Disclaimer: I do not own Robin. I do not own any other DCU character either. (I do, however, own the original characters portrayed in this fic.) I am making no financial gain from this fic, now or ever. No copyright infringement is intended. Have I disclaimed it all? Ah, not quite: Don't bother suing me, it'd be a right royal waste of time.

TWENTY

Special Note: A great big thank you to everyone who commented on parts one and two of this fic, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!

Also, an apology to those who were confused: part two is most definitely not the end of this fic (though I now appreciate it could have read like that). Nor is part three. I've put a lot of effort into creating this AU, so I'm hardly going to stop playing in it now (grin). Besides, that'd leave a whole lot of untidy threads, ne? One of which, as has been pointed out, is Robin's - Tim Drake's - family. Not to worry, I've something rather . . . special planned for that.

PART THREE

LATER THE SAME NIGHT

Batman had been hoping for a relatively quiet night, this first night out. A few muggings, maybe an arson or two. Nothing major, and, please, no costumed criminals.

Be careful what you wish for. . .

They'd foiled three muggings, one attempted rape, and a carjacking. Batman was pleased. Though initially awkward, by the end of the first mugging Robin had followed his lead competently. By the middle of the second, he was anticipating Batman's needs and moves, and moulding himself to them. By the time they'd finished with the wannabe car theives, they were working together as seamlessly as ever they had. There was not a costumed criminal in sight. And every hood we took down, we took non-lethally without me reminding him to. With minimal trauma, even. At this rate he'll be back to solo work within a month.

That was when the Bat signal flared against the clouds. With a glance at his young protégé, they were airborne, swinging towards the rooftop of the police building with synchronised ease.

It did not take them long. They were at the station within eight minutes. But still, the sight that greeted them on arrival was pure carnage.

Commissioner Gordon leaned wearily against the signal, the first aid people had gotten to him relatively quickly, and as a result he was on his feet again, dislocated shoulder (now reduced) in a sling. Why am I bothering with this thing? He thought muzzily, contemplating the signal as best he could while painkillers coursed through his system. The attack is over. The attack was over before we could even call for back-up on the radio, let alone get up here to light up the sky. To call him. Now I have thirty wounded officers, a dead prisoner, and a kid's corpse. Great. Just great. The Feds are gonna have a fit when they get here to pick up 'their' special prisoner . . . from the morgue. Tiredly, he considered the case - or, more accurately, the bloody mess - he was about to hand over to his 'unofficial' help.

He had to hand it over. Most of his detective staff would be taking sick leave for a while to come yet. Second time in recent memory someone's attacked the station itself. First time in recent memory they got further than the lobby. First time ever it was just a kid. A child. On his own. Dear God, what is this city coming to?

So mazed with pain and painkillers was he, that Gordon didn't even flinch as the gloved hand landed on his shoulder.

"You came. Thank God."
"What happened?" The voice was low, grim. Obviously, the Bat had seen telltale signs of the attack, if not the full extent of the destruction inside.

"The Station was hit. Again. Only this was so much worse than last time, when Al Ghul's goons tried it. Those guys we stopped at the lobby. This time . . . this time the perp was at the high security holding cells almost before we knew we'd been attacked." Gordon drew a deep, shuddering breath.

"The 'perp'. I call him that. No reason not to, really. He took out thirty of my officers. Took him ten, maybe twelve minutes. Took them out so fast nobody even had time to scream, let alone raise an alarm. Didn't kill any of them, that's the amazing bit. He got down to the cell where we were holding that 'special' prisoner for the Feds." He paused, obviously marshalling his thoughts.

"The prisoner, he was that Doctor guy Nightwing hand-delivered a fortnight or so ago. Remember him?" Without waiting for an answer, the Commissioner continued. "Well, the Feds decided they wanted him, but they wanted to get him out of Gotham with high security and a minimum of fuss. Difficult to do both given the state of this city these days. So, we were baby-sitting him until they could come. Then this perp beat them to it." Gordon fell silent, reliving the horror of the incident. It had been him, in the end, who'd seen the perp . . . do it. He had the dislocated shoulder to prove it.

