Volume One: Becoming Robin

I'm working on my own books since I want to be an author. I want to try practicing my writing skills with something I already know and love. There's going to be some liberties here and there - comics have plenty of that. Tim is by far my favorite Robin, so this is how things would be if I were in charge of the character and the story.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I watch the arms of the clock on the far wall. Two-thirty grows near, and I feel uneasy. Uneasy and excited. After last week I probably should have an idea of what to expect, but I don't. I wanted to call or text about what we would be doing today. The only thing Bruce told me is to bring gym clothes. I have so many questions.

Parts of my body are still sore from last week - going up against one of Gotham's most notorious and vile men in Two-Face will do that. The bruises and stitched cuts are hidden beneath my sweatshirt and pants. Nobody notices my limp either. The butler, Mister Pennyworth, does a pretty good job I have to say. Miss Mac never noticed that anything was wrong. I've gotten good at hiding things from her and my parents - that latter part is easier since they aren't around anyway.

Last week seems like some kind of bizarre dream. Bits of memory are missing from the adrenaline rush, but I can recall the key moments: confronting Dick and Alfred with what I knew; being down in the cave when I heard about Dick and Bruce facing Two-Face; taking Jason's uniform; and Bruce telling me to meet him Monday afternoon after school. The specifics are missing, that's what makes it feel more like a dream that I still may wake up from.

The bell rings and my stomach drops. It's time to go. I gather my things off my desk, then stuff them into my backpack. My hands shake slightly and I try to realize what it is I'm going to do.

"Tim! Hey, Tim!"

I turn around and see the closest thing I have to a best friend, Ives. His glasses hang low off his bent nose. His blonde hair is a mess. The dress shirt he wears is slightly untucked. Doesn't exactly help our label as "nerds".

"Hey, Ives. What's going on?"

He falls into step beside me. Ives pushes up his glasses and weaves through the crowd. "Wondering what you're up to, of course."

"I'm, uh, just about to head to work actually." It's not a lie, not really.

"Work? When did you get a job?"

"This weekend."

"Why are you taking a job? You're filthy freaking rich, Tim!"

That grates me. It isn't the first time Ives has said something like that, something that relates to me not having problems because my family has money. I don't know if there's anything further from the truth. I have more money than I can think of, but I still have problems just like everyone else. Ives means well, but it's things like that that make me want to snap at him.

"I'm not going it for the money," I tell him harshly. He looks taken aback by my tone. Good.

"Is your dad making you take a job for responsibility?"

We step through the front doors of the school alongside dozens of other Gotham teenagers. The sky is cloudy per usual. Yellow busses line up at the half-circle in front of the flagpole.

"It doesn't matter why I have a job, I have one, okay? This is what I want to do."

I'm about to step onto the bus with Ives when someone else calls my name. The difference this time is that the voice is a polite, friendly British accent. American teenagers can't fake that sound if they tried to.

Standing by a short black limousine is Alfred Pennyworth. He stands completely straight and proper. Not a strand of cloth is out of place. His black mustache is neat and his golfer hat adds to the look. With his hands clasped behind his back Alfred looks more regal than anyone I've ever seen. What type of training has this guy had?

I turn to Ives who has one foot on the first step of the bus and the other on the pavement. "I'll talk to you later, that's my ride," I say, and leave him there.

"Good afternoon, Mister Pennyworth," I greet as he opens the car door. I slip inside the back of the car. Students are staring while they pass by; I feel a little off being put on view like this.

"Simply Alfred works fine, Master Timothy. I trust you've had a good day at school?"

"Fine, I guess."

"Forgive me but that doesn't sound reassuring."

"No, I guess not," I relent. "Just a typical day, really. Nothing good or bad."

Alfred nods to himself and drives out of the school lot. He pulls onto the freeway and we start to make our way to Wayne Manor.

The silence is awkward to me. Here's a man who barely knows me driving me to his home which just so happens to be the most secretive, high-tech base in Gotham, maybe the world. I know about his employer and about him. Alfred has to have his own thoughts on the matter. If I were in his shoes, I'd be pretty pissed off about it.

I wonder if they know why I did it, why I came to them in the first place. Maybe they think it's out of arrogance? That isn't farther from the truth, but they can't know that. I told them my actual reasoning when I walked through the front doors. I don't think they bought it.

