After some wildly busy months, I was recently inspired to write this story by seeing a picture in Silver Spider's apartment (love her stories!) and I couldn't quite shake it until I at least got this chapter down. It was a picture of Damian dressed up as different versions of Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin, and Batman, illustrated by James Nguyen. Instead of seeing them all as Damian, I couldn't help but see them a tiny Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. So, here we are.

If you're curious about ages, Dick is 11, Jason is 9, Tim is 8, and Damian is 5.

The bells of St. Martin's Cathedral tolled a solid twelve chimes, a welcome noise to the caped crime fighter beginning his patrol. The evening had proven quiet so far, with only a mugging and a few drug-addled fights peppered over the past hour. Batman pondered the thought of an early night until another sound met his ears.

Whistling carried from one street corner to the next, from the roof five stories above him to the balcony across the block. Dark figures flitted around, then another new call sounded from further away. Batman lingered in the shadows and waited. Watched. He took note of their movements, their speed, their agility.

Their size.

The tallest, he wagered, was somewhere between four-and-a-half and four-and-three-quarters feet tall. The other three staggered down, though dropped sharply between the third and the fourth, who stood a full foot shorter than the first one. A slew of options ran through Batman's mind, racing at a million miles an hour. A company of little people who moonlighted as criminals along the rooftops of Crime Alley? Not likely. Possible, especially given all types that tended to frequent Gotham's Lower Eastside, but not altogether the most sound of options.

No, that idea proved even more unsettling. Children. The majority of him decided to leave them be. Chances were they were returning home from a ridiculous game they had been playing, where their parents would give them an earful about being out so late and, especially, for dragging someone so young out with them. Hell, the smallest couldn't be any older than—

It wasn't his business. He had larger matters to attend to, and the goings on of children was too trivial an issue for Batman to ever get involved in. With a shake of his head at the retreating acrobatics of tiny shadows, he returned his attention to his city and the chiming of the bells. At least for a short while.

"We were so close!" the second tallest could feel the heat rise in his ears as he paced the sidewalk of the half-abandoned block. "Seriously. This close. Fucking less than this close!"

The third and fourth both sent him looks, though it was the tallest's whose held the most venom. "Jason! Don't say that word in front of Dami."

"Sorry, Dick," the boy replied with a roll of his eyes, "but it's not my fault if the situation calls for the F-bomb. If the fucking Batman hadn't been there, fucking lurking, we could have finished the fucking job."

"Fucking!" the smallest perked up from his spot on the stop before them. His eyes glinted in the streetlights that speckled here and there on the miserable street, his hands wrapped tightly around a glittering object.

The eldest boy gave Jason one more look then turned his attention to Damian. "What have you got there?"

"It's mine," Damian replied with a non-answer, pulling the object closer to him before it could be snatched away.

"Okay, but what is it that's yours?" Dick asked, gently coaxing the smallest child until Damian at least gave him a quick look at what his tiny hands had in their clutches. As soon as the object caught the light, Dick felt his heart thump hard in his chest. "Where did you get a knife?! We were barely in one place long enough to catch a breath, let alone get a knife."

"Someone left it," Damian shrugged. "It's mine now."

"Someone left it where?" prodded Dick.

"Outside."

"Outside?"

"By the fire escape."

"By the fire escape?"

"On the window sill."

"On the window sill?"

"Inside the apartment."

"Damian!"

The two middle children clasped hands over their mouths, chortling into their curved palms. Dick was torn between screaming at his brothers and just letting the whole thing go. After all, they could always use with another sharp object whenever the streets proved too rough for the boys' fists. Still, he knew they needed to be careful. One wrong move and they could be placed in a group home, together if they were lucky. Very lucky. If they were unlucky? The child shuddered at the thought, returning his focus to the others.

"Tim, don't encourage them. Jason, watch your mouth, especially around Damian. Dami, you know not to steal from inside someone's home unless they're gone and we know they should be stolen from. We have rules. Also, don't repeat anything Jason says," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Come on. We better get inside."

Together they made their way through a half-blocked side door, barely hindered by the plywood and broken glass that surrounded them. As they climbed the creaking stairs of the condemned building, they paid little attention to the shadows of the night they had left behind. One particular shadow continued to watch them as they ascended to the apartment on the top floor, only moving once a window on the top floor illuminated with a dull flicker.

