Silent Echoes
By Ratgirl01

Notes: This is set in the cartoon world, with the cartoon history. I brought in a lot of stuff from the comic world in here, but with my own twist. I own none of this. Heck, someone else probably owned the idea for this story before me too.

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Chapter 1

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"We would like to live as we once lived, but history will not permit it."
-John Fitzgerald Kennedy

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One lone thought drove the boy down yet another endless street: find Batman. He moved in a methodical search pattern with the practiced ease of a tracker with decades of experience. He had picked these particular streets as the hunter who knows his prey. But in his mind it was all movements of desperation, a search for a whisper of a phantom in the never ending city.

The Gotham City skyline looked foreign to him. There were buildings where there had been room for birds to fly and open spaces where birds used to perch high above the streets. Something was wrong about the city, something had changed. But he had no time to consider what it was; They were after him. He turned the corner and sped into an alley, stopping only when he blended in completely with the shadows. Bringing his legs to his chest, he rocked slowly back and forth. He tried to steel himself from the hot sting of tears as the images flashed in his mind. Deep feelings of rage, hope, despair and rapture had hit him all at once, overwhelming his senses and his mind. He had tried to sort out all the feelings and memories through a meditation technique he somehow knew, but a nine and a half year old boy was not meant to comprehend an adult's emotions. Sitting had only allowed all those emotions to catch him. He would have to move again soon despite the burn in his muscles.

He knew that he was supposed to remember why it was so urgent to talk to Batman, but he was overwhelmed with trying to deal with the death of his parents. The images of his parent's bodies and those odd flashes of emotion prevented him from thinking clearly. He assumed that he wanted Batman to save him from Them. Part of him hated the fact that he couldn't deal with Them on his own, but he had learned to admit when he needed help. He knew he could trust Batman; Batman would make everything better. His last clear memory was of being saved by Batman. After running away from his adoptive home to find his parents' killer, he had messed up and would've drown if Batman hadn't shown up. He shook the tears from his eyes. He had no right to be crying, he had a mission to accomplish. If he could just reach the Bat Signal, everything would be fixed.

A high pitched laugh shook him out of his reverie. The sound sent chills down his spine, but it was more from the unwelcome memories it brought back than the noise itself: the Joker.

Five people dressed as clowns stepped out of the darkness. Some deeply buried part of himself had known that they had been watching him the last few minutes. Those instincts had heard their approach and had known their positions, but he had been stuck too deeply in the center of an emotional storm to acknowledge their presence. He sized them up, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses with a skill that he didn't realize he had. That feeling of wrong settled in again as he surveyed his assailants' clothing. The henchmen had always dressed funny, but their costumes were a copyright infringement the Joker would never let stand. The boy paused, again struck with the confusing but repulsive idea of the Joker he had never met.

The five stooges stood in front of him, taunting him, but he refused to pay attention to their words. Their weapons varied from chains to crowbars and he knew that if he listened to what they where saying, he would leave himself open for their attack. His body reacted without commands from his mind. He took a defensive position, which he could tell only fueled their mockery even more. They hadn't even finished their new series of jokes when he sprung on them.

Through a series of leaps, flips and kicks, he had taken out the clown nearest to him, the one who had been wielding a lead pipe. When it clanked down to the ground, it broke the silence that had fallen.

He flashed them a quick grin and suppressed the urge to say the corny line that had popped into his head. Then he was all business again as they surrounded him.

Fortunately, the gang hadn't learned to attack as a team, which left many easy openings for someone of his size, skill, and agility. He quickly downed three more clowns and turned on his final opponent. The man was massively enormous. Craning his neck back to see the face of the gang member, he could tell that, although there was a smile painted on it, the man didn't seem to be happy. Clowns were supposed to make children laugh, he was sure of that.

His attacks only seemed to amuse his enemy, as all his punches or kicks had no effect on the clown who simply backhanded the boy into a trash can. Ignoring the pain as much as possible, he knew he needed a plan B. If he couldn't get out of this alley, he could never warn Batman about Them He watched as the brute started to charge him, with the hopes of slamming him into the brick wall, but instead he ran towards the wall as well. Timing the maneuver perfectly, he managed to run up the wall and flip over his attacker's head. He had no time to celebrate his perfect landing as he sped towards the mouth of the alley. A loud crashing sound echoed from behind him, but didn't stop to see what was what until after he had escaped the alley.

