Robin, the Boy of Steel Elseworlds

by Syl

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Robin?

1. (Part 1)

Author: Syl Francis Email: efrancis@earthlink.net Title: Robin, the Boy of Steel [An Elseworlds Tale] Rating: PG Part 1

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Summary: It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...Robin?! Part One contains the Prologue and Chapters 1-5. The last son of Krypton is found and adopted by a young circus couple, the Flying Graysons. After they're dead in an extortion scheme, Dick Grayson goes to live with billionaire-philanthropist, Bruce Wayne. Soon, Dick discovers that his new benefactor has a deep secret. Unknown, to Wayne, he's about to find out that the reverse is also true.

Author's Note: This story idea came to me from several sources-- 1. A recent adventure in Hypertime with Superboy (One of the parallel worlds he visits has a Superboy who's been raised and trained by that world's Batman); 2. The Nightwing Secret Files in which the origin of his codename is finally revealed; 3. The Kandorian Nightwing, Van Zee (who was the pre-Crisis' Superman's first cousin and look-alike); 4. A recent "lost tale" of the Crisis which introduced a Batman and Robin from a parallel Earth who are also father and son; 5. And finally, the Elseworlds tale, Speeding Bullets in which Kal-El is raised by Martha and Thomas Wayne. While none of these sources is in fact directly related to my story, each in its own way somehow helped inspire it. Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright.

Feedback is welcome!

Copyright April 2000

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Robin: the Boy of Steel [An Elseworlds Tale] By Syl Francis

Prologue

"You are my last hope, Jor."

"Cousin, you heard the Council. No one may leave Krypton during these uncertain times."

"But little Van. He is all I have." The elder Van-Zee looked pleadingly at his cousin, Jor-El. "His mother, my wife, has been dead these past two weeks. She was too weak to withstand the stress of childbirth during Krypton's death throes."

"Death throes?" Jor-El scoffed. "Cousin, you exaggerate."

"Jor, you and I both studied the geological readings. Krypton's inner core, which we have exploited shamelessly for our power needs for untold generations, is nearing overload limits." Van-Zee studied his cousin. "The planet is going to explode."

"He's right, my husband." Both men turned at Lara's voice. She walked over to Van-Zee where he stood holding the baby. She held her arms out for the child, smiling with pain-filled eyes.

"He looks so much like Kal did at this age, Jor." Lara looked sadly upon her husband. "Our little Kal would've seen one complete sun cycle the day Van-too was born."

"Lara--" Jor-El began.

"No, Jor! Don't say it! The quakes killed our son. *Krypton* killed our son. I hate this planet, my husband. It is dying, and it is taking our people with it. *My* son is already dead. Little Van's poor mother is also dead." She leaned down and kissed the sleeping baby. "Don't let Krypton kill our godchild, too. Please, Jor...help our kinsman save his son."

Jor-El nodded. "Very well."

At that that moment, Jor-El's lab was rocked with a violent quake, lasting longer than any previous. The adults ran desperately for cover, Lara still holding the baby. She looked up in horror as a skylight and two support beams fell towards her and the baby. At the last moment, Van Zee pushed them under a lab table and out of harms way, as the heavy beams and shards of glass rained down on him. Huddling under the table, Lara managed to hold on to little Van.

Seeing her kinsman's lifeless body under the heavy rubble, she screamed. "*Van*!" Jor-El reached for her. "Jor! We must help him!"

"We can't!" Jor-El shouted. "We must take cover! The baby--hurry!"

When the nightmarish, planet-shaking quakes finally ended, there was little left of the proud, gleaming laboratory complex. Jor-El picked his way slowly through the unstable, debris-laden floor.

Finally, Jor-El spotted him, under a pile of rubble and shards of glass: Van- Zee. Jor-El checked his cousin's pulse. There was none. Van-Zee was dead. Jor-El bowed his head momentarily in a silent prayer to Rao.

"I promise, cousin," he whispered fervently, "that your son and my godchild, the last scion of the Houses of Zee and El, will live to see his first sun cycle. This I swear."

****

"Lara! It's time! Bring little Van. The starship is ready for launch."

"I'm coming," Lara said. She was carrying the child, wrapped in bright red, blue, and yellow blankets. She hesitated when she saw the small starship. "Are we doing the right thing, my husband?" she asked tentatively.

Jor-El walked up to her and took her and the baby in his arms. They'd both grown extremely fond of the child in the weeks following the quakes as they prepared the ship for the long voyage. Van-too reminded them so much of their own Kal-- same hair and eye color, same happy disposition.

"Yes, my wife," Jor-El said softly. "The little one will have a chance to grow up, perhaps fall in love, and have children. More importantly, he will survive."

Lara nodded through her tears. Jor-El took the baby gently and tenderly placed him in the tiny vessel's cradle. Placing his hand on the child's forehead, he breathed a short prayer.

"May Rao keep you safe on your journey, little one. Our love and the love of your parents go with you." Jor-El and Lara looked down on the smiling baby boy, both in tears. Remembering what she was holding, Lara turned to her husband.

"Jor, I almost forgot," she said, "I found this amongst Van-Zee's effects. It was marked, 'For my son,' so I brought it." Jor-El nodded. He took the small, black sphere, an ordinary recording devise, which he noted was stamped with the midnight blue crest of the House of Zee, and placed it carefully in a recessed storage bin inside the ship's tiny cabin.

They looked down at the now sleeping baby once more, reluctant to let go of the moment.

Suddenly, Krypton began shaking again. This time, the quakes were even more powerful than before. Screams from outside, thunderous rumblings, and explosions warned Jor-El and Lara that perhaps this was it.

Lara leaned down hurriedly and kissed the baby one last time. Jor-El pressed a control panel to seal the hatch. Lara's eyes were streaming tears. The lab began to shake violently. Glass vials fell off their shelves. Various pieces of equipment vibrated off the tables. The windows rattled from the explosions and sonic booms.

Jor-El brought the starship's systems on line. He checked life support, command and control, and navigation. Jor-El double-checked the coordinates for the astro-nav course. Satisfied, he brought the star drive on line.

As his wife joined him, Jor-El punched the 'Activate' button, and the tiny starship, carrying its precious bundle slowly rose. The two doomed Kryptonians watched as the ship cleared the broken skylights and disappeared into the night sky.

When the ship cleared Krypton's star system, its sensors recorded a spatial anomaly caused by one of the planets disintegrating in a multi-megaton explosion...

****

Chapter One

The large motor home, pulling a smaller trailer, drove past the miles of newly planted wheat and cornfields. To Mary's delight they passed a field of sunflowers with faces turned west towards the low, setting sun. The western sky was ablaze with russets, lavenders, and deep purples.

It was a beautiful, clear March day, the first day of spring, and Mother Nature was in her full panoramic glory of bright, rainbow colors.

"Oh, Johnny, I never knew Kansas could be so beautiful. So many wildflowers. It's like driving through a garden."

"Hey, can I show a girl a good time or what?" Johnny teased. "Didn't I promise you travel to exotic places, fancy clothes, and meeting interesting people."

Mary laughed. "I never thought of Kansas as exotic, but I have to admit that before I met you, I'd never had such fancy clothes as my costumes, and as for interesting people..."

As Johnny and Mary drove past the solitary farmhouses, green wheat fields sparkling with evening dew, and lengthening shadows. Anyone who happened to look up as they passed, saw the painted, 'Flying Graysons' banner, with the picture of a trapeze and two circus aerialists in mid-flight.

Laughing happily, John and Mary Grayson traveled west. They were going to meet up with the Haly Circus in Wichita, Kansas. A sign reading 'Welcome to Smallville, Home of the Fighting Farmers! 15 miles ahead!' greeted them.

"Now, that's what I call an exotic locale," Mary said. "'Smallville, Home of the Fighting Farmers." They shared a companionable laugh.

It was nice to laugh again. They'd wanted children so badly and had been so excited when Mary first discovered that she was pregnant. She was due March 21st. A momentary stab of pain pierced her heart. The baby would've been born today. She felt the darkness begin to descend again, but determinedly pushed it aside.

Johnny had been so loving, so understanding. It had been his baby, too. The loss had devastated the both of them. The doctor's additional news almost destroyed her. Mary would never have children. She looked over at her husband of two years and felt her heart fill with tenderness.

"I love you, Johnny Grayson," she whispered. John smiled sideways, his gray eyes gentle.

"I'm the luckiest guy in the world, Mary," he said. "The most beautiful girl I know is sitting next to me right now and wearing my ring. What more could I ever ask for?"

He held his hand out to her. Smiling through tears that just seemed to come of their own accord, Mary reached hers out to him.

A sudden piercing whistle, accompanied by a loud ~*Ka-boo-ooo-oo-mmmm*!~ exploded over their heads. Startled, John lost control of the wheel and the motor home began careening crazily back and forth across the road.

Hanging on for dear life, Mary screamed. A small pinprick of light appeared above them among the fluffy, plum-pink clouds. The light grew brighter, hotter, leaving a burning trail behind it; the whistle increased to an eardrum- shattering roar. John finally brought the motor home under control and brought it to complete stop on the side of the road.

Both gasped in momentary relief.

The hot trail of burning light rocketed past them and crashed into the adjoining field in a shower of molten rock and burning debris. At last, the early Kansas evening grew still.

"What was *that*?" John whispered, awed. They jumped out of the motor home's cab and ran towards the field. In the deepening gloom, they could see a large trail of scorched earth left by 'whatever' that fell from the sky. At the far end of the black scar, they could see a fire burning raggedly.

John started running towards it. "Johnny! What are you doing?" Mary cried.

"It could be a plane or something," he called back. "There could be people trapped inside."

Mary ran after him, stumbling on the newly torn earth. She heard John cry out up ahead. Frightened, she began to run harder, falling every few steps on the uneven ground.

