Robin: Beginnings - Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I Kick Bat Butt

“They went to the department store in East End, so logically—”

“Master Dick, what are you doing?” Alfred walks into my bedroom, his eyebrows raised so much I think they might just lift off into space, his lips twitching like crazy.

I crank my head over, looking at him sideways. What? It’s hard to look straight at a person while doing a handstand. What am I doing, you might ask? Well, I’m helping out my boss. Or Batman, or Bruce. Or just B. 

Below my hands is a map of Gotham City, ironically the one Alfred gave me for my research. Only now, more locations have been circled and crossed off. Batman doesn’t really need help, but that doesn’t mean that things don’t move a lot faster when he does have someone in the Batcave, running through information, clues, and analyzing evidence and patterns from behind the scenes. That’s what I’ve been doing. The guy in the chair, set up with snacks, of course, getting to watch everything through the HUD in Batman’s mask. HUD or heads-up display. Yeah, I didn’t know what it was either. 

And let me tell you, watching Batman work the case from his point of view? Epic. Just plain epicness. 

I’m not doing that now, though. I’d love to have a setup in my room; that would really be awesome! But no. I’m doing off-the-clock jobs, well, okay, I’m never really off-the-clock, but this is technically my free time so take it as you will. 

The past weeks have passed mostly the same. I wake up an hour earlier every morning to train with Alfred, honing my fighting style, strength, and overall awesomeness in every single thing. Even ballet. Just don’t tell anyone about that. After that, I shower and head to school. 

School is a lot more tolerable now. I mean, I liked it to begin with, but now that I have this awesome little secret. So now, when I get teased, my smile is real. My laugh is too. All of those kids giving Bruce Wayne a hard time have absolutely no idea. The only problem with school, though, is that I can’t do the gymnastics team. Bruce never signed the papers, and never told me yes about the Olympics. I still practice after school, though, because I get to spend more time with Babs. And because I can. Just because I’m not on the team doesn’t mean I can’t be around. 

But then, there's another problem. I’m not allowed to tell anyone our secret. No one, not even my best friend. So when Babs asks me what’s changed between Bruce and me, I just have to say that he’s let me into his life more, that we spend more time together. But I can’t tell Batman’s biggest number one fan that I’m living in the Bat’s house, much less that I’m his budding partner. 

It hurts, and sometimes, it’s on the tip of my tongue, but Bruce explained it to me. 

If people knew, Batman would be no more. Not just because how we operate and where we operate out of would be compromised, but the psychos of this city wouldn’t care whether Bruce was in or out of costume. We’d have to leave Gotham. 

So I keep my mouth shut, which, for me, is like a death sentence. Secrets are fun, but sometimes they really, really suck. 

After school, like before, I come home, finish my homework, and study even more. I have to know everything, right? I wasn’t a child prodigy before, at least not on the academic side of things, but boy, oh boy, are they making me one. Anything below a perfect grade is unacceptable. Now, you’d think that’s cruel, but here’s the thing: I don’t move on until I know what I’m learning and understand. That’s the whole point. I can’t just get a grade just to get a grade. I have to know and remember everything. 

So Alfred pounds it into my brain again and again. I study until my mind’s mush until I want to bang my head against the table, but to be honest? I really do love it. I get to learn so much more than ever before, and most of the stuff is actually fascinating. Especially Literature. 

After that is my small window of free time, dinner, and working with Bruce for the rest of the night. I’m not going to tell you how much sleep I’m getting because you probably would call child services, but I love it. Staying up late to work with the Batman? Coolest. Job. Ever. 

I mean, who doesn’t want to train with the Master? The one who does it all right? Even when I get my butt handed to me, it’s still amazing. Over the past weeks, I’ve learned so much. Do you know how fun it is to throw exploding batarangs? Or spar with an army of robots? 

