2.
At age nine, Robin wanted nothing more than to prove that he wasn't a child. He sat slumped and scowling on the roof of Wayne manor, the rain thudding against the grey tiles beside him and rolling heavily down his face. The whole sky seemed sour, leaking its frustration and lashing out with white shocks of thunder. Alfred had already demanded he cease his sulking and come down for dinner at least twice now. Robin refused. But not because he was sulking.
He wasn't sulking.
He was just…planning. Yeah, that was it. He was planning how he could finally make someone realise just how helpful he could be.
In fact, he thought proudly, jutting his chin up to spite the rain that stung his exposed face, he was doing his job.
He clenched his jaw firmly as he dutifully scanned what limited view he had of Gotham from his perch. The rain loomed over the city like a noose, and Robin knew just from looking at the sky that tonight would be riddled with gory violence, and the city would be painted red with crime.
That was the way of it on rainy nights. After all, the rain washed away everything; fingerprints, tire tracks. Blood.
Tonight would be filled with a darkness, and who knew how many would suffer because of it.
Especially since he wasn't allowed to help.
"Master Grayson!" A familiar voice called sternly, barely audible above the crackling thunder. "I've entertained your brooding for long enough. You will come down at once."
Robin frowned, about to protest when he realised that for Alfred's voice to reach him, he must be standing out on the balcony, exposed to the harsh weather. A pang of guilt stung his chest.
He stayed up there a moment longer, just enough to make Alfred wonder if his request has gone ignored once more, before he began to move. He scaled the wet tiles carefully to the lip of the roof, where he swung himself over and landed safely on the balcony below.
Alfred was not unamused.
His mouth had twisted into a disapproving scowl, "Will you be joining Master Wayne for dinner?"
"You'd have to drag me by my hair to get me anywhere near Bruce." He snapped, crossing his arms angrily, ignoring the sting of rain against his back as he attempted to keep his face impassive.
Bruce was always impassive, and he always got what he wanted.
Bruce's face was cold.
Robin had hated it at first. He'd been so used to his mother's expressive blue eyes and his father's booming laugh, that the sudden lack of warmth had left him crying himself to sleep more times than he'd care to admit. But the tears had stopped now. He was used to the way of things in his new life, a life of fancy dinners and violent streets. He'd realised if he wanted to be a hero, it was better this way.
Attachments killed in the business of heroics, Bruce had told him that on the day of his first training session.
"I'm afraid Master Grayson, it's not my place to drag you anywhere. But I know Bruce would appreciate company before he leaves for his evening patrol." Alfred continued, stepping back and opening the balcony door for Robin to walk through.
His attempts to appear impassive shattered, and a bitter scowl twisted his features.
Now that was the problem that had started it all. Bruce's evening patrol. Or, should he rephrase, Bruce's solo evening patrol.
"Tell him I'm so sorry, but I'll be working on my homework tonight." He sniped, taking care to lace his words with all the sarcasm he possessed, before striding through the door and into the marbled hall.
He made sure to avoid the dining hall as he made his way to his bedroom, debating whether to slam his bedroom door in frustration or just slip through silently and avoid the lecture that would accompany such dramatics. He decided on the former.
He'd been in his room for just under four hours when the idea came to him. He'd been slumped over his large oak desk, writing out yet another equation his too-posh teacher from his too-posh school had assigned him, when he realised exactly how he could make Bruce see that he wasn't some useless sidekick.
He'd just have to do his own solo patrol.
He grinned and shoved himself away from the desk, as if the chance would slip away if he didn't hop on it right this second. He'd just need to get his suit from the Batcave, but that wouldn't be a problem if he was quiet. Alfred may have the uncanny ability to pop up as if from nowhere, but Bruce had been training Robin for years now on how to get in and out of a situation unnoticed.
His removed his shoes from his feet, wearing only socks to soundlessly glide through the halls, making it to the cave in a matter of minutes.
He swallowed the sudden ball of nerves that had stuck in his throat as he pressed his fingertip to the scanner. It was the first time he'd been in there alone.
It had never seemed so big before, and the weapons lining the walls had never seemed so threatening. He shook his head to dispel the unpleasant thoughts, and ran to where his suit was fitted to the mannequin on the far wall. He wasn't going to let himself get nervous now, not when he had so much to prove. Especially when he had villains to stop.
He ran over the details of the hushed conversation Bruce had with Alfred only two nights ago, back when he'd thought Robin was fast asleep in his room.
At 12:50am there'd be a large shipment of cocaine delivered to the port for the Whisper Gang. There'd be approximately 2.3 million dollars worth of the stuff. Most importantly though, Batman wouldn't be able to make an appearance. Bruce had told Alfred, his voice grim and sharp, he'd be too busy chasing after the Joker's recent trail of destruction to prevent the shipment from occurring.