"Mary! You won't believe this!" John called. Mary ran to what appeared to be the lip of a crater formed by the force of the impact. She stopped, her breath caught in her throat.

Inside the crater was a small craft of some type, possibly military. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen, except in science fiction magazines. John was walking around down there, avoiding the hot spots.

"Johnny, be careful," she called. In the quiet of the early evening, Mary heard a small sound, almost like that of a cat meowing. She looked around uncertainly. Where was it coming from? Finally, she turned back to the small craft. Johnny was touching it gingerly.

He took off his jacket, and wrapping it around his hands, he began feeling around the craft's sides.

"Oh, Johnny, please--"

Suddenly, a small hatch began to open.

"Johnny...!" Mary gasped. A half-formulated scream died in her throat. Both stood in mute silence for several seconds. A baby, little more than a newborn, lay inside crying heartbrokenly.

John reached tentatively inside. As soon as he held the small, wet and hungry bundle, the cries ceased. The baby looked up at John with bright blue eyes. Suddenly, the baby yawned widely and fell promptly asleep...

****

Later, they were sitting in the living quarters of the motor home, overcome with wonderment as they bathed and changed the baby boy.

The strange craft was stored in their equipment trailer. After John dug it out of the rich Kansas soil, he discovered that it was surprisingly light. It proved relatively easy to drag back to the trailer.

Mary rummaged for the baby items that she hadn't had the heart to dispose of so shortly after her miscarriage. Among the miniature doll-sized t-shirts, socks, and booties, she found a baby bottle. John took it from her, and in lieu of baby formula, warmed a bottle of whole milk in the small microwave.

When the milk was ready, John brought her the warmed bottle. With a nervous smile, Mary took it, and hesitantly, brought the nipple to the baby's mouth.

Happily, the baby knew what to do and within minutes, he was gurgling away as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. John observed the proceedings, his heart filling.

"I guess we'll have to stop in Smallville and buy some formula," he suggested. Mary glanced at him, her eyes shining.

"Oh, Johnny...he's so beautiful!" she breathed in awe. "So perfect."

"Mary," John whispered, "I don't understand. Who would put a baby in a--a-- whatever that thing is? Risk his life like that?"

"I don't know, Johnny," she whispered back, her eyes never leaving the small miracle that she held in her arms.

John sat down next to her on their tiny pull-down couch. He held Mary and the baby close to him.

"Mary, this baby belongs to somebody. What if whoever he belongs to lost him and is even now looking for him?"

As her husband's words sunk in, Mary turned frightened eyes first to John and then to the baby.

"If he belonged to me," John added cautiously, "and *I'd* lost him, I know that I'd be doing everything in my power to--"

"--To make him *un*-lost?" Mary finished, her voice catching. John nodded. They both looked down at the now contentedly sleeping baby, and then at each other. Without another word, they both knew that they would never give the baby up, nor would they ever tell anyone how they'd found him.

God might have closed a door on their lives when He took their unborn child, but in His wisdom, he'd just opened a window. This was their child, delivered to them by a great cosmic stork on the first day of spring, just as promised.

The Flying Graysons had just become a family...

In the end, it proved easier than even they'd imagined. Pop Haly was the only one in whom John confided about Mary's miscarriage, and because Pop respected the Graysons' privacy, he hadn't informed any of the other performers.

When they arrived in Wichita, everyone greeted the new baby as member of the family.

"What will you call him?" the Great Marko asked.

"Oh, he's so beautiful!" Bobo, the clown, exclaimed.

"Why, he's the spitting image of Mary!" Maggie, the Tattooed Lady, proclaimed. "Look at those blue eyes!"

"Hey, Johnny, you lucky son of a gun!" one of the roustabouts called. "A son to carry on the Flying Graysons tradition!"

John and Mary smiled at the welcoming throng of their fellow circus performers and friends. This was their family and little Dicky--Richard John Grayson, named for John's father--was even now being embraced into the fold...

****

Later that evening, Pop looked down at the tiny sleeping bundle in his arms. He emphatically shook his head, 'no.'

"Johnny, you know that'd I give my right arm for you, but this--?" He shrugged helplessly. The baby yawned in his sleep and slowly opened his eyes. Pop stood mesmerized by the amazing blue eyes that gazed calmly up at him. A little hand reached up and formed a tiny fist next to a damask cheek.

John and Mary held their breaths. At last, Mary spoke tentatively. "Look, Dicky, your godfather is holding you for the first time."

Pop looked at them, eyes wide. "Godfather?" he asked. At their nods, he quickly glanced down at the small form again. Dicky gurgled happily, waving his arms and kicking slightly in his godfather's arms. It almost seemed as if he were happy at the news.

Pop smiled down at the baby, gently touching his diminutive nose. A baby hand grabbed Pop's finger and refused to let go.

"You've sure got a strong grip there, youngster. You're a Grayson, all right. Yep, like Maggie said, you're the spitting image of your mother." This last was addressed at John and Mary. Excitedly, the young couple hugged and kissed. Pop Haly would keep their secret.

"You'll need papers, proof that Dicky's really yours," he said. He noted the Graysons' surprised looks. Obviously, neither had given the matter much thought. Smiling, he added with a reassurance that he didn't feel, "Don't worry. I know someone who might help." He looked down once more at the happy, gurgling baby.

"I'll take of everything. You're family now, Dicky, and the Haly Circus always takes care of its own..."

****

"*No*!" Pop screamed, livid. "No money, you leech! No more!" The door to his motor home was suddenly yanked open. Dick ducked underneath the back stoop. He'd come to Pop's trailer to ask if he could ride Elinore in the matinee parade today.

A man was literally thrown out of the trailer. "Get out, Zucco! I told you a month ago that you'd get no more money from me. We're through! If you don't leave the circus grounds right now, I'll call the cops."

"Oh, yeah? And then what?" Zucco sneered. "*You* gonna tell 'em about a little piece of paper I had forged for you almost nine years ago? No, Haly. I'm warning *you*--either pay up, or someone's gonna get hurt."

Haly made a threatening move, and Zucco broke into a stumbling run. "And don't come back, you bloodsucker!" Pop yelled, waving his fist. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Dick. His eyes widened. How much had the boy heard?

"Dicky, what are *you* doing here, son? It's almost time for the opening parade." Dick looked up wordlessly at his godfather. He'd almost forgotten why he'd come. Unable to speak, he was relieved when Pop smiled suddenly, his eyes taking on their normal twinkle. "And aren't you supposed to ride Elinore today?"

Dick broke into a wide grin. "Oh, boy! D'you mean it, Pop? Honest?"

"Why, you and Elinore are the stars of the show, Dicky! Of course, you'll lead the parade."

Dick jumped up in jubilation. He began running towards the Graysons' motor home, calling over his shoulder, "Oh, boy! Wait'll I tell Mom and Dad!"

Smiling, Haly waved at the exuberant boy. As Dick disappeared among the long line of performers' motor homes, a worried expression overtook his countenance. Doing business with Zucco all those years ago had been a mistake. A very bad mistake. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders.

"Oh well, the show must go on," he said philosophically.

Pop stepped back inside his trailer. Today's receipts were unbelievable. Gotham City's Wayne Foundation was sponsoring the special performance this evening. The Wayne Foundation was matching the gate receipts with a donation for the Gotham City Children's Hospital. They had a sold out house.

The nice thing was that the Haly Circus did not have to donate any of its earnings to the charity. The circus hadn't exactly operated in the black these past few years, even with Dick as the star performer, and Pop couldn't afford to give away any money that it made.

All Bruce Wayne had requested was that the show be touted for charity and he would personally foot the donation.

"Odd man," Pop mused. He began to dress in his Ring Master's togs. Tonight's performance was still several hours away, but they had an afternoon matinee in less than an hour. He smiled suddenly reflecting on the past few years...

Eleven-month-old Dick literally learning to walk on the high wire while the other performers gasped in fear 70 feet below. With John waiting, arms held out, Mary released the baby. Without hesitation, Dick walked out to his father...

Three-year-old Dick taking his first somersault on the trapeze, his father catching him...

Four-year-old Dick performing his first triple, wowing the crowds below...

Six-year-old Dick, one of only three aerialists in the world, performing the perilous "Death Drop!"--a quadruple somersault--without a net...

And now, nine-year-old Dick Grayson was working on perfecting what others said was the impossible, a quintuple somersault. And if Pop knew his godchild, Dick was just the aerialist who'd defy the laws of gravity and accomplish this feat.

"I *love* my job!" Pop said proudly. Then remembering Zucco's threats, he sighed. There was little he could do at the moment. "I'll talk to John and Mary tomorrow," he promised himself. He'd have a better idea about what to do once he'd had a chance to sleep on it.

Unfortunately, tomorrow would prove too late.

****

"John!"

"Mary!"

"Mom! Dad!" Dick yelled, horrified. "*No-ooo-oo*...!"

"Does he have any relatives?"

"No, no one, poor kid."

"Pop's his godfather. He wants the boy to stay with him."

"I heard Child Welfare Services won't let him. Something about an iterant circus not being a fit place to raise a kid."

"Poor Dicky. What'll become of him? He's only nine..."

****

Chapter Two

Dick sat quietly through the entire ordeal--the juvenile detention center, family court, the funeral, and now the long drive to his new home. The gray, misty day reflected his mood.

He was in the backseat, next to Bruce Wayne. They were dressed identically in dark suits, dark ties, and white Oxford shirts. Dick leaned his forehead on the window. He didn't see the dismal, wooded hills of Gotham Heights. The blazing fall colors were muted in mourning browns and grays today.

His parents' fall played over and over in his mind.

"Why?" he whispered.

"I don't know, Dick," Bruce said. Dick didn't know that he'd spoken out loud.