“I’m working the case, Alfred.” I flip out of my handstand, launching into the air, arching over Alfred’s head to land on one of the supports of my four-poster. I hang there like a monkey, grinning at him as all the blood sloshes around in my head, not knowing if I’m up or down. “Getting ready for tonight. We’re going to hit another place!”

“Is that so, Master Dick?” Alfred brushes some nonexistent lint off his shoulder, sniffing. “Well then, I suppose you would not want to see the obstacle course Master Bruce had put in the backyard simply for your benefit.”

I think I lost my eyeballs. And my jaw. “What?” I jump down from my bed, trying to keep from shaking Alfred. “Where?”

“Out back, Master Dick. Master Bruce is waiting for you. Some early training—”

I don’t let him finish. I’m already out the door. I mean, wouldn’t you be? I tear through the house, sliding the rugs into ruffles, exploding out of the back door. I don’t even bother with the stairs. I mean, when you learn to leap off things way taller than a twelve-step stairway, it isn’t such a big deal. I roll onto the grass, popping up into a sprint. 

Placed out of sight from the porch is a ninja course, and I mean the whole shebang. Warped walls, quintuple steps, unstable bridges, the cliffhanger, spider jump, and salmon ladder, you know, all the cool things that the guys do on TV? But like, there’s also a forest of bamboo with the tops leveled out, waiting to be jumped across. There’re insane jungle gyms and climbing nets. 

And before it all, dressed in a white Karate gi with a black obi belt, is Bruce. I’ve seen him in his gi before, when he’s trained me in the cave, but seeing him out here in the sunlight? Well, I have to muffle myself because from the look on his face, I don’t think he would appreciate a squeal of flying spittle right about now. “Are you ready for this, Chum?” Bruce crosses his arms over his broad chest, nodding to the gi set out for me. And unlike Bruce’s black obi, you know, black belt, I get a white one. 

I pick up the clothes, then peer behind him at the course. “We going for a walk or something?”

“Or something.” Bruce finally cracks a smile. Okay, when I say ‘cracks a smile,’ I mean more like a half grin. “Get dressed.”

I slide out of my T-shirt and shorts and pull on the gi, tying the belt in place. I stand in front of Bruce, cracking my knuckles. “Doesn’t look too hard.” I mean, yes and no. But courses like this test everything. And Bruce will be watching. “I probably could do this in my sleep.”

“Good.” Bruce pulls a long cloth out of his gi, holding it out to me. Just like Alfred’s been doing every morning since I found out Bruce was Batman. “Because you’re going to be doing it blindfolded.”

“Gosh, that stinks.” I take the blindfold, my nose wrinkling. “Am I graded on performance or epic fails?”

“You won’t fail.” Bruce’s face disappears as I tie the blindfold over my face, his voice painting him in my mind. I know why I won’t fail because failure is unacceptable. Besides, if I fail, that means I’m that much further away from actually going out at night to fight crime with the Batman. 

I’ve learned patience, but that doesn’t mean I’m patient all the time. Working from behind the scenes is great and all, and we’ve almost backed Zucco into a corner, but still. That rush, that thrill from crashing into that Riddler thug, of seeing that young woman run away safe and unharmed, it hasn’t gone away. 

Fighting Alfred and sparing with Bruce isn’t enough. I need to be doing something more. I’m ready, but I’m also not. I have to beat Bruce.

“Okay, uh huh,” I hold out my arms and wave them around, reaching out a foot and teasing the grass with my toe, “I feel… grass and dirt. And—” My hand brushes fabric. Bruce is standing right in front of me. I let out a small squeak, flipping back. “Hey! Not funny!”

“You aren’t the only one with a sense of humor.” Bruce’s chuckle tickles my ears, and I automatically fall back into a defensive stance. He’s standing right in front of the obstacle ninja-y course. Do I have to get past him to even start?

“You? Humor? Oh no.” I snicker. “Just leave it all to me, B. I can be the comic relief for both of us.” With that, I lunge forward into a handspring. I feel the whoosh as I launch over Bruce’s head, his hair tickling my nose as I clear it with centimeters to spare. I land in a sprint. 

