Note: Thanks for the compliment, usagipoints! :)


Midnight – the Batcave:

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Yes, Commissioner?"

"Batman!" Commissioner Gordon exclaimed breathlessly. "There's been a breakout at the State Pen!"

"How many and who?" Batman instantly demanded.

"Sixteen. So far we know Joker, Riddler, Mad Hatter, Penguin, Two-Face, the Clock King, an Australian – Oliver something – some of their familiar henchmen and some small-time criminals. And we've received a tip that they are already beginning to recruit more henchmen!"

At least six villains. The Australian. Small-time criminals.

"WHO?!" Batman demanded loudly. "I need names of the small-timers!"

There were several people in the State Pen who were both small-time criminals and had some sort of connection with Dick Grayson.

"Hold on, Batman, let me ask the warden."

There was a long pause then the sound of the commissioner clearing his throat and a quiet 'Begorrah!' from the familiar, accented voice of Chief O'Hara.

"Jasper Dunston," Commissioner Gordon began, "Michael Wickers, a man known only as Mack…"

"I'm going straight to the State Pen, Commissioner," Batman interrupted, hearing enough to know that Dick was about to be in danger.

Slamming the Bat-phone down, Batman sprinted to the Batmobile, climbed in and roared away.

In Bruce Wayne's study up in Wayne Manor, ten-year-old Dick Grayson was standing stock still, Bat-phone in his hand and shock in his eyes.

"Sixteen plus recruits," he whispered to himself. "Batman's going to need some help."

Determination replaced the shock. Dick put the phone down, lifted the head of the bust and twisted the switch. Batman would have to go after the villains first, which meant 'Robin' was going to take care of the small-timers.

The bookcase slid open and Dick ran to the Batpole.

"I'm going to need one of my own soon," he stated with a small grin as he jumped on and slid down.

He landed on the cushion in a Bat-suit that engulfed his small body. Dick hadn't thought about that. There was nothing in the Batcave for 'Robin' and he couldn't just wear his regular clothes. Especially since he was going after Jasper, and Michael, and Mr. Mack, and the Australian guy. On second thought, maybe he should leave the Australian to Batman. That man was, after all, considered a professional – a villain. Dick didn't really feel like meeting up with him anytime soon. Or ever again.

The lack of a costume was a huge problem. But, it was dark and Dick doubted that the criminals would try to hide in a brightly lit area. Maybe they wouldn't recognize him, as long as he had another strip of material for a mask.

"I took the liberty, Master Dick, of creating this."

Dick whipped his head around when he heard Alfred speaking. The butler was standing by the Bat-changing area, holding up a hanger with some sort of suit on it.

"Master Bruce doesn't know about this, young sir, so please stay out of his way."

"But…you're not backing Bruce up if you do this, Alfred! You always back Bruce up!"

With a knowing smile, the butler walked to the Bat-computer and pushed a button.

"…better every day. But he's ten, he's only ten. He could be an asset. But he could also be a liability. He held off Scarecrow without any offensive training, he could probably defeat the guy now. But he's a child! A responsible, obedient, intelligent…"

Alfred pushed the button again and the recording stopped.

"Was that…?"

Dick couldn't finish the sentence. It was the voice of Bruce Wayne, that was obvious, but with whom was he debating?

"With Batman, young sir."

"What?" Dick asked, forgetting that Alfred could practically read minds.

"You just heard Bruce Wayne and Batman debating the pros and cons of having a partner, Master Dick."

"Who won?"

"Nobody, yet. Every strong point has an equally strong counterpoint. This debate has been raging for nearly three days, young sir."

Dick – chatty, energetic, engaging Dick Grayson – was speechless.

"His primary concern is your age, Master Dick. You are still a vulnerable child, although you have experienced more pain than many children do in their entire lifetimes. He is worried that you, in your eagerness to defend the cause of justice, will make rash decisions that will endanger lives, particularly your own."

"But I'll be careful!"

"Easier said than done, young sir. Do you think Batman goes out each night intending to run into trouble and get injured, as he sometimes does?"

"No, that's ridiculous!" Dick exclaimed.

