Chapter 13:

EARTH PRIME: FEBURARY 18th, 2014

Dick had yet to impress a teacher with his brains.

He had refrained from correcting, pointing out, noting, or even squirming at the mistakes that were made. His marks, however, sometimes suffered when he did it the correct way and left no explanation as to how it would be correct, as was what he would need when he did it during class. Of course, his teachers liked him very much, if he said so himself. If anything, he would say they at least liked him. His high marks and confident demeanor helped too, and the fact that he was polite to them; he would say "please" and "thank you" when needed and this usually got him a beam of a smile in his direction.

Dick's math class was pitiful, the students. They were loud, rowdy, and seemed to have no respect for an education whatsoever. Dick soaked it up as if it was water and he was a starving animal. His teacher was the only teacher he questioned, though they were small and "dumbed down" questions, his teacher would lazily answer as if it were nothing. Generally, Dick didn't really impress teachers with brains. He couldn't help it sometime, when they were doing a lab in science and he already knew how to simplify chemical bonds or name dangerous chemicals, because that was instinctive.

People still teased him, but it certainly hadn't been as bad as it had been at Gotham Academy, where people knew his past and who he was "related" to. Here, he was just the new, smart kid. Dick was okay with that. He went by Richard, though, because despite loving his nickname, he figured that these kids would comment on it a lot more than the Gotham elites.

He strongly disliked his language teacher, which ha had to take this semester instead of Computer Science. His German teacher had an awful teaching style, cutting students of in the middle of sentences and commanding that they speak to her in the correct way without letting them actually try.

"Ich… ken dein Schwester?"

"No, no, no! Say it like this, Kenne ich deine Schwester?"

"Kenn-"

"Like this!"

"I'm trying! You won't let me!"

In all honesty, it was a huge fiasco in which mostly the entire class Dick was doodling anime characters from one of his favorite cartoon shows. He had also taken to doodling himself, Robin, in cartoon form, and it was far more entertaining than watching Connor argue with the teacher about how he was saying it correctly and she just wouldn't let him finish the sentence.

He had taken to Robin again, going on patrol and finding criminals to fight. He had taken down a large Drug Cartel and one Mob war from breaking out quite close to where he lived. Those Italians have nasty tempers if you would ask him, but then again those Chinese seemed pretty peeved too. Dick knew that New York had a lot of Mobs and Gangs around, and he was more likely to run into them now that he had temporarily retired for a few months. He tried not to think about those months too much. He didn't want a reminder of his stupidity, or how he had reacted and how skinny he'd become during that time. It was, in all honesty, a sickening memory that haunted his mind. He tried, however, to fill his thoughts with school and Robin, because if anything, Robin would make him happier again.

He had, but Dick still felt lonely on nights when he didn't go out on patrol. But, like his mother used to say, you can't have everything.

"Richard?"

Dick's head snapped up. He was supposed to be taking notes on Enzymes (wasn't he in AP Biology?) but had been instead staring out in the courtyard with a dazed look on his face. He stared at Mr. Smith, feeling the blood rush to his face. A few kids snickered around him, trying to muffle their laughs with hands or their sleeves.

"Yes, Mr. Smith?"

"Would you care to tell the class what's so interesting outside?" his teacher asked, looking amused even him. Dick felt himself go redder.

"Um… I thought I saw something?" He really hoped it hadn't sounded as much as a question as he thought it did. Mr. Smith looked interested now, his brow furrowing as he thought about what Dick had said. But as he crossed his arms Dick could tell he was awaiting Dick's pathetic excuse of an attempt to defend himself. His face was burning now.

"Um…," In a moment of panic, the first thing that came to mind probably wasn't the best one to say out loud. "Robin. You know the hero? Little Bird or whatever?" Here he grinned feebly. Everyone stared at him, one kid even looked sorry toward him. Feeling slightly helpless, he stared straight at Mr. Smith and gave one sharp nod in confirmation. Mr. Smith looked unimpressed, or sympathetic Dick couldn't tell, and then turned away, back toward the smart board, where there was a gif of a substrate moving toward an enzyme. Sighing heavily, Dick slouched back down in his chair, his eyes never leaving his note filled paper.

