Chapter 4:
Batman was shouting as loud as he could but everyone was ignoring him. He pounded on the plastic, he threw himself against each wall and he used his Bat-knife to try to cut through the heavy material. Nothing was working and now one of the goons was holding a gas-emitting flower directly in front of the boy's face.
The Caped Crusader watched the young crime-fighter sway slightly and waited for him to drop limply to the ground. His eyes widened in astonishment, again, when one foot kicked the flower away and the other foot knocked the henchman out. But the boy's body hit the ground almost as hard as the man's did and Batman was sure he wasn't going to get up.
Somehow, the kid managed to stand again but his legs were trembling slightly and he was carefully shaking his head. The strength and determination of the boy continued to impress the Caped Crusader. However, Batman knew from experience that any gas created by the Clown Prince of Crime would be strong. And the smoking flower had been right in front of the boy's face for at least five seconds.
It was clear to Batman that the young crime-fighter was rapidly losing – no, had already lost – control of the situation. His lack of experience against a villain like Joker was obvious and he was about to get himself killed. Growling in frustration, Batman paced angrily around his prison. There was a way out; all he had to do was find it.
He suddenly stopped pacing and shot an intense Bat-glare into the crazy, evil eyes of the psychotic man. Joker's gaze flickered to Batman but immediately returned to the boy. His hands flexed around the stick of wood and his eyes began to glow with anticipation. The boy didn't respond to the movement and the hero assumed that he hadn't even seen it.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE, JOKER, HE'S JUST A KID!" Batman thundered again as he futilely punched the plastic wall in front of him. The only reactions were a flinch from the boy and a wicked grin from the villain.
Joker grinned as he tightened his grip. This was going to be so easy for several reasons. First, the kid was, well, a kid. Second, the gas in the flower was a strong knock-out version that even Batman wouldn't be able to withstand for long. Third, the boy had no weapons – there was no place to put anything on his "uniform". Finally, he had not been trained by The Bat. It was obvious that they didn't even know each other. And The Bat was the only crime-fighter who could defeat The Joker.
"Are you ready to give in yet? You look like you're going to be sick. I think you should just lie down and take a nap."
The boy wasn't responding in any way so Joker lifted his weapon off his shoulder and prepared to swing. A slight flinch was the only reaction and the villain cackled. So easy.
Surprise. That was the only advantage Robin knew he was going to have. His opponent was taller, stronger and definitely more experienced. The fact that the man had captured Batman was proof of that.
The villain lifted the wood off his shoulder and the boy recognized the fact that it was aimed at him. He almost attacked but forced the impulse away and it turned into a flinch instead. The man's chalk-white face was full of confidence and his blood-red lips were twisted in an arrogant sneer.
Joker took a step forward and began his swing. Robin dove under the piece of wood, throwing his right shoulder into the man's ribcage and grabbing him tightly around the waist. The stick fell to the ground as the man stumbled back. Using his momentum, Robin arched his back, swung his legs backwards over his head and locked them around the villain's neck. He let go of Joker's waist and swung himself up, forcing the villain to stumble away from the weapon.
The man's eyes widened in surprise and he attempted to pull apart the strong legs as he began to fall. Quickly changing his mind, Joker dropped his arms and caught himself with his hands. His arms collapsed but he merely crashed to the ground instead of slamming onto it.
Robin landed on his feet, unlocked his grip, rolled away from the villain and popped up to his feet again. The man was on his back, wheezing, and the boy didn't waste time. The edges of his vision were darkening as he stumbled over to the debris of the warehouse. He had seen something useful earlier, when the villain had stepped out of his hiding place, but he wasn't sure of its exact location.
Luckily, it was the third thing he touched. Grabbing it, he turned around and pointed it at the cube. He waved his hand, hoping Batman would understand to get out of his way, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened and he mentally called himself an idiot. Forgetting to prime it had wasted precious time.
He pumped the handle on the back several times before aiming it in the general direction of the bulky, indistinct shape in front of him. Robin's right index finger pressed slightly on the trigger but he was unexpectedly pulled back. A strong arm wrapped itself around his neck and his weapon fell to the ground with a 'clang'. Automatically, the young crime-fighter grabbed the villain's arm and tried to pull it away while gasping for air.
