-Dick's hackles raise further and further, but evidence is hard to come by-

Dick couldn't sleep, though the warmth of the shared bed should have made it easy. His eyes locked on the door, the window, the closet, as the shifting moon's light fled across the floorboards.

He might have dozed here and there, but never for long, he tried to stay vigilant, even as the sun crested over the horizon, lighting the foot of the bed. Dick blinked heavily and dug himself securely into Bruce's duvet. It was freezing, but the sun was out and the snow had stopped.

The snow.

He leapt to the window, throwing the covers back. The snow was deep and pristine, perfect for playing in, but he didn't care.

Dick thundered downstairs, blowing past Alfred, straight to the front door. He ran into the blanket of snow barefoot. He bit his cheek, ignoring the bite of cold as he dragged himself around the edge of the manor.

He was met with more smooth, clean snow. If there had been ladder marks under his window they were long covered up by now.

With his feet getting red and itchy, and with no evidence, Dick was forced to return to the foyer.

"Really, Master Dick," The butler bundled him inside swiftly. "without so much as your shoes?"

"Sorry Alfred."

"Now what possessed you to do such a thing?" Alfred put the old kettle on. "This wasn't the result of your late night escapade with Dr. Crane, was it?"

"So you believe me?" Dick exclaimed.

"Well, stranger things have happened in Gotham City." He replied dismissively. "But you must admit that it does sound like a nightmare."

"I know. I was just looking for proof." Dick sighed "It really happened, Alfred!"

"I don't think that you'd lie, Master Dick," Alfred set a cup in front of him. "But there is a shocking lack of evidence to back up your very serious allegations."

Dick pondered over his milky English tea, sipping periodically until Bruce came down.

The day was clear and and cold, the snow reflecting blindingly white when Dick looked out the window. He didn't get out of his pyjamas right away, comfortably passing the morning in front of the TV and watching Bruce argue into his phone. Apparently the roads the batmobile exited onto hadn't been cleared yet.

"Alright, I won't have you wasting your youth indoors." Alfred pulled the blanket back, exposing his back to the cold air. "We've got an old toboggan is somewhere around here..."

He was right; leaning against a dusty wall in the attic was an ancient sled-- at least two generations old and slightly warped from water damage. It was beautiful, Dick had only ever gone sledding on old baking trays but this toboggan felt like the real deal.

Alfred made sure he dressed for the weather-- a jacket and mittens would have been fine, but he insisted-- bundling him up until Dick felt almost hot. He didn't object too much though, just excited to get out there.

There were a few hills near the manor, mostly pretty isolated, the fresh blanket of snow glittering under cool sunlight. The snow was up to his ankles, inhibiting movement as the boy dragged his heavy toboggan behind him.

The first run was difficult; snow piled up in front of him, yanking the sled to several sudden stops which sent him head-over-heels.

The second run was a bit easier, following the same path he'd flattened previously, the sled ran slickly and evenly.

Trudging back up the hill for a third time, Dick noticed the car: silver, nondescript say for a small dent in the bumper. There was nothing special about it, except that there was no snow on it. In fact, Dick wasn't sure if it had been there when he'd arrived. It must have been driven since last night, but there were no other marks around. Who would drive to a park just to sit in their car?

The third trip down the hill was a bit too fast, sending him toppling off course into a snowbank. He was grateful for the extra layers. 

The forth and fifth runs were fine, but the hikes back up the hill were beginning to weigh on him. It was almost noon, and despite the cold, the snow was getting wet and heavy. He'd just take one more trip on the sled and then head back. There was almost certainly cocoa waiting with his name on it.

There was still nobody around, the hill was so close to the edge of Gotham that not many people wanted to bother heading up there so early in the day. Plus it was mostly backroads, which hadn't been plowed yet as evidenced by the tracks leading to the silver car.

The last run was nearly perfect, slick and fast, but Dick's speed devil tendencies were dampened slightly by exhaustion. He dragged himself back through the park, hearing for the first time that day the shrill call of seasonal birds and the distant rush of traffic.

Walking, he passed several people shoveling their sidewalks-- he moved around them so as not to disturb-- but people became less common as he approached the manor.

There was a sudden shriek of brakes, causing the boy's head to whip back over his shoulder. The silver car. This angle showed chains on the tires, allowing it to grip the road as it crept evenly towards him. 

Dick quickened his pace, nearly yanking his arm off from the weight of the toboggan. between the sled, the ice, and his snow gear the boy could barely accomplish more than an urgent shuffle.