When the bell rang for fourth period, Dick tried not to look too thrilled. Just as he was about the exit the class, his backpack on his shoulders and his ink pen twirling in his long fingers, Mr. Smith called him back.

The large, red and sharp faced Australian man was staring down as Dick as he walked over from the door, weaving through the chairs. He was setting his papers down on his desk, peering down through his glasses. "So, do you want to tell me why you were actually looking out the window?"

Dick didn't reply for a long while. "I thought I saw Robin," he answered, cursing his earlier excuse furiously in his mind.

Even now, Smith still looked skeptical and apprehensive, as if he knew that Dick was lying through his teeth. Dick, at the moment, was trying his hardest not to turn and run, though he had no reason why.

"Do you mean the vigilante 'Little Bird'? I don't ever recall the New York Times or The Bugle calling him 'Robin' before. Care to tell me where you came up with that?"

Dick struggled to come up with an answer. He tensed his jaw and clenched his pen in his hand, staring at the ground as he attempted to come up with a reasonable answer to Smith's question.

Thinking quickly, he shrugged, through a precarious look out of the window before turning his gaze back toward Smith. "Well, haven't they got pictures of him in the Bugle? I mean, I know they're blurry and all, no one can seem to get good pictures, but I mean, I saw his costume. It's bright and all and the red and stuff kinda reminded me of a Robin. Plus, there is an 'R' on his suit, so, I don't know, Robin just seemed to fit and all." Another feeble grin here, clutching his pencil with his left hand so tight he swore he heard a cracking noise coming from his hand. He stared into Smith's blue eyes, his own never wavering. For a moment, he let all his pent up frustration and anger with his life flood into his blue irises and when he looked back on it, he swore he saw Mr. Smith flinch. Smith turned away, pursing his lips in thought, and then turned back toward Dick, his eyes squinted almost shut.

He spoke slowly, as if unsure what to say. "And you just… thought that he should be called Robin?"

Dick nodded.

"Richard-"

"I'm telling the truth! My min is weird like that. Can I please go to my next class?"

Mr. Smith just seemed to have noticed that his fourth period class had filed into the room, all sitting their either on phones or staring at with their hands tightly clasped on their desks, journals out ready for the drill. The red headed boy from Dick's English class shot him a dirty look. Ignoring it, Dick turned back toward the older man, his face screwed up as he thought of the embarrassment he would have gotten from any of the kids in Gotham. Glancing back toward Mr. Smith, he saw that his teacher was writing him a note on a slip of yellow paper, signing it quickly and handing it over to him. Taking it with his nimble fingers, Dick pivoted on his heels and stalked out of the classroom, staring straight ahead as to not look at anyone.

Just as he walked out the door, he heard Mr. Smith starting the class.

Walking through the empty hall ways was sort of foreboding, because there was no sound other than a few doors open that showed teachers teaching their classes and/or trying to control their classes. The cameras on the ceiling also caused Dick to tense up, but he didn't stare them down as he walked down the halls. Reaching the English stairway, he passed down onto the first floor and ran into the large, blonde jock he'd seen on his first day here. He hadn't seen him since, but he was a junior anyway. Scowling, Dick hoped the junior wouldn't notice him passing on the other side of the stairwell.

"Hey, short kid!"

Dick pretended not to hear him, staring straight ahead toward the emergency exit doors.

"Hey! Kid!"

The jock seemed to be shouting at him, and knowing he couldn't pull it off because he didn't have headphones in his ears, Dick turned to face the jock, which was looking quite like he was searching for someone. "Have you seen a short, idiot-faced, brown haired kid with glasses running around?"

Dick blinked, flipping his pen around in his hand and clicking it so the point would slid out. "No. Why?"

The jock cursed and glanced around the stairwell, his dull, slow blue eyes watching the doors apprehensively. "You sure?"

Dick gritted his teeth in frustration. "Yes, my eyes are working fine. I know what I've seen."

The jock then turned on him, his eyes now narrowed as he got in Dick's face, causing the much smaller boy to lean heavily on the banister, his right arm supporting him from falling down the stairs. The boy pointed at him with rough hands. "Look, shorty-" Dick snorted at the poor choice of nickname. "-I don't do sass. So don't sass me. Got it?" He turned and stomped off up the stairs; he pointed up toward the ceiling and shouted "No one!" At the top of his lungs. Dick, so very tempted to say something else, turned and almost flopped down the stairs. He walked out of the stairwell, pushing the door open harshly, scowling and muttering under his breath of how it had already been twenty minutes into class and he didn't like being marked late because a student held him in the hallway.