In my head, I can see the ninja course. This might seem weird to a lot of people. Still, when you have to memorize as much as I do, and when you have to study Where’s Waldo books and remember what something looks like after thirty seconds so you can describe it or draw it, which is horrible because I stink at art, then this is a piece of cake. 

Maybe not the best way to describe it since I’m so terrible at it, but it’s like painting a picture. Or maybe taking a photo of something. Isn’t that what some people call it? Photographic memory?

Anyway, I leap into the first obstacle, the quintuple steps. The slanted platforms challenge how far you can jump and how to keep nailing those jumps. I mean, five steps, each six feet apart? Okay, so on a typical day, this would be easy peasy. Not to brag, but jumping’s like my jam. But with a blindfold?

So I jump onto the first one. My bare feet immediately start sliding down the side. You’re not meant to stand on these things. So I leap. If I miss the next step, I won’t land in the water or anything; I’ll crash into the grass and start the course over again. 

The wind rushes past me. At first, as I soar through the air, I worry that I’ve overshot or missed the trajectory entirely. You know, aimed wrong? Instead, my feet slap onto a pad, and I start sliding down again. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until it exploded out of me in a sigh of relief. 

But there’s no time to rest. I have to jump again, so I do. I jump and land, then repeat. You’d think it would be terrifying, doing all of this without seeing, and the course all smells the same, right? And it doesn’t make any noise, so how do I do it? Honestly, I don’t know. After hours of practice with Alfred, I guess I’ve gotten used to parkour without sight.

I clear the quintuple steps and stand at the resting platform, but not for long. Next, if I remember correctly, is the unstable bridges. And I’m not talking about a bridge with planks missing and fraying rope. For one thing, there’s no walking across this thing. It’s more like, well, more like insanely hard monkey bars, only you’re not swinging one from the other. You have to move your grip along the edges. 

I can feel it looming over me, so I jump up, my hands gripping the sides. I wish I had chalk, or wraps or grips, but no. My bare hands bite into the hard plastic, my upper arms pulling the rest of my body upward. I know that as long as I stay on this plank, I’m okay with the blindfold. It’s the jump to the next one that might be a problem. 

So I tighten my core, swing my legs, and jump. You know, like you would jump on the ground. But in the air. Trying to catch a piece of plastic before you crash into the dirt. Who thought of this, again?

I make it to the end of the plank without a lot of problems. Holding onto things and jumping off is my thing, again, trapeze artist and gymnast over here. But jumping so short with such abrupt falls?  Not really my thing. So actually, leaping across the swinging gap to the next plank is way better than I thought it’d be. Although I really do believe I almost smacked my brains out. Who can tell with a blindfold?

When I finally get to the safe platform, my upper body burns. It’s a good burn, though, a familiar burn. It pushes me on, and reminds me that I still have a ways to go. 

Warped walls, the cliffhanger, and spider jump all pass by, and by the time I’m standing below the salmon ladder, my body is slicked with sweat, leaking through the armpits of my gi, slicking my cheeks under the blindfold. But, of course, they saved the best for last. 

I love the name of this one, salmon ladder, because it’s really what the fish have to do. They swim against the current, and I’ll be jumping against gravity. 

Basically, the salmon ladder is a pole you hold, that you have to get into the different slots by going straight up. It’s like the mother of all pull-ups, oh, and the whole thing’s twelve feet tall. 

So I grab the pole and rest it in the first slot, wiping my palms on my gi’s pants. Then, I grip the bar. I open my shoulders, taking a deep breath before snapping my knees and my core in. The bar lifts, then clatters down into the next slot. I control my legs, commanding strength from my arms. I repeat the motion, landing in the next slot with a dull thunk and a solid drop. 