Joker squeezed the boy's throat then lifted his right hand and slammed it first on the side of the small head and then into Robin's ribcage. The kid slumped and his arms dropped limply to his sides but the villain hung on to the small neck and punched again. There was a loud 'crack' and the boy screamed in pain. Releasing the body, Joker clasped his hands together and smashed them onto Robin's lower back. The boy dropped to the ground with a loud 'thud' and Joker viciously kicked him twice before stepping away. Turning around, he strode to the giant stick and picked it up.
Robin's vision was now just a pinpoint of light but he could still see the gray of the weapon against the darker sky. Shakily, he reached out his right hand and pulled the trigger as hard as he could. A white-hot burst of fire shot out of the flame-thrower and Robin smelled the distinctive odor of burning plastic.
Batman was staring at the young crime-fighter in amazement. Not only had the boy managed to stand up, but he had also taken Joker to the ground and made it up to his feet again. The hero suddenly noticed the boy waving at him and he ducked for cover when he saw the flame-thrower in the kid's hands. He waited five seconds and, when nothing happened, lifted his head.
The young crime-fighter was pumping the handle on the weapon and Batman watched in trepidation as Joker stood up and quietly moved toward the boy. Just before the kid pulled the trigger, he was grabbed from behind in a chokehold. Joker showed no mercy, punching the kid two times in the same rib before throwing him down and kicking that exact spot twice.
The boy wasn't going to get up this time, Batman could tell by the pain that was etched onto the young features and the rapid fluttering of his masked eyes. Joker had left but was re-entering the Caped Crusader's line of sight, this time carrying the piece of wood.
There was a small movement and Batman watched a shaky hand extend toward the flame-thrower. Somehow the boy found the energy to pull the trigger and Batman dove to his right as the fire immediately burned a hole in his plastic prison. He covered himself with his cape and raced through the flaming exit.
Joker had the stick raised over his head and was about to slam it onto the smaller head of the motionless body on the ground. Releasing his cape, Batman tackled the villain and punched him in the face. The man had beaten a kid and the hero was furious. Joker got lucky when he swung his fist – it hit the cracked rib that the boy had given Batman yesterday.
Batman automatically wrapped an arm around his torso and Joker shoved him off, snatching the stick off the ground before standing up. The villain hit the hero on the side of his head with the sturdy weapon and Batman growled ferociously. His cowl had lessened the force of the blow but his ears were lightly ringing. Joker raised the wood again, forcing Batman to ignore the pain in both his ribcage and his head. Rolling away from the hit, the Caped Crusader stood up, slightly dizzy and briefly disoriented. The stick was already headed toward him for the third time and Batman ducked just before it connected with the left side of his face.
Joker made the mistake of moving closer and the Caped Crusader quickly took advantage of the error. Grabbing the villain's wrists, Batman twisted until the man was forced to drop the stick. The hero shoved the skinny arms away and began pummeling the villain's torso. The crazy criminal caved in on himself, Batman slammed his fist into the side of Joker's head and the villain dropped limply to the ground.
It was blazing hot around him and Robin's eyes began to water. The liquid cleared away most of the clouds in his vision and he saw a black shadow racing through the flames. He realized that the shadow was Batman, who would take care of the villain. Fighting off the urge to pass out, from both the pain and the lingering effects of the gas, Robin carefully stood up and wrapped both arms around his torso.
There was liquid streaming down the right side of his face and Robin recognized the smell. It was an odor he would never forget – blood – and he wanted to just sit down and rest. But Batman couldn't find out who he was, or how old he was, so the young crime-fighter staggered away from the two figures battling behind him. If he could get to the end of the row before anyone saw him, he might be able to get home unnoticed. After being in Gotham City for a year and fighting crime in the darkest and most dangerous places, Robin knew the black alleys, hidden tunnels and false walls like the back of his hand.