"Go on." The Bat's voice was low, tense. Robin, by his side, had yet said nothing. Gordon took it as a good omen that they were in fact still there, that they hadn't vanished into the night as was their wont.

"The perp. He was this little kid. A short, skinny Asian boy with a hip-length mass of hair. He . . . God, he looked like he needed a decent meal more than anything else. Didn't look dangerous at all. Not like our usual costumed psychopaths. . . "

He'd been walking down to the cells with Renee Montoya, discussing a different case entirely. They'd not known anything was wrong until they - literally - fell over the prone figure of Johns, a junior policeman pulling guard duty that evening. Checking his pulse, Gordon had quickly ascertained he was still alive, though almost certainly concussed.

Montoya had gone to the duty desk to call for back-up. He'd gone on ahead a little way. Not far. But far enough for the snippet of a child to see him coming, and disarm him by dislocating his arm before he even knew what was happening. Then . . . then it had happened. Of all the things he'd experienced as a cop, this one would live in his mind in lurid, appalling detail. It replayed over and over again. It would continue to do so, Gordon suspected, in his nightmares for years to come.

The boy had been speaking to their 'special' prisoner when Gordon and Montoya had stumbled in. Now he concluded his conversation.

"So. You ordered him to self-destruct." The boy's voice had been high and pure. And icily, bleakly cold. "He survived everything you did to him, everything except your failsafe. Damn you."

The Doctor had simply nodded, and then uttered the first words Gordon had ever heard him say, "code two."

The boy had stiffened. Then, in a voice that was, if possible, even more frozen than before, had whispered his own single word "Confirm."

"Code Gamma."

" . . . Confirmed." The boy had seemed, from Gordon's pain-filled vantage on the floor, to be engaged in a mental struggle. A struggle he was losing. Then suddenly the fight was over. The frown on his face was replaced by a small smile.

"I must obey. But this is for Ro-kun." The child, with the very gun he'd taken from Gordon, had then calmly shot the Doctor twice, once through the left ventricle, and once through the brain. The man entered the afterlife with a frozen expression of surprised disbelief on what remained of his face.

Then he'd raised the gun to his own head and, still with the small smile that Gordon knew would haunt him until he died, the child had pulled the trigger. Blood splattered ink-black hair, staining it an obscene crimson. . .

Gordon passed out before the corpse hit the floor.

With a start, he shook himself out of his reverie. Turning to the two vigilantes, he saw an odd role reversal; from what little he could see of the other's face, Batman looked almost concerned, though he'd removed his had from the commissioner's shoulder. Robin's face, however, was an expressionless mask.

"I . . . We need to know who this kid is. Was. Whether he worked on his own. His parents. . . His parents will want to . . . If he has any . . .You know the deal." Suddenly tired, Gordon turned away. "I can't put any of my people on it at the moment. They're mostly all hurt. A copy of the security video's in my office. It should have finished taping by now. Autopsy reports will be around in a few days. . ." His voice trailed off. Even without looking back, he knew he was alone on the rooftop.

Returning to his office, he noted the video had been ejected from the VCR that resided in isolated splendour on a set of filing cabinets. Pausing only to clumsily fumble his coat on, Gordon headed off into the night. The case was in good hands. Now he had thirty police officers in Gotham General Hospital to check on.

Batman said nothing until they'd returned to the Cave, a courtesy for which Robin was profoundly grateful. The boy's mind was churning. It has to have been him. But it can't have been him. He's . . . we both . . . Oh, Kaze! Please let it not be him! Almost ashamed of his sentiment, Robin nonetheless clung to it, clutching the hope that it hadn't been Kaze, that the other boy remained somehow still alive.

The hope was quashed as soon as Gordon's tape was played in the Cave. The graceful, silkily smooth movements with which the taped figure took out the policemen were a mirror of Robin's own. He moved like the wind dancing through autumn leaves, swirling them out of his way with scarcely an effort. A small corner of Robin's mind, the only part that wasn't screaming silently, noted that even the Bat looked impressed.

