Robin: Beginnings - Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Blame it on the Bats in My Belfry

Alfred finds me. Of course, he finds me. Why did I even think I could hide from him? Still, I curl up on the chair, trying not to think about the mess I’ve made all over the nice, plush cushion. Alfred stands beside me, unmoving, like a statue. Through the tears still swimming in my eyes, I can see him holding a fluffy blanket and a steaming cup of hot cocoa. My shoulders shake harder. I don’t deserve that. I can’t believe I said that to Bruce… but… but…

“A-Alfred?” My voice is small, but I don’t care. I look up at him, wanting nothing more than for him to drop that ‘Alfred look’ and actually show some real emotion. If he can be shocked and disappointed in Bruce, can’t he be comforting to me?

“Yes, Master Dick?” It’s more than a title, I realize. It’s more than an obligation because he’s our butler, and we’re his masters. It’s a term of affection. 

“D-did Bruce—” My voice cracks at his name, and I sniff hard, my nose clogged. “Did Bruce… really mean all those things?” I want to hide, but at the same time, I want a hug. I want to be around someone, someone who cares. “Does he really not care about me? Am I gonna be stuck in this place forever?”

“Oh… Master Dick,” It’s not much, but it’s there. That tone of affection. That look I caught him giving me when I was running through the halls, messing up his house with my antics. It’s a soft, kind look that makes me want to start sobbing again. I sit up slowly, wiping my nose as he comes to me, draping me in the cozy blanket, setting the hot cocoa in my hands, “I do not know.” That’s not what I want to hear. I want to know what Bruce meant about being around and what Alfred meant by me not knowing about it. I want Alfred to tell me that Bruce cares, that I’m not trapped here, and that everything will be okay. 

But that isn’t the way things are, huh? I tug the blanket around me, taking a shaking sip of my hot cocoa. Somehow, Alfred makes it just right. It doesn’t burn my mouth, but it isn’t lukewarm either. It’s piled with whipped cream and fills my shaking insides with something warm and fuzzy. 

We sit there in silence for what seems like forever. I slowly drink my hot cocoa, snuggled in the blanket, and Alfred watches over me, my one constant in this cold, unsure Manor. At least his personality remains the same. At least he doesn’t change the way he acts around other people. At least he has a small range of expressions, and I can always expect what I’m going to get. 

Finally, when the mug doesn’t rattle in my hands, when my lips aren’t quivering, and when I take deep, still, sniffly breaths, Alfred speaks up. “I have something for you, Master Dick.” His voice is back to its clipped, no-nonsense usual, which you’d think would be cold. But at this point? It’s good to have something familiar. As I said, something expected. “Come on, let’s go. Chop, chop.”

What can I do but follow? Sit and sob the rest of the day? My eyes already ache, and my head’s already pounding. I don’t want to cry anymore. Besides, as long as it's not around Bruce, I think I’ll be fine. 

But… I told him I hated him. The guilt hits me like Alfred’s punches to my gut. It twists my insides, and my hot cocoa might just come up and ruin Alfred’s perfectly polished floors. I told Bruce, who, despite what I think of him, took me in from the Home and gave me all of this, that I hated him. 

As I follow Alfred, I don’t want to look at the Manor. I don’t want to pay attention to how quiet it is, how eerie the shadows are. All I want is to stay wrapped in this blanket and to take back what I said. Some of it, anyway. At least that last part. 

“Here we are, Master Dick.”

We step into one of the sitting rooms. There are a lot of these, most of which I think Bruce probably hasn’t even used before. But this one’s different. The firelight shines bright, and the lights dance warm and welcoming. And along the walls are lined with pictures and posters. The contents of my family’s trailer are meticulously placed around the room, hung up on the walls, decorating the armchairs, and filling the space with so much life it doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the Manor. 

Mom’s makeup kit is on a cabinet shelf next to the old music box. Uncle Rick’s sports posters are framed over a signed baseball he got from a stop in New York. Dad's first trapeze awards are meticulously displayed, polished to perfection. 