Walking down through the Art Department Hall, he wasn't bothered by any Administrators or teachers, which he was thankful for. Breathing, he pushed open the door for his Digital Photography class, passing a small mural dedicated to Martin Luther King Jr., and walked in. His teacher was standing in the front of the class, in front of the smart board, showing a picture of a flower that was sprouting rainbows. He paused, mid-sentence, and Dick and his teacher just stared at each other for about a minute before he unfroze, straightened, and grinned exuberantly.

"Grayson! Glad you could join us today!"

Dick walked to the front of the class, ignoring his classmate's stares. He handed Mr. Clapper the note from Mr. Smith, taking his seat in the back of the room. He unpacked his backpack, placing his binder in front of the DELLS that constructed his view of the student in front of him. He logged in with his student ID and then pulled up the pictures that he had taken with his "phone". Glancing upward to Mr. Clapper with thumbs up, he turned away again once he began to teach about how, today, they were going to edit colors out and replace them with new colors, or something. In all honesty, Dick was beginning to slump over with sleep. His eyes were fluttering and Mr. Clapper couldn't see him behind the large PC computer.

"Psst…"

Dick sat up suddenly, glancing around. His well trained ears picking up a barely audible whisper. He looked over to his right to see a girl with blonde hair pinned up in a messy bun. Her shirt was black and said 'I LOVE DOCTOR WHO' in large blue letters. She was wearing long pants and a pair of raggedy, ripped Chuck Tailors. She was smirking slightly, her brown eyes staring him down. Dick stared at her, surprised she'd talked to him. She looked like one of those girls who really didn't give a crap about anything.

"Amanda, in case you didn't know. Um, why'd you come in late?"

Dick stared at her for a few long moments as Clapper's loud voice plowed on to working the cursor. Flipping his pen around in his hands, he said slowly, "Why do you ask?"

"Boredom, really. I honestly thinking you walking into class late was the most exciting thing to happen."

Dick laughed quietly to himself. "I could see that, I was just held back by a teacher to talk. Dozed off in Bio. Nothing really interesting." Amanda scrunched up her nose and then turned away, not talking to him the rest of the class. It seemed she was feeling irritated that she had even bothered him at all, he turned to his computer to begin editing out all the blue and replacing it with bright, neon green. With the haunting feeling of boredom hanging over him, began to hum "Over My Head" by The Fray. With that song in his mind, he worked diligently in class. Once finished making his Bronx Street looking like a ghost from Danny Phantom blew up, he raised his hand to show Mr. Clapper and then leaned back in his seat when the teacher started walking over.

Precariously leaning backward in the chair was one of the most fun things one could do, because it allowed you to get a wide enough spectrum of the classroom to stare at everyone else's computers. Watching one kid try and make her picture of a sandwich turn bright blue and the lettuce turn purple was far more exciting than watching Amanda try and make her orange flower black. When Mr. Clapper approved his picture, he exited out and then sat there, waiting for the clock to reaching the twelve so he could leave. Five minutes now. He couldn't exactly wait to get out, because that meant going home, doing work and then changing into Robin.

Robin had sort of become his addiction now, because school and a team weren't his main focus, it was helping people. Every night from 6 to 1 in the morning he would dress in his red and black clad costume, deeming it his responsibility to take care of those the police could not. He found it easier to move around New York after a few weeks of doing it, he know knew most of the largest thug filled pubs, the most dangerous corners and streets and, of course, the most expensive places around. New York was nicer, cleaner then Gotham (not a hard achievement though) and heavily populated with good people. He generally didn't let his "addiction" be shared with others, meaning he didn't show himself in lamplights, car lights, and/or any other light that might show people where he was. He was, however, going to tell the newspapers his name was Robin and not "Little Bird" because that was becoming too childish.

