A/N: Batman and Robin are loosely based off the 1960s TV show but go back and forth between genres (comics, cartoons, etc.) 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!
Also, if you haven't read my profile, the credit for all of the stories here goes to my sister. She doesn't publish in the comics fandom and I think she should. However, she doesn't know I'm doing this so shhhhhh... ;)
Prologue:
Three days ago:
Dusk falls over Gotham City. The last rays of the bright afternoon sun stroll toward the western horizon. Twinkling stars begin to appear as the darkness of night invades from the east. Outside stately Wayne Manor, home of millionaire Bruce Wayne and his youthful ward Dick Grayson, all is peaceful and quiet. The only sound is the trilling of a single nightingale, watching over her sleepy babies as she sings them a final lullaby. But all is not peaceful inside the Manor, where two of the residents are in the middle of a louder-than-normal discussion regarding an impactful decision.
"Come on, Bruce, this isn't fair! Don't I get a choice in the matter?" thirteen-year-old Dick Grayson, annoyed with his guardian, was pacing in the living room.
"No, you don't," Bruce Wayne replied, his arms folded resolutely across his chest. "The decision has been made and it's final," he continued, ready to weather the storm that he could see brewing in the teenager's blue eyes.
Alfred was quietly watching the scene unfold while dusting the fireplace. He glanced down at the plush rug that had just arrived at the Manor yesterday. Hopefully the younger of his two charges wasn't going to pace a hole into the beautiful tones of blues and greens laced with silver threading.
"But, what about Batman?" Dick asked as he stopped, placed his clenched hands on his hips and glared into Bruce's eyes. He realized too late that he had stopped in the wrong area of the room. A final spot of sunlight hit his face and his glare was reduced to an angry squint. It came back with a vengeance, however, when the sun finally relinquished its hold on the last tiny cloud and sank below the horizon.
"Batman will be fine," Bruce stared back without flinching. "He worked without Robin for over ten years. He can handle himself for two months." He chuckled in his head at the scene before him but kept his face completely neutral. The defensive stance and Robin-esque glare looked so out of place on Dick Grayson.
"A month and a half," Dick grumbled and resumed his pacing, hands clasped behind his back and eyes focused on the microscopic path he was creating on the brand-new rug. "Why do I have to go?"
"We've been over this already: Robin needs a little break so he can fully recover from injuries he has sustained throughout his short career," Bruce allowed a slight tone of frustration to enter his voice. "Need I remind you about the way your torso looked two weeks ago? When you had three fractured ribs and purple bruises blossoming everywhere? Or what about two months ago, when your right leg was nearly broken in half thanks to a lead pipe carried by a villain with a grudge against both of us? Shall we review what happened just yesterday, when the headache you've had since Riddler dropped that vase on your head last week finally disappeared? Do you want me to continue? There are many, many more injuries we can discuss," a now-irritated Bruce glared at his ward, silently challenging the boy to dispute any of the evidence he had just laid out.
Dick glared at the ground as he continued pacing – there was nothing he could say to that. Robin did get injured a lot but it was part of the job and his young body was capable of healing quickly. He knew now that he wouldn't be able to get out of going so he decided to get one last jab in before surrendering.
"Couldn't you have at least chosen something fun, instead of a summer camp for snobby rich kids?" the teen asked as he stopped pacing, folded his arms across his chest, stood up as tall as he could and tried to look intimidating.
"Dick, those 'snobby rich kids' are part of your social circle, whether you like it or not," now Bruce was struggling to keep the anger out of his voice, "and you need to at least be able to recognize them at parties. You'll have a chance to make new friends. That will be fun, right?"
Dick rolled his eyes, "It's not like I'm going to be hanging out with them all the time. What's the point of making new friends when the only time I'm going to see them is at your parties? Or some other rich person's parties?"
"This conversation is over. Here's the list of supplies; go pack," Bruce nearly growled as he handed Dick a piece of paper, grabbed his shoulders, turned him around and gave him a little push toward the stairs. "Trust me, it will be good for you."
Dick stalked up the twenty-two steps, mumbling under his breath the entire time. Bruce shook his head then turned to see Alfred wearing an expression closely resembling a smirk.
"If I may, Master Bruce, young Master Dick does have a point," Alfred remarked as his near-smirk dissolved into a proper smile.
"Thanks, Alfred, that's really helpful right now," Bruce replied, a little upset that his faithful butler seemed to be on Dick's side.
Alfred knew that look and quietly sighed. "I'm not taking sides, sir. I, too, believe that Master Robin needs recuperation time but it might have been easier on both of you if he had been included in the decision-making process."
"I'm his guardian," Bruce declared crossly as he folded his arms across his chest again, "and I don't have to include him!"
"That is true, Master Bruce. I apologize if I have overstepped my boundaries." Alfred nodded his head politely to his older charge but there was still a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
It was Bruce who sighed this time, "No, I'm sorry, Alfred. You're probably right, I should have at least allowed him to have a say in where he was going." He shook his head again and left the room as Alfred turned back to the dust-free fireplace that he had been dusting for the last ten minutes. The butler allowed a quiet chuckle to escape from his lips – both boys still had a lot of learning to do when it came to the guardian/ward relationship.
Present time:
At Vista Peak, the camp that was going to be Dick's home for the next six weeks, a man was leaning against a brick fireplace. His right arm was resting on the cherry-wood mantel and his right foot was perched on top of the hearth. He stared into the fire, his face blank but his eyes thoughtful.
Mike, the camp director, walked into the front room of the main building, stopping briefly to study the short, brown-haired man who seemed to be brooding. Mike had been hesitant about hiring the man, John, because of the borderline hostile disposition that had been on display during his interview. John would be taking the place of a veteran staff member who had been severely injured in an automobile accident two weeks ago. Mike had to scramble to find an employee and, although John's manner was rough, the quality of his work was impeccable. That's what the parents were paying for – perfection.
Vista Peak had come to life last week when the adults arrived to make preparations for the twenty teenagers that would be attending the first of three, six-week sessions. Mike had been a little surprised when he saw John interacting with the other counselors: the hostility that the director had expected was no longer apparent. The man was now merely reserved, never initiating a conversation or contributing more than a few words. After the first few days his aloofness had faded slightly and Mike decided that he had made the correct decision when he hired the man.
"John, we need your help setting up the tables in the cafeteria," Mike stated as he walked into the man's line of vision. "Everything has to be perfect for the little angels," he laughed, hoping it would bring John out of his seemingly unpleasant mood.
John was startled out of his deep thoughts but nodded as he shifted his eyes from the fire to the tall, thin man with the nearly white hair. False Face, however, rolled his smoky blue eyes when the director turned to leave. One day; one more day and then he would have twenty "volunteers" on whom he could test his new mind-control substance. Rich young teenagers always felt entitled and everyone was used to hearing them tell others what to do and how to do it. Nobody would know that False Face would be the one giving the orders once he perfected the formula.
The villain grinned in anticipation as he turned away from the fireplace and began strolling in the direction of the cafeteria. Just before exiting the large wooden door of the main building, he glanced around once to confirm that he was alone then performed his signature heel click in the air and let out a quiet but shrill little laugh. This was one of his best ideas and the Dynamic Duo wouldn't even be aware of the situation. It was going to be the perfect crime.