Robin would be able to stop it though, he believed that with nothing less than certainty. Granted, he wasn't exactly sure how he'd stop it, but he'd figure it out.
He slipped through the underground tunnel of the cave and snuck his way out, pulling himself up into a grimy back alley on the North side of Gotham. The weather was awful, yes, and the alley smelt like guts and rotten fish, but he was finally out on his own. He was doing it.
He flew silently through the inky night air as he made his way to the port, relying heavily on his acrobatics to propel himself from one roof to the next. There'd been a few near misses, when his hands had slipped against building edges slick from the rain, but he'd handled it, and with each building he put behind him, his confidence grew.
Soon he was perched on the roof of a boating supply store, the port – and the gang gathered on it – in clear view.
He slid closer in total silence, moving to duck behind one of the larger cargo boxes crowding the port's side.
"It'll be here soon, make sure the men are ready to load the product into the back of the trucks." A man with a thick Ukrainian accent spoke, and Robin strained his ears to catch the rest of the conversation through the heavy pound of the rain.
No more words were spoken, or at least, none loud enough for Robin to hear.
He inched his way closer, crawling across the side of the box and sliding into a gap between two smaller ones. He had a better vantage point now.
There were at least a dozen men, all decked out in black suits and metal mouth coverings. Only one went without the mouth covering, and from his firm stance in front of the men, Robin knew that he had to be the one in charge. The man's thin lips moved, and behind him his men nodded.
Robin exhaled sharply in frustration.
He couldn't hear what the man was saying. If he could hear even just a little more, even a single sentence, he was sure a plan would come to him. All he needed a bit more information.
He moved from between the boxes, crawling on the ground to reach the box closest to the group. He wasn't more than a foot from it now, all he had to do was balance on the slippery, moss covered edge, ignore the waves lapping at its side, and shuffle himself a bit closer. Then he'd be on safer ground, perfectly hidden.
Just a few more steps, one more good shuffle and-
Thunder cracked like a whip in the silence, and Robin's foot slipped.
He fell into the water with a spectacularly loud splash.
The water flooded overhead, forcing him deeper and deeper into the filthy water. Of course, he didn't care about that. He'd gladly have swallowed all the dirty brown water in the whole port rather than face what he knew what would happen next.
A hand shot into the water like a bullet from a gun, and wrapped around his wrist. In the next second, he was thrown onto the hard concrete ground in front of Gotham's very own Ukrainian mob.
This was certainly not his finest moment.
"Well, well. If it's not the Bat's little birdy."
Robin tried to move, but a heavy foot slammed into his back. The boot pressed him into the concrete so harshly he felt something in his torso crack. A white hot flood of pain shot through his ribs, and it took him a moment to realise that his ribs weren't what he should be focusing on.
Not when he became aware of the cold barrel of a gun against his temple.
"Boss, I don't think it's a good idea to kill the kid. It'll piss the Bat off, and he's already after us. Who knows what he'll do if we-"
A gunshot rang heavy through the air, and it took Robin a second to realise he wasn't the one that had been shot.
The body of one of the men slumped to the ground before him, a pool of blood leaking from the bullet hole in his forehead. He dead grey eyes, glassy and wide, that stared at Robin's unblinkingly.
Robin felt the acrid taste of fear at the back of his throat, and as his vision blurred, he realised he was crying.
The man above him spoke, and Robin realised the casual offhanded tone he used, was far, far scarier than the words he spoke, "If anyone else has an objection to killing this little fucking brat, speak now." A beat of silence, then, "No? Good. This will-"
The man's sentence was cut short, and the crippling weight on his back had vanished.
He immediately used the freedom to his advantage and rolled sharply to his side. He ignored the throbbing wave of pain the movement sent to his ribs and shakily forced himself upright.
Half of the men that had been surrounding him lunged, and Robin ducked promptly to avoid a knife aimed at his throat. He heard Ukrainian commands shooting all over the place, but he couldn't take the time to try and process what they were saying. Instead, he focused on landing a swift kick to one of the men's jaw, then using his momentum to kick another in the chest.
He knew he shouldn't, he knew, but he spared a brief glance to his left to confirm his suspicions.
He saw a large man in a familiar black Batsuit and cowl, fending off the remainder of the mob.
Bruce had saved his life.
Great, he couldn't sop himself from thinking gloomily, if they survived this he'd never live it down.
His head throbbed as he ducked a blow to it, the fist of the other man just scraping his temple.
He wasn't doing bad, per say. He was blocking their shots with near perfection, jumping backwards onto the boxes to add height and distance himself the best he could. But with the rain stinging his eyes and his aching throb of his ribs, he felt like he could hardly garner enough strength to breathe let alone fight. A masculine voice roared suddenly from his left, telling him, no, begging him to move. He realised what they meant a second too late, only processing the knife coming towards his mid-section after it had already begun its journey.
