It was the question that everyone wanted to know.
Who were Batman and Robin?
The two inseparable partners. The dynamic duo. The two constantly hunted down by CPS. Who were they really?
And why were they so guarded about their identities?
Sure, every superhero had their identities. Even regular civilians had multi-personalities. But while with other superheroes, it was relatively fair game in finding their associates and tracking down the trail. Batman and Robin, though? Every trail was a dead end. Why was it such a big deal, anyway? If Batman and Robin were found out, they had skills to protect themselves, didn't they?
What could be so terrible about revealing themselves?
Everyone wanted to know.
"We're standing here at the scene of the crime, a dozen or so armed men with guns holding up in the Gotham branch for Bank of America," spoke a freckle-faced red-haired woman, clutching the microphone and glancing behind her at the police guards lined up in front of said bank with near paranoia. It was clear that she was new at her job. "Uh, we don't know much about it yet, but we think there's at least… 7 hostages inside? There's definitely more men than hostages." She glanced back to the camera, frowning at the screen.
Before the angle could switch, she was suddenly jostled aside, and the cameraman cried out in alarm, the camera angle swiveling before righting again, as a frantic-eyed man appeared in the window. "They've got my daughter!" he screeched, attracting the attention of a police officer crouched behind her car. The woman in the badge ran over, attempting to soothe the father. "No, why aren't you doing anything?" he yelled as he was pushed off screen. "You can't just sit there! Help her! Help them! Do you even try to protect this city?"
The last line heard from the man as he was hurriedly shuffled away was a shouted: "The police are useless!"
The camera angle switched back to the red-headed woman, her eyes wide as she tried pushing her hair onto her shoulders again from having gotten it messed up when she was shoved.
"Things are super hectic down here," she added hurriedly.
On the actual scene of the event, rather than through the lenses of a camera, there was an entire crowd of people stuck behind the yellow tape of police regulation. It seemed most people were yelling, some were crying, and others were just trying to get to the front to see what was going on. A handful of police officers were waving their arms at the border, desperately trying to keep the crowd back.
But suddenly, the crowd practically exploded. Even the police paused in their regulating to see what the big deal was, looking behind their shoulders to spot the source of commotion. Some of the police officers near the cars had completely stopped what they were doing and were pointing to a place on the roof.
The crowd roared and some threw hats.
"It's Batman and Robin!" a person screeched, and the camera man began fumbling to turn his camera back on.
"I thought they only came out at night?" someone else yelled back.
"It's evening! Close enough!"
Indeed, it was. However, the details had been slightly off – there was only Robin. The Gothamites knew, though, that meant that the Bat was somewhere nearby, and didn't bother to correct themselves.
Robin hadn't planned on the crowd spotting him, as he was certain they were too busy with the situation on ground to bother with looking at the roof. Still, it wasn't the end of the world. He was careless simply because he didn't mind if the crowd spotted him or not. Actually, if Robin noted at the back of his mind, it helped a lot. Soon enough, the goons would catch wind of the bird on the roof, and be so focused on him that they would entirely neglect to look for Batman.
It was kind of funny, since it was no secret that they were almost always together. Oddly enough, though, that was just the way the human mind worked in tense situations. They went with the present problem first.
All Robin needed to do was secure a location for himself so that if something went wrong, he could get the hostages out safely. Such as, if a goon decided to grab one of them. Then Robin would jump in and take them by surprise.
Making sure that he had complete access of the window latch at the top of the skylight first, Robin jumped up. He put himself in a position where he could simply swirl around and easily slip into the bank and went to the highest leverage point of that area. High enough that everything but his boots were visible to the public down below.
The shouts rocketed in volume. Robin decided to entertain them. Posing unnecessarily like a block of wood was Superman's job.
He immediately began flexing comically, and when that earned a confused chorus of responses from the crowd, started miming. Robin couldn't stop himself from giggling insanely, though, when the shouts turned into, "God damned child!" and "This isn't a game!"
Robin knew more than almost anyone that it wasn't a game. But pretending it was, well, that was the only way he could survive. One could die of unhappiness just as much as they could die from a bullet, simply slower.
It kept him from thinking about it all.
Most of all, though, it felt incredibly good to finally be able to stick his tongue out at the woman in the CPS jacket who tried to coax him with, "Come down, Robin! We can help you, get you away from all this stress and danger!"
Hah, nope. A life without the familiar feel of adrenaline coursing through his body, the swell of pride every time he saved someone? What was life without that?
Robin skipped into a ballerina pose, gracefully turning, before slipping into a fluid bow, tipping an imaginary hat. Then, before anyone could stop him, he was gone, beckoned by a crackly voice in his ear.