He wiped his face on his sleeve, ashamed that once again he was showing such weakness in front of his new guardian, a relative stranger. He still didn't understand why Bruce wanted him to come live at his house, but he didn't want to do anything that would make his parents ashamed of him.

He looked down at his lap, his hands clasping and unclasping. He sniffed, his nose runny, a tear trickling down his cheek.

"Here, chum," Bruce said, handing Dick a handkerchief. Dick nodded his thanks, unable to answer. His breath came faster in short gasps; his eyes wouldn't stop crying. He covered his face in the handkerchief.

At last Dick felt a pair of strong arms pulling him close. The kind gesture was too much for the brokenhearted boy. Overcome with grief, Dick buried his face in his new guardian's chest. He sobbed quietly, his body wracked by emotion.

Exhausted, Dick fell asleep on Bruce's lap.

****

A loud clap of thunder woke him. A momentary wave of panic swept through him. Where was he?

"Mom?" he called. Then he remembered. His mom would never answer him again. His dad would never catch him. He had no one left. No family. No circus. No one.

He thought about his mysterious benefactor, Bruce Wayne. Each time he looked into Bruce's eyes, a cold fist seemed to suddenly squeeze his stomach. And yet, there was *something* about Bruce that made Dick want to trust him openly and without hesitation.

As he sat up in the dark, he had a sudden yearning to find his guardian. But he'd only been inside Wayne Manor once before and he hadn't had a chance to learn his way around. Dick stared down at the floor while concentrating on the layout of the mansion below and the rooms he'd actually visited. He formed a mental picture of Bruce and tried to trace the route to these rooms from his bedroom.

As he concentrated, Dick could suddenly *see* Bruce, or rather, a dark, forbidding figure, sitting in a frightening place of deep shadows. He was surrounded by a lot of strange equipment that Dick couldn't recognize.

As he sat confused, Dick realized that his room seemed to disappear around him, while the room in which he thought he'd seen Bruce materialized.

He blinked. His room reappeared.

"Whoa, you're losing it, Grayson," he muttered. He lay back down, thinking about what had just happened. Was his strange ability growing stronger? He'd never experienced 'it' quite so strongly before. As he stared up at the ceiling, he thought about the 'room' where he'd seen Bruce. "That wasn't a room. That was a *cave* or something."

He shook his head.

"You didn't see anything," he denied. "You promised Mom and Dad, remember?" As he dropped off to sleep, he kept repeating to himself, "You promised to stop..."

****

Dick sat at the kitchen table wordlessly watching Alfred as the dignified butler prepared breakfast. Dick felt uncomfortable. Everyone in his family had pitched in with household chores. He and Dad helped Mom in the motor home's tiny kitchen with chopping vegetables and setting the table. Afterwards, while Dad washed dishes, Dick rinsed and dried...

"The Flying Graysons are a team as well as a family, Dicky," Dad used to say. "Everything we do, we do together..."

Dick again felt the stinging in the back of his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, sir," he said tentatively.

"You may address me as 'Alfred,' Master Dick." Alfred's eyes smiled gently. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Can I help?"

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "*Help*, young sir?"

"Uh-huh," Dick said nodding.

Alfred's smile broadened. "Of course, Master Dick. Here, why don't you step around this way?" Alfred indicated that Dick come around the kitchen island where he was currently working, behind the stove.

Dick eagerly jumped up and joined the kindly gentleman. His eyes barely cleared the counter.

"Well, now, a chef trainee must be able to see what he's preparing," Alfred said, rummaging inside the large, built-in pantry. "This should do the trick!" he exclaimed.

He pulled out a small stepladder and set it front of Dick. Dick quickly stepped up.

"Now, young sir," Alfred began. "To prepare breakfast 'Ala Pennyworth,' one must become *one* with the egg."

Dick looked blank. "Huh?"

"Watch and learn!" Alfred said, smiling. With an elaborate wave of the hands, Alfred both charmed and delighted his newest charge on the secrets of culinary magic.

"Where's Mr. Wayne?" Dick asked, whisking the eggs as Alfred had shown him. Shaking his head, he amended, "Uhmm, I mean, Bruce?"

Dick was having difficulty remembering to call his guardian by his first name. His parents raised him to be respectful of his elders, so he couldn't bring himself to call either Bruce or Alfred by their first names, yet.

"I'm afraid that Master Bruce is still asleep. He had a rather long night of it, I believe."

Dick looked at Alfred with wide blue eyes.

"But it's almost eight o'clock in the morning!" he exclaimed in shock. At home, the Flying Graysons would've been up already for almost three hours and halfway through their morning training routine.

"You'll learn that Master Bruce keeps his own hours," Alfred explained.

Dick reflected on how different things were going to be. Is that what being wealthy meant, he wondered? Sleeping past eight and maybe even later?

"Breakfast is almost ready, Master Dick," Alfred said. "Please wash up and take a seat at the table."

Dick nodded, doing as told and sitting down. Everything smelled and looked delicious.

Alfred set a plate of chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon and eggs in front of Dick. To this feast, he added a tall glass of milk, orange juice, a small pitcher of syrup, softened butter, and other condiments.

"Here you go, young sir," Alfred proclaimed cheerily. "Just the breakfast to energize a growing boy." He smiled down at his young charge, and turned back to the kitchen area.

"Aren't *you* going to eat, too?" Dick asked.

"I ate hours ago, Master Dick," Alfred said. "If you'll excuse me, I must prepare Master Bruce's breakfast."

"Oh," Dick said, looking down disappointedly. Alfred gazed at the boy for a moment. Reaching a decision, he set down the whisk with which he was about to beat the eggs, walked around the island to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"But I suppose since the Master is still abed, there's no need to hurry," he said. "Now, tell me a bit about yourself, Master Dick. What's it like for a boy growing up in the circus? It must be terribly wonderful."

Dick nodded excitedly and proceeded to fill Alfred in on the wonders of circus life...

****

"I thought I heard laughter."

Dick and Alfred looked up. Standing at the kitchen door was a freshly shaven and casually dressed Bruce Wayne. Dick noted the tired lines around his guardian's eyes, and narrowing his own eyes, saw what looked like a discoloration around one cheek, like a bruise.

How'd he get *that*? Dick wondered. Did he get into a fight last night? Again, he wondered what kind of man his new guardian would prove to be.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred cried out in mortification. He jumped up and hurried to the kitchen area, banging pots and pans. "My apologies, sir! The young master and I were chatting and I simply forgot the time!"

Bruce waved his hand in a staying motion. "That's okay, Alfred. I needed to get up anyway. So, what's for breakfast?" He looked at Dick's nearly empty plate and gave the boy a half-smile. "Chocolate chip pancakes? Hey, I'm in," he said, pulling out a chair.

"They're great, Bruce! I've already had a zillion of 'em," Dick said.

"Indeed, Master Bruce," Alfred said drolly. "I don't believe I've ever come across anyone with such a voracious appetite. Young Master Dick has already had four servings!"

Bruce turned an amused glance at Dick. Sizing up the small boy, he teased, "Where do you put it?"

Dick grinned, slightly embarrassed. It was funny because he never felt hungry, but once he sat down to a meal, he couldn't seem to get enough to eat. It was a source of constant amusement for his mom.

"Mom always used to say that the Flying Graysons had to work extra hard 'cause otherwise they wouldn't be able to afford to feed me."

Bruce leaned in closely and spoke in mock conspiratorially low tones. "Between you'n me, kid, your appetite is going to make Alfred extremely happy."

****

Later that day, Dick wandered the vast manor. Bruce had long since left for an appointment with Lucius Fox, and Alfred was off somewhere, attending to household chores. Dick looked around the large study, a gloomy room lined with bookshelves. He walked up to the oversized windows and drew open the heavy drapes.

The mid-afternoon sun instantly flooded the room. A bright sunbeam fell on a giant wedding portrait of a young man and woman hanging over the fireplace. The man looked a lot like Bruce but with a mustache. The woman was breathtakingly beautiful in her long, white gown.

Dick looked away. Alfred told him that Bruce's parents died when he'd been a little boy, too.

"I guess we have a lot in common."

Spotting a grandfather clock along one wall, Dick noticed that it wasn't working. Studying it, a sudden idea came to him. Dick was unusually gifted with mechanical objects. Somehow he always just *knew* how things worked.

Truth be told, Dick knew that if he concentrated sufficiently on any given object, eventually he'd be able to *see* its internal mechanism and know instantly how to fix the problem.

Dick didn't know *how* he could. He just *knew* that he could. His mom and dad would look at each other worriedly and pretend they didn't notice. One time he overheard his parents talking about him. To this day, Dick didn't understand what Mom meant when she'd said, "Perhaps it's common with his kind?"

Or Dad's cryptic response, "We'll have to start taking it easy, Mary. Maybe not have Dicky master the quintuple loop. Most everyone takes his talent and amazing gifts in stride, but one day...I don't know. I just don't want a lot of publicity."

Mom had laughed suddenly. "A circus performer who *doesn't* want publicity? Now if *that* got out, people would *really* talk...!"

Dick smiled at the memory, but then thoughtfully reflected on his mother's words.

"What did she mean?'" he wondered for the umpteenth time. "What *about* 'my kind'? Isn't *my* kind, *Dad's* kind, or *Mom's* kind?"

He shook his head, not understanding. He'd never questioned his parents because Dad had told him that eavesdropping on other people's conversation was wrong. So, he'd been left to wonder...

Walking up to the clock, Dick tentatively opened the clock face. Checking his watch, he stood on tiptoe and reached up for the clock hands. He tried to move the big hand. Nothing happened. It wouldn't move clockwise.