A ferocious growl reached his ears as he turned the corner at the end of the row. Robin knew he was almost out of time so, instead of immediately turning toward Crime Alley and home, he stumbled to the nearest dock. Gingerly he sat down and silently he slid into the water. He would wait here, in the cold, bone-chilling water, until he heard the Batmobile fade into the distance. The cold would both keep him awake and numb his throbbing body. Then, after counting to one thousand, he would make his way home.
Joker would be out for a while so Batman whirled around, expecting to see a small body lying on the ground. But the boy was gone! How had he found the strength to leave after inhaling some sort of gas and taking a beating?! The Caped Crusader crouched near the outline of a body in the dirt. There was a small puddle of blood and a trail leading toward the southern end of the warehouse building. He had to secure Joker first, though, so Batman reluctantly turned away from the thin path and slapped his Bat-cuffs on the villain.
There were three henchmen, the hero suddenly remembered, and they needed to be secured, also. Walking around the box, he was astonished to see all three men completely knocked out. It had been almost twenty minutes since Robin had appeared and Batman had assumed that the goons would be awake by now. The fact that they were still unconscious meant that the boy had an incredible amount of force behind his kicks or punches or whatever he had used to defeat them.
"How can a kid be so strong?!" he exclaimed softly. Batman rolled the limp bodies into a clump and wrapped a long Bat-rope around them, finishing with a tight Bat-knot.
The hero's ribs were throbbing and his head was pounding but he knew the boy would be in worse shape. If he could find him, Batman would take him to the Batcave and have Alfred patch him up. After giving the kid a small dose of Bat-sleep, of course. The hero still needed to protect his identity, even if the boy wasn't a criminal.
Stopping at the Batmobile, the Caped Crusader called the commissioner and told him that Joker and his henchmen were ready to be picked up. Then he turned his attention back to the crimson trail but it was gone. The boy had been smart enough to go through the thick, weedy grass that covered the remainder of the dirt road. Even with his Bat-flashlight, which he immediately took out of his utility belt, Batman couldn't find the small trail. The boy was severely injured and still he had been able to leave before the hero could talk to him.
Wrapping an arm around his torso, Batman swept the Bat-flashlight around the area twice. There were no unusual sounds or movements; the boy was truly gone. Sighing, he strode back to the Batmobile, climbed in and headed back to the Batcave.
"…hunnndreeeed niiiiine-ttyy niiiiine, one thoussssandddd," Robin whispered, his teeth chattering as he finished his count. His lower body was completely numb but his torso was throbbing. It had been a stupid idea; he should have immersed his entire body. But he had been worried that he would turn into a human popsicle, making it nearly impossible to get out.
Carefully, Robin crawled out of the water using just his arms. He flopped to the ground on his back, exhausted and shivering. The night was warm and feeling immediately began returning to his legs. The boy knew he needed to check his injuries and see if he could fix himself. That, however, required going home which, in turn, required getting up.
Groaning softly, he forced his muscles to contract in order to sit up. His ribs felt like they were going to burst out of his body and his head was pounding. Home was several miles away and he had to go through Crime Alley to get there. Any weakness he displayed would be noticed, and taken advantage of, right away. Robin wrapped his arms around his torso and slowly trudged away from Gotham Harbor. Twenty-three minutes later, he forced himself to stand tall and hoped the streak of dried blood on the side of his head would blend in with his dark hair.
The young crime-fighter traveled through the darkness behind the buildings in Crime Alley. Every time he saw a shadow, he either crouched or flattened himself against the nearest wall. There was no way he would be able to fight in this condition.
Thirty-nine minutes after leaving the water, Robin walked through his door and breathed a sigh of relief. He was so tired but he needed to figure out how to fix his ribs. The 'crack' he had heard probably meant that a bone had broken and the immense ache that manifested itself with every breath practically confirmed his assumption.
Holding back a cry of pain, the eleven-year-old boy lifted his arms and pulled his tunic over his head. Then he pulled his green leotard off his shoulders and let it hang from his waist. Breathing was agonizing and Robin discovered why when he looked down. A giant purple bruise covered his torso and there was an irregular bump on the right side of his ribcage.
