A/N: This began as an epilogue but grew too long to remain that way. :) It is not a deep dive into everything that happens when Batman and Robin return to the Batcave. It takes place five weeks after the end of version one. So you can make up your own version of how Batman and Alfred helped Robin between the end of that story and the beginning of this one. Sorry if that's disappointing but I don't have any experience in that arena. Hopefully you still like it...
Also, switching between names - Batman and Bruce, Robin and Dick - is intentional. ;-)
As usual, Batman and Robin are loosely based off the 1960s TV show but go back and forth between genres and are sometimes completely out of any characterization. I write it the way it enters my head, which is not always "historically" accurate. Italics usually represent thoughts to oneself but are sometimes used to add emphasis. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1:
"Hey, Alfred, wanna see my new trick?" sixteen-year-old Dick Grayson called from the top of the stairs.
Sighing, the ever-patient butler replied, "No, Master Dick, because I know it will end in one of three undesirable ways: an injury to yourself, an injury to some furniture or both."
Bruce Wayne stood in the shadows under the staircase, listening to the conversation that brought a smile to his face. The fact that Dick had created a new trick meant that Robin was ready to return. It had taken only two and a half weeks for the young hero's body to heal but his mind had been lost for a solid month. Finally, after four long weeks of mending the torn fabric of Robin's psyche, the boy was back.
Robin remembered almost everything about his ordeal with Kirik. Almost. There was one thing that Batman was never going to bring up unless his partner recalled the end of their conversation in the warehouse. Knowing that he had offered to give up his heroic identity would tear apart Robin's newly-rediscovered confidence.
Dick saw the long shadow that originated from the study door under the stairs. Bruce was still watching and listening. No matter where Dick – or Robin – was, Bruce and Batman were always watching. Grinning, the boy leapt on top of the railing, slid on his feet halfway down the bannister, twisted his body into a back layout and landed – perfectly – right in front of Bruce.
"Did you think I didn't know you were there?" Dick inquired, the familiar smirk lighting up his young face.
"Actually," the man replied, "I would have been surprised if you didn't know."
"So…do you want to see my new trick?"
"What does it involve? Because Alfred will be very upset with me if I allow you to injure yourself, break some furniture or both," Bruce grinned.
"I heard that, sirs," Alfred called from the kitchen.
The blue eyes that had recently regained their sparkle twinkled mischievously. "It has nothing to do with the furniture!" Dick stated, his voice loud enough to be heard in the kitchen.
Alfred walked through the door, humorous disbelief written all over his face. "Master Dick, 'it' always has something to do with the furniture, whether it is intentional or not."
Bruce attempted to hide a chuckle when Dick's playful expression morphed into one of indignation. The boy turned to his right and marched over to where the butler was standing.
Placing his hands on his hips, Dick declared, "It is not my fault that the furniture in this house enjoys throwing itself under my feet."
Alfred opened his mouth to speak but Dick held up his right hand.
"Nor is it my fault," the boy continued, "that new tricks require testing in different environments. Would you prefer that I just allow Robin to go flying off a rooftop with an idea that hasn't been tested?"
"We have a gym, a backyard and a Batcave in which you can conduct your tests, Master Dick," Alfred replied, his formal tone laced with amusement.
"But none of those three places have a sturdy yet free-swinging chandelier that constantly begs me to invent new ways to play with it!"
Both men raised their eyebrows. "The chandelier, Dick?" Bruce asked suspiciously.
Dick glanced back at Bruce with wide, innocent eyes. "Did I say chandelier? I meant…"
There was a long pause and the men stared skeptically at the boy.
"I meant that I have some homework to do!" Dick was halfway up the stairs before his sentence was completed.
Bruce grinned at his faithful butler, "I think he's back, Alfred."
"I agree, sir. However, please stay close for at least a little while longer." Alfred's voice held a tinge of concern and Batman's "Robin-is-in-danger" antenna shot itself into the air.
"Why?" Bruce's tone was quiet but apprehensive.
"Master Dick hasn't spoken to us about this, sir," Alfred responded, "but a few days ago I heard him talking to himself while he was working out in the gym."