"That's funny," he muttered. "It's stuck." Not wanting to risk breaking it, he tried moving it counter-clockwise. To his surprise, the clock hand began moving. However, as soon as the big hand passed the nine, it stopped, refusing to go further.

"Great! I broke it," he said in self-disgust. Placing both hands on his hips, he glared at the offending clock face. As he stared, he suddenly *saw* the problem. Inside the clock face there were two small devices set up as 'stops.' The big hand *couldn't* move beyond the 'two' and the 'nine.'

"That's weird," he said. Taking a chance, he moved the clock hand back to the 'two.' As soon as he did so, he heard a *click*. Startled, Dick glanced to the right. A narrow door stood open inside a dark recess along the wall.

"Whoa," Dick breathed. "A secret passage. How *cool*!" Taking a moment to assess whether this was a good idea or not, his sense of adventure won over. As soon as he stepped through, the door closed behind him. His heart leaped into his throat.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all," he muttered. Leaning against the dank wall, he allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. Concentrating with all his might, he tried to *see* through the gloom. As always, whenever he *wanted* his strange ability to work, it stubbornly refused.

Sighing, Dick took a tentative step forward. His foot touched empty space. Carefully feeling with his toes, he finally *felt* a solid step about five inches below him. A staircase! He was on a staircase. Satisfied that he wouldn't fall and break his neck, he began climbing down in the nearly impenetrable darkness.

"'Curiouser and curiouser,'" he said, quoting his mom. She'd read _Alice in Wonderland_ to him innumerable times, and even though the story was about a *girl*, he'd enjoyed it as much as she.

Reaching the bottom, he was startled again, this time by muted lights coming suddenly to life. As he looked around, Dick realized that his half-forgotten 'dream' from last night had been real.

A large bat fluttered overhead, disappearing into the blackness above. Dick ducked momentarily frightened, his heart in his throat.

Straightening slowly, Dick looked around with open-mouthed awe. He was standing in the middle of a large cave, surrounded by vast amounts of strange electronic equipment and what looked like a scientific laboratory. As he walked around the vast underground cavern, his movement probably set off a motion detector. A spotlight came on abruptly.

Dick's jaw dropped: the Batmobile!

****

Chapter Three

Tony Zucco's sneering countenance glared down at him from a half-dozen computer monitors. Bruce raised a single eyebrow.

"Bad enough the kid finds the cave so soon after arriving," he muttered, chagrinned, "but he obviously knows his way around computers as well. He's cracked every built-in security program in the system."

Bruce checked the information that Dick had accessed. His jaw line hardened, the only indication that what he'd read disturbed him. He strode to the uniform vault.

"Sir?" Alfred spoke from behind him. "What are you going to do?"

"Go after him," Batman said, moving purposefully towards the Batmobile. "And pray I'm not too late." He uttered this last as he slammed the driver's side door and roared away.

****

Dick easily climbed over the high stonewall surrounding the vast estate, thankful for the growing shadows. The computer search showed that Zucco was related to a local crime lord, Mario Falcone. In the past, Falcone had kept Zucco from the reach of the law through his vast network of crooked lawyers.

It was possible that Falcone might be hiding Zucco until the heat wore off.

As he made his way stealthily, Dick thought about how *simple* it had been for him to access the computers he'd discovered in the giant cave. Funny, the only computer he'd ever seen before in his entire life was the one that Pop kept to do his books. Dick had watched him work on it a few times, but had never used it himself. Yet, when he came across all of the security measures on the computer banks in the cave, he'd just *known* what to do.

Really weird.

As for a means of getting to the Falcone estate, Dick simply looked up the bus and subway schedules. He then hitched a ride to town, took the subway all the way to the nearest suburb, and then caught the bus. It dropped him off less than a mile from the entrance to the estate.

Dick spotted a large tree a short distance away from the wall. Expertly sizing the span, he leaped from a crouching position and reached the topmost limb.

Swinging up and over, Dick hid among the darker gloom afforded by the branches and waited.

****

Batman drove like a maniac. The Falcone estate was clear on the other side of Gotham City, located along the steep banks of the Gotham River.

"The better to dispose of the remains," Batman growled sarcastically. He was referring to three unidentified nude bodies discovered along the sheer banks of the Gotham River in the past thirty years. None of the cases had ever been solved. None of the men had ever been identified.

Of course, when the body's fingertips have been cut off and most of the teeth pulled, identification becomes problematic. The FBI suspected the Falcone organization, but there was no direct evidence to link them.

Batman tore through the city streets at speeds that earned him shocked looks and pointed fingers.

"Gordon's not going to like this," he muttered. But there was no helping it. The long-planned for bypass around the city had been stalled for several months due to cost overruns and contract disputes. Falcone Construction, Inc. had low-bid Wayne Enterprises and won the contract for the major project.

"Just another fine example of Falcone's sense of civic duty," he said.

****

As soon as the guard disappeared around the outbuildings, Dick climbed down from his hiding place and hurried towards the main house. Night had settled on the vast estate, which was set on a high cliff overlooking the swiftly flowing river below.

Moving silently alongside the mansion, Dick found a corner window and listened intently. Satisfied that the room was empty, he took out an interesting device that he'd picked up in the cave: a glasscutter.

He recognized it because the Haly Circus' resident magician, Kabir Balin, used one as part of his act.

Grinning, Dick thought about all of the other 'interesting' devices that he'd found there, each kept under lock and key.

Slicing through the a single windowpane, Dick put his hand through and unlocked the window from the inside. Stealthily climbing in, he quickly made his way across the room and into the adjacent hallway.

****

Batman leaped up, catching a solid handhold over the edge of the stonewall. Effortlessly pulling himself over, he crouched momentarily on the narrow ledge. Light spilled from only two rooms in the house.

Taking out a small pair of night vision goggles with zoom lenses, Batman zeroed in on the room located on the bottom floor. Two men occupied it. They were sitting on the sofa, drinks on the cocktail table before them, a television on.

"Soldiers," Batman surmised. Raising his glasses to the second story window, Batman trained them on the glass doors that opened onto a balcony. They were ajar.

Batman allowed himself a small grin.

"Too easy," he growled.

****

"Well, lookit here," the ugly voice sneered.

Dick whirled in shock. Three of Falcone's men stood over him. The one who'd spoken held a pistol trained on him. The other two were also armed, one with a military-style rifle, the other one with a shotgun.

"What d'you got, Artie?"

Dick turned to the new voice. He recognized it instantly!

"Got us a 'burglar,' Mr. Zucco," Artie answered. He waved his handgun at Dick, indicating he wanted him to move.

"Hey, it's that circus kid," Zucco exclaimed. "The Grayson kid! Good work, boys. This little creep can ID me and send me up the river." He laughed, a sudden cold laugh. "I guess it's *you* who's gonna end up *up the river*, kid!" he guffawed. "Right, Artie?"

"Yeah, right, Mr. Zucco," Artie agreed, laughing easily. Looking at Dick, he said with mock regret, "Sorry 'bout this kid, but business *is* business."

Shaking his head in wide-eyed fear, Dick abruptly stumbled back against the wall behind him.

Grinning cruelly, Artie snapped his fingers and addressed the other two men. "Rico, Gino, take the kid for a midnight cruise. And make sure that he takes a nice, extra-long swim. Got it?"

The two men nodded, also grinning.

"Got it, Artie," they said together.

****

Falcone sat at his desk, working on a seemingly endless pile of paper.

"It would've been simpler to *build* the damned road on time and under cost," he growled. "That *stupido*, Tony, and his grand ideas. Now Dent and Gordon are *both* after me!"

"The problem with relatives is that you can't choose who they are."

Startled, Falcone almost fell out of chair at the sound of the cold, gravelly voice.

"What--?"

A dark shadow descended on him. Falcone initially trembled in horror at the black specter.

"I want Zucco, Falcone."

Recognition flooded Falcone's face.

"You!" he exclaimed. "You've got no right--!" That was as far he got. His sentence ended in a choking sound as Batman literally picked him up by the neck and squeezed a little too long and too hard.

"You're choking me," Falcone pleaded, barely getting the words out.

Releasing his grip, Batman deliberately dropped him in a heap.

"Talk," Batman growled. "Before I get mad." Bending down, he grabbed Falcone by the lapels and, enunciating each word clearly, added, "You--don't--want--to-- make--me--mad!"

Falcone squeaked in fear. Finding his voice, he began to talk.

****

Grinning evilly, Rico and Gino advanced towards Dick.

"No!" Dick cried, scooting backwards, frightened. "Stay away from me!" As Rico reached for him, Dick desperately kicked out, connecting with the gangster's knee. Rico cried out in pain.

"Why you, little--" he howled, enraged. He was hopping on the floor clutching his hurt knee. "I think you broke it, you little creep! Now you're *really* gonna pay! Get him, Gino!"

Without batting an eyelid, Gino trained the double-barreled shotgun he was holding at Dick's head.

"Make one false move, kid, and I'll blow you away right here, right now."

Paralyzed with fear, Dick stared at the gun. He felt himself begin to hyperventilate, his heart hammering. The sounds around him began to recede into the far background. The room and all its occupants faded to an indiscernible gray.

The twin barrels loomed increasingly larger before his eyes.

Dick's fear and panic mounted. He broke out in a cold sweat. This was quickly followed by a hot flash. Suddenly, inexplicably, Dick started to feel as if his eyes were burning...

****

As the door exploded inwardly, Gino yelped in sudden pain and dropped the shotgun.

"ARGH!!!" he yelled. "My hands! My hands!"

Dick lay huddled on the floor as if transfixed. He'd just *looked* at the shotgun...just *looked* at it!

"What did you *do* to me, you little *freak*!? Gino screamed. He was thrashing on the floor, his hands held closely to his chest, whimpering at the overwhelming pain.