Something heavy slammed into his side, propelling him onto the concrete. His head smacked against the ground with an audible crack.
His vision went black.
He was out for what felt like days, coming back into consciousness with a blinking mirage of faded colours and broken noise. He heard pieces of shouts and cries. He heard the thud of bodies hitting the ground. His sight swam in shades of black and grey. There was the grey of the sky and the concrete, the grey of the dead man's eyes and the trademark grey of Gotham. Then there was the sharply contrasting black of the suit-clad person lifting Robin into his arms.
He blinked as he recognised the cool leather seats of the Batmobile underneath him, and as he looked to where he knew Bruce would be sitting, he noticed a smear of red against car. Bruce's face was alabaster pale, his hands shaking slightly on the wheel.
Robin had closed his eyes, just to blink, but when he opened them next he found himself in the Bat Cave.
He shuffled lazily, revelling in the softness that surrounded him. His head was gently cushioned and his body wrapped snuggly in a blanket. A second later, the pain came. His head ached and throbbed, and he felt as though his heart was pounding behind his eyes. He tried to breathe in, gather some air in his lungs to get his mind focused from the cloudy haze it was in, but only managed to release startled cry.
"Take it easy."
He blinked dazedly, finally noticing the figure laying in their own makeshift infirmary bed beside him.
He wasn't awake enough to even try and hide his surprise, "Bruce?"
The man scowled at him, wrath shining in his eyes, "Were you expecting someone else?"
Robin swallowed. Bruce was injured.
But Bruce was never injured, or at least never to the point where he'd actually listen to Alfred's usual insistence of bedrest.
"What…what happened to you?"
Bruce growled, actually growled, "You happened, Dick." He snapped, "You were stupid enough to decide to take on a major drug bust by yourself!" Bruce pushed himself up, wincing briefly but never losing the fire in his eyes, "Do you realise how stupid that was? How stupid you were?" His shouts seemed to echo around the room, bouncing off walls and smacking into Robin in waves of accusation.
Robin felt his own anger build up in his chest, and it clawed against his breast bone like a barely contained monster, "Well I wouldn't have had to sneak off myself if you'd just let me come with you." He sniped.
Bruce stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief, "Are you joking?" His voice was low and heavy, and Robin decided he preferred the yelling, "You decided to break out because I wouldn't let you go on a Goddamn patrol?" He let out a single bark of laughter, "Honestly Dick, I thought it might have at least been for noble reasons! But no! You were just being selfish! I thought I taught you better than that!"
"Teach me?" He cried, and the furious beast in his chest was released, "What the heck have you taught me? All my life with you has ever been about is fighting this villain and that villain, always 'No Dick, not like that!' and "Goddamn Dick I thought I you knew better!' I've never been good enough!" Robin's hands shook as they twisted the sheet below him, his heart thudded painfully, "I've listened to your every rule, your every command, your every restriction! I've done my school work, I've gotten the highest grades in my class, I've played nice at every stupid, boring dinner party and backed off every time you've told me to! But it's still not enough is it?" He screamed, his voice cracking on the last word. Bruce was silent, eyes murderous and jaw clenched, "It's not enough, is it Bruce?" He yelled again, his breathing heavy and voice hysterical.
There was silence. Then a quiet, firm statement.
"I didn't stop you from going on this patrol because you weren't good enough." His voice was like thunder, "I stopped you from going because I knew you'd get yourself killed."
Robin experienced only a single second of silent hurt before he was instantly on the defence, ready to yell and insist that wasn't true. He'd opened his mouth to do just that, when he noticed Bruce's hand pressed firmly to his side.
He froze as remembered his last seconds of consciousness before hitting the ground. Realisation dawned.
"You got stabbed. Instead of me." Robin hoped he was wrong.
Bruce stared at him only a second more before giving a half shrug, turning his face from him and laying down in the bed.
Robin took it as his que to lay down too. All that yelling had only made him feel worse.
More silence suffocated the air.
"Richard." Bruce spoke plainly, and Robin balked at the use of his first name, "Don't do something if you're not capable of doing it right. Or you'll just get the people around you, or yourself, killed."
Shame flooded his cheeks, "Right." He snapped, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.
"And Richard?" He called again, this time, Robin turned to face him, "You are not capable of doing anything alone. You've shown me that tonight. You're a child right now, and if you keep acting like this, you always will be."
Now those words, were ones he never forgot.
NOTES:
I'm so sorry this was a day late! My dog managed to get into our fridge and eat the leftovers of the Valentine's chocolates, so we had to take the poor thing to the vet to get his stomach pumped.
Hopefully, assuming no more of my pets manage to cause mayhem within the next week, Chapter Three will be out on the 26th of February!
And here's a little teaser, the rest of the Teen Titans are finally introduced!
ALSO: Sorry for any selling or grammar mistakes, I'm not the best at editing my own work, especially when I'm as tired as I am now!