My face drips, my teeth grit, and I do it again. And again, and again. I love flying. I love swinging and jumping, and cartwheeling. But this? This really does stink. But it’s important. What? I’m not that much of a baby.

By the time I get to the top, I want to collapse. I’ve already trained with Alfred, trained at gym class, then trained more when I got home. I’m better than almost anyone ever. What? I am! Even still, I’m just a kid. I’m not superhuman. 

But when I reach the top, a shadow stands over me. It’s Bruce, his breath silent, his heartbeat so still you’d think he’s dead. I’ve run the gauntlet, which, in the end, wasn’t as hard as some of the things Alfred and Bruce have made me do. Ya know, holding my breath for pushing ten minutes? But I know it’s not over yet. 

Especially when Bruce says, “You’re ready.”

I’d have leaped for joy if he’d meant I was ready to go patrolling with him, you know, get out on the streets and have an actual fight? But when I pull off my blindfold, mussing my damp hair, when I see that determined, knowing look in Bruce’s grey eyes, I know. 

It’s time to fight him. For real. For the grand prize. 

“Now?” I pull myself up to my feet, running a hand through my hair, only managing to stick it straight up. “Up here?”

“Tempting, but no.” Bruce smiles, but his eyes are still looking me over, still taking in every measly little detail. “After dinner. In the Batcave. We fight.”

I toss the blindfold over my shoulder, hoping my grin doesn’t look as tired as I feel. “Fight? You mean that’s when I’m gonna kick your butt, right?”

“Confident, are we?” Bruce’s eyes soften a little, a spark twinkling in his gaze. “That can be good, but too much can be dangerous.”

“I walk on danger.” I crouch on the edge of the platform, smirking up at Bruce. “I’m a Flying Grayson.” I know, I know, I’m a showoff, but who wouldn’t want to launch themselves off the platform and flip back down to the ground after a mike drop like that? I mean, really.

But when I’m back in the manor, back in my room, I'm not confident. In fact, my insides twist into knots like the Vestri’s snakes, my hands shake, and I collapse onto my bed. I’m not scared, at least that's what I tell myself. I'm ready for this. Yeah, yeah, of course I'm ready. 

Only… I have to beat Batman.  

“Master Dick,” I don't even hear Alfred walk in. I don't even feel his hand on my back. At least, not at first. Whap! What? At least he dodges the blow this time. 

I sit up, lowering my head. “Sorry, Alfred.” I really need to stop doing that. What if I accidentally break my history teacher after falling asleep in his class?

“Master Dick, are you alright?” This time, I raise my eyebrows. I mean, I know Alfred cares, but this kind of gentle question? And here I thought I knew the guy. Huh. 

Alfred isn't Bruce, but still, I know I won't get away with a lie. So I tell him. “No. I have to fight Batman. How should I be?”

“You are ready.” No hesitation. No sugar coating or lying about my skill. No bias because I know that Alfred says things the way they are. 

Three simple words, but like every other thing in my life, it means so much more. I don't think I'm ready. Then again, I'm probably never going to think I'm ready. I want to get out onto the streets, but there's a literal mountain standing in my way. 

But if Alfred says I'm ready? Well, I'm just going to have to suck it up and fight. So I smile at Alfred, saying what I don't say enough. “Thanks, Alfred. For training me.”

Alfred’s mouth twitches, and he gives a short bow, something no one else would do. Okay, almost no one else would do. “It was and is my pleasure, Master Dick.”

The same thing he said to Bruce my first time in the cave, but it means everything to me. Not for the first time, I realize that he's not here for a salary. He's here because he cares about us. And honestly, where would the two of us be without him? 

I’m left to contemplate my life’s choices until dinner. I don't doubt my resolve to do this. I'm not going against my promise. Wow, I’d be such a wuss if I gave up so quickly, but I'm questioning tonight. Confidence? What's confidence? I don’t have no stinkn’ confidence. 