Robin was, in fact, also becoming a bit childish. It was what his mother had called him when he performed tricks on the trapeze at the circus. In rapid Romani, the Gypsy language, she would call out to him, "Fly like the wind, my little robin!" And so, when he'd become Batman's partner, he had deemed it fit to call himself that, in memory of his mother, and because he wanted to fly, like a robin. They were his favorite animal, and that was never going to change.

Going through his head were a number of names that he could choose once he became too old for the name Robin. Flame bird, Nightingale, Mockingbird, The Night, The Spandex Man of Mischief. He snickered quietly to himself at that last one; it would be interesting if he did choose that name. Mischief, though, that wouldn't be a bad one. Though, the newspapers and general public might take that the wrong way. Grinning, he shifted over in his seat, his leg pushing his phone up out of his pockets and onto the ground. It clattered on the floor, causing everyone to look back at him. Grimacing, he bent down to pick it up.

"Mr. Grayson," Mr. Clapper said slowly, frowning. "Is that a phone?"

Dick, tempted to tell him that no, it was no in fact a phone, but actually a highly advanced piece of technology that was far ahead of its time in every way possible, paused at he held it in his hand. "Um, yes?" He hoped it didn't sound as much as a question as he thought it did.

Mr. Clapper furrowed his brow, no looming over Dick with a frown on his face. He put out his hand. "Here, Mr. Grayson."

Sighing, Dick smacked his phone against Mr. Clapper's open hand, hoping that his teacher wouldn't notice anything different about it. He was lucky, he found, when Mr. Clapper pocketed it without a second glance and walked toward the front of the classroom, pausing momentarily at Katie Bell's computer to give her a few tips. Amanda, the girl from earlier, snickered. Dick shot her a glare and then settled calmly into his chair, folding his arms over his chest, and continued to stare around the room.

He once again began to drift in and out of thought, returning back to his earlier thoughts of names for a new hero persona. He rather liked Flame Bird and The Night, though, he was unsure whether or not to keep the bird thing or leave it behind, along with his childhood. He stared off into space and then shook his head. No, he would keep the bird theme, as a connection to his mother, the beautiful Mary Grayson. Picking at a lose thread on his jeans, he scrunched up his nose and thought of his home.

Home, home, home.

You never really thought about it until you didn't have one, that is, a nice one either. Just as he had nearly ripped of the tread, a loud, shrill bell rang through building. Every snapped up and suddenly the room was a flurry of motion; people were backing up, shutting down computers, talking excessively to their friends. Mr. Clapper was in the front of the room trying to assign homework, but as a few of the kids had already left, he gave up with an exasperated sigh and slumped down in his IKEA chair.

Dick, jumping up and turning off his computer, snatched his backpack off the floor and made his way to the front of the room, dodging the lab tables to get to the teachers desk.

He cleared his throat. "Um, Mr. Clapper? Could I have my phone back now?"

Mr. Clapper looked up and gave Dick a stern glare. "Just don't have it out in my classroom again, alright?" Dick, figuring it was useless to try and explain that the phone had just been in his pocket and hadn't been using it, nodded and reached out to grab it from where Mr. Clapper had set it down. Just as his hand had almost wrapped around it, Mr. Clapper's slim brown fingers grabbed his wrist. Instinctively, Dick tried to rip his arm away, his left arm twitching, as if to punch his teacher in the face. A surprised yelp emitted from his mouth though and Mr. Clapper's hand loosened.

"What type of phone is this, Richard? I've never seen one like it before," Clapper commented, letting go of Dick's hand to pick to phone up and inspect it. "I doubt a kid from Midtown could afford Stark TECH, and this certainly looks like something of the sort."

Feeling angry instead of nervous, Dick stuck his hand out for the phone, his left arm still twitching. "My parents just decided to send my here, I don't know why. May I have my phone back now?"

Mr. Clapper seemed to be retraining a smirk and, feeling uncomfortable with it, Dick shifted his weight. "Can you tell me what model it is? I think I'm interested."

Now with this statement, Dick began to feel suspicious, he doubted a Midtown teacher could afford his phone, let alone any other sort of expensive Stark TECH. Despite disliking the owner of the company, Dick grudgingly admitted that Stark TECH made good tech, and combined with Wayne Tech it was sheer brilliance. If anything, his teacher could afford a Blackberry, or maybe an iPhone, but certainly not Stark or Wayne.