I want to make a good impression on Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. Up to this point, things seem more reckless than anything else. They aren't that way, I did plan on talking Dick into coming back as Robin, but they don't know that. I want to change that and the awkward silence.

"Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Alfred, Master Tim."

"Right. Alfred. May I ask you a question?"

Alfred's eyes look at me through the mirror. I shrink a little beneath the gaze. He seems kind and friendly for the most part, however, there's also more than that. It's protective, like a mother. I can get that.

"That depends, sir. Some questions are better asked to Master Bruce. Others I can answer myself."

"Do you know what I'll be doing today?" I ask.

"That is up to Master Bruce. There are unknowns that have to be clarified before you progress." His voice takes on a very serious tone. "You're an impressive young man, but there's so little we know about you. Once those are cleared up, things will progress."

"I won't say anything about this. I just...wanted to help. These past few months Batman, er, Bruce has been off the rails. He's hurting people, he's vicious. Batman is about fear and he fights, I get that. This is more than that, though. He's completely reckless, because he's missing that sidekick. I want to change that, that's all."

"Things have indeed been different since - "

"Jason died," I finish for him. "Ever since then he's not Batman. Someone has to change that. I still think Dick should be here for him."

"Master Dick has his own obligations that he has to fulfill."

"Yeah, as Nightwing," I sigh. I look out the window towards the buildings that fly by. "He's the original, it should be him."

"Just because someone is first it does not meant they are best. Master Dick has outgrown the role of Robin long ago. He's forging his own path rather than following alongside Master Bruce's. You cannot force someone back into a role or place that they've outgrown."

"That makes sense. Whoever it is, Batman has to have someone by his side."

The manor comes into view. I've seen it before at parties or galas, but I've never been here outside of those circumstances. It looks more like a castle than a mansion. The stone walls that are covered in ivy obscure some of the view, but what isn't hidden is grand. The fact that Batman's base is beneath the manor still blows my mind.

Black iron gates open on their own and the car moves through. I stare wide-eyed at the large green fields, the apple trees, the long gravel driveway, and the house itself. Impressive doesn't quite seem to fit.

Standing on the front steps are two figures. I recognize both of them right away. Neither of them are speaking to one another. They're both looking right at my window. When the car rolls up to the front steps and stops I feel that shaking feeling return. Everything seems unsteady.

I open the door and step onto the gravel. Neither Bruce nor Dick move down to greet me. That can't be a good sign. They're both stoic like statues. My gut feels like it's made of the core of a dying sun. It's so heavy. Gathering my strength and will, I walk up the steps with Alfred by my side.

I don't know what to say. Dick and Bruce are right in front of me. Staring. I hold out my hand, for who I don't know. I swallow my nervousness and say, "hey. I'm here to do whatever you need."

Dick looks at Bruce who's still as impassive as ever. He shakes my hand firmly. The smile he gives me is like that of a big brother or cousin. Sure, it doesn't reach his eyes and seems forced, but the effort is there. I appreciate that.

"How's it going, Tim? Thanks for coming."

What was I going to say? No? That seems like the best way to get my ass kicked or to disappear. I'm not that dumb.

"I'm good, and no problem. I don't have much else to do."

"Your parents won't worry? If they will - "

"They aren't home," I tell him, "they're probably out in...Thailand I think. No idea when they'll be back."

"What about your maid?"

Bruce's question surprises me. I didn't think he was going to say anything at all. For a split second I wonder how he knows about Miss Mac. That only takes a split second until I remember who he is.

I shrug. "She doesn't mind if I stay out. She'll think I'm at my friend Ive's house. It's not a problem."

There's a moment of silence. I think they're digesting that 's expression remains. Dick on the other hand frowns.

"Sirs?" Alfred intervenes. "Perhaps we should move inside?"

Bruce leads us into the manor. He moves with haste into the one of the rooms upstairs. I have no time to take in the home's decorations that I'm sure would blow my mind. Seems to me that Bruce wants to get this over with in one way, shape, or form.

We step into a room with an unlit fireplace. Two couches border a coffee table that looks incredibly ornate. Judging by the decoration I'd say it's Victorian era. Bookshelves are stacked towards the ceiling. The rug is soft and expensive. It's the type of thing my mom would fawn over. French? British? Hard to tell where it comes from.

I sit first on the couch closest to the door. Bruce and Dick sit on the opposite one. I know it's for intimidation that they do that. They're experts and dealers in fear. This is going to be one of those good cop bad cop moments.