They smile at me from the posters. We all laugh in one family picture of us in London, one of the clowns photobombing us. Then, when my eyes are already misty, my mouth opens in a perfect O, and I look up at the space above the mantel. A huge oil painting looks down at me. It’s like the picture of the Waynes, but it’s so much more. It’s all of us, Mom, Dad, Uncle Rick, and me, all looking just like we did right before… right before…

I realize, to my surprise, that it’s from a picture someone took of us on the day of the… accident. Mom and Dad are in each other’s arms, heads pressed together, hands clasped over Dad’s heart, smiling up at whoever’s looking. Uncle Rick’s got me in his arms, tousling my hair as I try to push him away, my face so full of joy I’m envious of myself. 

I pull my blanket tighter around me, unable to keep the smile from my face. What, did you think I’d cry again? Sob my eyes out? No. This is how I want to remember us. Happy, smiling, laughing. A family. This is what I want to see when I dream, them alive with me. 

I realize, suddenly, that the room isn’t quiet. Somethings playing on a small speaker set up on one of the tables. The small bop whispers into my ear, reminding me of the good times. Rockin’ Robin is playing in this room, filling the walls with memory.

“How?” I don’t think I can manage anything else. How could I? How did I even manage to speak at all after this? This isn’t their graves or a fanboy’s memorabilia wall. This is my family, saved in my heart as it should be.

“Master Bruce had your things retrieved from storage.” Alfred’s next to me, his hands clasped behind his back as he looks at me, his lips twitching. “I have spent the last week or so preparing it for you.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Okay, I do. But honestly, after this, how’s ‘thank you’ enough? Bruce did this? This was his idea? “Thank you… Alfred.”

“Not at all, Master Dick.” Alfred guides me towards the armchair, which isn’t much different from the one I just left. I sit down, no, I curl up in it, looking up at my parents. My Uncle. My beautiful, smiling family. “Master Bruce has his faults, Master Dick.” Here it comes. I know I really need to apologize to Bruce now, but still, what he said— “You were right. He does push people away. Which is why I believe it is good that you are here.”

I try not to snort. I really do, but it comes out anyway. “Why? Why Alfred? If he’s just going to—”

“Because Master Dick.” Alfred rests a hand on my shoulder even as he gets ready to walk away. “Now he has something… someone… to take responsibility for.”

Just like that, Alfred’s gone. I’m left alone with a memory. And, at first, it really is a good memory. I want to keep it that way. I really do. I fight to keep the horrible images at bay, to lock them up, save them for the night terrors. 

But the more I look around at us, at the joy on our faces, at the kindness of Mom’s beautiful eyes, and the passion in Dad’s, at the humor in Uncle Rick’s, the more I think. Why’d they have to die? They shouldn’t have died. It’s not fair. 

Zucco took them from me. 

Surprisingly, I still fall asleep. I mean, how could I not? I’m exhausted, my mind breaking from my talk with Bruce, my chest aching with what Alfred and Bruce have done for me, and my blood chilling at the thought of what Zucco really took away from me. 

When I dream, I don’t dream about what my fantasies say happened, I dream about what actually happened, every single agonizing detail, from seeing Zucco leaving the big top to the clown with the tortoise to them crashing to the ground, to Commissioner Gordon taking me to GCPD…

Alfred doesn’t wake me up for dinner. In fact, when I wake up, the clock blinks eleven p.m. I slept the rest of the day and into the night. My stomach growls, but I don’t leave the sitting room. Instead, I see the folder with all of my research sitting next to me on the chair. 

The research about Zucco. I grip it in my hands, closing my eyes. Bruce is wrong about a lot of things, but one thing he’s dead wrong about is that I’m safe here. I’m never going to be safe anywhere until he is gone. Until Zucco’s gotten what he deserves. 

And Bruce’s wrong if he thinks I won’t do anything about it. I don’t know when I make up my mind, but I find myself standing up and walking out of my family’s room, the folder clenched between my fingers. 

The halls are deathly quiet. I don’t think Alfred is stalking around at this time of night, and as long as I stay clear of Bruce’s office and bedroom, I should be fine. I sneak back to my room, my footfalls muffled, my breaths barely making any noise. Not perfect, but better than the clambering clown I was before Alfred started to train me. 