"I think it's called SG-something-of-the-other. I don't know, my parents just gave it to me," Dick inclined, rocking back and forth on his heels. He felt a bit conceited saying it, but it was better than telling his teacher he actually invented it in his abandoned apartment with little to no resources with tech from an alternate dimension to make it the worlds best piece of technology that had ever been created thus far.

Frowning, Clapper handed him his phone and Dick spun around on his heels; he spun so quickly that the centripetal force of him bringing his arm into his chest to cradle his phone (he had to admit he was a tad possessive) almost made him do a 360. Behind him was a junior, 16 or so, with brown hair and large squarish glasses. He wore a pair of brown slacks and a white dress shirt with an ink pen tucked in the front of the pocket. This kit looked liked the dictionary definition of a nerd, though if Dick thought about it, he was one too, he just didn't look it. Quickly moving out of the way, he stepped to the left and began to walk out of the classroom, but not before hearing Mr. Clapper address the boy.

"Peter! What are you doing here?"

"I just had a few questions Mr. Clapper about-"

And then he was out of earshot.

EARTH PRIME: HELICARRIER

Fury was happily telling his Agents what to do when the doors suddenly slid open to show Tony Stark, looking incredibly pissed and a little disappointed with someone. He jabbed at Fury angrily, not even entering the main control room of the Helicarrier, he then jabbed his thumb behind him, indicating for Fury to walk outside so they could discuss in the hall; it was times like these when Fury just gave up on people realizing that just because they looked angry meant that he would do what they say.

"Anthony," Nick Fury remarked loudly and calmly, causing Tony to glare harder. "Whatever you have to say, you can say in here."

Thinking that the son of Howard Stark was not going to go for it, Fury smirked. He was surprised when Tony shrugged and marched right up into his perch, getting right in his face.

"Alright then, since you're probably going to tell them anyway; what do you want with the kid?"

Fury blinked, having no problem conveying the shock as to why Stark knew anything about the kid, despite that they told him and Banner to check out the energy signature. He took one step back, straightened himself and stared Tony square in the eye. "What do you mean?"

Tony clenched his fists. "Look, I know what happened. I know who he is, and where he is. What do you want with him? Why?"

Fury had to admit, he was quite pleased with the fact that Tony was taking this on his own accord. He was, however, displeased that Tony had found out. This was supposed to be a secret SHIELD Operation, only known by those select few and the ones who worked in the main control room. Of course, he wouldn't be surprised if word had traveled around the Helicarrier and somehow Black Widow or Hawkeye found out about the kid and told Stark and the rest. Then again, maybe the kid had told the Avengers what happened… if Fury could convince Stark it was a lie…

"Mister Stark, you are correct. There was something to do with a boy. A young boy, but the name of John Richards, at least, that's what he told us. How did you find him? Where is he?"

Tony, for a split second, looked personally offended by this and took a step back, staring at Fury with hatred in his eyes. "I don't know what your game is Fury, but if you think I am going to tell you where he is-"

"You are going to tell us, Mr. Stark, because that is what you signed up for-"

"No," Stark growled, looking extremely pissed. "It's not what I signed up for. I signed up to "avenge" the Earth, to protect the innocents. I didn't sign up for you to kidnap and examine children. If you think that I will willingly tell you, go to hell."

Fury remained calm, though on the inside he was restraining a scream of anger. "Stark, that boy is dangerous."

"But that's what he is, a boy! I don't give a damn if he's dangerous! I'm dangerous, Banner is dangerous, did you lock us up and stare at us as if we're dangerous creatures! What did he do?"

"Stark," Fury barked, everyone was looking at them now. "That boy appeared here in a flash of light, in a bright costume with dangerous weapons and tech almost as good as yours and mutilated with scars and blood. Stark, you didn't see the scars, old faded white lines that marred this boy's body. They covered it. Someone did this to him, trained him to be a dangerous weapon for God knows how long. We have to find him, contain him and train him for good-"

"And what if he was trained for good?" Tony argued. "And he's running from you because he thinks you're the bad guys?"

"I highly doubt it."

Tony snorted. "Well, I'm starting to believe it."

And then he turned and stalked away.