He saw a set of pointy ear on the other side of his assailant. He almost shouted Batman's name in relief. But the boy's smile faded when he noticed that it wasn't Batman, but some sort of impostor. This not-Batman was completely covered in black with a large red bat on his chest. There was no cape and not-Batman had a strange new arsenal of toys.

He watched in awe of the fight, which didn't take very long. As he stood in shock as not-Batman approached him and knelt down in front of him. This wasn't right. Of all the odd things the boy had noticed, this was the most wrong. This wasn't the man who had saved him. He needed Bruce.

"Are you all right?" not-Batman asked him.

His eyes grew as wide as saucers, but instead of answering not-Batman's question he burst into tears and started to pound on the red bat on the black suit. "You're not Batman," he chanted through his hiccups. He could feel not-Batman trying to control his fists, but he didn't care. All those memory flashes and visions of his parents' deaths had caught up to him along with the knowledge that They were still after him and now there was no one to help him.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up he could feel himself moving. Opening his eyes, he took in his surroundings. There were gadgets everywhere, blinking lights and levers every which way he looked. Sitting up slowly, he was startled to hear a question. "Sleep okay?" He looked towards where the voice had come to see the Batman impostor behind what was presumably the wheel. Hesitantly, he nodded. He had slept soundly for the first time since forever without the dream.

Once he woke up, all he could remember of the dream was the black hair man in his late twenties with the piercing blue eyes. The man was surrounded by two figures in red cloaks with white hoods, but he could never make out their faces. Something always happened to the man, something that usually woke him up screaming.

But he felt safe here with the not-Batman. Safe enough to think about the dream even when he hadn't had it. Safe enough to almost trust the not-Batman.

Studying the controls, he almost missed Batman's next question. "So what's your name kid?"

He turned his gaze off the panels and to Batman's face. He wasn't supposed to just give his name away, but maybe this person knew what happened to Bruce. If he could just test this new not-Batman, he could be sure which side he was on. "My name's Richard John Grayson," he stated proudly. "But everyone calls me Dick."

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Terry McGinnis should've called in sick. Not that it would've done any good, but at least then he could console himself with the fact he had tried to avoid his night. His finals were next week, he missed spending the evening with his younger brother Matt because of some costumed freak threatening to blow up the city, and to end the night he was bringing someone to the Batcave who claimed to be the ward of his boss. A ward which was about fifty years too young.

Max had been nice enough to quiz Terry about his English Literature authors while he made his rounds until the Jokerz caught his eye. Barely giving Max any explanation, Terry had dropped out of the Batmobile and landed on the roof of one of buildings next to the alley. He was going to intervene when he noticed the still forms of four other Jokerz lying in the alley. The boy didn't seem to need much help as he ran towards the wall and flip over his attacker's head. Terry waited long enough to see the boy land and run off before he jumped from the roof and landed on the Jokerz member.

Batman had enjoyed the physical sensation of handing out a thorough beating before finally finishing the clown off with an electric Batarang. He hadn't been in a forgiving mood, even though saving the boy helped ease his knot of guilt over Matt.

He hadn't expected to be attacked when he asked the kid if he was all right. He was looking for the boy to be impressed or thankful, but not hysterical. The accusation that he wasn't Batman was still a raw point and more upsetting than he allowed himself to show. Still, he was more affected by the child's fit than his words. He was finally able to escape the boy's assault by catching his flailing arms in one hand and pulling the kid towards him with the other. He held onto the kid until he fell asleep. The boy was so small, just like Matt. Terry knew that he had to make the missed night up with his brother.

Unsure of what to do with the sleeping child, Terry had decided to bring him with on his rounds. The kid looked so peaceful as he slept; Terry couldn't bring himself to wake the boy. Wayne had only grunted when Terry explained why the boy was on patrol with him, which he took as a sign of approval. As long as the boy slept in the Batmobile, no harm would come to him and Terry could take him home when he awoke.

Wayne had just signaled the end of the night's patrol when the boy woke up. Terry noticed the dazed expression as the boy tried to take in the Batmobile. A half smile took over his face, he had probably had the same expression when he first got into the seat. He tried to make small talk, but it was obvious the boy wasn't in the mood. 'Duh, McGinnis, if you were ten, attacked by the Jokerz, and had assaulted Batman only to wake up in the Batmobile you wouldn't be that talkative either.' He needed a name to go with a home, but he hadn't expected to hear Dick Grayson.