A vase flew past Dick and struck the wall behind him, shattering into pieces. The impact broke his trance, and he quickly rolled out of the way of the next thing that flew in his direction, Artie!

That's when Dick saw him--Batman! He was single-handedly taking care of the three gunmen. But where was Zucco? Dick looked around the room and spotted his parents' alleged killer slipping out the patio door.

Jumping to his feet, Dick ran after him.

He heard Batman call him.

"Dick!"

****

Batman saw Dick run outside. He's after Zucco, the Dark Knight realized. Turning to the lone remaining felon, Batman reached back and punched his lights out.

Taking out batcuffs, he ensured that the three prisoners would be immobilized when they regained consciousness. As he did so, he noticed that one man's hands were badly burned.

"What the--?" he muttered.

Although Batman could feel Dick's time quickly running out, he couldn't in all good conscience leave a wounded man untreated. Taking out his first aid kit, Batman hastily did what he could for the injured gangster. Leaving him as comfortable as possible, Batman at last ran out after Dick.

****

Dick sprinted through the deep shadows. Zucco! He couldn't let him get away. He wouldn't! A bloated harvest moon had risen, casting its unearthly illumination on the manicured grounds. Dick squinted through the eerie landscape trying to catch sight of the fleeing killer.

As he ran into the wooded area that lined the shear cliffs, Dick was unexpectedly struck from behind and knocked forward. He temporarily saw stars, but he fought against the ensuing blackness.

He could hear the rushing waters of the Gotham River roaring far below as it made its relentless way to the Atlantic Ocean.

"You're the only who can ID me, punk," Zucco was saying. "*No one* who can finger me lives long, see?" He yanked Dick to his feet by the scruff of the neck and dragged the half-conscious boy to the cliff's edge.

"You loved your old man and old lady, kid?" Zucco taunted. He crouched low, face to face with Dick, holding him dangerously near the edge. "Then I'm gonna do you a favor. I'm gonna help you *join* them!"

Zucco laughed suddenly as if he'd just remembered a joke.

"But before I do that, I'm gonna tell you a little secret, circus boy. Your dear departed mother and father weren't your *real* parents." Dick blinked at him in clear incomprehension.

"That's right, kid. The Graysons weren't your parents. They *found* you, you hear me? Haly got me to forge a Kansas birth certificate for you." Seeing Dick's shocked look, he added, "Yeah, that's right, you little punk! You were never even their kid. So you see, you didn't lose anything when they died, 'cause they were never yours to lose!"

"No, you're a liar!" Dick denied hotly. "They were my *real* mom and dad. They *were*!"

"If I'm lying, kid," Zucco jeered, "then how would I know that you was 'born' on March twenty-first in some two-bit Kansas town called Smallville? How would I know *that*?"

"You could've asked anybody...Everybody in the circus knows where I was born," Dick replied.

Zucco grinned. "A wise kid, eh?" he asked. "Okay, have it your way. *Don't* believe me!" Holding the desperately struggling boy over the edge, he added, "You can *ask* them yourself! You call yourself a *Flying Grayson*?" Zucco mocked. "Then *fly*, little birdy...!"

****

Chapter Four

Batman saw Zucco throw Dick over the edge and take off down a narrow path. Racing to the cliff's edge, Batman took a running leap and dove into the dizzying blackness below. He had mere moments to act.

As he plummeted, Batman coolly took out a grappling gun, while he adjusted his night vision goggles. He spotted the wildly tumbling boy several feet below him. Taking aim, Batman fired a grappling hook.

"One thousand one...one thousand two..." he muttered, counting the seconds. "Dick! Look up, son!"

With growing apprehension, Batman watched tensely as the boy attempted to right himself and grab the safety line. Batman felt an instant's panic when it *appeared* that the line was going to overshoot the boy by a good ten feet.

At the last moment, Dick twisted, turned and somehow flipped himself in midair in the direction of the grapple. As the boy moved towards the safety-line, Batman saw a small hand reach out and successfully grasp it.

Trusting Dick's training to ensure that he was all right, Batman fired off a second grappling hook. It wrapped itself round a solid rock outcropping on the cliff's edge. Relieved, Batman looked down at Dick.

Dick was looking up and waving weakly. From his vantage point above him, Batman could see the boy's broad grin. He nodded back...

****

They were back home, seated at the kitchen table. Alfred was puttering around the kitchen island, preparing cold sandwiches and his special tomato basil soup.

"So talk," Bruce said, taking a sip of his hot cocoa.

"Master Bruce," Alfred quietly chastised, "this isn't an interrogation, sir." Bruce looked slightly abashed.

"Sorry, Dick," he apologized. "Are you ready to tell me what happened?"

Dick glanced furtively at Alfred, and then stared at Bruce. A look of fear flitted across his blue eyes. Looking down, he shook his head, 'no.'

"I'm not supposed to tell," he whispered.

"Dick, I want to help," Bruce encouraged. "I promise you that nothing you say will leave this room. You have my word."

Dick hesitated, looking askance at Alfred. Noticing, Bruce reassured him. "Dick, whatever you have to say, you can say in front of both me *and* Alfred."

Averting his eyes, Dick put his mug down and looked intently into its rapidly cooling contents. Slowly raising his dark head, he gazed solemnly at Bruce.

"I can see through things." Dick's voice was so low that Bruce had to lean forward to hear him.

"See through things?"

Dick nodded, eyes cast down.

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked. "*Literally* see through objects?"

"Uh-huh."

Keeping their faces free of expression, Bruce and Alfred exchanged neutral looks. "Can you control this ability at will?"

Dick shook his head. "Uh-uh." Then, shrugging, he amended cautiously, "Sometimes..."

He remembered how he somehow *made* it work with the grandfather clock. Feeling an automatic stab of guilt for breaking his promise to his parents, he determinedly squashed the memory, refusing to acknowledge it either to himself or Bruce. Instead, he shrugged again.

Bruce raised a single eyebrow. "Explain."

Dick hunched over in his chair and stared intently at the floor, studying the kitchen tile. "I don't know. It just happens..."

"And sometimes--?" Bruce asked leadingly.

Dick sighed, not answering for a while. Finally, in a soft whisper, he tentatively replied.

"Sometimes, when I *really* need it--I don't know--it *turns* on." He wasn't *really* telling a lie, he said to himself. After all, he didn't really know how he'd made it work with the clock.

"How long have you had this ability?" Bruce asked.

Again Dick shrugged.

"I'm not sure. I remember when I was just a little kid, Mom lost one of her earrings. I told her it was underneath the motor home, stuck behind one of the tires." Dick took a sip from his now-cold cocoa.

"When she found it, she..." Dick turned away as if in shame and then added in a low voice, "She got kinda mad at me. Told me I shouldn't get into her jewelry without permission."

When he looked up again, Bruce could see the distress in Dick's face over the accusation. The boy's voice broke.

"I told her I hadn't touched it, but when she asked me how I knew where it was..." Dick swallowed, wiping a tear that had started to fall. "She didn't believe me." He paused, upset. "Even Dad didn't believe me."

By now Dick was scrunched on his chair, his knees up to his chin. He spoke this last into his knees; his eyes squeezed shut. He sniffed softly and looked up, blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

"I got scared. I thought that maybe I was crazy or something."

"What did you do then?" Bruce asked.

"At first, I told myself that it was all my imagination, that normal people couldn't see through walls, that if I told anybody else about it that they'd put away or something."

"What convinced you differently?"

"One day, between matinees, a little girl got separated from her family. Her mom was real upset and panicking. Pop organized a search party right away. I told Mom that they were looking in the wrong place, that the little girl wasn't even on the fairgrounds. That she'd wandered over to the surrounding woods and was picking flowers. Mom didn't believe me at first, but I made her listen and go with me."

"And--?"

"We found the little girl just like I said. I thought Mom would be proud of me-- Bruce, I *saw* her all the way over to where she was picking flowers!--but instead, Mom took me aside and made me promise that I'd never tell anyone *how* I'd known where to look. She was scared, Bruce. Really scared. I'd never seen my mom like that."

"Did you ever talk to your parents about it afterwards?" Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head. "I tried, but Mom was really upset. I overheard her and Dad talking in their room. I could hear her crying." Dick recalled that night...

****

When his parents stepped out into the tiny family room, Dick jumped up and hugged his mother.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he cried. "I promise I won't do it again. I promise." His mother softly stroked him and crooned that everything was going to be all right. Both she and his father knelt before him, holding him close.

"Son, you haven't done anything wrong," his dad reassured him. "Your mom and I both want you to know that we're not mad at you. We've never been mad at you."

"We love you, Dicky," his mom said. "More than you'll ever know...more than anything in the whole world!"

"And because we love you, son," his dad added, "we have to ask that you promise never to--"

"Dad, I promise!" Dick interrupted. "I promise I'll never do it again. Not *ever*!"

John Grayson reached a hand up and gently cupped his son's face with it. "Dicky, your mom and I love you so much," he whispered fiercely. "You're the best kid in the world! We don't want to lose you. If anyone ever found out about this, they could come and take you from us."

By now Dick was hugging both of his parents and sobbing raggedly.

"I promise, Dad! Cross my heart! I love you, too..."

****

Dick stopped reciting what happened. He sat for a long moment recalling his parents' tearful embrace.

"We never talked about it again," he said. "If I ever had one of my *episodes*, Mom and Dad would pretend that they hadn't noticed it. I tried not to do it, honest! But sometimes it just happens...I don't know why or how!"

"I see. So basically you have no explanation for this strange ability of yours, nor do you have any idea of how to control it," Bruce concluded.

"No," Dick said in a small voice. Turning pain-filled eyes to Bruce, he asked, "What am I, Bruce? Am I some kind of freak? Is that why Mom and Dad were scared? I don't understand."