"He always does that, Alfred," Bruce commented.
"Yes, he does, Master Bruce. However, this time he was brainstorming how to find a way to visit Kirik, sir. In Arkham. As Robin, of course."
Bruce's jaw dropped open and his eyes widened. "He wants to see the man?!"
"Not just see, sir," Alfred replied. "Master Robin wants to talk to him."
"Out of the question," Bruce growled. "It will accomplish nothing. If anything, it will give Kirik a chance to open deep, recently-closed wounds. I will not allow that man to even be in the same building as Robin. EVER!"
The last word was shouted and Alfred nodded slightly. He knew neither Bruce nor Batman would fully comprehend the meaning of his next sentence; the boy's emotions were very different from those of the man standing before him. The butler, however, knew it needed to be said.
"If I may, sir, it is my opinion that Master Robin needs closure."
"The villain is in Arkham, securely locked up in solitary with no chance of participation in Warden Crichton's 'reformation' program! What would give him more closure than that?!"
It was Batman who was shouting now and anger was radiating from every inch of the man's body. Anger that Alfred knew was directed at the villain and the memories that had easily resurfaced in Batman's brain.
"Perhaps you should ask him about that, sir," Alfred replied quietly. Turning around, the butler returned to the kitchen, leaving a confused Batman standing in the foyer.
"Closure? By talking to the man?" he murmured as he unconsciously folded his arms defensively across his chest.
Shaking his head, Bruce turned toward the door to his study. He paused – should he go up and try to discuss this with Dick? No, his ward would come to him when he was ready. But the fact that Dick had been talking to himself about it probably meant that he was trying to devise a way to convince his guardian that it was a good idea. The less time he had to brainstorm the better. Bruce didn't know whether to shoot the dangerous thought down now or wait until Dick brought it up.
Changing his mind about his destination, Bruce picked up the newspaper that was on the table in the foyer. He walked into the living room, sat in the chair with the best view of the stairs and began reading. Maybe if he left it alone Dick would decide to let it go. But he was going to keep a closer eye on the boy for a few days, just in case.
Dick had been telling the truth: he did have homework. However, the words he was currently writing on the plain piece of paper in front of him had nothing to do with the English essay that was due next week.
"EVER!" Dick heard the shout and flinched at the fury in the tone. Why was Bruce yelling at Alfred? Shrugging – he would ask the butler about it later – the teenager redirected his attention to the note on his desk.
Things to ask:
1. Why did you choose me?
2. Why were you obsessed with me?
3. How old were you when it happened?
4. What was your sister's name?
5. Why did you choose number seven eighty-two?
There were so many things Robin wanted to ask the man but he knew that he wouldn't be allowed to speak to the villain for more than a few minutes, if at all. These were questions that could be answered easily. Kirik wouldn't need time to think; his replies would be automatic. They would also wrap up some loose ends that were constantly in Robin's brain.
His pencil hovered over the paper where he had just written the number six. Dick pushed the lead onto the sheet of white but couldn't bring himself to write the question. His entire body began lightly trembling and he dropped the pencil on the desk, watching as it rolled away and slipped off the edge. Crossing his arms on the desk, the boy put his head down and rested it on his forearms.
He was over this, he really was! It had been more than a month and he felt completely normal. Except for that tiny, obscure memory that would never fully manifest itself in Robin's brain. It was constantly pricking his mind, like a sharp needle being poked into a piece of thick fabric. And except at night, when Batman was sometimes blown to pieces in Dick's newest recurring nightmare.
"What's the point?!" Dick yelled softly. Batman probably wouldn't allow him to see the villain anyway. He lifted his head and ran both hands through his dark hair. Suddenly he snatched the paper and crushed it in anger. Shoving it in the direction of the trashcan next to his desk, Dick grabbed his English literature book and opened it. He didn't notice, as he began flipping through the pages, that his crumpled list had missed the trashcan and landed on the dark-red carpet. The small ball of white stood out like a beacon shining in the dark night, begging to be noticed.