'Get a grip, McGinnis, it's probably just his kid or something, Richard Jr. or a completely different strand of Graysons altogether.' The next question brought forth a feeling of foreboding. "So, where do you live Dick Grayson?"

There was a pause as Dick's breath hitched. "Wayne Manor. Don't tell Bruce that I went out. The last time I went out he had to save me and I promised I would wait until he said I was ready." His voice fell into remorseful whisper. "I didn't mean to go out, I don't even know how I got out of the manor. Honest."

The tears forming around the cerulean blue eyes ripped at Terry's heart. "Don't you worry about Bruce Wayne, I'll talk to him."

A stifled giggle assured Terry that the boy knew Wayne. "You don't know Bruce very well. There's no talking to Bruce; he makes the rules."

Smiling at the truth said in such a sing-song voice, Terry wondered what it would've been like for Dick Grayson growing up with Wayne. He shook his head, things might have been different for Wayne so many years and heart breaks ago.

Five minutes and many subtle questions later, Terry realized he had explained far more about himself and the technology in his suit than he should've. All of his questions remained unanswered though, as each one had been redirected or answered generically with no substantial information. He needed answers about the past and who the boy was supposed to be, but his options were limited.

Terry was tempted only for a second to see the Commissioner. Barbara Gordon would know about Richard, but she probably would close the conversation before it started. Besides, there were unanswerable questions if her husband was around. This one had to be taken to Wayne. He promised Dick that he would talk to the old man anyway. The lecture on this stunt would be immense; bringing a civilian into the Batcave certainly wouldn't get him any brownie points. Then, of course, there was a possibility of the whole thing being a trap. Yes, he could certainly see his wings being clipped on this one. 'What have you gotten yourself into this time McGinnis?'

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He had been told by not-Batman to stay in the car. But since the order hadn't been given by Batman or in the voice, Dick found little guilt in leaving the Batmobile and entering further into the cave.

Drawn through the museum part of the cave, Dick passed the Harley Quinn uniform and Mr. Freeze's gun and headed towards where the bat family's costumes were kept. He stopped in front of the Nightwing costume and slid his hand along the glass casing. Bits of memories came to him faster than he could absorb, but he could make out some of them.

The first time Robin had officially flown. The freedom of swinging through the city. The responsibility of watching the city himself. The adrenaline rush of fighting a bad guy.

A fight. A flash of red hair and fiery temper. His glaze drifted to Batgirl's costume then settled again on the midnight blue symbol behind the glass.

A new identity, one he could reclaim him in. A feeling that he needed to move on get out of Batman's shadow. The need to leave Gotham all together.

An opportunity. Trust. Hope. Betrayal from the one person he never expected in a way he had always known. An explosion.

A princess. A quest, a war, a complete new life and purpose. Tamaran. Leaving everything he had built there without saying goodbye when he found an opportunity to make it home. He thought he had been gone only three years – it had been there, but thirty-five in Gotham. A need to go back to the manor, to make things right before it was too late.

Them, a mistake in the fight, a sense of failure, the Confessor. The ceremony. Waking up, remembering his parents, almost remembering he wasn't supposed to be a child. The escape and search for Batman.

These revelations where still too much. Trying to process what had been for him, almost eighteen years worth of memories in minutes weakened him. He collapsed to his knees waiting for the memories to fade as they always did. As much as he wanted them gone, he was always afraid he would lose them forever. He couldn't face those thoughts. His mind slowly locked the memories down again and he knew that he wouldn't remember anything beyond Zucco for a time. The thought put him at an unstable ease, until he looked up towards a set of dull blue eyes piercing through his soul. Dick looked down ashamed. Even though Bruce hadn't given the order, he had still disobeyed one. He didn't need Batman to think his future partner couldn't follow orders. That is, if Bruce still wanted a screw up like him.

He caught a glimpse of something in Bruce's eye. It was unidentifiable to the kneeling boy, but he knew he had seen it before. Bruce looked old, way too old, but it didn't matter to Dick; he could tell that it was Bruce just by the presence in the room. Looking at Bruce's eyes caused his neck to cramp, so he broke the silence. His voice quivered, but he was hopeful. "Bruce?"

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