When I get to my room, I slip into my closet, grabbing black, sturdy cargo pants, a thick black turtle neck, and one of those bulletproof jackets that hang with my sweaters. 

Don’t ask. 

I jam a black ski cap over my head and creep into the bathroom. No way I’m tying a mask around my head. I don’t think I could pull off a sock with holes in it. So instead, I find the bag of simple makeup set aside for me if I ever go to an interview or something, which thankfully hasn’t happened yet.

I pull out the mascara, shove my finger into the bottle, and smear it all around my eyes. I’ve always wanted to do this. 

When I look in the mirror, a miniature cat burglar looks back at me. I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t think about it too much, though, as I hit my next stop, the gym. I would try to crack Alfred’s gun cabinet, but I’m pretty sure he’ll kill me if I take a gun. That’s apparently a rule in this house. No firearms, unless it’s Alfred. So instead, I grab my bō staff and slide its strap across my back. Just call me a modern-day ninja, I guess. 

Now comes the tricky part. Actually sneaking out of the Manor. Now, I know, I know, you may be thinking, ‘But Dick! They’re trying to keep you safe!’ well, at this point, I don’t care. I’m going to find Zucco or have him find me, and he’s gonna pay. 

So I hack into the Manor’s security system, or at least the parts that Alfred showed me. Which, thankfully, includes the gate to the grounds and the locks on the garage. What? You thought I’d walk to Gotham on foot?

In the garage, I grab a motorcycle, not bothering to choose which one, and guide it towards the smallest door. I’m not about to grab a car. Are you kidding me? I don’t know how to drive yet. But motorcycles, I can do. I’m from the circus, after all. 

I sneak out of the garage and am met with the nippy, wet, and windy Gotham night air. The moon isn’t even peeking out of the thick, low clouds, leaving the Manor grounds bathed in the warm porch and cool blue fountain lights. 

I roll the motorcycle towards the gate, each rustling from the leaves making me jump, each clang from the fence sending shivers racing up and down my back. Ace runs up to meet me. He doesn't bark since he knows who I am, but he’s not happy either. I can tell from how he clings to my side all the way up to the gate that he’s nervous seeing me out this late. 

I wouldn’t put it past Bruce to train him to stop people from leaving and sneaking in. But Ace sits as I slide through the gate, clearing my prison and emerging into the free world. The gate clangs behind me, and I’m not sure if it’s locking me out or reminding me about the warm bed I’m leaving behind. 

Most people are scared of the woods. Afraid of the reaching tree limbs, the creaking of the old trunks, the rustle of the brush as creatures creep through it, their eyes glowing. And I don’t blame them. Bats soar through the trees, snatching insects out of the air right in front of my face. Things scurry around in the underbrush, and I swear I hear something howl nearby, but I don’t let myself think about it. Instead, when I clear the third bend in the road, I start my motorcycle and speed off, leaving the Wayne property behind. 

The ride to Gotham is longer than it seems when I go to school with Alfred. Maybe because I’m alone, watching for oncoming cars, listening to the waves beat against the cliffs. You’d think I’d be used to silence now since Wayne Manor has to be the library of houses, but this is a different kind of silence. It’s an alert silence, a waiting silence. 

I’m a kid riding a motorcycle alone when it’s nearing midnight. I’m not supposed to be out here. If a cop sees me, I’m so dead. I’m tempted to turn back. The thought tugs at me, pulling me back towards the Manor, but I ignore it. It’s now or never. I can’t keep living like this. 

Gotham isn’t better than the night I snuck out of the Home. In fact, without the rain, it’s even more chilling. Without the drone of the rain, I can actually hear things like cries and jeers coming from alleyways and the hushed whispers from rooftops and side streets. I stop constantly, checking the color-coded map of Gotham, peering at the different territories from under the flickering lights of the street lamps. 

Right now, I’m in Old Gotham, Riddler’s territory. Where the GCHB is. I tuck the map back into my pocket and slide my motorcycle behind a dumpster. I don’t know where else to put it. I don’t trust public parking, and I can’t just stow it in a garage. 

