The winter night was chilly and silent, blue shadows cast across sparkling sidewalks as the moon reached its peak over Gotham.

Blearily, Dick fumbled for the glass on his nightstand. Empty. He always forgot to fill it up when he got back from patrol. Reluctantly, he sat up, and began crawling out from the warmth of his covers.

He was nearly out of bed when he saw it.

Alfred? No—Alfred didn't move like that. Instantly, Dick felt the hairs on his arm prickle upwards, watching half-asleep as the figure in the hall swayed towards Bruce's room. This was not Alfred, and it was definitely not Bruce; whoever, whatever this was, was slender and tall, its shadow silhouetted against the wall from the shine of Dick's nightlight.

It was only when the shadow's hand sealed around the handle of Bruce's door that the weight of the situation hit him.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, voice cracking in surprise. The figure jerked in his direction and then took off towards the stairs. Dick leapt out of bed, toppling onto the floor from his tangled covers. "Get back here!" He cried. Legs still numb, the boy tore after the figure, flying down the stairs.

He shot around the corner, socks skidding on the hardwood floor. His tiny body hit the floor, but in less than a second he was back on his feet. The shadow had gone into the kitchen, they were cornered.

Cautiously, Dick crept through the door. The world stood still as he assessed the chilly, moonlit room.

"Dick?" A voice called. Somewhere above, footsteps thundered down the stairs. "Dick!" Bruce rounded the corner, groggy and disheveled. "What's wrong?"

"There's someone in the manor!" The boy exclaimed, running to his side.

"What?"

"I woke up, and-- and I saw someone out in the hall," Dick did his best to explain, tripping over his words as they all tried to get out at once. "So I chased 'em down here!"

Bruce studied the kitchen intently. "You're sure they went in here?"

"Positive."

Bruce peaked into the dining room, then he checked behind the large pantry door. "Nothing set the alarm off..."

The kitchen lights flicked on above them. "Whatever is going on here?" Alfred demanded, as trim and prepared as he was during broad daylight, save the nightcap perched atop his head. "What is master Dick doing out of bed?"

"It's fine, Alfred." Bruce rested a hand on the boy's head. "I think Dick just had a bad dream."

"It wasn't a dream! There's someone down here!"

"Alright," Bruce interrupted. "How about I have a look around down here, see if I find them?"

The boy felt a wave of relief. Whatever it was, Bruce could handle it. "Okay."

"Alfred, get Dick back to bed, would you?" He sighed, stretching. "I'll check the downstairs for intruders."

"Be thorough," Dick advised as he was shepherded upstairs. "Look under the couch! And the closet!"

Bruce smiled a sliver and began half-heartedly searching for the boogeyman.

The next morning was frosty, a chill in the air despite the central heating, everyone was bundled up around the breakfast table.

"The kitchen window was open!"

"Alfred left it cracked to air out the kitchen, remember?" Bruce replied, not for the first time that morning.

"Oh, yeah." Dick sunk in his chair, pensively toying with his food.

"There was no one in the house, how would they have gotten through the gate without being buzzed in?"

"I know, I know." The boy sighed. "But I could've sworn..."

"It's all those movies you've been watching." Bruce stood, ruffling the boy's hair. Dick was going through a phase, and while Bruce put his foot down on any inappropriately scary movies, he'd let the boy watch a few PG-13 flicks-- much to Alfred's disapproval. Dick might be fascinated by those movies, but if they were giving him nightmares, maybe he was too young; he was only eleven after all. "C'mon," he ushered the boy, "et dressed, were stopping by the labs later."

Dick bemoaned this, he'd much rather spend the day in front of the TV, but at Bruce's insistence, he donned his boots and handheld console-of-choice, and hopped in the backseat.

Dick leant against the grey, foggy window and huffed his breath onto the glass, making little bats out of the condensation. He was admiring his artwork when he noticed the first flakes beginning to fall, thin and dry. He struggled to contain his excitement—he'd never seen a Gotham snow before. It took about ten minutes for the snowfall to stick to the sidewalk, but the moment it did, it began piling up.

Dick was leaning against the grey, foggy window as the first flakes began to fall, thin and dry. Dick struggled to control his excitement. He'd never seen a Gotham snow before. It took about ten minutes for the snow to stick to the sidewalk, but the second it did, it began to pile up.

"Bruce!" He exclaimed. "Can I go outside? Please?"

"When we get back to the manor." Bruce said, preoccupied with a series of graphs. "The lab yards are no place to play."

"Please?"