Then, what Robin had been both secretly hoping for and dreading. A clear shot of the other's face. Unconsciously Robin rubbed his own shoulder, the spot still sore from the removal of his number. The face on the screen. . . the face was Kaze. Or DeWhitt. The two so mingled as to be indistinguishable from each other. No, that's not quite right. Robin realised, it's as if the Dewhitt personality has somehow subsumed the shreds of Kaze. And the only way that would happen is if Kaze let it. Let DeWhitt win control of the body, but retaining control of the overriding mission priority. His own mission. To rescue me. Oh, Kaze! Why does it happen like this?! Why couldn't I find you sooner?!

If Robin had been offered anything in the world at that instant, anything at all, he would have frozen the moment, lived it for eternity just watching Kaze's face. But he could no more halt time than fly, and all the wishing in the world would not make it so. The tape rolled on, to it's gory, grim conclusion. Robin had been powerless to even press the pause button.

Sitting in shocked silence, he barely registered as Batman rewound the tape, pausing it at the shot of Kaze's head and shoulders, and sending a copy to Oracle. Batman glanced at him worriedly. The kid's taking this hard. I guess it's the most gory thing he's ever seen. I wonder if I should have tried to spare him this. . . Too late now. Unless that's not it. Unless . . .

Robin scarcely heard his mentor's voice asking Oracle to check into the boy's identity.

Her immediate reply, however, did gain his full attention.

"Hey! That's that kid!"

"Explain." Robin and Batman spoke as one, and the unusual grimness in both their tones took Barbara aback. Gamely, she continued.

"I just recently processed the Titan's film of this encounter! I've been a bit backlogged recently with . . . other things, so I only just got to it." Tactfully, she didn't mention what the 'other things' were that had been of higher priority. Robin was mending now, and reminding him all the time of his abduction was unlikely to speed up the process.
"He turned up at Titan Tower a couple of months back. Asking for their help. I think Roy or Donna took charge of the situation. Anyways, Nightwing wasn't there, and we hadn't yet told them Robin was missing, so they didn't believe his story. After he fought Roy over being a trespasser - and soundly clobbered him - he kind of gave up on getting Titan help. I think Donna flew him back into the city and that's all the detail I have."

"You . . . he came for help and you . . . the Titans . . ."

"Robin, you know this kid?" Batman felt his worst fears materialise. The boy had never discussed his captivity to any great extent, and he'd certainly never mentioned other prisoners. Batman had assumed Robin had been the only one there at the time, or at least had been kept in solitary confinement. I assumed. That was a very big mistake on my part, one that will cost me.

The boy was silent for so long that Batman began to suspect he hadn't heard the question. Then, staring straight ahead with flat, glassy eyes, Robin began to speak.

"He . . . he was there. With me." The boy said tonelessly, all life sucked from his expression. He . . . The process was more advanced with him when I got there. Robin's thoughts were in a mire, though his face remained expressionless. He'd already been partly programmed. He helped me resist . . . what the Doctor did . . . for a long time. When I . . . when I couldn't, couldn't, didn't . . . anymore . . . he escaped to save me. Promised he'd be back with help. I promised him . . . I promised him I'd survive until he came. He . . . made me live. God, it would have been easy to give up and die. So easy. But I promised him. I survived. And now he's dead.

The boy took a deep shuddering breath. Then in a horrifyingly composed, icy voice, he continued.

"His name is Mireba Kaze. Fifteen years old. He is a Japanese national, and an expert pilot. Further details, including next of kin, should be in the Crays computer, in the 'people to watch' section."

Robin stood, turned and walked away from the computer, saying only "Please excuse me." Batman let him go.

The Batcave was vast. This was good. It also echoed in places. This was bad. However, Robin found himself a small outcropping which didn't echo and was well away from the rest of the cave.

Then he dropped to his knees and screamed himself hoarse, pounding his fists on the unforgiving rock of the cave floor. With supreme self-control he stopped himself before he broke his hands.

When he returned, blood seeping through his gloves, Alfred was just entering the cave. He was carrying that universal salve of milk and cookies, something the old Robin had loved, and the new Robin still retained a sneaking fondness for.

"Ah, young sir. I have some good news for you. Good lord, what happened to your hands?! Sit down over there, now!" Meekly, Robin did as he was told. When Alfred used that tone of voice, it was best to obey and keep one's head down.

Alfred set the tray down and returned with the first aid kit. Removing the battered gloves, he started cleaning the wounds. The injuries were, he noticed with relief, quite superficial.