But I can’t sneak up on anyone roaring around on a motorcycle, can I? So I leave my bike, keeping to the shadows, sneaking along the streets. All I need is one of Riddler’s thugs. I know he’s not Zucco’s boss, but I was here, in his territory. What stopped Zucco from getting to me? It’s as good a place to start as any. 

“N-no! P-please!” That’s a woman’s voice, her trembling words snatching my attention. She’s nearby. And when there’s a pleading woman, there’s usually—

“Just a little excursion, miss. I’m sure the Riddler’ll make it worth your while.” I recognize that voice. Why do I recognize that voice? I race towards the people, scampering up the drain pipes, so I look down at them from above the alley. 

I was right. It’s a young woman, backed up against a wall, a pocket knife held out trembling in one hand, a can of pepper spray in the other. Well, good for her. At least, it would be if she wasn’t so paper white. To be honest, I think she’s more likely to faint than actually use the spray. 

The man, who’s too close for comfort, holds a gun level with her chest. He’s dressed in a green rain jacket studded with question marks, his purple T-shirt ratty, his stupid bowler hat— wait a minute!

“S-stay away! Y-you can’t do this!” Points to the woman who’s not screaming in the face of a gun, or maybe, not points. Wouldn’t someone be able to hear her better if she was screaming?

I crouch over them, my legs tensing. I can’t let her get hurt. 

“What, do you think the Bat will save you?” The Riddler thug sneers, the gun cocking in his hand. “He can’t be everywhere at once, Sweetheart.”

That’s it! I flip down, not making a sound until I crash into the man, slamming a foot into his face. The gun goes off, the bang echoing off the walls. The woman screams and runs, the knife forgotten on the ground. I roll into the trash and filth of the concrete but pop back up just in time to see the Riddler thug stumbling to his feet, his nose broken. 

I laugh at the crooked hook, my laugh echoing eerily off the walls of the alleyway. “He doesn’t have to be everywhere, Riddler Jr,” I say, falling into a defensive pose. “He’s not the only one who fights jerks like you.”

“Charming.” The Riddler thug grimaces but pulls a pistol out of his jacket pocket, taking a step toward me. He looks me over. Okay, maybe the all-black clothes and eye makeup is a little stupid. But there’s nothing I can do about that now. “Who are you? The Blundering Batboy?”

“Haven’t thought about the name yet,” I say, shrugging. He pays attention to that, so he doesn't see my next move. I dash forward, rolling under the gunshots, and kick up, launching myself from the ground with my hands. He slams into the wall, and I’m on my feet, my arm pressed against my chest, trying my best at an intimidating growl. “But what I have been thinking about a lot is one of your little goon squad pals. Tony Zucco.” My eyes narrow, and I press harder. “Where is he?”

I want to die with embarrassment when the man laughs in my face. Okay, so I’m not intimidating. At least, not in the way the Bat is. Who would take a twelve-year-old seriously? “What? You think I would tell you if I knew?” The man spits in my face, his breath smelling like moldy cheese and all things nasty. 

“I thought crime paid.” I let my intimidating failure slide and let an exaggerated grimace paint my face. “Can’t it pay for a dentist? Maybe a toothbrush?”

“You— what?” The thug blinks at me.

“A toothbrush. You know?” I wrinkle my nose. “Because your breath stinks? You could use some mouthwash, too, buddy. Try some fresh mint.”

“Why, you little!” I’m shoved back, but I don’t let my surprise show on my face. I can’t, or he’ll eat me alive. “I outta—!”

“Now, now. I know you big thug types.” I shake my head, casually walking around him, but as I learned very painfully before, I never turn my back on him. “Too cool for school. Work for the boss, you know. Like to show off.”

“S-show off?” The thug sneers. “You have no idea, kid. Just who do you think you are?”

“A newbie. You know, a poor clueless kid.” I leap on top of the dumpster, crouching there, my grin nearly splitting my face. If I keep smiling, I don’t think about how badly this can go. And actually, I might enjoy myself. “But I have to say, the Riddler’s got nothing on Tony Zucco, and he’s just an extortionist.” I laugh, and again, it echos off the walls, sounding more like an imp than me. Or maybe, that’s right on the nose. The man flinches but smirks at me. 