"You didn't bring your jacket."

Dick groaned, not quite stomping his feet, but almost. Everyone was always telling him to do things—Dick do this, Dick don't do that, Dick wear your jacket. Worst of all, they often ended up being right. "Fine" he sighed, dramatically slumping onto a chair.

"I won't be long," Bruce promised, filing the pages away in his briefcase. "I just need to just drop these on the ground floor and we can get going."

Dick followed lazily to the elevator, candy wrappers from Bruce's secretary rustling in his shorts pocket. He knew not to take candy from strangers, but if you have a bowl of caramels on your desk, he was going to ask for some.

The second Bruce dropped the folder off in the safe and they'd stepped out into the hall, they were interrupted by a tall, skinny man, a little older than Bruce. He pushed a utility cart between labs, and Dick knew immediately that their exit would be delayed.

"Jonathan?"

"Mr. Wayne." The lanky man stopped his stopwatch, watching some sort of contraption on the cart. "I'd hoped I'd be seeing you soon. I thought you'd be interested in a project I've been working on. I'm planning on showing my class next term."

"That's great." Bruce replied, as he checked the time. Dick fidgeted impatiently. "We're on a tight schedule, but I suppose I might have time..."

"We? Who's this?" The man asked suddenly, leaning around him. He leered over Dick curiously. "Let me guess: 10? 11? Raised in a non-authoritarian environment? You can tell from the posture, you can always tell from the posture," The man muttered, almost to himself, before speaking once more Perhaps a tendency for wandering off..."

"Hey!"

Bruce laughed lightly, turning down to face the boy. "This is my ward, Dick Grayson. Dick, this is Dr. Crane, a professor of psychology at GCU." Dick stared at the outstretched arm, studying it. This man made him... uncomfortable. "Dick?" His foster parent prompted.

Dick hesitantly shook the man's hand. "Let me guess, mid thirties? Tendency for reading minds?"

"Joking to cover his intimidation." Crane turned to Bruce severely. "Keep an eye on that, it'll turn into rudeness in adulthood if not dealt with now."

Dick didn't like where this was headed. Luckily, Bruce cut the conversation short. "Well, we'd better get a move on before the roads get too icy. Show me your project next time, alright? I'm sure you'll make a splash next semester." He ushered Dick out of the building.

Robin's thermal winter suit wasn't ready yet, so no patrol, but Dick by no means had the night off. After all, who else was going to help Alfred shovel?

Once that chore was done, he headed to bed, pointedly ignoring the homework laying on his desk.

That night he slept uneasily, tossing and stretching, as he tried to reach the perfect position and temperature.

Too cold. He opened his eyes a crack. He'd have to grab the other blanket he'd kicked off when he felt too hot.

Then he saw something on his wall. A shadow. It was nulled slightly by his night light, but there was definitely a shadow. He watched intently, but it didn't move. His stomach beginning to drop, Dick followed the moonlight out his window.

He saw fog around the glass; a hunched, long figure perched on the still. Its eyes caught the glare of his night light, glowing a sickly green from its reflection.

Dick shot out of bed. "No." He staggered back. "ALFRED!" He staggered backwards. "ALFRED! BRUCE!" He took off into the hallway, hitting something. He shrieked, hitting the floorboards.

Bruce was barely back from patrol, hastily dressed and sweating. He grabbed Dick around the middle, sitting him up. "What? Dick, what's wrong?"

The boy pointed a shaky finger at his window. The empty window. "There-- there was a person!"

Bruce took a moment. "Dick, it's--"

"It wasn't a dream!" Dick exclaimed. "I saw the guy this time! It was-- it was Professor Crane!"

Bruce blinked hard. "What?"

"It was Professor Crane! From the university."

"Dick, I know he's a bit eccentric..."

"Seriously: it was tall and thin-- like last night, but this time I knew it was him! I saw his face."

Bruce sighed, and unexpectedly, he picked Dick up. He only ever did that in costume, and only when he needed to. "Last night was a dream, remember?"

"That's what I thought, but it happened again!" Dick exclaimed, legs swinging. "Bruce, really!"

Bruce carried Dick across the hall, and gently sat the boy on the end of his bed. "How about you sleep in here? We'll lock the door."

Dick felt his face getting red, suddenly feeling very young and very silly-- being taken to sleep in Bruce's room like a little kid, but part of him was grateful. "Thanks." Bruce was safe.

"I'll go let Alfred know there's no emergency." Bruce said, drawing the covers up to the boy's chest. "I'll be right back."