"That is true, Master Dick. Yet every night he goes out, and the last thing he hears from me is 'be careful'. He is careful but accidents – and villains – happen. Saying you'll be careful is as effective as me saying 'don't stay out too late'. It won't happen."

"But I will be careful! You can't just say it won't happen, you can't know that!"

"Master Dick, you have no experience and you are naïve. Even with all of his experience and power and skill, Master Batman still comes home injured on many nights. Do you think, young sir, that you are better than him? That you are more capable of being careful?"

"No, of course not. But I…"

"The last thing Master Batman needs is a child flitting about the streets feeling like he can take on the world and come home with nary a scratch. If you want to do this, you must do it right. I can only do so much to help, Master Dick. Here."

Alfred held out the suit. Dick walked over and took the clothing off the hanger.

"Tights, Alfred?"

"We work with what he have for now, Master Dick. If and when you get Master Batman's approval, I will create a more suitable costume."

"A Robin-suit," Dick whispered with a slight grin. "Be right back."

Dick raced into a changing cubicle and was back out in two minutes. He was wearing tights – the color of desert sand – underneath a green leotard. The majority of his tunic was red, the exception being a bright-yellow 'R' exactly over his heart. His cape was the same color yellow and his mask was similar to the strip of black material he had previously used.

"Good evening, Master Robin," Alfred stated politely.

"This is great, Alfred, thanks!" Robin yelled.

He ran to the butler and wrapped his arms around the man's waist. Alfred, smiling, returned the hug but then stepped back.

"You are to be his shadow only, Master Robin," Alfred said soberly. "You are his clean-up man or his backup, whichever he needs at the time. You are not to go anywhere on your own and you will not allow him to see you."

"Why are you doing this, Alfred? Besides his raging debate, I mean?"

"Master Robin, sixteen people have just broken out of the State Pen, several of them dangerous villains. Master Batman cannot find them all in one night; some innocent citizens are bound to get hurt. If, however, when Master Batman knocks a criminal down young Master Robin stealthily jumps in to finish the job, the Caped Crusader will be able to find more than he could on his own."

"A bad guy goes down, I make him stay down so Batman doesn't have to waste time doing that."

"Exactly, Master Robin. The more criminals and villains he finds tonight, the more innocent lives will be saved. However, please promise me this: if you run into a villain, you will not engage. You are not ready for a major villain, young sir. They are tricky and you are inexperienced. I cannot have you coming back here gravely injured on your first night out. You will never get Master Batman's approval if that happens."

"No major villains, I promise. How am I going to get around?"

"I will find the Batmobile on the Bat-tracking machine and drop you off near where it is parked. Then it's up to you to find your own ride, if necessary. The best way would be to hide in the backseat of the Batmobile but you might not be able to get there without being seen. Be creative, Master Robin, but don't break the law."

Alfred walked to the Bat-tracking machine and pushed several buttons. A red light started flashing on the screen.

"Are you ready, young sir?" the butler asked.

"Do I get a utility belt?" Robin responded.

"You are not ready for that, Master Robin. Utility belts hold dangerous weapons that you currently have no experience using."

"Okay," the ten-year-old agreed with a nod. "Let's go!"


Ten minutes later – downtown Gotham City:

"Remember, Master Robin, no villains. Please, I cannot stress how important that promise is to me and, although he doesn't know it, Master Batman."

"I promise, Alfred!" Robin stated quietly as he opened the passenger door and slid out.

The butler turned the car around and left. Robin darted into the shadows of the nearest building and made his way toward the obvious sounds of fighting coming from the next block.

He turned the corner and his eyes widened. There were seven men circling Batman, and eight others on the ground around him. The Caped Crusader, to anyone else, looked to be full-strength and ready to engage. Robin, however, could hear the hitch in the man's breathing and see the slight favoring of the left leg.

Robin crept along the edges of the buildings until he was directly across the street from the scene. The seven criminals were taking turns attacking from all different sides. Batman was being forced to turn after every defensive maneuver and Robin noticed that the man's left foot was rarely fully on the ground.

Here we go.

The ten-year-old darted across the street when Batman's back was toward him, quickly taking out the smallest guy before racing into the shadows. Batman turned to defend himself and Robin took out the man who had just stumbled back from the fist of the hero.

