I DO NOT OWN TEEN TITANS!
Children of all ages, races, shapes, and abilities, all crammed up in this one building. They were everywhere. On the corridor, in all the beds, at the windows, in the bathrooms. It was never quiet. Even at night, when a good portion of the children were sleeping, some stayed awake against their will, screaming and crying as the nurses dealt with them. It was an institution for children, though it could have been a zoo in there.
The children were literally crammed into single beds, with two or three having to share, even if they didn't know each other. They took baths together, got dressed and fed together. It caused conflict, as the children didn't always want to get along with strangers.
The children in the corridors weren't normally travelling anywhere, and if they were, it wasn't on their own doing. They were often dragged roughly from room to room, sometimes even getting kicked into a room if they refused to co-operate. But the ones who weren't going anywhere were either hiding from others, or looking for an weak child to let their anger out on.
It wasn't the best home for a boy who had just witness his parents gruesome death.
The boy in question, only 8 years of age, sat in the far corner of the playroom, on the floor as all the chairs were taken, and nothing to do, as all the toys were being used already. He didn't seem to care, he just stared off into space, his knees being pressed against his chest, and his eyes glazed over. He shook slightly, rocking on the spot he sat.
" Richard?" His head snapped up to fast, his eyes wide and alert as the sound of his name. No one had talked to him directly in over two months, simply referring to him as 'boy' or 'child' from the nurses who were trying to gather him into the crowd when he got lost or fell astray. The name 'Richard' felt foreign now.
" Richard." The voice sounded more relieved now, showing more emotion then any of the other adults he'd encountered in the orphanage. But the man looked different as well. He didn't wear a uniform, he wore a suit. His hair was gelled neatly to one side, and his eyes shone with compassion. A small smile graced his lips as the boy noticed his presence. He knelt down to his level.
" Heya Richard, how are you?" He asked, in an act of kindness. The boy didn't answer, just stared at the man like he possesed two heads on his shoulders. After a minute, that man sighed.
" Okay, well, I'm Bruce Wayne. Have you heard of me Richard?" He questioned, making sure to use his name, as he had been told the boy got confused easily. Bruce watched in anticipation as the boy's eyebrow raised ever so slightly.
" Bruce Wayne? The billionaire on TV a lot?" His eyes widened as Bruce nodded, and a small smile graced his lips.
" You have enough money to bring my mum and dad back, right?"
This question shocked Bruce to say the least, causing him to hold his breath. The boy looked so hopeful, though the logic clearly came from his child-like mind. Bruce couldn't find it in him to tell the boy how 'death' worked, so just sat like a lemon, staring at Dick with a sympathetic look. The boy's face fell slightly, yet still flickered with hope.
" My mama said rich people can buy anything, and do anything they want. So, if you wanted, you could buy my mum and dad back from God, right?" His question was so innocent, it tore Bruce's heart in two. He gulped.
" Richard, listen...maybe...maybe God wanted them up their for a reason."
" Why?" The boy sounded more distressed now. Bruce could understand. He needed someone to talk to, someone to vent to.
" Because, the Flying Graysons were the best act in the world, right?" A small nod, and Bruce continued.
" Well, maybe God was jealous. Maybe he wanted to see them perform for him, and all his angels. Maybe he wanted them to soar higher then they were, up above the birds, and the planes, and even Superman, when he's flying. And they'll be super safe up there."
" Why?"
" Because if they fall, the clouds will catch them."
Richard's eyes filled with tears, yet he didn't let out a sob, nor did he let any tears escape his eyes. He simply sniffled, and stated, " Well God's selfish."
Robin had never meant something so much in his life. God was selfish. He'd taken everything away from him. He put him in that awful orphanage. He'd ruined his life.
He was far from a savior in Robin's mind.
Bruce had adopted him the day after, noticing the boy had begun rocking whenever he sat down, a sign of a mental illness. He got his friend, Dr Leslie Thompkins, to help him. He eventually managed to stop. But nightmares and extreme startle reactions still caused issues for the boy. Luckily the startle reactions faded away with all the nights of fighting crime.
But the nightmares stayed.
The boy wonder traced into the common room, a warm mug of hot coco in his ungloved hand, and his blanket still around his shoulders. He shivered as he entered, and slowly slugged to the curved couch. He carefully placed his mug on the table, before gracefully collapsing onto the sofa face down. The cold faded as he curled under his blankets, and hid his face in his knees.
The same nightmare.
The same memory.
The same feeling.
He shivered, and blocked the memory out while reaching for his hot chocolate. He didn't bother to check if it was cool yet, so cried out and dropped it as a gush of streaming hot liquid burnt the inside of his mouth. He swallowed as fast as possible, choking slightly as the burning feeling traveled down his throat. He stared down at the spill, before turning over and closing his eyes. He tried to breath solely out his mouth to calm the raging fire in his throat and mouth, but it wouldn't leave. He sighed, and tried to sleep.
After two hours, he managed it.
So, what'd'ya think? This is just a prequel, the story will get more intense. I'm trying to focus on Robin's Romanian side of the family, so I decided that when he parent's died, he stayed in a Romanian Orphanage for a few months. Also, his native language is Romanian, which will be looked upon in later chapters. Hope you enjoy, and have a nice day :)