The first in a series that tells the tale of Batman and Robin from Richard Grayson's perspective. The characters are of course not my own creation and elements of the story are pulled from various versions, including movies, and my own imaginations.

Warning: While I have a strict no profanity/no imitate details policy, there is child abuse in this story. I try to keep violence to a minimum without loosing the air of the story (they are crime fighters after all), but the really squeamish ones might want to skip a couple of parts in upcoming chapters.

My Father, Batman

Part I: I, Robin

Richard Grayson looked up from his book when the phone rang.
"I got it!" Barbra called out from the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. "Hi Dad, how did the seminar go?" He smiled and went back to reading. "What do you mean?" Her voice- something was wrong. He stood just as his wife walked in holding the phone out to him.

"What wrong?"

"He won't tell me." Richard stared at the phone and took it from her. Before he even put the phone to his ear, he realized what had happened. He took a deep breath.

"District Attorney Richard Grayson."

There was a brief moment of silence at the other end of the line. "Dick, I need you to come down and identify a body." His eyes slid shut, and his chest sank within him. He had sincerely hoped that he was wrong. "I am so sorry."

"We'll be there tomorrow afternoon." Without waiting for a response, he handed the phone back to Barbara and sank down into the couch. He refused to cry...

Death, disease, war, famine. Many live in world where we know these things exist, but have we ever come into contact with them? Okay, so many of us have. A family member or friend dies. Somebody gets sick. There are still wars being fought, and some people go without basic needs on a daily basis. But do we know them? I mean personally know them. Is it something the average person sees every day? Maybe we think we do, but as I found out at the tender age of nine, I knew so little about the darker things of life. But that side introduced itself to me one day, and we have been close ever since. Is that a good thing? Probably not, as many would say. It is terrifying- I can admit that. But the good that came from it? It was worth it. But enough rambling on about my opinions. The public wants a story, and a story you shall have.

The question I get asked the most is "What was it like to know the Batman?" (I never figured out why they always say it like there was another one.) I usually say something like, "Interesting." or "Pretty cool." They are always are looking for some adventure story about the mysterious character that protected Gotham for most of his adult life. Yes, there are allot of adventure stories I could tell, but until now I have allowed it to remain a mystery. Why? Because many people don't realize this I guess, but losing those that you love is not fun. Okay, so most do realize this. But what we did was fulfilling, not fun. We nearly lost each other several times, and we've had our fair share of tears. That is why I never talked about it to people. They can never understand what we went through. The joys, the heartaches, the sorrow, and the victories. I do want them to understand though. Bruce Wayne was just a man who decided that he had had enough.

So what was it like to know the Batman? Well, it was interesting and pretty cool. While I held him with the highest respect, he was not just some menacing protector of Gotham (once I warmed up to him anyway). To me he was just "Dad." I never really called him that, but he was. It's been a long time since the night of my real parents' deaths, but I still remember it. Most of it anyway.
My parents, talented acrobats, fell to their death. What happened before that? It doesn't matter, because when I saw my parents lying on the ground beneath me, it really did not matter what happened before that. I was nine; I was not stupid. I knew that if you fell from a height like that, it would be a miracle if you survived. I later wondered why my parents would be dumb enough to perform at such a height without a net, and even more so, why they would let me do it too. But my parents were not idiots and they did care about me, so I decided not to worry about it. What's done is done.

That night changed my life. I remember sitting on the ground trying not to cry while the cops were busy figuring out what was going on. (I did not find out until latter that my parents were actually murdered.) Commissioner Gordon arrived and took charge of the scene. If you never have the chance to meet him, he is a tall man with the kindest smile- unless he's arresting you, I suppose. He has sad blue eyes and had somewhat shabby brown hair at the time. Not because he was unkempt, but he would sometimes be up all night working and I guess his hair was not a priority. His shoulders always seemed to sag just a little, like the weight of Gotham's troubles was bearing down on him. But he was a take charge type of person, and did everything in his power to see justice done. He came up to me almost as soon as he entered the crowded circus tent. He saw to it that they cleared out everyone who had no business being at the crime scene, talked to one of the officers, and then walked right up in front of me. But he did not just stand over me; he knelt down to my level. "What's your name, son?"

He knew who I was. It was not like they had not told him anything. I did not answer him.

"Richard, do you want to come sit over here?" He was gesturing to the front row of seats in the stands.

"No."

"Okay, I'll have one of the officers bring you a blanket. You going to be okay here?" I nodded and he place one hand on my shoulder before going back to the group of officers.

That is exactly how it went. I remember, because it impressed me that the commissioner let me be. Allot of other adults had tried to move me or get me to talk; he just let me mourn. I watched him that night. Men like him are rare. The world could use a few more Commissioner Gordons.

As I was watching them investigate, take pictures, and ask people questions, a man in a very nice suit walked up to the commissioner and started talking to him. They both looked over at me every now and then. It wasn't that cold, but I pulled the blanket the officer had brought me around my shoulders very tightly. There's something comforting about being wrapped up when you are a child. Commissioner Gordon nodded and the man he was talking to started towards me. He was tall, very tall. Strong build, business like, and did not seem like he smiled often. Black hair and dark eyes- this was Bruce Wayne. "Richard Greyson," His voice was deep and a bit menacing, even though I think he was trying to be comforting. "I'm Bruce." That was all he said, and he just stood there with his hand held out for me to shake. It was awkward.

He clearly had no intentions of leaving so I stood and shook his hand. He had a very firm handshake and warm hands. My fingers must have been terribly cold because he took my other hand and placed them both between his. He let go when the commissioner joined us. "Richard, Mr. Wayne has offered to let you stay with him tonight if you are comfortable with that." I looked up at Bruce. I did not trust him, I really didn't but the commissioner seemed to think it was a good idea. What was wrong with staying here though?