But that doesn’t matter. I’m doing this, and whether I kick Bruce’s butt or he lays me out with three moves or, even more embarrassingly, one move, I’m still going to do it. 

So I go to the dinner table with a skip in my step. After all, getting the crap beaten out of you by Batman would still be cool. The banquet hall’s a lot nicer now that Bruce comes to dinner. I don’t know whether he comes because Alfred makes him or because he knows I can hunt him down and have dinner with him in the Batcave. Either way, we sit together, eating and talking. I would say ‘chatting’, but Bruce never really ‘chats’ with anyone unless he has that whole billionaire showboat persona up. So we talk about Gotham, his experiences over the years, which are much more interesting told by him than by the files, and I tell him about my family and the circus.

“And that’s how I learned to walk.” I stab my fork into my beef Wellington. “The guests watching almost had heart attacks.”

“Impressive.” Bruce takes a bite, waving his fork at me. “The Grayson family is truly incredible. Such skill at such a young age.” Bruce smiles, his eyes taking on that rare glimmer. “Just think of how far I would have come if I started training that early.”

“Everyone tremble in fear—” I start, deepening my voice and letting it roll like C.C. Haly’s, “Before your very eyes witness the wonder of the bodacious, baffling, Batboy!” I leap onto my seat, my feet landing firmly on the arms, lifting my fork up into the air. “Witness his daring deeds as he performs his meticulous mastery of the martial arts!”

“Are you sure that’s me?” Bruce laughs as I plop back down in my seat, ignoring the look Alfred’s giving me. “Wouldn’t you be the Batboy?”

“You know, I don’t really like that name.” I take a bite of my beef, chewing thoughtfully. “I was thinking something else. Batman and Batboy just don’t roll off the tongue. I need something else. Batman and—”

“Batwing?” Bruce offers, taking a sip of his tea and looking at me from over the rim. “Imp?”

“No… but I have a list!” I pull a piece of paper from my back pocket and slap it on the table. Bruce grabs it and begins to scan through the list, his eyes narrowed. 

I hold my breath when he finally looks up at me, an eyebrow raised. “Bitten? Pup? Microbat?”

My cheeks explode. “Okay, so the list isn’t that good. The whole ‘bat’ thing’s kind of limited, you know? But, who says I have to be a bat?”

“You want another code name?” Bruce pushes back from the table. “Think about it more after our fight.”

Oh, right. That’s now, isn’t it? I push back from the table, trying to keep from bouncing on my toes. I need to save all this energy, bottle it up, and let it explode during the fight. Okay, maybe not explode, more like, feed it into the fight. 

“You ready for this?” I crack my knuckles, smirking to cover up my trembling lips. 

“Meet me in the Batcave in five,” Bruce says, nodding at Alfred. “We’re ready.”

I dress in my gi almost immediately after I step out of the elevator from Bruce's office to the Batcave. Bruce is already ready, waiting in the arena, his arms crossed over his chest. Alfred stands beside him with two weapon options. A bō staff and a katana. I’ve learned swordplay, but I already know that this isn’t going to be a duel. So this has to be a test. 

Well, okay then. When I get up to the arena, I bow. It’s a custom in a lot of martial arts. A recognition of the student that they are entering the training grounds, that now is the time to be ready and aware. My feet stop at the edge, not waiting to step in. Because I know that if I step in, it’ll happen. It’s going to start. 

So I rip the band-aid off. I take a big step in and stroll up to Alfred, accepting the bō staff, twirling it around in my hands before resting it against my shoulder, coming to stand before Bruce. My heart pounds in my chest like it wants to be a part of a rock band, and my palm slides down the staff. This is really happening.

“The rules are simple.” Bruce locks eyes with me. It’s impossible to look away from him. I should know. “We fight until one of us is knocked out or otherwise beaten.”