"So, this is how it feels to lose a fight."
Robin had never gone up against a real villain. The criminals he faced were usually either too slow to keep up with him or too dumb to realize what was happening. He had been correct – he wasn't ready to face the violent villains of Gotham City. But at least he had helped Batman escape.
The boy had no idea what to do. How could he fix a broken bone in his torso? He had nothing with which to create a cast and he didn't know how to make one anyway. Was he even supposed to put a cast around his body?
"I don't know if I should do this anymore," he whispered. "I'm way out of my league. What do I do with this?" Robin gestured to his bruised chest as he asked the question to the air around him.
But, his parents would never let him quit. He had started this and he was going to continue fighting until the day he died. Deciding he would work on his injury tomorrow, Robin grabbed his book and sat down.
Friday, March 26 or maybe it's early Saturday morning, March 27
Well, I saved Batman a couple of hours ago. However, I also ran into a villain. I tried to fight back but he was strong and tricky. I think I have a broken rib that I don't know how to fix. I guess I'll have to take a couple of nights off; maybe it will heal on its own…? It hurts to stand, it hurts to sit and it hurts to breathe. But I'm alive.
I don't know how I found the strength to leave when Batman and the other guy were fighting each other. The only thing I was thinking about was the fact that nobody can find out about me. Maybe that gave me extra fuel or something? I'm a little concerned about the fact that Batman might be able to figure everything out; I've heard people call him the "World's Greatest Detective".
Should I try to find him before he finds me? I could ask for help, just with this major injury. But what if he makes me tell him who I really am? The risk isn't worth it – I'll figure it out on my own. Somehow.
Unhappy anniversary, Mom and Dad. See you…sometime, I guess.
The Batcave:
Batman, instead of sleeping and healing, was spending the night staring at screens. He had hacked into all the video cameras by Gotham Harbor, several random ones in downtown Gotham and a few on the eastern side of Crime Alley. The kid had to be somewhere; nobody could just vanish into thin air!
At three o'clock, his persistence paid off. A small body, probably the boy, came into view on a camera across from the edge of Crime Alley. The figure was hunched over and moving slowly, obviously injured and in a great deal of pain. But when he reached the border, the kid straightened up, ran a hand through his hair and walked confidently into the darkness of the most dangerous section of Gotham City.
"He's smart," Batman murmured, knowing that any sign of weakness from anyone would immediately attract attention. Quickly the hero pressed several buttons on the keyboard of the Bat-hacking machine, switching the view from the border to the center of Crime Alley. He stared at the screen for several minutes, searching for any sign of the boy. Nothing, not even in the shadows between the buildings. More buttons were pushed, more views from different cameras were studied and still nothing was found.
"He's good," Batman murmured again, impressed with the kid's ability to become a ghost. There was nothing else to be gleaned from the videos; it had already been half an hour since the boy had entered Crime Alley. Shaking his head, slightly frustrated, the Caped Crusader turned off the Bat-hacking machine and stood up. He stretched and winced at the ache in his chest.
That brought a thought to his mind. Could the kid take care of his own injuries? Had he ever experienced a broken rib? Would he know to wrap it and, if so, did he know how to do it? Batman hoped that the young crime-fighter had at least a little bit of medical knowledge.
Mid-morning:
Robin's nightmares had shifted. Instead of watching his parents fall, he was staring into the crazy eyes of a green-haired man who was beating him to death. He woke up sweaty and shaking with tears streaming down his face. His torso was throbbing so bad that he didn't want to move.
The morning sun was shining through the broken wood of the shack on his left. It fell across his face, making him squeeze his eyes shut. The side of his head felt wet and he raised a hand to touch it. Blood – somehow the wound on his head had opened during the night and fresh blood was now dribbling down his cheek.
"I can't…I'm sorry…I need you guys," Robin groaned to the silence surrounding him.
Chin up, son. You are strong and capable.
His father's voice echoed in his head and Robin's eyes flipped open.
Live for us, my little robin.
That was his mother and the words made him sit up. He was not going to disappoint his parents just because he had a serious injury.