Two down…make that three down.

Batman had just used a Bat-a-rang on his current attacker, cracking it against the goon's head and knocking him out. His back was to Robin again, so the boy vaulted onto the shoulders of the nearest man and squeezed his legs around the thick neck. The fourth man went down and Robin dashed back into the shadows.

Henchman number five was running away so Robin sprinted after him. He easily caught up and surprised the man by tackling him from behind. The guy's head hit the hard asphalt of the street and he stopped moving.

Robin stood up and turned around. Batman had taken care of number six and his fist was in the process of flying toward the face of number seven. The Caped Crusader finished the man off then glanced around himself.

Don't let him see you.

The ten-year-old raced toward the nearest alley, but Batman caught the flash of color and began running after what he thought was a criminal. Robin increased his speed and rounded the opposite corner as Batman entered the alley.

Just then Joker, laughing maniacally, ran past Robin into that very alley. Batman was there, Joker was a villain, so Robin let him go. He glanced up and down the street, checking to see if the villain had brought any henchmen. There was a silhouette about fifteen yards away, pacing in the darkness of a doorway. Robin began walking toward the shadow, hoping the person wasn't a major villain.

Suddenly the person stepped out into the street, his entire face illuminated in the weak glow of a street lamp. Robin stopped and Dick Grayson yelled at himself to run away. Jasper Dunston was walking toward him, was now only three yards away, but the ten-year-old was frozen in terror.

Jasper was going to recognize him, Dick knew it was going to happen. And Jasper had to know that he had been arrested because of Dick. And Jasper was strong, and Dick was a child. Now he understood why Batman was reluctant to have a partner who was only ten. Right now, Dick knew that Robin was a liability. If Batman were fighting someone nearby and saw this situation, Dick knew the man would quit that fight in order to rescue Robin.

"A kid vigilante?" Jasper whispered, stopping two feet in front of the ten-year-old.

Dick couldn't move, couldn't even think. His entire body was full of terror and memories were racing through his mind. He didn't see the bony fist until it hit him in the jaw, hard enough to make him stumble back and almost fall.

"Or are you just a kid in a costume?" Jasper asked, his voice louder. "It's not Halloween yet, kid. And what are you even supposed to be?"

This time the fist was driven into his stomach and Robin dropped to his knees, gasping.

"You know, you remind me of one of my foster kids. His name was Grayson, and he was a sniveling, disobedient brat. Probably the one that got me arrested in the first place!"

Robin growled and stood up.

"Why were you arrested?"

"He speaks!" Jasper crowed. "He lied about his time with us, idiotic kid," the man answered with a shrug.

That statement made Robin kick the still-terrified Dick out of his mind. He was Robin, and this man needed to go down.

It only took one well-placed kick to the solar plexus, a right hook to the jaw when Jasper doubled over and gasped for air, and a kick to the head as the man fell. Robin stood tall over the unconscious criminal, breathing hard and trembling. Bending over, the ten-year-old placed his hands on his knees and fought to calm down. There were more criminals that needed to be taken out and Batman couldn't do it all by himself.

A shot rang out and Robin felt the bullet whiz by his right ear. Without thinking, he dove to his left and somersaulted into the shadows.

"Hey, ankle-biter, this is no place for you. Go home, before the next one finds your head!"

The Australian. Robin instantly recognized the voice and not only because of the accent. He was no match for this man, especially since the guy had a gun. But he could hear Joker cackling wildly in the alley, which meant Batman hadn't finished him off yet. And that meant that Batman couldn't go after the Australian yet.

This is stupid. I'm going to die.

It was the worst idea he had ever had, but Robin did it anyway. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and sprinted across the street. He had the element of surprise, which meant that every bullet was half a second too slow to hit him.

Two, three, four, five, six.

Robin counted the bullets and hoped the Australian didn't have a better gun. He got lucky, because Oliver Williams was now swearing as his gun gave the tell-tale 'click' of emptiness.

