Robin: Beginnings - Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Shadow of the Batman

“I can't believe they said that to you!” Babs stuffs her mouth full of pita pizza, her squirrel cheeks bulging angrily. “Those high society jerks! Dad says most of them dabble in the criminal, you know.”

I take a bite of my sandwich and let Babs keep, well, babbling. I've just finished a story about the latest party Bruce and I've gone to because I can't tell her about what happened last night. You know, kicking butt and taking names?

“Honestly, though, who’d walk up to a kid and start talking about how horrible it is that they're living where they're living? And asking about what it was like watching— ohhh,” Babs bites down angrily on the mutilated pizza, her lips pursed. “I outta get Dad to arrest them.”

 Then, I make the worst mistake of my life. I open my mouth. “It's not that bad, Babs. You get used to it. Besides—”

“Skratch Dad arresting them. We should sic Batman on them!” Babs scowls at me, though I know it's not me she's mad at. Still, when those green eyes snap at you, you really should take cover. “Dick, that shouldn't be something you have to get used to! Do you want a cookie?”

Yes, this is normal, and no, it's really not so out of the blue. I accept the cookie and take a bite. Babs made them. They’re chocolate chip, the best in the world, in my personal opinion.

She's right, though. This isn't something I should be used to, you know, the whole ‘poor little orphan Dick’ spiel that goes on at every party? But it is, and I really am sort of used to it by now. 

But I wish I could tell her. I wish I could tell her that tonight I'm going on patrol with Batman. Tonight, the world’s gonna get a brand new superhero. And tonight, she'd better like my persona and rant about me tomorrow at school because otherwise— well, okay, so it's not that big of a deal, but what if she hates my alternate identity?

“—all the time. Hey, are you listening?” Snap, snap, snap. Babs' fingers click under my nose, and I blink, looking at her with that dumb boy look. Yeah, you know the one. “Dick, were you listening?”

I rub my neck, holding out my cookie in defense. “Something about sleep?”

“Exactly!” Babs looks me up and down, reminding me so much of Raya that I want to laugh. But like always, instead of critiquing me, her eyes soften. “You haven't been getting enough sleep, have you?”

I blink at her. Well, yeah, I haven’t been getting enough for a kid my age, but I don’t feel tired. And I can’t be Batman’s partner if I sleep through the night! But I can’t tell her that. So I shrug. “I get enough. I mean, I’m not like a vampire or anything, staying up all night. I just wake up early to train.”

Babs sighs, grabbing her own cookie out of her bag. “I blame those late-night parties. But hey, maybe a super villain would attack one, so you could see Batman again.” She grabs my arm, her eyes emeralds. “Maybe I could finally get an interview with him! Oh, Dick, do you think I could go to one?”

I laugh, ignoring the looks and kissy noises the boys are sending our way and the giggles from the girls. We’re friends; gosh, why do they have to do that? Babs doesn’t have cooties, don’t they know?

“If I can talk B into it. But Babs, if you came, it’d be the most boring night. It’s just your luck.” I pat her hand, winking. 

I like school, mostly, but today, other than talking with Babs, the day seems unreal. I mean, tonight’s the night, after all, so all I learn is how agonizing minutes are when you actually watch the hands on the clock and how annoying people find it if you drum a ditty on your desk. 

So, when Alfred comes to pick me up, I catapult into the limo, sliding up to the window and looking into the driver's seat, my toes wiggling in my tennis shoes. 

“Ready, Alfred?” I ask even before he buckles his seat belt. Rude, I know. I mean, I already know he’s not ready, and I know we aren’t going out until tonight but still. 

I’m rewarded for my question by a lip twitch and a double raised eyebrow as Alfred snaps his seat belt in place, adjusting the mirrors so he can look at me. “Ready for tonight, Master Dick?” 

As questions go, it could’ve been way worse. I nod so much that I think my head might fall off my shoulders and roll into the passenger seat. “Born ready, Alfred. Let’s do this!”

Without a word, Alfred drives us home, leaving me to dream about tonight. I already know what we’re going to be doing, hitting another extortionist site and gathering info about Zucco and clues to his boss, but still. 

It’s my first night. First night. My debut. 

So far, I’m just hoping that I don’t make a fool out of myself. Goals being a) don’t have Batman have to save you and b) actually do your job right. 

But what if the criminals don’t take me seriously? I mean, that’s the point, but after I prove myself. After they know what I can do. Will people think it’s silly having a kid out fighting crime? Or will they actually like me, like when I was a Flying Grayson?