/
Batman barely glanced at Robin before disappearing after a last goon who had been spotted by the tail end, attempting to vanish. And Robin barely glanced back.
Robin was too busy dealing with a man with a knife. It was Robin's own fault, really. He had underestimated the back-up plans of the men, based on the impression of shaky hands with guns that they gave. Apparently, they were quite a bit more comfortable with knives than with guns, and Robin barely managed to roll away as a knife slashed at the side of his head, no doubt having cut hair.
Fortunately, the goon was down and unconscious within seconds, and his knife was kicked away from him. Skilled with a knife, not too skilled with his feet. But as Robin was about to whirl away to track down Batman, he was distracted by the sight of a girl, sitting against the wall and crying. She was clutching her shoulder, and blood was seeping through her fingers.
"Were you shot or stabbed?" Robin demanded, though not unkindly, while rushing up to her. Her lip trembled, and Robin acknowledged the fact that though she was small, she had to be only slightly younger than Robin himself. She was crying too hard to talk, but her eyes flickered to the knife on the ground, and Robin was relieved to know the answer. She probably wasn't stabbed, either. Just slashed.
Without hesitating, Robin moved to lift the girl up. He let out a small groan, but she was too petite and thin to be a hefty challenge, and he soon had her on his shoulder. She cried out softly.
"Just hold on, I'll get you out," Robin said. The blinds of the bank were down. The police probably didn't even know that the goons were out.
He kicked open the doors to the bank, and his ears were immediately assaulted with the cries and screeches of what could only be frantic loved ones. The cries turned into actual sounds of crying, one voice prominent above all as Robin spotted a man running forward. Behind him was a woman, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, likely a hostage that had been one of the first that Robin had practically threw out. Tears were streaming down the man's face as he blatantly ignored Robin and held out his arms for his daughter. Robin was fine with the neglect, though. He was only happy to give the daughter over, arms out and ready to deposit her in the man's arms.
The man had secured her in his grip, but the girl's fingers remained stubbornly clasped to the sides of Robin's face. Confused, Robin could only stare at her awkwardly, but as he felt the familiar sensation of fabric moving across his nose, he gasped. Fortunately, quick thinking caused his reflexes to kick into action, and he dropped down as if he had suddenly gained fifty pounds of gravity on his shoulders. His palms went to his eyes and his face went to the concrete as he knelt, but it was too late.
The mask was off.
It occurred to Robin then that the knife from earlier must have slashed it, and it had already begun to fray and shift off when the girl had grabbed it. But through his fingers, Robin could see the mask lying at the man's feet, and it was with a growing dread and sense of horror that he froze. He could feel his gut drop. His mind went blank. Robin felt as if he could see right then his very life crumbling before his eyes.
There was no way that Robin could escape without showing who he was.
The man backed away. The front lines of the crowds went silent, and though the back remained obnoxious and unaware, the change was drastic enough to make Robin want to screech in frustration. He was stuck. Completely and utterly stuck.
Where was Batman?
Finishing up the goon, that was where. Meaning he had no idea what was going on with Robin right at that second.
But wait, Robin had his comm.
-Except, he couldn't take a single hand away from his face to turn it on. It was too risky. Even a peek could give an idea as to who he was to anyone close enough to see – and it was all being caught on camera. The stress was suffocating. He was so close, yet so far.
Then, the front row began to shout again.
"Stand up!" one person screamed. "Stand up and show your face!"
And then there was a woman in front of him. He could tell from the shadow, and her knees jutted awkwardly into his field of vision when she knelt. She flashed her CPS batch under his nose and bent down to speak in his ear. He immediately tensed and pressed in closer to himself, his fingers squeezing at his face. "Robin, no one has to know who you are. If you'll just come with me, then we can figure out what to—"
"Move it!" a man's voice bellowed nearby, interrupting the woman's monologue. She straightened up.
"Excuse me, Detective Bullock," she said, sounding as if she were fighting to hold back a snarl. "My name is Miranda Grove, I'm with Child Protective Services—"
"I know who y'are," Detective Bullock growled, and Robin felt a rough, calloused hand grasp tightly at his shoulder. She cried indignantly at him for his treatment.
"Do not manhandle that child!" she demanded.
"I'm not manhandling him," Detective Bullock retorted. "Especially not anywhere near how much this freak has manhandled others." He directed his attention to Robin. "Who are you?" he boomed. "Who are you and how did the Bat freak convince you to get into this?" Robin would have made a snarky comment if he had any ounce of self-confidence left about him. It was all yanked away by the fact that his life would be destroyed if anyone managed to lift up his head. "Was it blackmail? Is he your father? Did—"
"Batman did not blackmail me!" Robin screeched, outraged at the accusation.
"So he's your father, then?" Bullock continued.