"Well, young sir, this is quite a mess. I don't know what you'll say to your father about it, when he returns to Gotham next week!" Alfred's 'good' news did not provoke the expected reaction. The boy in front of him went as white as the glass of milk he was clutching.

"I have a father?" Turning he stared at Batman with round eyes.

"Yes. Of course you do. But you knew that! You read it in the Crays database if nothing else."

Robin's brow furrowed. Dimly, he recalled something about that in the "Tim Drake" file. He'd been vastly more interested in discovering other facets of his "Robin" file that he'd not pursued much of the content of the first. Concentrating, he attempted to dredge his still-recalcitrant memory for further information. Little was forthcoming, and what there was was not encouraging. My mother is dead. I know that much. Also they would travel without me. More pieces clicked into place in the puzzle, filling holes in his memory. He put me in a boarding school recently so he wouldn't have to deal with me. Couldn't deal with me. We had fights over grades, I recall.

Later, after the Bat had gone to deliver an edited report on Kaze to Gordon, and Alfred had returned upstairs, Robin sat at the Crays. He searched the database again, finding out everything he could about one Jack Drake, and his relationship with his son, Timothy. The details that came to light were no more encouraging than his patchy memories had been. The man had definitely been a hands-off parent. The one time Tim hadn't been shovelled off to boarding school had been when his father was dying and Bruce Wayne had arranged for the boy to attend Gotham Heights Public School. And now . . .

Now he's remarried. To his physiotherapist, no less. And they've just returned from a honeymoon retreat. It was meant to last for two months, but instead went for eleven. Why was that? Further digging revealed the answers.

Aha. She got pregnant. And it was a difficult pregnancy so she couldn't travel off the island. Not that it mattered, given the superb hospital set-up they've got there, and the equally superb investment broker they've got here in Gotham. So he stayed with her until she delivered and the child was declared healthy enough to travel. They arrive back in about a weeks time. He still doesn't know his son is - was - missing, and has made no attempt to contact him in that time. Oh, wait, that's wrong. He sent a message to the school . . . Brentwood . . . saying Tim wasn't to bother coming home for the holidays as no-one would be there. No way of replying because of the island's communications policy.

Now, Robin realised, he had a few decisions to make. And, whatever he decided, less than a week to implement it.

In the end, it was, once again, Spoiler that proved to be the crucial factor. Spoiler, and the Bat.

She flounced into the cave on the heels of the Batman, obviously very pleased with herself.

". . . AND I got the mugger, too! Without any help from Connor!" Catching sight of the figure at the computer she wandered over, "Oh, hi Tim! How's things?" "Please call me Robin."
Instead of just letting it go in embarrassed silence as she had previously, Spoiler opted to be . . . pro-active about it. She'd had enough of his reserved politeness, his refusal to remove his mask in her presence, and this time she was going to do something about it!

"Why? When we were teaming up together you used to call me 'Steph' even when I was in full costume! I hated it but you never stopped! Why should it bug you that I'm doing it now? You're just getting your own back, now stop sulking and being so damn polite, and get over it! Honestly, you treat me like I'm just an unwanted, untrusted acquaintance. If Batman trusted me enough to tell me your identity, why can't you trust me too!?" Batman winced fractionally at the last. Very few people would have even noticed it. Robin was one of the few.

Clenching his hands so tightly that the blood from his injuries seeped through the bandages Alfred had wrapped around them, Robin walked off to his makeshift bedroom in a corner of the cave. Spoiler had enough sense not to follow.

Her comment, Robin decided, had done it. It was an instantaneous decision, but once made, the wheels in his head immediately set about determining a plan by which the choice could be carried out.

Robin had known for a while that Timothy Drake was dead. It was something he'd figured out on his first day out of bed after the shooting that had created him anew. It was time, Robin decided, that he shared that information with the rest of the world at large (minus the Bat-gang). Shared it in as graphic and convincing a manner as possible.

END PART THREE

PART FOUR COMING SOON!!

NOTES: The previous storming of the police station mentioned occurred at the end of the 'LEGACY' story arc.

Once again, homage is intended, copyright infringement is not.