"Sure." My parents had told me to stay away from strangers. I don't think I really cared what happened to me anymore. Maybe that's why I agreed.

The commissioner turned to Bruce. "Bring him in tomorrow afternoon, if you could."

"I'll see to it, James." I followed Bruce out of the tent. We were far enough outside the city that we could see the stars above us. It was beautiful. I would not have notice though if Bruce had not randomly stopped, knelt down in the grass beside me, and pointed up to a shooting star. "Make a wish."

I was a serious nine-year-old (sometimes), and thought making wishes was a stupid waste of time. That night though, I wished for my parents back. Obviously, I did not get my wish exactly as I had wanted, but I did have a father kneeling next to me at that very moment. Why did he tell me that? If I am to be completely honest, I have no idea. To this day some of the things he did puzzle me. He was a serious, single-minded man, but sometimes he would spontaneously do something affectionate or childlike. Usually he was unexpressive of anything he felt though. Don't get me wrong. He cared; he really did. About allot of things.

He stood back up and we walked to the car. A Rolls-Royce. I got the impression that this guy was rich. He unlocked it and opened the door for me. I was holding back tears as we drove away. It hurt, and for a moment I wondered if it was worth the pain to continue living. Thankfully, Bruce started talking to me and I did not dwell on that thought for too long. "I'm sorry about your parents." He stated it so plainly. I just shrugged my shoulders and turned my head to stare out the window. "I lost my own parents when I was ten. They were shot." That was supposed to make me feel better? At the time, I thought not, but I did suddenly feel a little more comfortable knowing that at least I was not the only one who had ever felt this way. It did not lessen the pain any, but it did make it just a little bit easier to bear. "I was there when it happened."

Just because he understood what it was like to lose his parents too did not mean that I liked where this conversation was going. "I don't want to talk about it." I mumbled it under my breath actually, and was very surprised that he heard it. (I later learned that if you did not want Batman to hear you, just don't say anything. And even then he can sometimes hear you.)

"You don't have to, Richard. I already know what you're going through." The rest of the drive was silent. Bruce had said what he needed too, and I did not know what to say.

I would have been reluctant to admit it, but I was exhausted. Then again, maybe I would not have admitted it because I did not realize it. I remember leaning my head against the window, and when I woke up, I was in a huge bed and surrounded by pillows and blankets. (I mean literally surrounded; I had difficulty sitting up at first.) When I did finally manage to sit up, I took a look around the room that would be mine for the entire time that I would live in Wayne Manor. At the time though, it was just a strange room that I had woken up in. Light from the sunrise was streaming in through the cracks between the heavy curtains. The bed I was in was a huge canopy bed with scarlet curtains that had been left pulled back. It had bedding to match. A dark nightstand on either side and a matching dresser against the opposite wall. To my right was the door to a walk in closet, although it was closed at the moment. To my left, the door to bathroom stood slightly ajar, and the open door leading into the hall was right in front of me. While it was a very nice room (and it was even better after I fixed it up), to a child who had woken up with no memory of being there the night before, it was a rather creepy place.

I worked my way out of the bed and stood on the very soft carpet. It was then that I realized my shoes were missing and that I was dressed in pajamas that were probably more expensive than my entire wardrobe combined. I was genuinely frightened for a few minutes and just stood there. I don't know how long it was until I decided to move, but I did remember noticing that Mr. Wayne was rich, so this was probably his house.
Gathering up some courage, I decided to explore. I did not get very far down the hall. "Oh, good morning, Master Greyson." My heart jumped in my chest, as did I, and I turned around at the sound of the very distinct British accent. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to startle you, and I am very sorry for your loss."

My first thought was "Who is this guy?" Seriously, unless Bruce had turned into a British man in his fifties, I was in the wrong place. (Obviously I really wasn't, but I had never met a butler before.) I'm sure most reading this never had the chance to meet Alfred in person, but he was one of the most amazing men I have ever had the privilege of knowing. He was just taller than average and had grey hair. Although he told me that it was once the most beautiful black hair anyone had ever laid eyes on. (I think he exaggerated because he was going for one of those "nothing lasts forever" object lessons, but whatever.) Blue eyes and the noblest demeanor I had ever seen. He was very talented. Cook, chauffer, personal accountant, maid (although to ever call him that one was suicide), librarian, counselor, and self-proclaimed babysitter of Bruce Wayne. A true man of skill and wisdom.

Needless to say, Alfred kept me so busy the first two hours of the morning that I did not have time to be upset about the night before, and looking back on it, I think that is what he was going for. First he brought me some of Bruce's old clothes (I don't know why he kept them, nor do I want to), and I showered and changed. Then I ate breakfast and helped Alfred with the dishes. We straightened up the library, did the laundry, and then went outside to work in the garden. Alfred made it fun though, as I found he always did, and told me war stories as we worked. I think some of them he made up over the years, but neither I nor Bruce really cared; he was just great to listen to. The whole time we did this, however, I saw nothing of Bruce. In fact, it was Alfred who drove me to the police station after lunch.
I said goodbye to Alfred. I thought about extending my thanks to Mr. Wayne, but that man still frightened me. Alfred I could have spent all day with though, and was actually sad that I would never see him again.

Let me know what you think, and if you see any outstanding grammatical errors, I'm not the type be offended if you let me know. Better to be corrected by one than to be ridiculed by many. Just bear in mind that some punctuation and sentence fragments are" artistic licence," shall we say?