“Don’t hold back.” I don’t know why I’m signing the papers of my doom, but there it is. I want to earn this victory. I want to say that I can actually beat the Batman. I don’t want any of this being cheapened by Bruce going easy on me. “If the people in the streets don’t care if I’m a kid, you can’t either.”

“Fair.” Bruce puts his knuckles against his palm and gets ready to bow. “I will be fighting with my body alone. I won’t use a weapon.”

“I will be fighting with my body and the bō staff.” I hold out the staff, letting it rest in both palms, getting ready to bow. “So… is there a time limit to this thing?”

“No.” Great, so we could be fighting until one of us falls asleep? “But Alfred will keep time and act as a referee.”

Referee? Why? To make sure we don’t kill each other? Oh well. We bow, keeping our eyes locked on one another. When you bow, even out of respect to a Master, you never avert your eyes. I don’t know what kind of jerk would, but sometimes you could get attacked. 

When I lift out of the bow, it's time. I fall back into a defensive position, my bō staff out, pointing right at Bruce. I wait.

He makes the first move. It’s a blur, but I see and leap out of the way. But, unlike before, when I dodge, I dodge to the side and in, my bō staff snapping forward. Bruce recovers, but my hit lands. The third strike I’ve managed to land on B, at least, outside of practice. 

I jump away as soon as my toes touch the ground because Bruce is on me again, a punch heading straight for my face. I slide to the other side, catching his feet with my staff. He doesn’t even trip. Oh well. It doesn’t matter because my arms are up, Bruce's fist cracking on the wood of my staff, his leg coming out to kick me. It’s a blur. He’s a blur. But so am I. 

I shove my arms up, throwing off his arms, then whip my staff up again, banging into his chin. In the lull, I leap up, landing two kicks to his face, one foot after the other, before rolling away, launching back onto my feet from a handspring. 

Bruce is on me again. I swear this guy’s made of titanium or something because he keeps coming. But I don’t want this fight to last long. I have to make a plan and fast. Bruce is a beast with the speed of a cheetah, and just dodging his blows is a pain. I don’t want to hurt him, but I want to get him out of the fight.

What I need to do, though, is scary. If I judge my strength wrong, I could kill him. They say curiosity killed the cat. But in this game? Hesitation kills the kid. So I make up my mind. I flip around him, performing split kicks, whacking my bō staff into his knees, and even manage to trip him up once. 

My body’s slick with sweat, and my breaths are coming in quick, controlled bursts with every movement, snapping the power into my limbs. When he comes in for a series of punches to the stomach, I take my chance. I flip backward out of the way, then leap forward, clearing the distance between us in one jump. My foot lands on his solid chest, and I push off, using it like the springboard of a vault. I tuck my arms in and twist, but when I fall back down to earth, I whip out the arm holding the bō staff, yelling with the force. Crack!

I land in a slide, my bō staff held out to the side, looking, looking, looking. Bruce teeters, his breaths hitch, but he’s righting himself. Oh no—

I don’t leave him the time to recover. I lunge forward and kick out my leg, my most powerful weapon. It catches Bruce’s side, launching him back. He crashes to the ground, but he’s still coming up. Too fast… too fast!

“Oh no, you don’t!” I smack into him. It’s like tackling concrete, but he still goes down, his eyes narrowed. I raise my fist over his face. “I haven’t worked my butt off for nothing!’

CRACK!

My fist slams into his nose, and his head slams into the arena floor. But he’s still getting up, pushing me off him, getting ready to attack. This guy’s unstoppable!

I let out a huff, wrapping my legs around his neck as he stands, so I'm hanging like a noose, and I squeeze them tight. I can’t cut off his air; he can stay conscious for too long without air. I have to cut off his blood supply. My thighs press against his carotid arteries and jugular veins, my ankles locked. His hands are grabbing me, trying to shove me off. He tries to catch me and hit me, but I swing out of the way. What? When you do the trapeze and gymnastics and everything else they make me do, you can move your upper half without moving your bottom half. 