The ten-year-old took another deep breath and raced out of the shadows, straight toward the man who had tortured him a year ago. Oliver was strong but Robin was exceptionally fast. He went for surprise again, throwing himself into a roundoff followed by a series of back handsprings that made him fly past the man.

The movement made the man hesitate, as it had Batman, and Robin had learned how to take advantage. He went low, tackling Oliver's legs and causing him to tumble to the ground. They got tangled up and Oliver found his way out first. A strong fist caught Robin on the side of the head and he saw stars dancing with black spots.

The Australian rolled away and jumped to his feet. Robin was kneeling, holding his head in his hands in an attempt to stop the world from spinning.

"I don't want to fight you, ankle-biter," Oliver ground out. "I've got more important things to do."

No matter what.

That was the phrase that had led Dick into allowing himself to be tortured by this man. It was also the phrase that forced Robin to block out the pain and stand up. He knew what Oliver wanted – Batman's identity – and he wasn't going to allow the man to get it, just like he hadn't allowed it before.

"Stay out of this," Oliver warned, the threat obvious in his voice.

"Make me," Robin snapped, wishing he had a better comeback line. He was pretty sure he had a concussion, though, so he gave himself a break.

"Just remember you asked for it," the man stated darkly.

The fight began anew. Robin was fast but his speed was hampered slightly by his inability to think clearly. Oliver's fist landed on the boy's shoulder right before the other fist crashed into his chest. Robin couldn't breathe again but the sound of Joker's cackling motivated him. He knew he needed to end this immediately. So, he took a lesson he had learned and applied it.

The ten-year-old whirled around, his cape swirling with him. The color distracted the Australian, and Robin took advantage. Turning around, he took a step forward then threw himself into a back handspring. Both feet slammed into Oliver's face and he stumbled back, just far enough for Robin to do another back handspring. This time his feet collided with the man's chest, just hard enough to knock him down.

Quickly turning around to face Oliver, the boy dove into the criminal's torso. The breath 'whooshed' out of both of them and the back of the man's head hit the ground. Robin rolled over the top of him and landed on his hands and knees.

Grabbing his chest, the ten-year-old curled into himself and tried to catch his breath. He was both gasping and wheezing, and he knew that was a very bad combination. The black asphalt beneath him was swirling dangerously, and Robin was ready to give in to the darkness that was creeping around the edges of his vision.

Slow clapping. That was the sound coming from across the street. Robin wearily looked up and wished he had Oliver's gun with one last bullet in it. Mr. Mack was striding down the opposite sidewalk.

Am I going to see every single person I've ever been afraid of or mad at?!

"You're fast and athletic," Mack commented, stopping directly across from Robin's position. "That tumbling was impressive and you stayed ahead of every bullet he threw at you. The last two back handsprings were awkward, though. And your world is spinning now, am I right?"

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear away the cobwebs, Robin forced himself up again. At least this time the man didn't have a gun. Instead, the boy internally groaned, he had a knife.

Robin had no knowledge of how to defend himself against a knife. Weapons had not even been mentioned in all the time he had been training with Bruce and Batman. The thought that he wasn't ready for this flashed through his mind as Mr. Mack walked toward him.

"So, Grayson, why are you out here, all alone? Does Wayne know where you are?"

Robin's eyes widened. How did the man know his identity? It was dark, and he was wearing a mask!

Laughing, Mack commented, "You thought I wouldn't recognize you. I could pick that tumbling out of a line-up of acrobats. I saw it first-hand, back at field day, remember? A tiny mask can't cover up your impressive abilities, even with the sloppiness at the end."

"I…don't know what you're talking about," Robin stated, attempting to remain calm.

"Your voice is shaking, Grayson. It's giving you away."

Robin was backing up while Mack was advancing. Suddenly the man rushed at the boy, his knife heading toward Robin's heart. The jagged edge of the blade glinted in the moonlight, freezing the ten-year-old in his tracks.

Move!

Robin twisted his torso left, causing the knife to slice across his right bicep instead of burying itself into his chest. It was a shallow cut, but deep enough that blood began slowly trickling down his arm. The ten-year-old glanced down at the wound, a move he immediately regretted.