"No—"Robin tried to protest, until he felt calloused fingers grip his chin. He promptly curled his head and bit the fingers.
"Ouch!" Bullock yelped, drawing back his hand.
"Bullock!" yelled a second, booming voice. Robin was relieved to finally recognise someone, and he felt that if his heart wasn't racing a million miles an hour, he might have relaxed at the sound of it.
"Gordon," Bullock muttered, exasperated. Commissioner Jim Gordon drew to a huffing stop beside Bullock.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded in a voice that screamed authority.
"Catching a criminal," Bullock spat back.
"Robin?" Gordon responded incredulously. "You're saying that Robin is a criminal?"
"A vigilante who isn't afraid to go against the law to do what he wants. Trespassing, property damage, public disturbance, dressing in tights and running around at night like a clown, beating up whoever he feels needs to get beat up. That isn't a criminal?" Bullock ranted.
Gordon looked like he wanted to say something, Robin could tell from the way he stepped forward as if preparing for a fight, but he must have thought better of it. Instead, he stepped back and composed himself. "He's just a child, Bullock," he said lowly.
"Yeah? So he can go to juvie," spat Bullock, yanking at Robin's arm. Robin fought with every muscle in his body so that he wouldn't budge. "How old are y'anyway, kid?" Bullock asked. Robin didn't answer. "Come on, we're going to find out who you are soon enough. What does it matter?" When Robin still refused to speak, Bullock muttered curses to himself and tried physically prying Robin's fingers off of his face. Robin knew that he could use a lot more force, but with every camera trained on him, it was wise for Bullock to not do anything that could pass off as mistreatment – no matter what his views on vigilantes of any age were.
"Bullock," Gordon said again, commanding for Bullock's attention. Bullock gave it with a few more curses said under his breath. "Not here."
When Bullock tried to ignore him, Gordon placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed warningly. "Let's find out who he is at the station," he said calmly. "It'll be safer. Don't forget that this is Robin, Detective. There are people out there who want to kill him."
Bullock froze, and then Robin felt the pressure on his fingers release as the man stood back up and unnecessarily brushed off his jacket. He cleared his throat. "Very well then," he rumbled, though Robin could still feel his glare. "Give him something to cover his face with and put him in the car."
When Gordon began to move, Bullock continued. "The police car." Then, without another word, he stormed away, though Robin had no doubt that he was paying attention to Robin's every move.
"I thought I was his superior?" Robin heard Gordon snort to himself as he turned around to speak to someone else, probably an officer, and then Robin felt a white rag being nudged under his nose. Robin instantly latched onto it and pressed it against his face. Gordon bent down lower, however, in order to speak into Robin's ear. "Where's Batman?"
Robin was eternally grateful that Gordon was on his side. It seemed that Batman really did know where to make friends. Gordon was the only one there that Robin was sure he could trust to stick with him. Gordon didn't push for Robin's identity, and Robin knew that he wasn't allowed to give it to the man – no matter how loyal Gordon may be, he was loyal to his family and job first. Since Robin really had nothing to do with his family, it fell to his job. If Gordon knew Robin's identity and there came a time that his job required him to find Robin, there would be nothing that either of them would be able to do about it.
Which was probably why Gordon didn't want to know who Robin was – and was most likely the only person who felt that way.
"He ran after the baddies," Robin jested, though his heart really wasn't into the faux good mood. Gordon sighed.
"Alright," he said, putting a hand on Robin's back. "Get up, son."
Slowly, Robin began to straighten up, putting more and more pressure on the rag that was the only thing keeping his two lives together. Everything was dependent on that single rag, and it made Robin feel weak and defenceless.
People were still screaming at him.
"Robin! Robin!" yelled reporters.
"Robin, how old are you?"
"Why do you do what you do?"
"Do you know who Batman is?"
"Is Batman your father?"
"Where do you get all of your gadgets?"
"Did Batman train you?"
"When are you going to tell us who you are?"
And as Robin was slowly guided into the police car, Gordon's voice telling him to watch his head, his ears swarming with questions and noise and sound and dread, a nervous, redheaded woman turned to her camera. Her microphone was gripped tightly with both hands.
"It seems like our biggest question might be answered soon, folks," she declared. "Who are Batman and Robin?"
This might be a two-shot, might not. Probably will.
I was wondering why I couldn't find a single fic where the public finds out Robin's identity?
I mean, they didn't in here because I didn't feel like making this a huge multi-chapter fic. But I might one day.
Please give me your thoughts and reviews! It will spur me on to write the next chapter (or else I'll just kind of sulk and think, "Ah, well, I have this other fic that more people are on board for, so I might as well write that one-" and then completely forget about this).
Hope you enjoyed!