Chapter 4 My Good Neighbor? Oh, I already gave you a gift, then it's alright...

Good evening, Allen!

"...Good evening, officer."

Alan and Dick walked upstairs one after the other, with Dick already quite used to walking in front of Alan, exposing his back to the doctor.

This was a habit he had been forced to develop after several recent chance encounters with Dr. Osborne on the stairs.

He and Dr. Osborne both seemed to have the "good habit" of "not having strangers behind you when walking on narrow stairs." After several stalemates, Dick chose to compromise—he felt that after spending so much time together, he should be able to put the doctor in a safe zone and not worry about the doctor ambushing him.

It's all Batman's fault.

His excessive vigilance always made his hair stand on end, his back straighten, and his movements stiffen when the doctor stared at his back.

For a week in a row, he would run into Allen in the narrow stairwell every morning, and he would try to let the doctor go first, but the doctor would stand there and stare at him with those green eyes—as a result, he and Allen had been late a total of 14 times this month.

The doctor seemed very angry that week—though it seemed no one but him could tell from that cold face—but he noticed that the doctor was so angry that he started cooking oatmeal himself instead of secretly opening the door a crack and staring at him with those green eyes while he was out.

He had already figured it out. In the past, the doctor always had a senior assistant by his side to handle his chores—the kind of all-around assistant who could understand the doctor with just a glance. This was why Dr. Osborn developed a lifestyle even more Bruce-like than Bruce himself. Without his butler, the quiet rich young master would become a useless piece of trash.

The good news is that his relationship with his doctor has progressed rapidly.

He accepted a small gift from the doctor, then followed the lead of the gun to dismantle an illegal gun-selling operation, while simultaneously getting the doctor to accept the good citizen's view of buying guns and ammunition from legitimate stores... Yes, he compromised; the doctor had a gun license.

Although he was worried for several days afterward that the doctor might accidentally put the gun in the microwave to heat it up.

As Dick walked upstairs, he looked back and asked, "How was your day, Doctor?"

“…Not bad,” Allen replied. “I almost got punched by a drunkard, so I kicked him back; then I removed a bullet from a gluteus maximus; in the afternoon I dealt with a radioactive source that a patient had urinated on, and I helped two idiots get a light bulb out of their mouths. A very interesting day… Oh right, I also deflated someone’s air.”

"...Let someone out of their air?" Dick asked, sounding puzzled.

"...He sat right on the car tire inflator—he nearly exploded when Google paramedics brought him over."

The Google emergency responder Allen mentioned was Daniel. Allen didn't remember the guy's name at all, but he was impressed by the fact that the guy had to Google before providing emergency care.

Daniel has accepted the title with tears in his eyes.

Dick imagined the scene for a moment, then grinned: "...God bless him."

Allen rubbed his sore lower back; he had done too much cardiopulmonary resuscitation today.

He hadn't expected that life in Brudhaven was similar to Hell's Kitchen, with just as many shootings happening daily as in New York. And the things he wanted to investigate were being kept hidden deeper and deeper, as if they had never existed.

There was another reason he didn't have time to investigate that matter—Broodhaven's emergency room was just too busy. His supervising physician, Andy Miller, would assign him a ton of tasks every day, such as suturing a banana peel or a cotton doll's hand—the reason being that when he was suturing a tattooed man's wound, he had sewn the glasses on the man's body into an ass, and Dr. Miller's obsessive-compulsive disorder meant that his suturing technique wasn't perfect enough.

He has begun to hate bananas.

"How about hearing about my experience?" Dick silently shed a tear of sympathy for the paramedics, then turned and backed up the stairs. He winked at Allen with a smug smile, "I rescued an ambulance from one of my nostrils today!"

Allen: "...?!"

“The nostrils of a five-year-old boy.” Dick held up his thumb and forefinger, gesturing a distance of less than two inches. “That’s about the size of an ambulance.”

Allen: "..."

Dick has recently developed a strange hobby—finding ways to change the expressions on doctors' faces.

Now Dr. Osborne's expression seemed more befitting of his age, Dick chuckled. "Actually, it was a model ambulance. Later, the boy's father came home very angry and said that it was impossible for a person's nostril to fit an ambulance, so guess what happened next?"

Alan was once again drawn to the outrageous human stories and asked curiously, "What's wrong?"

"When I drove past their house again, I once again rescued the ambulance from his father's nostril! Oh, poor ambulance."

Allen couldn't help but smile slightly, his eyes behind his glasses genuinely crinkling this time: "I bet those two boys who went to the hospital one after the other had the same reason. Humans are so strange."

"Hahaha……"

The two chatted and laughed as they walked upstairs, then stopped in front of two adjacent doors. Dick waved to the doctor and tossed him a box of cereal: "This brand tastes good, I just discovered it! Hope we don't get summoned today. Goodnight, Doctor."

“Goodnight, officer.” Allen nodded and handed Dick a lunchbox filled with the dead, peeled bananas.