Pain exploded in his chest for what felt like the hundredth time. Mack had taken advantage by throwing a solid shoulder into Robin's ribcage. The ten-year-old stumbled back, thrown completely off-balance. Mr. Mack took advantage again, his large fist landing hard on Robin's left cheek.

Fireworks exploded in his mind as Robin's chin whipped over his right shoulder. His momentum went sideways and he tripped over himself. The ten-year-old's awkward dance was halted by a parked car. A mustard-yellow VW beetle, its windows wide open, quietly creaked in protest when his small body slammed into it.

Robin's right shoulder hit first, followed by the side of his head. This time the world was upside down, only righting itself when the boy felt the crunch of gravel under his knees. He heard footsteps and when he lifted his head he saw, through blurry vision, a shoe heading for his face.

Dropping to his stomach, the ten-year-old did the only thing he could think of: he rolled under the car. Mack's foot smashed onto the asphalt and he grunted at the impact.

"Lucky, lucky, Grayson. Always managing to escape, just in the nick of time."

Mack knew that the kid was going to roll to the other side of the car. Grayson was an intelligent child and the quickest escape route would be to use his momentum to pop out onto the sidewalk. So, the man jogged around the front end of the car, intending to shove his knife into the boy's neck as he crawled out.

Robin was intelligent, Mack was right about that. And Robin knew that Mr. Mack knew he was intelligent. Which meant he needed to do something unexpected. Rolling back the way he had come, Robin slowly pushed up onto his knees. He was just barely tall enough to see through the open window. Mr. Mack was by the opposite window, body tense and knife raised high.

This is stupid. I'm going to die.

The thought raced through his mind for the second time in less than fifteen minutes. As softly as he could, Robin stood up. Mack was so focused on the sidewalk that he didn't even notice the movement. Carefully, the ten-year-old lifted his left foot and placed it on the window sill of the driver's side door. Then he grabbed the roof with his hands and raised himself up.

"Come out, come out, Grayson," Mack taunted. "There's no reason to be afraid. It's just me, your tutor."

Mack was still somehow oblivious to Robin's movements. The ten-year-old was both surprised and grateful, because it allowed him to silently clamber onto the roof unnoticed. He heard the smirk in the man's mocking words and a lightning bolt of anger shot through his aching chest. Without hesitation, Robin launched himself at the man, who was down on one knee and waiting for his victim to emerge from under the car.

Robin felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Mack looked up, shock on his face, as Robin flew toward his head. The man stood up and the hand with the knife changed its position just as the boy slammed into the man's solid chest. There was a sharp gasp full of pain as the bodies tumbled to the ground.

Robin hit the sidewalk first, flat on his back, and Mack rolled right over the top of him and landed face-down. The boy felt a searing pain in his chest and suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe. That feeling passed, but the flame in his chest remained. Robin let his head fall to his left, so he could both rest and watch Mr. Mack's movements.

But the man wasn't moving. After half a minute, Robin slowly pushed himself up to sitting. There was blood all over him, but it was coming from the body of Mr. Mack.

"No," Robin whispered shakily.

He shoved the man as hard as he could, causing the body to roll onto its back. The knife was embedded in Mack's chest, blood flowing freely from the wound and spilling over onto the sidewalk.

"No, I didn't, please no," the ten-year-old whispered again.

Suddenly, Robin ripped the cape off his shoulders and pressed it hard against the wound. Mack didn't move, didn't even groan in agony. Robin's cape was instantly soaked with the blood of the man so he pulled it away.

Unbidden tears began flowing down his cheeks. He had just killed a person. It had been an accident, but he had just killed someone!

"Nonono, I'm sorry, nononono."

Robin was kneeling by the dead body, arms wrapped around himself and entire body trembling. He didn't notice the sprinkles that turned into rain, or hear the sound of footsteps running toward him. He didn't feel a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around him, or notice the fact that he was now in the air supported by those arms. He didn't even hear the sound of his name being shouted directly into his face.

All Robin could see was a knife sticking out of the bloodied chest of a man he had been fighting. All he could hear was the sound of someone gasping for air. And all he could feel was guilt – a deep, overwhelming, torturous feeling of guilt that was sitting on his chest like a giant ball of solid steel.