He was scraping the edge of the Wayne property, the shoveling he and Alfred had done last night meant the snow was thinner here-- practically slush-- the car cut through it with ease.

Dick dropped the toboggan. He took off, slipping through the lawns. It wasn't far to the fence, and gripping the cold metal he followed it to the gate, fumbling his keys.

An engine rumbled nearby.

Dick jammed the key into the call box, Wrong key. The car was right behind him now. Dick shot back into the foliage, feeling his way along the iron until his mittened hands found a gap in the bars. He squeezed through and sprinted for the house. He'd go back for the toboggan later.

Cocoa turned to tar in his mouth. Dick sat on the edge of the bay window, gazing off towards the gate.

"Dinner, master Dick." Alfred said, hovering somewhere nearby. 

"Not hungry." He muttered, eyes still glued against the glass.

"I will put it beneath the cloche, sir." Alfred said, in a tone which implied displeasure with his lack of appetite. 

"Alfred, I'm sorry." He sighed. "I'm sure it's wonderful."

"I take no offense." Alfred assured, straightening his dressing gown. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No." He lied, adjusting his seating. "Alfred, have you ever seen a silver car?"

"In my lifetime, I'm sure."

"I mean recently, around here."

"I couldn't say, sir." 

"Oh well."

"Indeed." Alfred said, and shimmered out. Dick regained his slumped posture, watching lazily as his breath fogged the window. He flinched when sheets of snow slid from the roof; every second, even now, he expected a flash of chrome to break the endless sea of white beyond.

The front door opened and there was the thump thump of Bruce stomping the snow from his boots. Through the doorway Dick could just see Alfred helping the master off with his outerwear.

"Straight from Lucious." Bruce said, entering the drawing room and setting a twine-coiled package down on the loveseat. "You're set to go out tonight."

"Thanks." 

"Is something wrong?" He asked, extending an arm before changing his mind and drawing it back. 

"Well, there was..." Dick contemplated. "There was this-- while I was sledding..." He stopped again. Come to think of it, there was no real way to phase what had happened; the snowless windshield, the tracks, the overwhelming sense of dread, the chains on the tires... "A car followed me a couple blocks on my way home."

"It followed you to the manor?"

"Well, no... but it followed me near the gate... Bruce, I'm sure it was Crane." The words spilled out like an overflowing chalice. "I just know it! He's following me!"

"Oh, Dick, not this again." Bruce stood sharply. "Professor Crane is not following you."

"He is! Who else would be following me?"

"You have no way of knowing they were following you!"

Dick stood up sharply. "I think I'll stay in tonight." He turned on his heel, storming past Alfred in the doorway.

Dick patrolled the downstairs, ensuring every window was locked. He wasn't tired, he wasn't going to sleep tonight.

Dick pulled his desk chair to the window, a duvet wrapped over his shoulders. He watched. the bedside clock ticked away the minutes, the hours, and Dick barely blinked. The blinks got longer, heavier, and he fought to stay vigilant. 

The snow began to fall again, thick and fast, flooding his vision with the dancing flakes. He blinked exhaustedly, snapping back awake as the grandfather clock struck eleven.

He squinted through the foggy window, smearing a porthole to look through.

Nothing. No-- something! He just faintly made out movement in the lawns, approximately where he'd slipped through the fence earlier.

"HEY!" He stood violently, blanket sliding from his shoulders. He fell forwards, fumbling with his window lock. "HEY!" He slid the pane up, shouting into the dark, snow-muffled world. "HOLD IT!"

The shadow's head shot up, and in the blue-bathed reflections of the snow, Dick could barely make out his face: thin, gaunt, pale, with hooded eyes and a crooked jaw. Professor Crane.

There was no time to lose, Dick shot out onto the roof, feet slipping on the refrozen frost as he half-sprinted half-crawled after Crane. Dick scrambled along the gutter. Crane was fast, but the snow delayed him slightly. He couldn't stay on the steep roof if he wanted to catch him.
Dick braced himself, and he jumped.

For a second he was suspended mid air, a cold draft pushing up his pyjama shirt. He the ground hard, too hard, his foot hit the ice and shot out from under him, cracking his knee against the concrete. 

Dick hissed in pain. With trembling arms he forced himself up. His knee throbbed in agony. Right leg out of commission, he half-crawled half-dragged himself blindly through the snow in the direction he assumed that Crane had gone. After three or four steps, he crumpled to the ground, curled in the snow as the fat, falling flakes buried him in the icy grave.