"May I get you anything to drink?" Alfred asks the three of us.

I look to Dick and Bruce. Bruce is staring right at me but Dick asks for a water. I do the same. Alfred disappears, leaving me with two of my heroes. I'm starstruck and in awe.

The moment the doors close, Bruce tells me, "start at the beginning."

"I've been following you both for my entire life," I start to say - hopefully it's not as ridiculous as it sounds. "Batman and Robin gave me someone to look up to. I took pictures of you guys when my parents were out of the country. I follow each of your cases and looked for every news story. It became my hobby.

"I found out who you really are during one of those news stories. They focused on Robin in that clip and the move he pulled - I've only ever seen it done once at Haly's Circus. That's when I knew. No one else can do that. No one has the grace or skill to do that - only an acrobat. I watched the video online hundreds of times to make sure.

"Putting the rest of the puzzle together came naturally. Richard "Dick" Grayson became Bruce Wayne's ward after….well, you know. Robin made his appearance for the first time six months later. If Dick Grayson was Robin, then Bruce Wayne had to be Batman.

"There were only a certain number of men who could be Batman. Being a vigilante of that caliber requires incredible resources, the type that even the most extraordinary have. Of course, a man like Lex Luthor could be the Batman, but he doesn't have that altruism or the drive. There's no motive there. There's also someone like Simon Stagg, but he's in that same area as Lex; no motive.

"Bruce Wayne on the other hand fits all of the categories: resources; time; and driving force. You're the richest man in the world as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. WayneTech creates all sorts of equipment for the military, so it makes sense that you can use that as Batman. Time is what throws most people off. Bruce has to play the part of playboy to disguise traveling and time off. Those galas you throw, the balls and fundraisers, they're for appearances to distract the public from the Bat's appearances. It's an act to pretend that you're everything the Bat isn't. That leaves the driving force, a traumatic event that's life-changing, an event that forever alters your outlook on life."

Dick looks wide-eyed at me. His expression is broken, and he looks nearly lost. "You figured that out all on your own?"

"I did."

"How long?" Bruce demands.

"Since I was twelve or so."

"Twelve?"

I change my focus back to Dick. "I didn't have much else to do. My parents aren't home much, and I have a lot of time on my own."

"Why come forward with this now?" Dick asks. "Why not break the news to the public?"

"I can't think of any reason for that. What good does that do anyone? I may get a moment's fame and the city loses its two greatest one benefits from that. You both do too much good."

"Why come forward at all?" Bruce follows up.

How on Earth do I say what I know is the truth? How do you tell Batman that he's been too violent? I don't know if I have the confidence to say what needs to be said.

Alfred comes back with the waters and a tray of snack food. I carefully pick up a few to chew on while I think of how to phrase it. I nurse my water as well. They know I'm stalling for time, they're too smart not to.

"Tim?"

"Since...when…"

Dick sighs. He looks at Bruce, then towards his lap. "Since Jason?"

"Yeah, since Jason passed Batman has been violent. More violent than usual." I gauge his reaction and for a moment I think I see a hint of emotion. "Batman does what's necessary and nothing more. That's changed. You're taking your anger and emotions out of criminals. They aren't even Two-Face, Scarecrow, or Zsasz. The people you're beating on are run of the mill criminals. I've seen the security videos, sir, and they're brutal. You've lost that partner who keeps you inline. You don't have that conscious."

"And you believe that I'm going to cross a line," Bruce assumes.

"No, I don't. You can't deny that since there's been a Batman there's basically been a Robin. You were Batman for only a year before Dick came along. Ever since then you've had a partner. I think that Robin's as much as part of your crusade as you are. Without him you're not the same."

Bruce sits there staring at me. His eyes are narrowed and calculating. He's looking right into me. I fight the urge to shrink beneath it. I said it and I surprisingly don't regret it. He needs to know that. Dick has to know, too. If he hears that, then he can come back. Batman needs a partner, and sure, Nightwing isn't the same, but it's something.

"Tim, come on, I think Bruce has to think some things over."

I stand up and follow Dick out of the room. Where we're going I can't begin to guess, however, I get the gesture. I hit a nerve with Bruce, a strong one. Dick has to have said something similar or maybe Alfred did. He wants my words to sink in with Bruce before saying anything more. Before I shut the door I see Bruce looking back at me.