Dick turned at the faint sound of scuffling behind him, already knowing who it was. A small shadow darting around the corner, trying to stay out of sight. He couldn’t suppress the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Alright, kid,” he called, his tone light with an undercurrent of amusement, “You’re not as stealthy as you think.”

No answer. Just the rustle of clothes as you shifted in your hiding spot. Dick sighed, the smirk fading as his gaze sharpened. This was getting old. He’d been through this so many times—dropping you off at homeless shelters, the GCPD, wherever he thought you’d be safe. But it didn’t stick. You always found your way back to him.

Finally, you peeked out from behind the corner, those big, wide eyes locking onto his. He didn’t have to ask. You looked exactly like the last time—scruffy, ragged clothes, and a gaze that betrayed more than you were letting on. He had no idea where you came from or why you were always alone, but he knew you had no place to go, and that had kept him coming back, time and time again.

“Kid, you can’t keep doing this,” Dick said, his voice lighter than he felt. He leaned against the edge of the building, trying to keep his frustration from spilling out. “You don’t belong out here, especially not in Gotham at night.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you took a step forward, your small fingers brushing the edge of his glove, holding onto it like it was the only thing that made sense. Dick’s gaze softened despite himself, but he couldn’t let himself be too soft. He had to keep his distance. He’d tried before, taking you to a shelter or the police, but every time, you slipped away. He had no idea why, but he’d stopped pushing.

He glanced around, then back at you, and sighed, his voice barely audible. “Alright, Let’s get you back to the GCPD. Maybe they’ll have better luck with you than I do.” He muttered under his breath. The words felt like a weight, but you grabbed his hand anyway, your grip tight, and Dick didn’t pull away. He never did.