Friday:
Today was the day; he was going to ask Bruce today and Dick was nervous. He shouldn't be, he knew the answer would be no, but there was a tiny spot of hope zig-zagging throughout his body. Maybe his guardian would agree.
Bruce stared at the wrinkled piece of paper in front of him. Alfred had found it on the floor in Dick's bedroom and, after reading it, had immediately brought it to Bruce. The butler had been right – Robin wanted to ask the man questions.
What was your sister's name?! Why do you want to know that? And why is there a number six with a dark dot of lead but no question? What are you afraid to ask?
He should have just talked to Dick the other night. It had been a mistake to let it go. Robin seemed fine but there was obviously something troubling him. The familiar rumble of the Wayne family limo interrupted his thoughts and Bruce stood up and walked out of his study to greet his young ward.
"Here goes nothing," Dick mumbled as he climbed out of the long, black vehicle. Throwing his backpack over his right shoulder, he took a deep breath and walked to the front door of Wayne Manor. The door opened just as he touched the handle and Dick was startled. It was Bruce and the boy grinned. Wait. Bruce had just opened the door?! Something was wrong and, from the forced smile on Bruce's face, that something probably involved Dick.
"Bruce," Dick wanted to ask before he lost his courage.
"Dick," Bruce wanted to jump right in to the dangerous conversation.
"Sorry, you go ahead," they apologized at the same time and laughed. Dick's chuckle was nervous while the one from Bruce was uneasy.
Silence reigned as they stood in the doorway, each waiting for the other to start.
"Master Bruce, kindly step back from the door so that Master Dick can come in," Alfred's calm voice broke the silence as he entered the foyer.
"Oh, sorry, of course," Bruce was unusually apologetic and that made Dick more nervous. The man stepped back, the boy stepped in and the butler closed the door.
"I'll be in the kitchen preparing for dinner," Alfred stated. There was about to be a serious discussion, from the looks on his charges' faces, and the butler didn't wish to intrude.
"So, Dick, how was school?" Bruce tried to keep his voice calm. Asking an open-ended question would allow Dick to take the lead.
"Um, fine," Dick replied and snatched the opportunity before he could lose what little courage he had left. "I want to go see him, Bruce."
Bruce was caught off-guard at the swift change of topic and his eyes widened in surprise. But he already knew the answer to this particular comment and it didn't take him long to regain control of himself.
"Absolutely not," the man said quietly but firmly. "There is no reason for you to ever have to see him again."
"But…" Dick began and was immediately cut off.
"I said no," Bruce stated a little louder and watched as disappointment covered the face of his young ward. Disappointment followed by anger.
"Why not?" the boy suddenly shouted as he instinctively clenched his hands by his sides. "Why do you get to go see him every night and I can't even see him during the day?!"
So, Robin had discovered that Batman took a quick zip past Arkham every night in order to make sure Kirik was still inside.
"I don't 'go see him'," Bruce replied. "I just double-check the security of the prison whenever I'm in the area."
"And you just happen to be 'in the area' every single night?!" Dick growled sarcastically.
"I'm only trying to keep you safe!" Bruce exclaimed.
Dick took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down. If he was going to get Bruce to agree, he would need to be careful, not angry.
"I know, and I'm grateful," Dick said. "But I just…" he paused, not knowing how to explain his emotions to Batman. Because that's who he was now talking to – Batman in Bruce Wayne's clothing.
"I'm fine," he started over, "really, I am. I need some answers, though. Answers that I'm pretty sure only he can provide."
"Why," Batman growled, "do you need to know his sister's name?"
"What?! How did you…?! Forget it, just forget it!" the boy shouted as he threw his arms in the air. "Who cares, right?! Who cares about the family of a villain?! Her death probably doesn't motivate him at all, right?!"
"Okay, I'm sorry." It was Bruce who took a deep breath this time. But it was Batman who realized that he was now talking to Robin. "I didn't mean it like that. I just don't want him to have another opportunity to…"
"I'm not strong enough to see him again!" Robin interrupted loudly. "That's what you're thinking, right?! Poor, broken Robin should never have a chance to talk to the man who broke him because it might happen again!" The teenager's sarcastic tone was laced with both shame and anger.