"Dick, you're *not* a freak!" Bruce said sharply. "You're a little boy with a strange gift, a gift which makes you very unusual and special. Whatever this remarkable enhanced vision power of yours is, I'm sure that we'll find a reasonable and logical explanation for it."

Dick shook his head. "You don't know. You didn't see." Remembering the strange, burning sensations in his eyes when Gino held the shotgun pointed at his head, Dick's fear rose from the pit of his stomach.

"Didn't see what?" Bruce asked.

"The gun...his hands--" Dick's face grew pinched with apprehension. Bruce waited for him to continue. "I-I just l-looked at the sh-shotgun, and it t-turned red, and started to glow," Dick said. "H-h-his h-h-hands...th-th-they were b-burned. Real bad."

Bruce didn't say anything. He recalled the gunman's badly burned hands. A cold feeling seemed to take hold of his insides. He studied his ward's anguished features. The boy was clearly hurting inside. Bruce had sudden desire to hit something.

Whatever these strange abilities of Dick's, frightening or not, his parents should *never* have allowed them to develop without some kind of proper training.

"And at the cliff, before he threw me over," Dick was saying, "Zucco said th- that mom and dad weren't my real parents. That h-he'd forged my birth certificate. I didn't want to believe him, but..." He paused, swallowing, blinking rapidly.

"When I saw him and Pop arguing, Pop threatened he'd call the police. Zucco just laughed and said something about 'What was Pop gonna do? Tell the cops that he'd paid him to forge a paper nine years ago'?"

Bruce could see that he was valiantly fighting the tears that were again threatening.

"Who am I, Bruce?" he asked softly. "What am I?"

Bruce studied his young vulnerable ward for a few moments before replying. Standing up, he moved over to the despondent boy and knelt before him. Bruce lightly placed his forefinger on Dick's chin and gently raised it until they were at eye level with each other.

"Dick, I can't explain these enhanced vision powers of yours, not without further investigation. But as for *who* you are you are...We'll find out. I promise."

****

"G'night, Alfred," Dick said softly, yawning. He was tucked away safely in bed and exhausted from the day's activities.

"Good night, young sir," Alfred said. "Pleasant dreams."

Bruce reached over and ruffled Dick's hair. "That was quite a spectacular save you did tonight," he said, sounding suitably impressed. "I'm not sure that *I* would've been able to reach the line from ten feet away."

Dick shrugged as if aerial acrobatics were no big deal.

Still aching from the pain of his parents' tragic and sudden loss, Dick asked the question uppermost on his mind.

"Why do people have to suffer so much, Bruce? Why is there so much hurt in the world? Doesn't God care about us?"

Bruce swallowed, feeling his chest tighten.

"I wish I knew how to answer you, Dick. I simply don't know."

"Is that why you became the Batman?" Dick asked. "To help people who are suffering? Like you did when you were a little boy?"

Bruce nodded mutely, unable to answer. The boy's keen insight just had a way of stabbing at his heart and conscience.

"I want to help, too, Bruce," Dick said. "Please? Will you let me be your partner?"

Bruce was about to say 'no' when perversely he nodded 'yes.' Not fully understanding why he agreed to this dangerous scheme, Bruce nevertheless felt that he'd made the right decision.

"Okay, Dick, I'll train you, but understand from the outset that there are rules--*my* rules--that you'll follow. Without question or hesitation. And you don't go out until *I* say you're ready, not before." He held his ward's eyes steadily. "Do I make myself clear?"

Dick nodded, his eyes serious, yet lit with an inner elation.

"And these strange powers and abilities of yours," Bruce added. "For now, you are *not* to use them in public--under *any* circumstances, not until I find out some more information about you. Meanwhile, as part of your training, we'll explore your abilities under controlled conditions in the Batcave."

At the prospect of actually being allowed to explore his strange gifts, Dick's eyes widened and his mouth formed a small 'O.'

"Are you sure it's okay?" he asked hesitantly. Looking away, he added, "I promised Mom and Dad..."

"Dick, I believe that every individual has a right to reach his or her fullest potential," Bruce explained quietly. "I also believe that if left untrained, these powers of yours might prove more dangerous than otherwise."

Dick thought about this and finally nodded at the wisdom behind the words.

"So, are we agreed?" Bruce asked.

Dick nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Then put 'er there, partner," Bruce said, holding out his hand. Dick took it and they shook solemnly, sealing their agreement.

****

Chapter Five

Bruce followed the colorful signs along the dusty back roads. He'd found the Haly Circus' itinerary changed somewhat. Without the 'Flying Graysons' as its star act, most of the venues in which they'd been scheduled to perform had cancelled.

Bruce finally found them playing in a backwater town about 100 miles west of Okalahoma City. "And about a hundred miles east of nowhere," Bruce muttered.

As he made a final left turn, Bruce could make out the large tents and lines of motor homes. Parking the rented Ford Explorer in the visitors' area, Bruce got out of the car, and looking around, spotted a sign directing visitors to the manager's office.

Walking through the early morning circus grounds, Bruce watched and listened as humans and animals called, roared or trumpeted their morning greetings to each other. Roustabouts and performers rushed from here to there, taking care of their morning chores. Despite the hustle and bustle, Bruce detected subtle differences in the Haly fairgrounds from the previous time. The atmosphere felt muted, as opposed to the laughter and gaiety he remembered from before. Small clumps of people in various stages of dress (and, in some cases, *undress*) gathered in twos and threes, speaking in low tones among themselves.

Finding a motor home clearly labeled 'Manager's Office,' Bruce climbed the steps to the outer stoop and knocked.

There was no answer. He looked around impatiently to see if he could find anyone who could help him. About to turn away, he was stopped by a voice from behind and below him.

"What do you need, mister?"

Bruce turned to the new voice. A rather rotund woman with what looked like 100% percent of her body covered in tattoos was glaring up at him. Bruce managed to hide his startled reaction at her appearance. He knew her instantly, of course. Dick had talked about her enough times, Maggie, the Tattooed Lady.

Bruce noted that despite her rather freakish exterior Maggie nevertheless carried herself with an almost regal air. About to ask for help, he saw her sudden look of recognition.

"You're Bruce Wayne," she said. It sounded like an accusation.

Bruce nodded, climbing down to where she was. "I'm here to see Mr. Haly," he said.

"Why?" she asked sharply. "You've already taken the man's heart. Are you here to take his soul, too?"

Bruce must have looked surprised at the verbal attack, because she immediately relented. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne," she apologized. "But we all miss Johnny and Mary so much. And the court's refusal to let us keep Dicky...it hurt us. It hurt Pop most of all. He loved that boy like a grandson." She looked away, her eyes bright with tears.

"He hasn't been able to get over the double loss. He won't eat, doesn't make his daily rounds...he's missed two performances. One time he showed up so drunk, he almost couldn't stand up."

Maggie waved an arm, taking in the sadly dilapidated circus grounds.

"We were never in the same league as Barnum and Baily, but we gave 'em a run for their money. Now..." she shook her head sadly. "The Haly Circus has always been a family operation. Many of us are second and third generation Haly performers. Johnny's parents and grandparents were 'Flying Graysons' before him." She paused, smiling at the memory. "He and Mary were so excited to have a son who would carry on the family tradition."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Now, we've been losing performers almost on a weekly basis. The Donner Family--our horse trainers--left yesterday. The Great Carlo, the escape artist, received a contract offer from Circus Circus in Vegas. He hasn't signed it yet, but I'm afraid that we'll be losing him soon."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Maggie," Bruce said sincerely. She nodded, wiping tears and blowing her nose.

"This isn't your problem, Mr. Wayne," she apologized. "I'm sorry. You said you wanted to see Pop. Let me go inside and tell him." About to turn away, she looked up at Bruce and added pointedly, "This may take a while. Maybe you'd better walk around and come back in about a half hour."

Nodding, Bruce walked away.

****

It was almost an hour before a colorfully bedecked clown with a perennially sad face came up to him.

"Mr. Wayne?" he spoke with a slight Texas drawl. "Maggie sent me to get ya'll. Pop'll see yuh now." Bruce thanked him and made his way back to the Manager's Office.

He'd already seen more than he'd planned to. The Haly Circus was Dick's extended family, whether or not they were blood relations. Dick loved these people, and from what he'd seen and heard before and after the custody hearings, Bruce knew that the feelings were mutual.

What he saw now would've broken Dick's heart. As he approached Haly's trailer, Bruce resolved that Dick would never see the circus under these conditions...

Knocking at the trailer door, Bruce heard a faint, "Come in." Opening the door, Bruce stepped through. He blinked in the sudden gloom of the interior. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that the motor home was rather modest, but showed homey touches that had been added for comfort.

A cross-stitched wall hanging said "Home Sweet Home." Several photographs lined the wall of the living area. Bruce saw one of the Flying Graysons standing in the middle of center ring, saluting the crowds. A child's crayon drawing of a circus ringmaster, wearing a red coat, and holding a whip in one hand and a megaphone in the other, caught his eye. The legend "Pop" was scrawled in purple crayon on the side.

Bruce sniffed involuntarily, narrowing his eyes slightly. The distinct smell of cheap liquor permeated the small space. It was slightly overlaid by the smell of freshly made coffee, but it wasn't quite eradicated.

Bruce looked over to where the imposing figure of Harriman H. "Pop" Haly, owner and ringmaster of Haly Circus, sat behind a tiny cluttered desk. Bruce noted the cup of black coffee on the desk. It was still steaming.

Maggie walked in carrying a fresh pot of coffee, another cup, and cream and sugar.

"How do you take your coffee, Mr. Wayne?" she asked. Bruce was staring at Haly through narrowed eyes. The man had the distinct look of someone who'd been on a binge--reddened eyes, with nose and cheeks slightly splotched. His still-wet hair showed he'd just showered.