“Ha! I know what you’re trying to do! And it won’t work.” The Riddler thug points his gun right at me, but I stay calm. I don’t move. “We’re too smart for you, boy. You have no idea what Gotham’s like! What the Riddler’s like!”

“A guy who likes puzzles and tongue twisters?” I snicker, ignoring the gun, or so it seems. Really, I’m looking at the man, at the gun, and around the alley all at once. Who knows when some of his buddies could show up. What would Alfred think when the police retrieve my cold, dead body from a dirty alleyway? “Please, Batman isn’t even paying attention to him anymore. Let alone, you guys. Zucco, now, that guy—”

“You don’t know anything!” The Riddler thug’s shaking now, his eyes popping with indignance. This is the same guy who threatened me that one night, the guy that Batman took down, and it would make sense that, like me, that was something of a bragging right for him.

A criminal is classified by how much of a threat he is, but in their world, it would make sense if they classify themselves based on how much the Bat pays attention to them. 

“Don’t I?” I don’t sneer. I smile so lightly, so easily, that the man’s probably shot me a million times over in his head already. “You care about what the Bat thinks about your boss, don’t you? You’re jealous!”

“Why, you little!” BANG!

I dodge the bullet, literally jumping up into the shadows and disappearing. I have him angry at me. Now, what do I do? How can I get him to talk? “Yeah, yeah, you’re jealous!” I laugh from the shadows, and it’s everywhere and nowhere. The thug doesn’t have a shot. 

So I try the stupidest thing I could do. I jump down in front of him. I was about to open my mouth and ask another question or goad him into spilling the beans, and I should’ve seen it coming. 

If it wasn’t for the baterang, I would be a holier person than I am now. Snap! The gun’s knocked out of the man’s hand. Wham! He’s out cold on the ground. Phoom! He’s wrapped tightly with a rope. All of it happens in less than five seconds. And I’m left standing in a deep, colossal shadow. 

I don’t know what to say. Instead, the Bat speaks first. “You aren’t supposed to be here.” It’s not what I was expecting, though nothing that comes from the Bat’s mouth around me is what I’m expecting. Why does he always act so weird around me? Does my reputation proceed me that much?

“B-batman!” I know, I know, but what else am I supposed to say? I didn’t see him coming. I didn’t hear him coming, even with my trained ears. My hands tremble, and my legs are mush. What I’ve done finally hits me. I could’ve died. But I didn’t. I didn’t! I almost totally kicked butt!

Batman does something else I’m not expecting. He grabs me, pulls me into his thick, armored chest, and launches us up to the rooftops, zipping into the sky with his grappling hook. I blink hard when I’m set on the edge of a building, looking out over the shorter buildings of Old Gotham to the towers that stick up like sore thumbs. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here.” Batman repeats, his cape draping over him like a bat’s wings. Really, how can he look so cool? “You are the ward of Bruce Wayne. Zucco’s still at large. You will get yourself killed. Or worse.”

Worse? Worse? How is something worse than dying? Besides, how does he even know who I am? “I can take care of myself.” I insist, trying to look taller and older than I really am. But, if he knows who I am, it’s no use. He’s already seen me drugged, crying, bleeding from a gun wound. “Didn’t you see me with that guy? I didn’t even have to use my bō staff!”

“What I saw was a sloppy, dangerous attempt to get information.” Batman’s growl is so chilling, so intimidating, but I don’t step back. I bristle, but then again, it’s cool getting scolded by the legend himself. “You’re too nice, kid. They won’t take you seriously.”

“It’s an advantage.” I try to argue. Just to note, don’t ever try to argue with Batman. At least, not when you’re a foot shorter than him, and his biceps are as big as your head. 

“It’s fool’s play.” Batman doesn't move. He might’s well be an actual bat, only he’s standing up, not hanging upside down. “He may be a street-level thug, but he’s still dangerous. He works for the Riddler.”