I count in my head. One, two, three, four—

Bruce manages to grab my arm. He jerks me up within range, but I still don't move my legs. 

Five, six, seven—

I twist my arm free, grabbing his wrist instead. 

Eight, nine, ten—

I make the mistake of hanging onto his wrist for too long. Snap! Pain shoots through my body. 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen,

I have to let go at twenty seconds. I could seriously injure him or even kill him after twenty seconds.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—

Bruce grunts, stumbling back. Maybe… Maybe… 

Bruce topples forward, and I let go, kicking off his back and flipping up, landing on his prone body with a thump. I don’t jump for joy. I don’t do a jig. Instead, I slip off Bruce and run right to his side, checking his pulse and feeling his breath. 

Alfred comes up behind me, a glass of water already in hand. “Well done, Master Dick.”

“It took too long, though.” I frown, flipping Bruce over and letting him breathe the cave air. “If I took that long with a criminal, a lot of things could’ve gone wrong, especially if he had friends.”

“Good thing what you did would take out any normal, even skilled criminal.” I don’t jump at Bruce’s voice, which I’m proud of. Instead, I help him sit up. His eyes are already open and alert, his lips twisted into a smile. There's no mistaking that look of pride that tickles me down to my toes. “If you can beat me, even after a couple of minutes, then you are well on your way.”

My hands shake as I help Bruce to his feet. Is this real? Did I really just do that? I won? I really won? No way! No, stinkn’ way! I finally crack a grin, flexing my muscles, even though they’re nothing compared to Bruce’s. Again, not to show off, just for fun. “Yeah! Look out, Gotham ‘cause the partner of Batman’s coming on patrol!”

“You did well, Dick.” Bruce’s hands feel good on my shoulders. The look on his face eases my doubts. See, if he were like this all the time, I wouldn’t worry about anything. He has his moments. “I’m proud of you. You will come out on patrol with me. The Bat’s shadow.”

I can’t help my heart skipping,  my breath hitching, or my eyes sparkling. I’m going to go out on the streets. I’m going to help Batman track down Zucco. I’m going to make my parents proud. 

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Okay, so I haven’t really been thinking about this up until now, but if I’m going to go out with Bruce, I really do need a codename. What? Can you see Batman always calling his pint-sized partner ‘chum?’ I mean, it does have some pretty good irony to it since ‘chum’ is like, fish bait or whatever. But still. A code name. A code name that will go well with Batman. A code name that means something to me. A code name that will be my superhero name.

“No, no driving the Batmobile.” Was that a joke? Did Bruce just joke? Everyone, stop whatever they're doing and come over here because Bruce Wayne just made a joke. Okay, a good one, at least. 

“Not that,” I pout, but only for a moment, “At least, not yet. I mean, I should know how to, right? Especially if—”

“What were you saying, Chum?” Bruce’s hands slip off my shoulder, and he lets them rest at his sides. As if I’d attack him again, sheesh! “What were you thinking?”

“My name. I mean, my code name.” I can’t help the red flower that blooms on my cheeks. What if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s like the other ones? I mean, the more I think about it, the lamer it sounds, but then again, it means something. To me, to my family. “I think I know what I want to be called.”

“Shoot.” Bruce inclines his head. Alfred steps closer. Either this’ll be it, or I’ll just hide in my room for the rest of my life. Or, you could just put ‘He thought it sounded cool’ on my grave.

“Robin.” I almost fumble the word, bouncing on my toes. I don’t look heroic or even like a protegé. I look like a kid. But then, that’s the point, isn’t it? I’m a kid, and they’ll underestimate me. That’s my superpower. “I want to go by Robin.”

“Robin… like the bird?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, looking so much like Alfred, you might just think they’re actually related. Or like, Alfred raised him or something. 

“Yeah,” My blush fades, and I plant my hands on my hips, grinning. Why should I be ashamed when I’m doing this for them? “It’s a family name.” 

To be Continued...