"Mr. Wayne?" Maggie prompted.

"Black, please," Bruce replied.

"Bruce Wayne," Pop said sardonically. "To what, may I ask, do we owe this visit?"

Ignoring Haly's belligerent tone, Bruce accepted the cup of coffee. Walking up to the child's drawing of Haly, he noted that it was signed in red crayon, "Love, Dicky (6 years old)."

Turning around, he addressed Pop. "I came to talk to you, Mr. Haly. About Dick." Looking at Maggie, he added, "In private."

"Whatever you have to say to me, Wayne," Pop said, "you can say in front of Maggie."

Bruce's dark features instantly hardened, becoming dangerously cold. Maggie looked nervously at Pop.

"That's okay, Pop," she said, "I'll step outside. Just holler if you need me." Turning to Bruce, she raised her head and walked out, her carriage regally dignified.

After Maggie left, both men sat and stared without speaking, each sizing up the other. Finally, Pop spoke.

"It's *your* dime, Wayne," he said.

Bruce took a sip of the piping hot coffee, still studying the older man over the rim of the cup. Carefully setting the cup down, he leaned forward.

"I want to know about Dick, Haly," he said without preamble. "I want to know how the Graysons got him and who his *real* parents are."

Pop's stared in mute shock at Bruce, his eyes as wide as saucers. This was obviously the *last* thing he'd expected Bruce to bring up. Attempting to cover up his reaction, he tried to bluster his way out of it.

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Wayne. How *dare* you badmouth Johnny and Mary Grayson. Those kids were the finest...why, they loved Dicky more than anything--!"

"I'm not here to speak ill of the Graysons, Haly. I know they loved Dick, and that Dick returns that love. Just as I know that *you* also loved the Graysons. *And* Dick." Bruce pinned Pop with a sharp look.

"And because of your 'love' for them, you made a deal with the devil...Zucco. He was only a small-time hood back then, your personal bookie, I believe. You had him forge a birth certificate in order to explain the baby, didn't you?"

Pop shook his head in denial. "No! That's not true! Mary was expecting their first baby when she took ill. The Graysons pulled out of the rest of the season so that she could get needed bed rest. But everything turned out all right! Dicky was born exactly on the day he was due, March twenty-first!" He looked beseechingly at Bruce.

"Dicky was Johnny and Mary's baby. Just ask anyone. I mean, *look* at him...he's spitting image of Mary. Everyone says so!"

"Haly, I've only had Dick a few weeks, and in that time, people have come up to us in restaurants and on other family outings, and commented on how much like father and son *we* look." Bruce glared at the circus owner. He didn't want to hurt the man; he only wanted information.

"What happened with Zucco? He became greedy, didn't he? He heard about how much money the circus raised for the charity event, didn't he?"

Pop looked helplessly at Bruce. He covered his eyes suddenly, overcome with the guilt that had been eating away at him. Unable to speak, he nodded.

Bruce didn't say anything, allowing the man to get himself under control. He sat quietly drinking his still-hot coffee. At last, Pop sniffed loudly, cleared his throat, and began to talk...

****

Bruce drove through the dismal, seemingly endless Kansas landscape. A hard winter had hit the local area. Fields blanketed in snow and ice dominated the countryside. Occasionally, he'd spot a lonely wisp of smoke announcing an isolated farmhouse. Weather forecasters warned of another impending storm.

As he drove, last night's phone call home came back to him. He'd given Alfred instructions regarding the Haly Circus, and Alfred had spoken of how well Dick's studies were coming along...

****

"I want this done discreetly, Alfred," Bruce said. "Tell Lucius that I want the trust fund set up immediately, with the first certified check in the amount of two hundred fifty thousand personally hand delivered to Haly. And Haly is *not* to know who the money's from. I may not personally like or approve of the man, but he's Dick's godfather, and the circus is the boy's extended family. I can't stand by and allow them to go under."

"Of course, sir," Alfred said. "I'll speak with Mr. Fox first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said, and then changing the subject, asked the question uppermost on his mind. "How're Dick's 'studies' coming along?"

"He's remarkably astute, sir," Alfred said. "He's able to grasp new and difficult concepts almost from the start. Plus, he's quick to make almost instantaneous leaps to newer and higher levels." He paused. "I do believe, Master Bruce, that the young master will prove an exceptionally brilliant student."

Bruce sat back on the hotel's double bed. He felt an instant's flash of pride at the report. Allowing himself a half-smile, he said, "Put 'im on, Alfred."

"Yes, sir."

Less than a second later, Dick was on the other end. It was obvious from his excited voice that he'd been waiting eagerly to speak to his guardian.

"Bruce!" Dick cried. "Guess what? Those meditation exercises you showed me *really* helped. I'm getting better each day...Alfred said so."

"That's great to hear, Dick," Bruce said quietly.

"But we found out something kinda weird," Dick added. "Lead seems to block it. For some reason, I can't do anything if there's something made up of lead in the way."

Bruce knew what Dick meant by 'it.' The boy was referring to his vision powers. Alfred must have cautioned him on not referring directly to his gifts over an unsecured phone line. The boy was certainly a quick learner.

"Hmmmm...That's interesting," Bruce said. "We'll have to investigate that further when I get home. But in the meanwhile, how are *you* doing? Are you getting more comfortable with it?"

"Well..." Dick said uncertainly. "Sometimes, when I think about my promise...I don't know, I feel a little guilty. But I s'pose it's okay, 'cause I promised to not do it where outsiders could see me. I guess it's okay to practice in a cave with only family."

Bruce felt a moment's pause at Dick's use of the word 'family' in reference to Alfred and himself. He felt his throat tighten momentarily.

"That's right, son," Bruce reassured him. "It's okay, as long as it's only in front of family. For now, at least."

There was a slight pause at the other end. Finally, Dick spoke in a small voice. "Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"When are you coming home?"

Bruce swallowed, feeling himself fill with new and unbidden emotions. How could this one small boy affect him so, he wondered?

"I have a few more things to care of, Dick," he heard himself saying. Bruce hadn't told Dick that he was investigating his origins. "The executives that I'm dealing with can be unreasonable at times. But I should be done within another couple of days."

"Oh," Dick said, disappointed. "Alfred misses you an awful lot..."

Bruce sat up in bed and ran his hand through his hair. Almost not trusting himself to speak, he said, "Tell him I miss him, too."

"I will," Dick said. "Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"I miss you, too," Dick said hurriedly. "G'bye."

Before Bruce could reply, the line went dead. Staring at the phone in his hand for a moment longer, Bruce hung up and slowly sank back into his pillows...

****

At last, Bruce came up to a sign announcing the town of Smallville. Pop told him that this was about *where* the Graysons said they'd found Dick.

Bruce remembered the sick feeling at the pit of his stomach when Pop told him *how* the Graysons said they'd gotten the boy...

****

Pop stared at the photo on the wall of the Flying Graysons. His voice took on a dreamy faraway quality.

"He was going to be the best 'flyer' in the world, Wayne," he said. "Did you know that? Only three other aerialists in the world could do what he did--the quadruple somersault. And he was getting ready to outdo them all." He looked directly at Bruce.

"Dicky was *this* close," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger almost together. "*This* close to perfecting the quintuple somersault." At Bruce's look of disbelief, Pop nodded proudly.

"I see you understand the significance of such a feat. No one, Wayne...*no one* in the entire world has ever successfully performed a quintuple somersault. People say it can't be done. But Dicky...Wayne the boy is the most naturally gifted aerialist in the world. He's brilliant in the air. Sometimes...sometimes it almost seems as if he really *is* flying."

He looked away bitterly. "But now? Now, he's going to grow up and be just like everybody else. A spectator and not a performer." He spat the words out as if they were a condemnation of the human race and glared at Bruce.

"What the court did--'in the best interests of the child'--it arbitrarily took away the boy's heritage...his legacy! They said that an 'iterant' circus was not a fit place to raise a child! Well, *I* grew up in the circus. So did my father, and my father's father. And Johnny Grayson was a third generation member of the Haly Circus family."

"That may be so, Haly," Bruce said quietly. "And maybe I agree with you in many ways. However, it doesn't take away from the fact that *you* got Tony Zucco, a known racketeer, to falsify an official document for you over nine years ago. More specifically, you had him forge Dick's birth certificate. And because you wouldn't pay extortion money, Zucco murdered the Graysons."

Pop's face had gone sheet-white.

"I don't have anything personal against you or your reasons for what you did, Haly. You obviously did it because you wanted to help the Graysons, two people whom you cared about. But it backfired! John and Mary Grayson are dead. And they've left behind a scared and confused little boy who suddenly doesn't know who he really is. The Graysons are gone, Haly. Nothing you say can hurt them anymore. However, there's still a little boy who loves you very much and who needs your help." Bruce paused gauging the effect of his words.

"Will you help me, help him?"

Reluctantly, Pop nodded.

****

Bruce parked the Explorer on the side of the road. He was pulling the Graysons' small equipment trailer.

Funny, there was still a 'For Sale' sign on the sagging fence. Pop told him that the Graysons remembered a sign reading "Schuster's Field, For Sale by owner." Depending on what he discovered here, Bruce Wayne might just become the proud owner of a Kansas farm field, he decided.

As Bruce picked his way through the snow-covered field, he thought back on his final moments with the Haly Circus. He'd made arrangements to ship all of the Graysons' personal effects to Wayne Manor, and gave instructions to Pop to either sell the motor home, or donate it to another circus family that needed one.

Before leaving the circus campgrounds, Bruce went through the Graysons' motor home...

****

Maggie let him in.

"I've been taking care of it," she explained. "You know, in case Dicky might return one day..." She looked away, unable to finish her thought. They both knew of the unlikelihood of this occurring.