Thinking back to his days in the circus, Robin tried to find a memory that involved someone getting hit in the chest. After only twelve seconds he found it. Two and a half years ago one of the clowns, Jerry, had been kicked by a horse. The circus doctor had taken some material and wrapped it around the man's torso. Jerry was told to rest for at least three days and then no heavy lifting for another week.
He had fabric in the sink. Fire ripped through his torso when he stood up and Robin almost fell back down. But he had a goal and The Flying Graysons always accomplished their goals. Slowly, he walked to the rusted piece of metal and picked up the first piece of material. It was too short for even his small body so he began searching through the little pile. The very last piece was exactly the right size and he pulled it out of the sink.
Robin had slept bare-chested because it hurt too much to try to re-dress. Glancing down, he was disappointed to see that his ribs looked worse in the morning light. The single purple bruise had turned into several dark-blue ones that were speckled with flecks of black and the bulge looked slightly bigger than it had last night.
This was going to hurt, Robin was absolutely certain about that, but the anticipation was making it worse. He began wrapping the soft material around his body, stopping to gasp for air after the first layer was in place. The pain didn't recede so he continued wrapping, trying to get it over with quickly. Now, however, he realized that he had nothing to hold it in place.
Robin looked all around his small room but there was nothing useful. Growling in frustration, the eleven-year-old held the wrap in place with his left hand and slowly pulled his green leotard up over his right shoulder. He did the same thing on the left and was relieved to find out that his leotard was snug enough to hold the material in place.
The young crime-fighter needed food but didn't feel like going out. Maybe he would just skip breakfast, it was almost lunchtime anyway. He would probably feel better in the afternoon so going out for a late lunch would be easier.
Crime Alley – two o'clock:
Bruce Wayne strode down the main street of Crime Alley. Anyone paying attention would think he was nervous but the man was actually carefully searching every place he could see. The boy wouldn't be worried about Bruce Wayne, a normal man with no obvious ties to Batman.
There was a small figure sitting on the bench at the bus stop. Grinning slightly, Bruce walked over and sat down next to the slumped body. The person's face was hidden by a baseball cap and his left arm was thrown haphazardly across his chest.
"Hi," Bruce stated softly.
"Whatever," a deep voice growled back and Bruce frowned. This was obviously not the person he was searching for and he was disappointed.
Standing up, he strolled away from the bench and stopped near the steps of the theatre.
"You shouldn't be here, sir," a quiet voice came from behind him.
Slowly turning around, Bruce gazed at the shadow sitting near the top of the stairs.
"It's not safe for a rich man like you," the voice continued. Bruce could hear the cadence of a child but it was outlined with a solemnity that belied its youth.
"Why do you think I'm rich?"
"Your suit, the way you walk, your case, pick something."
The tone was filled with deep sorrow and Bruce could feel tangible pain radiating off the small silhouette.
"Are you okay?" the man asked quietly and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.
"What makes you think I'm not?"
"You sound…distressed."
"Maybe I'm worried about your safety," the child snapped defensively. "Maybe you should mind your own business and leave this place."
"You're the one that started the conversation," Bruce replied calmly.
"I was just trying to warn you but if you don't want to listen then I'll leave you alone!"
The shadow abruptly stood up and Bruce noticed a slight flinch followed by a quiet gasp of pain. A hand instinctively pushed itself against the silhouette's chest and Bruce allowed a tiny grin to twitch at the left corner of his mouth. Three obvious clues: the person was short, injured and a child. Bruce was slightly confident that he was speaking to the boy who had rescued Batman last night.
"Are you sure you're okay?" the man asked again but the shadow didn't respond. Instead, it turned and nearly raced to the safety of the darkness behind the building. Bruce thought about following but didn't want to attract attention by running after a person he couldn't even see.
"I'll be back later," he promised softly, "and the next time we talk you'll be more than just a silhouette."
Turning around, the millionaire strode back to the border of Crime Alley and the Wayne Foundation car that was waiting for him there.
A/N: My sister never leaves readers hanging so I'm going to finish posting this story.