Will they look up in wonder or roll their eyes? And why am I even worrying about this?

When we get back to the Manor, I dive right into my schoolwork. Or at least, I try to. But when I end up scribbling my Lit. essay over my algebra, Alfred sends me to the yard to play with Ace. And by play, I mean get my nerves out by running up and down the lawn, bursting through hedges like a maniac. 

It doesn’t work, though. By dinner, I think I’m about to explode or implode or some sort of plode from all the energy buzzing around like bees in my head. 

“What’s wrong, Chum?” Bruce eyes my shaking hands as I shove spoonfuls of soup into my mouth. Of course, he’d think something’s wrong. It might be below freezing in here for how much I’m shaking. Or I have ants in my pants. Either works. 

“Nothing.” I grin at him, holding out a hand that jitters around like it has a life of its own. “Just excited! The first patrol, you know?”

“No.” Bruce’s eyebrows raise, and he sips his soup, cool, calm, and collected like always. “I was not excited my first time.”

“Well then, you missed out on the butterflies!” I squeeze my spoon, bopping it on the table. “And the ants. All the bugs. You know, I haven’t been this nervou-cited since my first performance! I kinda missed this.”

“You mean ‘nervous’ and ‘excited?’” How can he be so calm? Isn’t he nervous about taking me out on my first night? It’d be nice if he had that much faith in me, but I’m still just a kid. Going out to fight criminals. With Batman. Most grown-ups would be nervous. 

“No, nervou-cited. It’s a word.” I drain the rest of my soup, ignoring Alfred’s look. Honestly, do I have to practice etiquette when it's just the three of us? “It’s a word that works. Like smad. Or absotootly.”

“Still not words.” Bruce finishes his soup and slides back from the table. “Alfred, bring the dessert down for me in the Batcave. You—” He points at me, his eyes hard, his mouth twitching, “Meet me there after dessert.”

Have you ever had that feeling where you want to throw up, but you know if you do, you won’t get to do something you want to do? So you swallow it down, and it tastes terrible? Yeah, that feeling. 

I want to tell myself I’m really not nervous, you know, not anxious. I’ve done crazy things before, like going out to stalk the Gotham streets by myself at night. Or jumping out to swing on a trapeze. 

But if I’ve said it before, I’ve said it a bajillion times. Going out by yourself and going out with Batman is something else. So when I eat my dessert, I’m not shaking anymore. I’m still frozen. I’m excited, well, yeah, of course. I’m ready. Both Alfred and Bruce have told me that. 

But can I actually do it? Can I take Zucco down?

I still see him in my nightmares, but my sleep’s so short, my days so full, they seem more and more like just bad dreams. But that doesn’t mean they don’t still shake me to my bones and leave me slick with sweat and, in most cases, sobbing over their dead bodies. 

I know there’re a lot worse bad guys out there, like Zucco’s boss, the Joker, or the Riddler. But there it is. Those super villains might be horrible murderers… but I’ve never met them. 

They haven’t done anything to me yet. They haven’t taken anything away from me. Everyone should know that the stakes are higher when it’s personal. That’s just a fact. A fact that beats me over the head as I push my plate away and thank Alfred for the cherries jubilee, which isn’t my favorite but is still pretty good. 

It’s a fact that grabs me when I walk into Bruce’s office and pull on the weights of the grandfather clock. It’s something that pokes me in the side as I step into the airy chill of the Batcave, my eyes adjusting to the blue lights and shadows as I stand in front of my boss. Or my partner. 

“This is for you.” Bruce holds something out to me, his steely eyes hard. “It’s temporary until your suit is finished.”

My suit— I don’t know whether I want to throw up or hug Bruce. I get my own superhero suit. I did think about it. What? Just because my artwork looks like chicken scratch doesn’t mean I still didn’t jot down some ideas in my notebooks. 

This isn’t what I was expecting, though. It’s an all-black ninja—yoroi made of thick but bendy fabric. Well, okay, it doesn’t have the cowl. Instead, attached to the uwagi, or jacket, is a dark hood, and on top of the pile is set not only tabi socks that double as shoes but also a domino mask. 

I grin up at Bruce. Apparently, he did like my ‘street ninja’ getup from when I snuck out of the house. “I get to be the little ninja, huh?” I start to slide out of my clothes, slipping on the hakama pants, the uwagi jacket, and pulling on the tekoh gloves, tabi sock—shoes—whatever you call them, then yanking on the kayhan to keep my pants from billowing all over the place. I fasten the belt and then look down at the mask in my palms. I know it's ready to be shaped to my face, glistening black in the lights of the cave, the edges curved and pointed up like wings. Except for my face, I’m all black. 

