camera back, and watched over Tim's shoulder as he fiddled with the settings. Then suddenly the screen was displaying the last picture taken, the one with the flash.

It showed the two of them wrestling on the ground, eyes nearly closed with laughter. Harry's beanie was askew and Tim's hair was a mess, a streak of chocolate glaze on one cheek. But what struck Harry the most was how similar they looked. Having only ever seen each other in the dark, and Tim wearing a surgical mask most of the time, Harry had no real idea what Tim's face actually looked like. And of course, he himself hadn't looked in a mirror for months, save quick glimpses in gas station bathrooms.

They both had shaggy black hair and high, pronounced cheekbones. Both their eyes were almond-shaped, though Tim's slanted up just a little. Tim's eyes were a piercing blue, and a tiny mole almost disappeared into his dimples. His skin was pale, like a porcelain doll. Harry's eyes were a darker green than he remembered, his cheekbones just a little sharper than normal, and he was tan. A darker tan than he'd ever seen in his life, from an entire summer spent under the relentless Gotham sun. (It wasn't a dark tan by any means, but it still took Harry by surprise.)

But more than anything else, Harry saw two kids, wrestling and playing like they hadn't a care in the world. Two kids who could almost be brothers.

Something tugged in Harry's chest.

They both looked up in startled surprise at the same time, their eyes meeting. And Harry saw the same thoughts flicker across his friend's face that were buzzing in his own mind.

Tim's lips twitched upward, then he ducked his head shyly. "I always wondered what it would be like to have a twin."

That something tugged harder. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. Harry bit his lip. "I've always wanted a brother," he whispered.

Tim put his hand out, smiling a little bigger. "Our birthdays are only two weeks apart. So. Twins?"

Harry's lips pulled into a smile, even as tears stung his eyes. He took Tim's hand and shook it. "Twins."

Grinning now, Tim held the camera at arm's length with the lens facing them, and leaned toward Harry, turning toward the camera. "Smile."

Harry leaned in so their shoulders bumped, grinning widely.

"Say 'twins.'"

Looking at the camera lens, with Tim doing the same right beside him, Harry said with him, "twins!"

The camera shutter clicked twice, and Tim turned the camera around to look at the most recent photo.

Smiling back at them were two nearly identical little boys, grinning widely, both with an unnatural sheen in their eyes.

Twins.