The time was late, past eleven PM, the only light coming from the stars and the bare glow of the new moon. The hills rose high, the valleys dropped low, and the plains rolled on. Cities stood tall, some sleeping, but the largest racing still. One such city was Gotham.
"Be careful tonight, Robin," he warned. "Our targets are lethal. You'll never see them coming from the shadows."
"I'll be careful, Batman." The boy promised. Wind and debris made the air hard to breathe, and he coughed. The older man waited a moment and then tousled the child's hair. "You'll do great. Come on."
They raced through alleys and across rooftops, until the black-suited man stopped his charge. "Look, Robin. What can you see?"
"A light on in that window," he said, looking up. "The place is falling apart-the pane on the window itself is shattered. Someone's right where they're not supposed to be."
"Yes. Our targets are inside-here, look through these binoculars." Batman handed him the black device and then began to move closer. "We can leap from this roof and break through the window. From there, follow my lead. And be silent until we get there."
Robin nodded, pressing his lips together and slinking forward. He shot a quick glance at the man leading him on as he did so. Just what was he thinking, bringing a child on this mission? The men they were about to fight were assassins! He leaped after his mentor, however, and crashed through the window of the dilapidated building ready for action. He was not ready, however, to see the face-his face.
Why did he have to fight the man who had killed his parents just weeks ago?
I was careful, swinging down to the ground and catching myself. I whipped around in time to see my mother emerging at the top of the ladder. She swung out to me, my father following and holding her feet. He was going to swing out and I was going to catch him-until the bullets flew. Twin pistols shot off and everything seemed to ricochet off of everything else. One shot snapped into the trapeze rope and my heart stopped.
My mother fell first, a free-fall to the ground where she landed, broken and unmoving. I knew she was gone and I screamed. When my father crashed down beside her I leaped to the floor, not caring I would have bruises later. I ran to their sides and watched my father take his last, rasping breaths. His lung was punctured, I could tell by the way he could hardly look up. He managed three small words to me before he joined my mother in the heavens. "I love you."
A bullet grazed my ear and I screamed as shots rang out over my parents' bodies. A golden round came flying at my face, and it-
Dick Grayson woke up crying. He shot straight up and pushed a heavy weight from his chest. He sobbed for a second, reliving the reality that his parents had died. He was an orphan, and it made him cry harder. The blanket was wrapped around his knees, and he pressed his face to it. Even when he heard footsteps in the hall, he couldn't keep his tears from rolling.
Bruce was going to bed. He had been up late-the fight with the assassin team had required a heck of a lot of paperwork. At the sound of his new son's crying, though, he stopped in his tracks. He waited outside the door, unsure of what to do. Hesitantly, he pushed open the mahogany. "Dick? Are you okay?"
The wealthiest man in Gotham had never had a child. He had taken the young boy in with no experience whatsoever with children. That was why he couldn't figure out how to say what he wanted, to comfort the child. The sight of Grayson's tears gave Bruce a lump in his throat.
He moved beside the boy, silent. He rubbed circles across his back until the tears stopped coming; Dick had cried himself out. "You're okay, kiddo. I got you."
A few more raspy breaths and Dick could speak. "I had a nightmare. . .."
"It's okay." Bruce took the young boy into his arms. "I've got you. You're okay."
"My parents. Again." The billionaire could relate. He was younger than this when his own parents were shot. Nightmares weren't an easy ordeal after something like that, and they never went away. Even after several decades of sleepless nights. "I know, Dick. I've been there."
The small boy was quiet, breathing in and out slowly. Bruce continued, "I lost my parents, too. But you'll be okay, it'll end up okay."
He couldn't tell the boy things would instantaneously go back to the way they were, or even stop hurting. That would be a lie. He could say they would end okay, though, and for him they had. He held on tighter to Dick, whispering, "I won't let anything bad happen to you ever again."
"Do you promise?" The child looked into his eyes. He nodded, saying, "Remember the papers we signed?"
"So you could adopt me? Yeah." Dick settled down and listened. "They said I was responsible for you, remember? That means I look after you-and to me, I protect you with all I've got."
"I don't know how to do this." The child murmured. "Never had a home or anything like this before."
"I'm playing it by ear, too. Come on, you need to get some sleep." He laid down beside his son, who snuggled against the man's grey pajamas. "Would you stay until I fall asleep?"
"Of course." And that's just what he did, and why they woke up in the morning to each other, father and son forever.