The mask is the final piece, the part that will keep me from being recognized, as silly as it sounds. “What’s this made of?” Instead of putting on the mask, I pull at the fabric. It’s comfortable and loose, and I have a full range of motion, which is important. I don’t know how some heroes fight in clunky armor or costumes.

“A Kevlar titanium mesh.” Bruce pulls on the cowl of his Batsuit, replaced instantly with Batman, even down to the voice. “Fireproof, bulletproof except in close range, cool in the hot and warm in the cold weather.”

So, yeah, why can’t I wear this all the time? “Awesome.” I run a hand through my slicked-back hair, mussing it until it parts in the middle, framing my face with the wild raven locks. Any small changes help separate Dick from Robin. Then, with a deep breath, I put the mask on my face. 

It sticks to my skin, somehow, the white film over my eyes popping up a small HUD display when I blink. You know, it shows me thermal scans, X-ray versions of Batman and Alfred, and all that cool jazz. “Even more awesome!” I pull down the hood of my yoroi, letting it cast my face in shadow, and strike a pose. “How do I look?”

Alfred’s mouth twitches, and he nods. “Like a hero, Master Dick.”

“You look like an imp,” Batman growls, though the corners of his mouth twitch too. “Grab your staff and get to the car. Ten seconds. Let’s go.”

I use the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach to power me into a jump and sprint, snatching my bō staff, my own, not just a training one, that can retract into a small pole about the size of my forearm, and slide it into my obi belt. 

Then, I leap into the open doors of the Batmobile, settling into the seat and strapping myself in. Batman follows, silent as he jumps and whooshes into his seat, turning on the car, so it purrs, tickling my butt. “So, when do I get my own utility belt?” I lean over to Batman, eyeing the shiny golden belt strapped around his waist. You know, the one with all the tools in it?

“There.” Batman points to my feet. “Strap that on. Everything is where it is in mine.”

My eyes almost pop out of my mask as I look down between my legs. Some observer I am. On the ground is a shiny, brand-spanking-new utility belt with the bat symbol on the clasp. I don’t lunge for it. That would be stupid because I might as well be strapped into a crazy chair with this seat belt. So instead, I hook the belt with my foot and bring it up to my chest, letting the prize slip into my hands. Each pocket of this baby has something incredible inside. Binoculars, handcuffs, batarangs, bolas, flash grenades, smoke pellets, and a rebreather, among other things. 

You know, literally something for everything. “Sweet!” I pull out my grappling hook as Batman puts the pedal to the metal, leaving us to explode out of the cave. It’s only when we are in the tunnels and careening through the Gotham streets that I realize that I forgot to say goodbye to Alfred. 

“So, we're hitting the bakery tonight?” I cross my arms behind my head and lean back into the seat. Hey, I might be nervous, but that doesn’t mean I have to act nervous. Plus, this mask rocks. 

“Not yet, Robin.” That's the first time Batman’s ever said my name. Okay, well, my new name anyway. I like the way he says it. “First things first.”

He doesn’t have to point. I look out of the window and see the Bat signal blazing against the darkness, a call. A warning. And gosh, does it look cool. “The Commish needs our help?” I sit up straighter, cracking my knuckles. “Are they coming with?”

“No. But he knows what we are doing.” Batman doesn’t look at me. And honestly, the way he’s barreling through the streets, I don’t want him to. I don’t want to die tonight. It’s not on the to-do list. “Listen carefully, Robin. Not everyone at the police station is your friend. The cops of Gotham can be easily bought and sold. Only trust Gordon, Yin, and Bennett. No one else.”

“Okay, Bats.” I scowl at the GCPD as we pull to the side of the building, parked in shadow. “But really, that sucks. How do they even become police officers, then?”

Batman doesn’t answer. Instead, he pops open the doors and pulls out his grappling gun. I copy him, unfastening my seatbelt and holding up my gun. I’ve practiced this a little on the rock wall in the gym, but this is a different ball game. Click, snap! My finger squeezes the trigger, and the line shoots up with Batman’s, hitting and holding onto the roof of the building. With a click of a button, we’re zipping up, the wind rushing against my face. I blink in the darkness, activating the night vision in my mask, turning everything an icky green. Okay, so that stinks. I blink again, shutting it back off. If Batman doesn’t bother with it, neither will I. 