A few candles and a lamp fashioned out of a heavy-duty flashlight and a reworked window shade provided the only light in the small apartment. Buckets, a few chairs, a love seat that had seen better days, and a single, queen-sized mattress decorated the dingy living space. Batman adjusted his gaze to the modest kitchen area where a battery-operated hotplate brought a small pot's contents to a simmer.

"Lousy vermin," Jason mumbled, peeling his red hoodie off and tossing it to the corner. "If it weren't for him—"

"If it weren't for you, you mean," Dick spat back. "I told you to be more careful about where you tried to lift tires from. You're lucky Timmy warned us in time, and you're really lucky you didn't get sent off again. They're not going to be so nice next time to stick you in a school around here."

Jason scoffed. "Some school that was, and I've done just fine with that trick plenty of times. How the hell else do you think we paid for half the food in here?"

"And lost half of our money trying to pay people off to keep their mouths shut," the elder countered. Before long, the two boys' fists balled tightly, knuckles white as their eyes stared daggers at one another.

It was only when Tim piped up with a, "Dinner's ready," that war stagnated and the four boys sat down around the pot. What looked to be two cans' worth of string beans was passed between them with the eldest ensuring the other three had proper amounts before feeding himself.

After a few minutes of heavy silence, Jason mumbled, "Sorry for being careless."

Dick sent the boy a small smile, dropping his fork to pat him on the back. "You weren't too careless. We got back okay, and got away from the Batman. Do you know how few people manage to do that?"

"Most people are idiots," Tim inserted.

"Fucking idiots," added Damian, earning another look from Dick and another round of stifled laughter from Tim and Jason.

"Now that we're talking about 'language arts,'" Dick started, sending a sharp gaze around the others, "how's that going?"

Tim made a face as he scooped up another spoonful. "I need more books. German is finished and the math one only goes as far as pre-Algebra. Oh! But I fixed the walkie talkies. That radio Jay lifted had the last pieces I needed."

Jason smiled and together the pair shared a high-five, earning a grin from Dick and a small, "Tt," from Damian.

"I heard more Spanish swears today. Oh, and I can tell you how to gut something in Mandarin now thanks to that butcher on Mott Street," Jason started in between shoveling food into his mouth. "Need a new copy of Pride and Prejudice, though. The one we got has pages torn out of it and notes all over the place. I hate it when people write in the margins."

"I'll make another library run soon," Dick replied. "Anything I should look for?"

Tim rattled off a series of engineering and physics texts while Jason mixed in his own classic literature and mythology requests. It was Damian that silenced them all with his demands of, "Native Son and Heart of Darkness. If they have the literary companions to Akira, I require those."

The three older boys turned to stare at him, eyes wide, and Damian simply shrugged. It was Jason who first recovered his voice with a, "Dude, you're five." Another shrug and the youngest returned to his dinner.

For the next several minutes, Batman continued to watch as the boys finished their meager meal and cleaned up, then prepared for bed. He thought back to when he was their ages and what he and his friends (when he did have them, at least) would have been like without parental supervision or Alfred hovering. Lord of the Flies came to mind—a far cry from the order that took place before his eyes.

He should take them in. It was by all accounts the right thing to do. Get Child Services involved and ensure the boys were all taken into a proper home where they would be cared for by adults who would provide them with food, clothing, and schooling.

Only this was Gotham, and even Bruce Wayne was aware of how far from the truth that ideal world was in the world of the city's foster care system. Judging by the boys and, especially, by their previous conversation, they were more than aware of it, too.

As the lights were turned off and the inhabitants silenced inside, Batman hesitated before pulling a small batarang out from his utility belt and placing it on the window ledge. He scribbled a quick note and left it on top of the projectile, then took his leave.

"We have to get out of here."

Dick's voice was urgent, rising Jason in an instant from his sprawled position on the mattress. Damian was already awake, doing his morning ritual of headstand yoga moves while eating cereal. It took another minute of Dick quickly storming around the apartment gathering their belongings for Tim to wake up from his spot on the love seat.

"What happened?" Jason asked, getting up to help Dick in his task regardless of the answer. It wasn't like they weren't used to moving around, after all. It came with the territory.

The eldest paused in his mission to hand Jason the batarang and attached note. "He found us. Guess we didn't get away as much as I thought we did…"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Jason looked down at the weapon and scanned the neat writing.

Press the button to call. —Batman

Not a question, not a request. Hell, not even much of a note at all from what Jason could tell. He could almost hear it spoken in the commanding growl that often echoed around the alleyways of the East End.