EARTH PRIME, FEB. 19TH 2013 2:45 AM

Robin spit out the blood on the hard, linoleum floor.

White Rabbit cackled. "You know, you're quite enjoyable to fight! But this time, my dear, dear boy, you won't make it out alive!" She let out a shrill, high pitched laugh that reminded Robin very deeply of Harley Quinn.

He jumped to the side as he large, robotic rabbit launched itself at him, it's bright red eyes focused right on him. Gritting his teeth, he leapt toward White Rabbit, sending both of them flying back into a rack of UTZ chips bags. White Rabbit screamed on impact with the cold hard ground and Robin gritted his teeth and clenching his fists around White Rabbit's white, pale arms. She screamed loudly and suddenly Robin was pushed aside by the large rabbit. He flew back, flipped backward and rebounded off the glass wall, dropping onto the ground with a ringing in his ears and a sharp pain in his side. He cracked a rib.

He shakily stood up, watching with narrowed eyes as White Rabbit lifted herself up off the ground, her blue jacket in tatters and her flame-like hair a matted mess around her head. She was bleeding on her arm and had a split lip. She pointed at him with her umbrella, her entire body shaking.

"You… are a nasty little boy."

He rolled his eyes, knowing full well that she couldn't see them. "And you… are incredibly annoying. I mean, you're a pretty lame villain too, seriously; I mean, come on, convenience stores? What's so interesting about them?"

She lunged at him and he tried to move but he figured right then he had more than just cracked a rib when he felt the explosion of pain and whimper. She knocked him over and punched him twice in the gut. He felt his heart racing, his breathing felt heavy and his vision blurred. Suddenly, a weight was lifted from his chest and he gave a soft cry of thanks. He watched as she climbed the rabbit and disappeared through a hole in the wall, whatever she had been going after long forgotten. Spitting out a wad of blood, Robin lifted himself from the ground and stood up, wobbling over to the exit door and limping into an ally.

He collapsed on the ground, wincing as he fell against the hard brick wall. A soft cry of pain escaped his lips and he wished Bruce was there to comfort him.

Hearing the sirens, he got up and climbed to the roof top, ignoring the splatters of rain against his skin, and swung back home.

1 WEEK LATER

Dick was staring at the old opera house with an interest peaking in his blue eyes. It was old, from the 1900s, abandoned and condemned, and big.

He liked it.

He had in a large Northface backpack, all of his clothes, school supplies and blankets and his entire tech collection. He wanted to leave that apartment (which now had his blood smeared on the walls) for his own reasons and because that was where Tony Stark would look. He left the tracker that Stark had planted there sitting on the table, beeping, with a note that said "Don't Follow Me -D". He figured he would at least give him his real initial.

A suddenly feeling of confidence rose in him and he strode through the previously locked gate toward the abandoned opera house, wincing ever so slightly as his taped up left side rubbing against the fabric of his jacket.

He turned and looked the door, feeling extremely well protected, and walked through the large oak doors that ordained a front entrance with a sign hanging over it that said some sort of opera was going to perform on the 16th and that the building had been official closed Oct. 4th, 1934. He walked in and was greeted with a nice, large entrance hall with old moldy and faded carpets and two booths that led to the stage. A door on the right told Dick that it led to the balconies and, swinging there on a whim, he turned and pushed it open. He entered a long, dark hall that had gas lamps on the curling wallpaper with gas still in them. He walked up a set of steps, wincing as each step seemed to creak louder than the next. He walked into another hallway that led to the right and left and he walked up, into a balcony that was covered with dusty, moth bitten curtains and walked into one of the melancholy things he had ever seen.

The entire room was all pointed to a large, beautiful cherry wood stage with large red velvet curtains and a hole that let grey sunlight stream in was in the ceiling. All of the chairs were the same red as the curtains and the balconies were adorned with paintings of the Greek gods and goddess' and muses. Apollo was playing a harp to the Muse of Music, and Poseidon was sending a great wave toward the land, bearing horses and water spirits. Dick just stood there for a moment, staring at the golden accents, the grey sunlight and the red velvet. He dropped his back on one of the benches in the booth and just sat there, not saying anything.

He just smiled sadly.

To be continued…

Sorry this chapter was so late, as you can see, quite long.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!