A/N: My original character in this story is Irish but I didn't "write" his accent; there are just some little reminders scattered throughout. Batman and Robin are 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. I love reviews and constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks for reading! :)

Chapter 1:

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. The first thing fifteen-year-old Dick Grayson heard upon entering Wayne Manor was the steady rhythm of the Batphone. Glancing at his watch he realized that Bruce was probably still at work but…where was Alfred? Maybe he was out running errands. Looking cautiously around for his Aunt Harriet before remembering she was visiting a friend, Dick entered the study and went to the phone. "Yes, Commissioner."

"Robin, we need you and Batman here as quickly as possible," the commissioner was speaking so rapidly that Dick was having a difficult time understanding him. "Bruce Wayne has been kidnapped!"

Dick almost dropped the phone. Bruce had been taken?! Quickly recovering he replied, "Be right there," and hung up the phone without waiting for a response. He shrugged off his backpack while pushing the switch to slide the bookcase aside, revealing the Batpoles. Racing over and practically leaping onto his pole, he slid down and became Robin in record time. A plan; he needed a plan. Alfred wasn't around to wear the extra Batman suit so Robin would have to go alone. Not allowed to drive the Batmobile, why did you have to go and get yourself kidnapped as Bruce Wayne, don't have keys to the Bat-jet or Bat-boat, couldn't drive either one anyway, please don't be dead, why don't I have my own mode of transportation, too far to walk…. Thoughts rushed crazily through his head as he paced around the Batcave, trying to figure out a way to get to the Gotham police station. He also had to come up with an excuse for Batman's absence; one suitable enough to convince the commissioner to share whatever information he had with Robin.

An idea popped into his head and he ran to the Bat-Suit Chest of Drawers, grabbed an extra Robin suit and stuffed it into one of the several small duffel bags stored nearby. He raced back to the Batpoles and pushed the 'Robin' button on the Compressed Steam Batpole Lift, shooting himself back up to the Manor. Emerging from the study as Dick Grayson, he sprinted through the kitchen toward the garage - pausing just long enough to grab a set of keys off the counter. Allowing himself a small grin, Dick hopped into the driver's seat of the Camaro, buckled in and put the key in the ignition. He turned the key but nothing happened. Not even the rumble of an engine attempting to turn over. Suddenly the car's alarm went off, creating a domino effect of screeching cars down the long garage. Sighing angrily at the trap Bruce had obviously set up to keep him from doing exactly what he was trying to do, Dick bent down and ripped the wires out. He was having trouble concentrating with all the noise but he finally got the car to start. How to hot-wire a car: watch Batman carefully when he has to do it during a patrol; repeat what he does. Bruce won't be happy when he finds out that I know how to do this; neither will Alfred.

Mentally complimenting himself, he pushed the button to open the garage and adjusted the mirrors. As he watched the tall door begin its ascent, he went over the checklist Bruce had drilled into his head: "Buckle up (easy), adjust mirrors (done), remind yourself which one is the brake (duh!), both hands on the wheel…" He stopped as the door finished its rise to the ceiling. "Okay, here we go, so what if I don't have a licensed driver in the car, I've been practicing, I can make it there, it's only 15 minutes away, Bruce needs me," he tried to reassure himself. He had only practiced driving around the Manor; he had never even been close to a real street yet. Taking a deep breath, he put the car in drive and gently pushed on the gas pedal. Slowly he coasted down the long driveway and turned right onto the private road that led to the Manor. Whatever information I get from the commissioner will be stale by the time I get there. Why did I think this was a good idea?

Turning left to exit the private drive, Dick merged easily onto the street. He grinned. That was painless. Then, remembering why he was doing this in the first place, he threw caution to the wind, pressed hard on the gas pedal and zoomed down the road. Traffic was light and fairly easy to weave through - in his mind, anyway. He was rewarded for his driving and weaving expertise with the sounds of car horns blasted by irritated drivers and the frantic shouts of startled pedestrians all the way to the city center, where he began to slow down. When he arrived at the police station, he pulled around to the back and parked in the alley, hoping the bright red convertible wouldn't be too noticeable. Probably should have gone with the black Corvette instead. Too late now. He looked around carefully, taking notice of every opening that faced the car: three windows from the police station on the west side of the alley and the back door of a house on the east side. Grabbing his duffel bag, he exited the car as quietly as he could. Now he just had to find a place to change.

Bruce Wayne sighed through the tape on his mouth. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn't he have been attacked as Batman; at least he would have been able to defend himself. In fact, he probably could have avoided the whole situation. But, as Bruce Wayne, he had to be weak and defenseless. That's why he was sitting here – his arms knotted tightly behind his back – watching this unknown villain playing with a pen, apparently trying to decide what to write on the ransom note. If he could just bend his elbows he would gain enough slack in the rope to slip his arms out, which would help enormously with the problem of the fishing net tangled around his legs and secured with his own tie.

"Feelin' lonely, are we," the stranger commented in a thick Irish brogue, flipping his dark bangs out of his eyes as he turned to look at his captive.

"Hmmphff," replied Bruce.

The man laughed, "That was a rhetorical question, lad. How you're feeling doesn't matter to me. You canna' answer anyway."

Bruce glared. I will find a way to get out of this and you will regret it.

The man's laugh turned into a snort of derision and he rolled his eyes. "Cuz I'm sooo scared of a little glare. You hot shots are all the same: 'I'm gonna get free, you won't get away with this' blah, blah, blah." Shaking his head, he turned back to his note.

Bruce stifled another sigh and tried to wiggle the rope away from his elbows. Nothing was working; the man was obviously well versed in the art of knotting. He looked up as he heard muttering:

"Dear Batman and Robin. No, not original enough. To the Caped Crusaders. No. Come on, think!"

Bruce laughed in his head. The guy couldn't even get the note started! Sobering, he realized that the message was for Batman and Robin. The commissioner would use the Batphone and Robin would answer it. Robin would be the only one receiving whatever ransom information the villain was going to provide and Robin would be the only one coming after this unidentified man. Bruce didn't like not knowing anything about the bad guy; he definitely didn't want his partner running into this type of situation. He knew Robin would come anyway so he worked harder to get loose. If he could get free before the man sent the ransom letter, nobody would even know he'd been kidnapped (which was a bit embarrassing). A shadow fell over him and Bruce berated himself for not paying attention to his surroundings.

"So, you want to get out of your bindings, then?" the man inquired.

"Hmmmphff," Bruce replied again.

"Hmmmm. I couldn't understand you. I guess that's a no. You should probably stop strugglin' if you don't want out." Bruce didn't see the hit coming and his world went dark.