All at once, Jason understood Dick's urgency and went in a whirlwind around the apartment to pick up anything they could carry that they would need, picking and choosing what they could leave behind. A groggy Tim wordlessly began helping. If the older boys found something to be worried about, chances were it was worth the anxiety.

Though, not everyone seemed to be of the same mind. From his spot on the floor, Damian righted himself and looked up to the other three. "Why can't we call him?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" Jason asked. "He'd have us in juvie before we could even blink."

"Perhaps not."

Dick and Jason exchanged a look, but it was Tim who managed a, "Probably, though. He would at least report us to CPS."

"Which we need about as much as we need a hole in the head," insisted Jason.

Damian did not look particularly convinced, but rose to join the others in their straightening of the apartment. Within minutes, the boys had packed up anything of importance and piled anything worth donating to the side. Then, for anything that could lead anyone back to them, they cleaned or destroyed everything, even going so far as to light a fire in one of the metal pails. Dick watched the flames lick a paper he had assigned to himself to write for homework before it was devoured entirely. Though there was precious little about his stint in juvenile hall to be thankful for, his ability to cover his tracks and protect his own gave him something to be proud of.

Within the hour, the four of them trekked through the East End, avoiding the attention of the crack addicts and alcoholics, grateful that most of the real thugs were inside until the night fell. Apartment hunting was always easier during the daylight hours.

"Do you think he'll find us again?" Tim asked.

Dick thought for a moment, turning them down an alley with a stretch of abandoned buildings. "If he does, we'll hide again. No one is going to take us anywhere. Not without our say, at least."

Another look passed over Damian that the eldest caught out of the corner of his eye, but Jason's announcement of, "Here!" gave pause to any questions before they could form.

The four boys assessed the largest of the buildings on the block, spotting the barricaded front door and the sturdy-looking fire escape. They listened for a few moments to check if any other homeless had claimed the building to be theirs, but silence indicated it was safe enough to at least investigate further.

Jason led the way inside, followed soon by a scowling Damian. Before he raced inside with the other two, their tiny fists and tiny weapons at the ready, Tim glanced back at Dick. The older boy peered down at the batarang in his fist then forced a smile.

"Come on," he said, gesturing to the building. "Let's make sure they don't get killed."

"Or kill anyone," the younger added.

The night was cool and mild, which part of Dick cursed. He could remember a time when he would have looked forward to an evening like this. Back when the circus had paused in another town and he had just enough time to explore their new location before the show started. Cool, still nights meant his father would take him into the campgrounds in a mock campout while his mother told him the history of the city they were in.

He can still remember what she had said about Gotham.

"They say there is a man here that protects the city. Some people say they have seen him, and even the papers run stories here about the mysterious hero of the city. They call him the 'Batman'. He's been protecting Gotham for a few years now, since the city started its economic decline. Do you know what an economic decline is, my little bird?"

Dick recalled shaking his head, and even in his daydreaming his current self couldn't help but mimic the movement to no one in particular.

"Well, it's when people fall on hard times. Kind of like when the circus runs into a city that doesn't support ticket sales as much as he would hope. Everyone has to tighten their belts and a few things have to be done without. Gotham has been like that for a while, but they have their own guardian angel. We may even get to see him while we're here."

Some guardian angel, the boy thought bitterly. He hadn't prevented his own tragedy from occurring, and he certainly hadn't prevented him from being taken to juvenile hall rather than any children's home. The Batman wasn't there when the other boys would rough him up for "talking funny" or the adults would offer him more of a backhand than a helping hand for the same reasons.

Dick looked down at the batarang he held as he listened to the sounds of the boys he had taken under his wing, so to speak. Fewer than two years before he had stumbled across Jason Todd and his former neighbor, Tim Drake. He could still remember how defensive Jason got about the younger boy, and how defensive he could be now about the three he had now accepted. They were the Three Musketeers for a little while—Robin Hoods to be more accurate—until six months ago when Damian had crossed their paths.

Why hadn't the Batman helped any of them? Where had he been before now, before they crowded together from condemned building to condemned building, hoping to avoid CPS and the juvenile halls they'd no doubt be forced into? Hero his ass.

"You look like you're waiting for me," a voice ground out behind him. Dick was too full of frustrated energy to be scared. He turned to face the vigilante, who simply gestured down to the weapon the boy had been holding, its note still stuck to the side.

"I figured you'd show up sooner or later."

Batman nodded then looked around. "Where are your brothers?"

"We're not brothers," he said, a bit too quickly. An awkward silence tightened a knot in the boy's chest until he elaborated, "Not really. Not by blood. And they're not here. They're looking for… stuff."