Nodding his thanks, Bruce waited for her to leave before he began searching through the Graysons' personal effects. John and Mary Grayson had been very neat and organized people. Their financial books were largely up-to-date, showing that they'd wisely invested in Dick's future.

Since they were circus aerialists, the young parents were largely uninsurable. To prevent their son growing up destitute should anything happen to them, they'd started an investment portfolio in the baby's name shortly after they got him. Bruce reluctantly nodded in approval. He'd turn it over to Lucius Fox.

As he rifled through the desk, he found a baby book tucked away in a bottom drawer. Pulling it out, he started flipping through it.

Bruce's throat caught as he literally saw Dick grow up before his eyes. Since finding out that the Graysons weren't really Dick's parents and that they'd kept him from exploring his special gifts, he'd been struggling with inner feelings of anger directed at the couple.

Seeing them through the camera's eye, Bruce's initial assessment of the Graysons began to change. Mary's love for Dick seemed to leap out of every photograph with the boy, and John's pride in his son was obvious on his face.

About to close the photo album, Bruce was surprised by something falling out. He heard it ping as it bounced underneath the desk. Bending down, he felt around for a few moments. At last, his fingers touched something small, a key.

Raising a single eyebrow, he again flipped through the baby book, looking for the place from where the key might've fallen out. At last, he came to a page faded with time on which the distinct, darker image of a key had imprinted itself. Underneath the image a caption read, "Smallville Self-Storage..."

****

"The Graysons insisted that they *found* the baby in the field," Bruce muttered. "Something about a plane crash, but Haly says that they were never clear about it. And they never changed their story." He looked around the frozen, snow- covered grounds. "If it *was* a plane crash, then Dick *might* have living relatives somewhere. And if he *does*..."

If Dick did have living relatives, then it would be Bruce's responsibility to hand him over. He felt a momentary pang at the thought. Standing still, he stared pensively at the frozen field.

"I guess I know how Haly felt when he had to give up the boy," he said, chagrinned.

He remembered Dick's heartfelt question, "Why is there so much hurt in world...?" Bruce sighed.

"I wish I knew, son," he said softly. Easily vaulting over the fence, Bruce began to walk around, his experienced eyes searching for anything unusual. He didn't really expect to find anything after all these years, especially under snow cover, but he'd investigated enough so-called "hopeless" cases to know that there was always a chance that something could turn up.

Bruce stopped. There was something unusual about the landscape that wasn't quite registering. Something not quite right.

Bruce stood, his head cocked to one side, letting his eyes *see* what he knew he instinctively *felt* to be wrong.

Suddenly, he saw it. The northernmost part of the field was oddly misshapen. It looked like a part of it had been gouged out. While the snow cover camouflaged most of it, once Bruce knew what to look for, he saw it.

He trudged up to it, the hardened snow making walking difficult. His cold weather boots made a distinct crunching/sucking sound as he walked. Each step broke through the ice and left an imprint about five inches deep.

"Guess we're not in Gotham anymore," he muttered.

Arriving at the scarred ground, he noted that it was a straight line, ending at the furthest point with what looked like an impact crater, as if an object had hit there with tremendous force.

"They claimed that it was a plane crash," he muttered and just as quickly shook his head. A plane crash would've been seen. It would've been investigated. "Then what?"

A glowing object caught his eye. Curious, he dug around it. As he cleared the snow, the glow grew brighter in its intensity. Whatever it was, it was glowing green.

When he finally cleared it, he saw that it was a small, quarter-sized rock, radiating a strange, green glow. He'd never seen anything like it before. Mentally going through every type of rock and mineral that he recognized on sight, Bruce finally gave up.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a plastic baggie and carefully placed it inside. He'd have to check it back in the SUV for radiation. Setting it down where he'd easily find it, he climbed down into the crater...

Thirty minutes later he was pulling into Smallville. The field hadn't produced anything, except the strange green rock. Analysis showed that while it was emitting some type of radiation, it wasn't dangerous to carbon life forms.

"Of course," Bruce thought sardonically, "the readings weren't exactly conclusive. It's hard to analyze something that barely registers on the scale." To Bruce's surprise, the spectro-analyzer almost couldn't read the rock. "Like as if it doesn't exist," he murmured.

Whatever the rock was made of, it was material that a normal spectro-analyzer wasn't calibrated to read properly.

"The way to fix the problem," he said, "is to somehow find a way *to* properly calibrate it." But he'd have to wait until he got it back to the Batcave.

Bruce spotted a general store on Main Street. Parking, he walked in to ask for directions. A friendly looking gentleman stood behind the store counter. As Bruce walked in, the man looked up and smiled.

"Well, hello there, sir," he said pleasantly. "Just passing through?"

At Bruce's nod, he smiled again and added, "How may I help you?"

Bruce walked up to the snack counter and picked out a few bags of chips. Noticing a refrigerator, he pulled out a soft drink. He walked up to the counter with his selections, and spoke while the store clerk rang up his purchases.

"I actually need some information," Bruce began. "I'm looking for a place called 'Smallville Self-Storage'--is that still around?"

"Why it sure *is*!" another voice spoke up. Both men turned.

"Martha!" the man behind the counter called pleasantly. "I didn't think you were coming in today. Hear from Clark?"

Martha walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Now, Jonathan, just because I was baking and doing the wash today is no reason to count me out. And, yes, Clark called. He and Lois will be over this weekend. I think it's serious," she added excitedly. Turning to Bruce, she addressed him directly.

"Clark's our son. He's a--"

"He's a hotshot reporter in some big city newspaper," Jonathan interrupted.

"The _Daily Planet_," Martha said proudly. "Maybe you've heard of him, Clark Kent? He won the Pulitzer Prize last year."

Bruce had indeed heard of Clark Kent. He was one of Metropolis' topnotch investigative reporters. In fact, Bruce had tried to entice him to over to *his* paper, the _Gotham Gazette_, a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises.

Kent had thanked him politely, but refused the offer, saying he liked it where he was. Of course, Bruce also met Lois Lane at the time, and personally felt that Kent had other reasons for staying at the _Planet_.

"Kids," Jonathan was saying. "You raise 'em, teach 'em the family business, and what do they do? They grow up and leave home to become reporters, instead of self-respecting farmers!"

"Oh, Jonathan!" Martha chastised, laughing. "He doesn't mean that. Jonathan's pleased as punch that our boy is so talented." Smiling she asked, "Do *you* have children, Mr...?"

"Wayne, Thomas Wayne," Bruce replied, using his father's name. Looking at her steadily, he added, "Yes, Mrs. Kent. I have a child. A boy."

"Oh, you must be so proud," she said. "We couldn't have children, so when a second cousin had a baby, and she couldn't care for him proper, well, we jumped at the chance. Clark's been such a blessing for us...He's about *your* age, in fact."

"Martha," Jonathan said gently, "Mr. Wayne doesn't need to hear our life story. You'll have to excuse my wife, Mr. Wayne. When it comes to our boy, she can just about gnaw your ear off."

"Oh, you!" Martha protested, chuckling. She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. Turning to Bruce she asked, "You wanted to know about the Smallville Self-storage?"

He nodded.

"It's located just a mile outside of town. If you drive straight down Main Street and keep on going for a bit, you shouldn't miss it."

"Thank you," Bruce replied. About to leave, he stopped and asked another question. "Excuse me, sir, ma'am, but I was wondering if you could help me with another question?"

Jonathan and Martha looked at each other and then back at him, nodding.

"Some friends of mine passed through here about nine years ago. On the first day of spring," he added. "They told me that while driving through this area, they saw something strange in the sky. Like a meteor or something." Studying their expressions, he asked, "Do you remember anything like that?"

Jonathan looked thoughtful. "Nine years ago? No...can't say I recall anything unusual. Martha? You remember?"

"Hmmm. Nine years? That's quite a while ago, young man. A lotta things've happened in nine years."

"Well, they mentioned that whatever it was crash-landed onto a place called Schuster's Field," Bruce said, hopefully. "They remembered that because there was a 'For Sale' on it at the time."

Jonathan slapped his knee with excitement at this added bit of information. "Tarnation! You know, I seem to recall something like that. And it *was* near Schuster's Field, in fact!" He gesticulated excitedly and added, "By gum, I remember now! Martha, you were with me! Remember, it was that time that you'n me was headed to Schuster's field to take a look at it 'cause I was thinking about expanding the farm."

"Why, yes, I remember." She looked at Bruce. "You're right, it *was* the first day of spring. A beautiful March day. It was towards evening when we set out. About halfway there, we saw this tremendous light up in the sky. It looked like a meteor or a comet."

"It sure did," Jonathan agreed. "And, by golly, after it sorta 'swooshed' over our heads, we heard a really loud noise, like an explosion, that rocked the countryside. I near lost control of the pickup we was in.

"That's right," Martha said, chiming in. "Why, by the time we got to Schuster's field, whatever had hit had probably disintegrated on impact."

"There was this big tear in the ground," Jonathan added. "The meteor gouged right through that field." He shook his head sadly. "Ruined a perfectly good field, too," he added. "Poor Schuster. He's never been able to sell it since."

"But you never actually saw what hit there?" Bruce asked.

"No," Martha mused. "Like I said, we assumed that it just disintegrated when it hit."

"Could it have been a plane?" Bruce asked.

Jonathan shook his head. "No, a plane would've left some type of debris," he said. "I served in the Army during the Korean conflict. Believe me, I've seen enough downed planes to recognize a crash sight."

Bruce nodded his thanks. As he climbed into his rented SUV, Bruce noted that the middle-aged couple were talking and laughing together inside the store.

"If they'd arrived in Schuster's Field just a few moments sooner..."

Bruce shook his head at the vagaries of fate.

****

End of Part 1 (Continues on Part 2, coming soon, to a fanfiction site near you!:)

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