Dick took it and waved to the doctor.

The two opened the door in unison and entered the room.

The two houses are symmetrical, one on the left and one on the right, separated by only one wall.

The yellowed wallpaper in the house was peeling at the edges and had suspicious brown spots, making one wonder what had happened to this house before.

The interior structure of the apartments was not much different, and the whole thing had the simplicity that was unique to old houses from the last century. Allen turned on the light, and the old light bulb flickered, illuminating the living room.

Officer Grayson and Dr. Osborn's rooms share a very similar living atmosphere.

As Dick stepped off the shoes, Dr. Osborn was haphazardly stuffing the shoes, one on the right side and the other on the wrong side, into the cabinet.

Officer Grayson ignored the crumpled t-shirt draped over the back of the chair and the crumpled Nightwing uniform, casually taking off his shirt as he walked into the house.

Dr. Osborne haphazardly stuffed his clothes into the washing machine without distinguishing their colors, tossed his tie onto the sofa, and completely ignored the mountain of medical books piled up on it.

Officer Grayson next door approached the sofa, shirtless, and slammed himself face down into it, letting out a long sigh along with the sofa springs.

Dr. Osborn had already pushed the books off the sofa and laid them out flat, then casually plopped down on them.

It's a little uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

Dick heard a loud thud from the next room, followed by Dr. Osborn muttering a curse at the damn table.

He suspected that Dr. Osborne had accidentally kicked the corner of the table when he got up.

The doctor should have the medicine; perhaps he should ask about it later.

Dick was lost in thought, completely unaware that he had recently gotten into the habit of seeing Dr. Osborne every day and asking what kind of cereal he had eaten that day.

They seemed to become friends without even realizing it—the rookie police officer and the intern doctor had so much in common, both in the adjustment period of a new job, with countless opportunities to complain about their bosses and colleagues every day.

They also send each other performance reports every day.

He delivered gunshot wound patients and a large group of thugs who had accidentally punctured their stomachs in a fight to Allen. In return, Allen gave him robbers whose carotid arteries had been slashed by their victims and genitals that had been bitten off.

As a result, their relationship progressed rapidly—the doctor stopped calling him Charlie, and they started addressing each other as doctor and officer. Occasionally, the doctor would jokingly call him Chainsaw Cop because Alan was impressed by the fact that he carried a chainsaw with him when he went on duty.

He would occasionally call the doctor the Kitchen Killer or the Cereal Doctor, while also taking a look at the doctor's sullen expression.

Having a friend in a strange city who speaks the same language, and being able to eat and vent together every day, greatly reduced his stress. Dick was content; he had begun to fall in love with Brudhaven. He and Dr. Osborn, who had moved from New York, were slowly adapting to the city and becoming part of it.

Soon, the exhausted policeman fell into a deep sleep. He now sleeps no more than four hours a day, but without the perfect and reliable Afu to help him, he has to secretly learn sewing during his limited sleep time.

Actually, there are still big differences between me and Batman. Dick felt his soul floating in the air. He stared at the wrinkled uniform on the ground, which looked like pickled vegetables, and thought to himself—at least we pack our uniforms differently.

He felt that Dr. Osborne would understand him.

I could faintly hear the doctor next door rambling on about the instructions for using oatmeal.

Unfortunately, the soundproofing in the old apartment was really poor, and Dick had no choice but to discover the doctor's little secret—

Dr. Osborne had a cute little habit: when he was alone in his room, he liked to talk to himself and read fairy tales to himself before going to bed.

This forced him to recently rewatch "The Little Mermaid," "Little Red Riding Hood," and "Snow White," and he became even more interested in the talking magic mirror in them.

Dick then heard the doctor humming a recently popular rock song.

Allen had no idea that his neighbor was a vigilante with impeccable hearing and eyesight, someone who couldn't help but hear everything. His common sense had never told him that some houses weren't soundproof.

A few of Allen's acquaintances called, and what they said could terrify someone with trypophobia to the point of wanting to jump off a building.

But Allen was already used to it.

"...Don't worry, I've already seen Harry, and he's doing quite well lately." The voice on the other end of the phone was youthful and energetic. "How about you? How have you been lately?"

Peter Parker, a freshman about to enter Imperial University, is Alan's childhood neighbor. Alan is three years older than Peter, and because of Richard Parker, Alan always unconsciously pays more attention to Peter.

“Not bad,” Allen said. “I bet Harry didn’t say anything nice. Did he tell you to get lost?”

“…No, not really. Although we haven’t seen each other for many years, Harry has been quite friendly to me.” Peter’s voice sounded as if he didn’t care about that at all. “He just said it was a great pity that I didn’t have the chance to attend Mr. Osborne’s funeral, and that I should throw away all my research results, otherwise the funeral could have been held as scheduled—I guess Mr. Norman Osborne would be very sad to hear that.”

Allen let out a clear sneer.