Batman lands on the edge of the building first, silent, solid, his cape billowing out in the wind. I land next to him in a crouch, hiding in his shadow. I see myself, with my black ninja suit and hood, fading into the darkness of his cape. Completely hidden… except for the belt blazing gold around my waist. 

Oh well.

Standing next to the giant spotlight of the Bat-signal, his back to us is Commissioner Gordon. He’s just like I remember, trimmed red hair streaked with white, dressed in a tan suit, his tie fluttering like a flag. 

I trail Batman as he strides forward, but instead of standing next to him when he stops behind the Commissioner, I leap up to the signal and perch there, like my namesake. Gordon doesn’t even notice. 

“Commissioner.” Batman’s voice is enough to make anyone jump, but I still muffle a laugh as Gordon spins around, letting out a sigh. How many times has this happened to him? You’d think that Batman couldn’t sneak up on him anymore.

“Batman. I’m glad you came.” Gordon straightens his tie, which doesn’t do much good. “Yin came to me with three more locations.” Gordon holds out a small tablet, which Batman takes, his white eyes narrowing. “The last ones, after you shut down the bakery tonight.” My heart pounds so loud in my chest that I’m sure Gordon hears it, but he doesn’t turn around. I knew we were close, but only three more! We could have Zucco in by the end of the week! Or sooner, depending on how slippery he is once all his guys are caught. Who knows, maybe he’ll go running back to his boss and leave me alone.

Then again, I haven’t been almost-kidnapped in a while. Maybe Zucco realizes that I’m being guarded and watched twenty-four seven.

“It’s about time.” Batman doesn’t seem happy or annoyed. He just sounds… like Batman, I guess. But I know that Bruce is pleased under the cowl, under the stern. He wants this. I want this. We’re so close! “It shouldn’t have taken this long for a street-level thug.”

“I know what you mean.” Gordon runs a hand through his hair. “But once we get him and learn who the ‘boss’ is, I’m sure it will all come together.”

“Darn right!” I finally speak up. The reaction from Gordon is so priceless that I’m glad my HUD display records everything. I want to replay this again and again when I have a bad day. He jumps, trips, and fumbles for his glasses as he whips around, squinting at me. I launch off the signal into a quadruple flip, landing smoothly onto the gravelly roof of the GCPD. I flash Gordon a grin so wide and white that it must blind him against all the black. “Nice to meet you, by the way, Commish.” I slide over to Batman, standing back in his shadow, putting my hands on my hips. “Robin. New partner to Batman!"

Gordon’s eyebrows shoot up into his receding hairline. “Batman… who—”

“Robin,” Batman repeats as if that’s obvious. “My new partner.”

“That’s what I said!” I tap my ears. “The name’s Robin.”

“But… a kid?” Gordon looks me up and down. I read his face like a children’s book. He’s impressed with my moves and sneakiness, but worried. Worried that a kid’s out on the streets of Gotham, working alongside Batman. I’m probably going to get this a lot.

“Robin’s ready.” That’s all he’ll get. And the Commish knows it. I can tell he has a bajillion questions, but no one, no one, questions Batman. 

“Well… send the report after you clear out the bakery.” Gordon folds his arms behind his back. “And be safe, Batman and…Robin.”

“See? See? I knew it would sound good!” I hiss to Bats as we fade into the night. We don’t go back to the car. Instead, we leap off the GCPD, shooting our grappling hooks. They catch, and soon, I’m swinging out over the city streets like a real bird through the skyscrapers. 

The rush blows back my hood, and the motion sends my heart up and down, from my stomach to my throat, like it’s on a seesaw. But I’m laughing. Batman is silent, but Robin isn’t. People look up and point, watching the Batman and a smaller figure glide past. 

Occasionally, we land on rooftops and sprint, catapulting off the other side. This is the way to travel through the city. I don’t care how cool the Batmobile is. 

Flying is what I was born to do. 

So when we land at the edge of a building overlooking a tiny cafe bakery, I can’t help but sigh. Then again, I know I’m in for something even better than flying. Well, okay, maybe. What, you might ask? Well, even at this very moment, a group of five thugs strolls into the bakery, not caring about the ‘We’re Closed’ sign. 

I look to Batman, who perches on the edge of the building like a gargoyle. Literally. I mean, with his sculpted features and pointed cowl, he blends right in. All I get is a small nod. Barely a nod, more like his chin bobbing. But that’s all I need. We leap down to the street, staying in the shadows, peering in through the glowing windows. A group of women, some barely eighteen, some almost grandma—aged, all dressed in smart aprons and uniforms. 