"You're being unreasonable!" Batman yelled back. "I never said you weren't strong enough…"
But he was interrupted again and the words were now being snarled in frustration. "All the hard work you and Alfred did, it can easily be undone, right?! Because little Robin…"
"STOP INTERRUPTING ME!" Batman thundered and Robin stopped talking in surprise.
"I never said you weren't strong enough," the man's voice was loud but not threatening. "I just don't want unpleasant memories to become fresh again. You were lost, Robin, and I never want to see you like that again! For a while I thought I was going to lose you forever and it scared me!"
Robin was speechless. Batman had just admitted that he was afraid. Batman was never afraid…of anything. But Robin had so many questions. How could he just let it go?
"I saw your list," Batman suddenly continued, "and I can answer all of them except one." The man had already memorized the short list and the answers were seared into his mind. Should he wait for Robin to reply or just jump right in? The pause grew and Batman decided on the latter.
"First, he chose you because I called you 'unbreakable' and he was undefeated. He couldn't resist; especially since you didn't break the first time. Second, he became obsessed with you because he thought that his father had murdered his family and I let the man get away. It began as pride and revenge was added later. Third, he was no more than ten years old. I have pictures I can show you, if you want. Finally, the man is smart and does his research. He takes his captives to a place where they have had an extremely traumatic experience in order to manipulate their emotions. The only information I don't have is the name of his sister. Do you really need to know that? Is it important enough that you want to go see him? To me, it's not worth opening wounds that have barely healed."
Dick was just staring at him, tears shining in his wide, blue eyes. "Why didn't you tell me any of this?" he whispered.
"We just recently got you back, Dick!" Bruce replied softly. "Why would I make you relive the entire thing when you had just returned to your normal self?"
"Everything, I want to know everything," Dick demanded loudly. "The whole story. If you tell me your side, I'll…" he swallowed and a touch of fear entered his eyes. "I'll tell you mine," he finished in a whisper.
Bruce was shocked at both the demand and his ward's willingness to talk. In the five weeks since the incident, Robin had adamantly refused to talk about anything that had happened – other than the facts that he had admitted in the warehouse.
"But," the boy continued quietly, "can we do it as Batman and Robin?"
"Okay," Bruce agreed. "What about Alfred?"
Dick's eyes were on the ground and he shrugged. "He can come, too. Can we just…I mean…can I have some time first?"
"Of course," Bruce replied gently. "How about if we meet in the Batcave tomorrow morning – ten o'clock? Is that okay?"
"Sure," Dick was mumbling now. "I'm not hungry, I'm just going to go do homework and go to bed, if that's okay."
"I understand," Bruce replied.
"I'm not sure that you do," Dick lifted his head and his blue eyes burned into those of his guardian, "but…thanks." Quickly turning away, Dick adjusted his backpack and strode up the stairs with his head down again.
"Perfect," Bruce growled. "The entire week he's happy and well-adjusted and today I take him back several steps."
"It's not your fault, sir," Alfred's wise voice came from the now-open kitchen door. "It was his decision to bring it up and, even though it didn't seem like it, he took several steps forward."
"How can you tell?" Bruce wondered. "He's anxious and distressed again. That's not going forward."
"But," Alfred countered, "he's willing to talk to us, sir. This is a good thing. It will be hard tomorrow but it is a huge step in the right direction, Master Bruce."
"I guess you're right," Bruce murmured in agreement. "I'm skipping patrol tonight, Alfred; I need time to gather my thoughts. I'll be in the study if you need me."
"Dinner in there, then, sir?" Alfred inquired, already knowing the answer would be no.
But Bruce surprised the butler, "Yes, but just a sandwich is fine. Unless you have already gone to the trouble of making something," he added.
Alfred thought of the steak and carrot stew that was cooling down on the kitchen counter. "No trouble, sir. I'll bring the sandwich in a few minutes."
"Thanks," Bruce said quietly and headed for his study. Alfred was right – tomorrow was going to be a hard day.