"Stuff to steal?" Dick's eyes snapped up at the man's judgmental growl, his small fist squeezing the blade of the batarang until it damn near pierced his skin.

"We're not a bunch of damn street punks if that's what you think."

The eyelets of Batman's cowl narrowed and he leaned forward, allowing his eyes to pierce the hardened shell of the boy in front of him. "Watch your mouth," he snapped.

Though the child kept his jaw squared and his spine rigid, and blush crept into his already-flushed cheeks, his eyes turning down toward his feet. An inner war played out over the small face, his emotions bouncing back and forth between anger and embarrassment. At long last, the latter seemed to win out and he muttered a contrite, "Sorry."

He watches him for a moment, taking in the determined scowl mixed with his wide, curious eyes. "How old are you?"

The boy shifts uncomfortably. "Eleven."

"What's your name?" Batman ground out. Though he knew the answer, one look at the boy's stance told him just how much he should allow him to come forward with any information before admitting how much he already carried.

"Dick."

A dark look came over the vigilante's face. "What did I tell you about watching your mouth?"

The boy gave him an incredulous look. After a moment, realization dawned on him and he rolled his eyes. "That's my name. Dick—Richard. I know what it means, but I prefer to be called Dick. That's all you'll get from me."

Batman shifted, an apology on his lips that never quite takes on a voice. "Not anything else of you or the others?"

"No. That's it. I still don't know you from a hole in the wall, and the last thing any of us need is for the Batman to know enough to get us rounded up and taken away somewhere."

"What makes you think I would do that?"

Dick shrugged. "It's just what you do."

Silence except for the sound of distant sirens took over for a moment. Dick reached up to scratch a non-existent itch on the back of his neck, avoiding the bat's gaze until he added, "We don't hurt anyone, you know. Never have. Not on purpose, anyway."

"You don't think stealing hurts anyone?"

The preteen shook his head. "Not the people we steal from. Not much, anyway. Not like they got their money or their junk the honest way, anyway. And it's not like we don't give anything back. We're good kids. We'll keep it that way if you promise not to haul us off like the others."

Batman stared at the boy, reading his firm expression. The computer in his head ran down an inventory of traits while his knowledge of everything from genetics to psychology analyzed the data to the best of his ability. Though he had only gotten a passing look at the other three boys, mainly the second oldest, it was not enough information to discern the exact relation of the four children, though he suspected they were all at least somehow related. What he could detect, on the other hand, was the makeup of this particular boy.

A light olive complexion was obvious in spite of the darkness of the night. Judging by the shape of his noise, the curve of his mouth, the height of his cheekbones, he suspected Dick held at least some Eastern European heritage. His eye shape and face shape spoke of some British or French background, or at least something Western European. A very light hint of an accent said he was not originally from Gotham, and perhaps not even born in the country, and his height spoke of the state of his malnourishment.

"You're doing it, aren't you?" Dick interrupted in a breath. "That thing you do when you're not grappling after people or punching them to pieces."

"And what's that?"

Another shrug. "Detectiving. Whatever you want to call it, anyway. You remind me of a robot in one of those movies when they do the retinal scanner or something: how the blue light beams out and goes from the very top to the very bottom and takes in everything. That's what you just looked like."

Batman couldn't help but smile at that. "You're not so bad at that "detectiving" yourself."

Dick looked away briefly. "You pick up a few things after a while. You kind of have to around here. Especially with people to watch out for."

Before Batman could respond, the boy turned and jumped on the closed lid of the dumpster nearby before leaping onto the adjacent fire escape ladder. He climbed up to the roof, though hesitated once he shimmied over the edge. From the lamplight nearby, Batman saw Dick chewing on his lip, those same passes of anger and embarrassment battling it out. This time, the boy seemed to shove them both aside, allowing no more than a deep breath.

"Mr. Batman? I'm sure you got a lot just now. Like I said, I know it's what you do. We all know what you do around here. But, I'm not sure how much you got this: You don't know me. You don't know us. And, like I said, we'll keep being as good as we can be, and we don't want to be taken away. Got it? Just leave us alone and we'll leave you alone."

Then, without allowing even a second for the man to respond, Dick turned on his heels and ran off. Though Batman knew he could chase after him, place him over his shoulder and drag him wherever he damn well saw fit, and to hell with whatever the little brat said, he stood there and watched the last hints of his shadows die away.

After all, Dick was right. He didn't know him. He didn't know any of them.