They’re cowering, pulling money out of their register, one of the girls even taking pastries out for the thugs with shaking tongs. My eyes narrow, and my blood boils. I crack my knuckles. I don’t need a sign from Batman here. We’ve already practiced fighting the robots in the training arena together, so I know what to do. 

When Batman kicks the door open with a bang, I leap over his head, six batarangs in hand. I toss them just before I land in a sprint, the projectiles smacking into the crooks. All hell breaks loose. The women scream, ducking behind the counter as the goons pull out their guns, shooting at Batman and me. All hell breaks loose. 

But I dodge. And as I dodge, I chatter. “Wow, you’re all so embarrassed about your diet that you had to come here at night?” I spring onto the counter, then off it, smacking feet-first into a thug’s face. “I mean, pie’s good and all, but this seems a little much, yeah?”

“Who are you—”

I cut the guy off. I would love to answer him. Instead, I nick a pie off the display counter and hurl it. It smacks into another guy’s face. “There you go!” I cheer, kicking my legs through the first thug’s leg and slamming a hand into his neck on the way down. “You can drool over that all night!”

I know I’m the only one talking, but it’s working. Thugs are turning to me. With guns, yeah, but also with confused and annoyed looks on their faces, leaving Batman to clear them out with no problem. 

I take down my two, he takes down the rest, and the bakery fades into dead silence, well, except for the bang as Batman pins the one that’s still conscious against the wall, growling in his face, holding him by the lapels. 

My job is to secure the rest, which is easy. I mean, they’re all drooling, though one’s covered in banana and whipped cream. I brush off my hands once the last one’s all trussed up. I’m sorry, but I can’t resist. “You all just got creamed!” I crow. Okay, okay, I know it's bad. But hey! I can enjoy myself, can’t I?

Batman’s interrogating; my job is done, so I stand there. At least until I realize that the bakery staff is still trembling behind the counter. Batman doesn’t ask if they’re okay. If any of them have been hurt. He doesn’t even bother with them. 

But me? I leap onto the counter, peering over, giving them all a smile. One girl shrieks at the sudden appearance of a boy on their counter, but most of the girls relax. I slip onto their side, walking up to the oldest, probably the manager or something, and offer her a hand. “Is everyone okay?” It’s such a simple question, but one girl nods. Okay, so she’s not a girl, she’s in her mid-twenties or so, and her belly’s swollen. There’s always a mother or a kid, isn’t there? 

I help them up, guide the mother-to-be over to a chair, and ask where there’s water and who would like some. When you're a hero, you wouldn’t think you’d play waiter to the civies, you know, civilians? But there it is. I can’t just leave them here until the police come. Besides, criminals aren’t the only people who need to spill information.

“And here you go.” I hand the last one water, getting another muffled thank you. So, I cross my arms, cocking my head to the side. “How long have the muffin men been comin’ round?” I jab a thumb over my shoulder, pointing at the trussed-up baddies. 

“A-a year now.” The manager’s voice trembles, but she’s taking deep breaths. Good. “They usually come with a man, their boss.”

I hold a hand over my head. “Tall, skinny, three-piece suit? Blue and brown eyes?”

“That’s him.” Another girl offers, leaning forward, her eyes so wide they might as well be soccer balls. Why would someone still work here if thugs like that came in and threatened them every other night? What’s wrong with people in this city? “He stopped coming a month ago, though.”

“Do you know anything about his boss?” I grab a tray of pastries that the girls set out for the crooks and hold it out for them, passing it around. Mom told me that chocolate’s good for girls. “Who is he working for?”

“Nothing.” The manager shakes her head, taking a bite out of a brownie. I’m getting so many grateful looks, I think I might cry. I actually helped save these women. I saved them. That feeling is back, that thrill. “I’m sorry, I don’t know more.”

I wave a hand. “Daw, don’t worry. Bats and I are on the case.”

“And… who are you?” One of the eighteen—year—olds leans forward. She’s pretty, with cropped black hair and smooth, pale Asian features. What? I observe everything! “Aren’t you a little… young to be out here with Batman?”

“The name’s Robin.” I jab my thumb in my chest, flashing them all a grin, making a few of the girls giggle. Apparently, I’m just so adorable. Well, I can work with that, I guess. “Batman’s new partner!”

To be Continued...