I almost ask, ‘what does that have to do with it?’ but the Riddler’s the Riddler, one of the smartest, most devious people alive. His thugs are a lot dumber than he is, but they must’ve learned something from him. I might’ve been playing with the thug, but he could’ve played with me just as much. 

“I will escort you home.” Five words. Just five simple words. But I despise every one of them. Or, at least, part of me does. 

“No.” I pull out my folder, my precious research. “I have to take this to the Commissioner. Or… you need to take it and help me. Help me take him down.”

Batman does take it. In fact, one moment it’s in my hand, the next it isn’t. He’s flipping through my notes, his mouth dipped into a thin line. Now, where have I seen that expression before? “You did this?” He asks, his voice not giving anything away. 

I nod. “You and the GCPD haven’t brought him in yet. Zucco. If you know who I am, then you know how much this means to me.” I clench my fists, trying to keep the burning away from my eyes, the desperation from my voice. “He needs to pay. You’re Batman. You need to—”

“What I need from you, Mister Grayson,” His voice cuts through any hope I have, any lingering dream, “Is for you to go home. I am already hunting down Zucco. The GCPD’s best are on the case. All you need to do is—”

“Wait?” I shake my head, taking a step back. “No. No, I can’t do that anymore. I can’t!” I don’t know what I’m doing. Actually, I do. Something incredibly stupid. I fall into a defensive stance, facing the Dark Knight. “I can handle myself!”

“Fine.” The fight doesn’t last long. If Alfred is a miracle for his age, this guy? This guy is the living legend, the myth. Superman? Ha! Batman is the ‘Superman’ because I’m sure he’s just an ordinary person under that mask. 

He blocks each of my attacks and deflects every one of my blows. I fly around him, trying to keep moving as he stands still, letting me get all my energy out, slow down, and tire. But I can’t stop. I can’t let him win. He has to understand. Someone has to understand! Zucco needs to pay! 

I take my bō staff off my back, spinning it around with expert hands. Even then, when I launch forward with a small yell, the staff whipping towards him, it does nothing. All my staff does is crack onto the concrete where he was only a second before. 

I throw all my energy into one last attack. A double flying kick to the face. One of the hits lands, and Batman takes a step, one measly little step, back. I want to crow in victory. Then, I’m in his grasp, his fingers clamping down on my wrists. So much for that. I sag. I know I’m beaten. He’ll send me home now. Bruce will lock me in my room. Alfred will never teach me anything again. They might as well just lock me up in Juvie. 

“Impressive.” I lift my head, trying to keep my mouth shut, but it probably just banged against the rooftop. Batman’s assessing me, reading my every expression. He isn’t scolding me? Isn’t telling me off? He’s… impressed? “For a boy of your age and stature, you did well. Still, I can’t—”

“Please.” I nod at my folder, which lies dejected on the ground, covered in grime and filth. “I know you probably already know all of that, but I can’t live with him in my head anymore. You were there when I got shot. You know—”

“I was there that day at the circus.” Batman’s voice is different, softer if that’s possible. “I’ve been tracking down Zucco since the night your parents died.” 

What? But that doesn’t make sense. How could Batman have been there? How could he have known? Come to think of it, why’s he in the Riddler’s territory if he’s tracking down Zucco? How did he find me when I ran from the GCHB? And now he just so happens to find me tonight like this? Why would he even care?

Unless… unless…

I stare at Batman. No, not at Batman. At the man under the mask, hiding behind the cape. The man who holds my hands gently but firmly. The man whose voice I recognize. The man who told me to go home, to leave it alone. 

“I am there for him. I take care of him. He’s safe, isn’t he?”

“You may be there for him, Master Bruce, but he doesn’t know that.” 

Bruce has been with me, watching me all this time. I’ve never been without him, I realize, because Bruce Wayne… Bruce Wayne…

“Bruce?” I ask the Batman. “It’s you… Isn’t it?”

I think I’m right. I’m almost a hundred percent sure I’m right. But still, I’m not ready for his answer. It’s one word, so simple, so innocent, but it rocks my world. One word changes my life forever. 

“Yes.”

To be Continued...