Peter sighed on the other end: "I've seen Mr. Osborne too. He looks much better than before. Your research is very effective. It's just a pity that I haven't made any progress on my end yet."

Old Osborn had actually been bedridden for years until Allen and Peter found the secret base that once belonged to Richard Parker.

Through the belongings left by Peter's father, they discovered an abandoned subway station containing numerous unfinished genetic agents. Strangely, however, the documents left by Richard Parker contained no clues about these agents.

Peter is currently investigating and suspects that his parents are not ordinary researchers at all.

“You two are acting like college students,” Allen commented. “I hope you didn’t tell him where I was.”

“Of course not,” Peter said. “So when exactly are you planning to see Harry?”

Peter knew that if Alan and Harry's mother Emily hadn't jumped off the building, old Mr. Osborn probably would never have brought Harry back from abroad.

Allen and Harry share the same parents, but Harry was sent abroad to attend boarding school by his father, Osborn, when he was 11 years old, a stark contrast to Allen, who remained in New York.

The starkly different treatment of the two brothers was deliberately orchestrated by old Osborn, which caused Harry to harbor deep resentment towards his father and brother.

Harry Osborne, who hadn't been home for years, expressed deep regret that his father, Norman Osborne, had finally gotten out of bed. At the same time, he hypocritically made a slightly sarcastic remark about his brother giving up the inheritance of the Osborne Group. The first thing he did upon returning was to try to seize power from Norman Osborne.

“He doesn’t want to see me, and I’m not interested in seeing him either.” Alan tried to recall his younger brother when he was 11 years old, and then matched that chubby little brat with the tall, thin Harry with his angular features.

Peter sighed again: "I'm not too comfortable with you. Don't tell me you're taking nutritional supplements three times a day again."

Allen: "...Don't be a busybody like Spider-Man." He couldn't afford the nutritional supplements.

Peter choked for a moment, then remembered that he had never dared to tell Alan about his other identity. Alan had always thought that Spider-Man secretly bringing him toast and sandwiches in the middle of the night was up to no good, or that he had a strange stalking habit. God knows how much Peter wanted to defend himself when Alan said that; he was just worried that Alan would starve to death.

However, he felt that Harry would find Allen sooner or later. Harry looked furious, clearly missing Allen but refusing to admit it, so he was waiting to check where Allen's credit card transactions were made.

However, it seems that Allen has never used a credit card, so I wonder how he has managed to get by during this time.

Thinking about this made Peter even more worried.

Allen chuckled.

That's why he came to Brudhaven so openly. His silly brother would be too embarrassed to come looking for him. As long as he didn't touch his credit card or any accounts related to the Osborn family, Harry would never be able to find him.

As for that freak in the bodysuit and that annoying lawyer in Hell's Kitchen... they certainly won't leave Hell's Kitchen. Protecting Hell's Kitchen is infinitely more important than him, a guy who's full of sin and deserves all vigilantes' wariness. He can have some peace and quiet for a while.

The two chatted about their recent lives until Allen asked Peter somewhat hesitantly, "If... I mean, if someone has helped you multiple times, shouldn't you give them a gift to thank them? I mean, besides guns, what kind of gifts are popular to give these days?"

He was referring to Dick.

Allen's life had always been taken care of; whatever he wanted, someone would take care of it for him.

He doesn't know how to iron shirts, how to take care of leather shoes, or how to cook for himself.

So Dick had taken care of his tie for him all week, and he relied on Dick's cereal to get by, except when he ate at the hospital. He finally belatedly felt that he should express his gratitude again; a gun was really not appropriate—he still felt he should give Dick a large check, but he was penniless now, and a check was beyond his means.

"Are you really sure you're okay?" Peter asked worriedly on the other end of the phone. "May is also very worried about you..."

"Of course, no problem. I am a mentally sound adult and can take care of myself."

Peter grinned, not refuting the stubborn young master Osborn.

The Alan Osborn he knew always lived in a large villa, only traveling between the laboratory and the villa, like a noble prince.

So when Allen decided to go to medical school, he was almost shocked.

Allen even had to pay for his own medical school because his father, Osborn, wanted him to go to business school.

But Emily's suicide did have an impact. In order to maintain the image of the Osborne Group in the media, Norman was not prepared to impose too many restrictions on Allen for the time being, and he was playing the role of a loving father.

“Okay, if you need any help, just let me know.” Peter sighed, but also felt a little relieved. “May wants to send you a sweater, I’ll bring it to you in a couple of days… Don’t refuse. Let’s talk about your helpful new friend first. I’m really happy for you, Alan. Making new friends is a great thing, isn’t it?”

The image of the police officer next door flashed into Allen's mind. He instinctively wanted to deny Peter's claim about friends and reiterate that he didn't need any.

But the conversation abruptly ended with another phone call.

The call was from the ER department at Brodhaven.

"Dr. Osborn, do you have time now?" The nurse on duty on the other end of the phone sounded anxious. "Nightwing has brought in a lot of wounded, and the emergency room needs your help!"