ROBIN and all related characters, names and indicia are TM & © DC Comics 2004. Story by Chuck Dixon, novella adaptation by Ice Spectre.

Author's Note To Herself: When writing for comics, be prepared to learn LOTS and LOTS of onomotopoeia.

Rated PG

"TRIUMPH OVER TRAGEDY" - Just A Kid

My first solo in the city. My test line is pulled taut as I swing over 29th Street. The snow is falling more heavily now, and it's freezing out here. The snow is powdery, and every surface I can possibly stand on, including roofs, ledges, and awnings, is coated with ice. Black ice. The kind you can't see until you've slipped on it.

It's strange to be on patrol without Batman here with me. Strange, and a little scary. The roof of the building I'm aiming for is covered with a thin layer of ice and a thick layer of snow. Landing in this is not going to be easy. I aim for an area where a skid will not take me over the edge. I slide a little, but not much. Some powdery snow spills over the edge of the building and I'm wondering what the heck I'm doing up here. Gotham is expecting a real cold winter. Bruce is in Rio by the Sea-o, lucky dog, and I'm cold and wet and tired and wearing green tights. Swift.

A plow/sander is working in vain on 28th Street. The ice is way too thick, there's no way the plow can get down to the surface of the street. And besides, there's not a car in sight. This cold is keeping everyone inside, even the criminal element. It's almost eleven, and nothing has happened yet. I might as well meet Alfred with the van and head home. Nothing will happen tonight.

Shut my mouth. The reddish-black city skyline is cut through by a yellow beam that begins a slow sweep across the sky. I know what it is without even looking at it. I look anyway. The Batsignal. And no Batman to answer it. Great. Well, looks like they'll have to settle for my half of the Dynamic Duo. I really wish I were going home and into my soft, warm bed. But before I can find a solid argument against doing just that, my batarang is wrapped around an icy gargoyle's neck, and I'm off to police headquarters. I'm not far from there now, anyway.

I land solidly on a low bank's rooftop. A successful swing even on an icy gargoyle. Hey, that was pretty good... I should be there in no time flat. So much for that early night.

Gordon is alone on the roof of police headquarters, behind the signal, away from the blaring light. His trench coat is fluttering around his knees, his arms are folded, his head is ducked. His white hair is whipping in the wind. I land on the roof beside him, falling to a full crouch to absorb the drop, then standing. Before I even finish that maneuver, Gordon comments on the absence of my partner.

"You're alone? Where's Batman?"

Why did I know he was going to ask me that? "He's been called out of town. You'll have to settle for me, Commissioner." I'm out here busting my butt for the city and all I get is a Where's Batman. I'll ignore that, though. "What's the problem?"

Gordon is shaking his head. "I was expecting Batman. It's just--"

"Well I'm sure I can handle whatever it is," I interrupt him. Gordon gets that quietly expectant look, that look that tells me I better have a good point to interrupt him like that. But tonight it seems only half-hearted. I wonder why? I probably shouldn't have done that, but I'm feeling defensive. I get enough flack for being the Dark Knight's Not-So-Dark Squire. I don't need it from him. The old model of the Robin costume has even been called Batman's decoy, all bright yellow and green and red, attracting attention, while Batman hides in the shadows dressed in all black and navy. At least I have a full-length cape that's black on the outside or I'd start to think that rumor was true. "Batman can't be everywhere at once."

"It's not that simple..." Gordon's back is to me. He won't look at me. I'm standing behind him with my arms spread wide, trying to get him to turn around, to confess to me, to trust me. What's the problem here? "It's more than--"

"Look, I can't help you if you won't--"

"It's The Joker. He escaped from Arkham two hours ago."

My eyes widen and a feeling not unlike a hot flash creeps through me.

"Whoa..." I breathe. The Joker is the worst psycho Batman has ever come up against. I've never seen him in person, and certainly never fought him. And Batman's come close to buying it dozens of times against Joker. I can't take him alone. I feel foolish for being so egotistical and confident with the Commissioner. But I had no idea...

"I'll do what I can, Commissioner," my voice is barely a whisper.

Gordon turned to look at Robin. The boy was only just above five feet tall, and had probably just hit fourteen years old. His figure was thin, but strong. His mask gave his eyes a steely edge that Gordon suspected was there without the mask, anyway. His jet-black hair was very short in the back, long in the front, a popular style with teenagers nowadays. Gordon had learned not to wonder who Batman really was anymore, but now when he looked at this boy, he couldn't help but wonder who Robin was. Some kid who had just promised to do what he could to defeat The Joker.

Maybe he wasn't giving this kid enough credit. This was not a typical teenager's job. This wasn't flipping burgers, delivering newspapers. No parent would sign working papers for this job. No one who cared about this boy would allow him to do this. Didn't he have anyone to care about him?

Maybe he was selling the Boy Wonder short. Maybe he really did have the inner strength, the training, the endurance, the wits to take The Joker. The Joker.

Gordon sighed and glanced at the ground. He turned his back to Robin to looked out over the city and nodded his head. Almost as if he were giving Robin permission. He didn't know if he wanted to take responsibility for what might happen to him.

"Kid, if you happen to hear from Batman," Gordon turned back around, "would you--"

The boy was gone.

"Damn! How do they do that?" Gordon kicked at some snow on the roof. His anger was mostly because of Batman's absence at such a critical time, not Robin's quick and silent (and typical) disappearance. He was certain that the request he had been about to make of Robin went without saying. He was going to ask Robin to bring Batman home. He knew that if Robin could, he would. But then, why did Robin seem so stunned, as if getting a hold of Batman would be almost impossible? As if he had just been sentenced to death, and all alone? Gordon knew that this Robin was not Batman's first partner. There had been others to bear that name. Or else this kid is Peter Pan and never grows up. Gordon had made it a point, though, not to look too deeply into these things. He didn't want to know who Batman and Robin really were. But he couldn't help wondering whatever happened to the other Robin or Robins, however many there had been. He knew that at least one had been killed. Batman had told him that much. How many more would die at the hands of The Joker?

I can hear the hiss of the two ton test line spiraling around the flagpole and the satisfying klank of the 'rang that anchors the line. I've done this swing a thousand times. Police headquarters is a regular stop for Batman and me.

...and Batman's weight will not be on the outside of this pole. And there will be plenty of ice coating it. My swing is instinctive, but my swing was always with Batman on the outside of the pole. I'm going to fall.

I hear my rope sliding off the end of the pole. There's a big brass knob at the end of the horizontal flagpole, so if the line doesn't unravel...

It unravels. I hear the ssshhhh-kkng! of the line losing all purchase on anything whatsoever. I'm freefalling into an alley. Luckily, I'm only about twenty feet off the ground. I've taken jumps from this height and higher before, but I always had time to prepare for it, and I was never coming in at such a weird angle. My mind is racing trying to figure out how to land so I will be in the least amount of pain possible.

I can roll with it.

My right foot hits the ground and my knee gives out. I fall to the right -- my angle was way too wide on that swing. I'm falling too fast to slow myself down with my hands. My right hip and shoulder take a majority of the impact. I fling out my left arm and leg to try to stop the tumble I know is coming, but I've got too much velocity. My arm and leg don't slow me down at all. But a brick wall stops me quite nicely.

I'm not too dizzy, I only rolled two and a half times. I pull myself up into a sitting position and shake my head to clear it.

"Uhhhhhh..." pressing my hand against my forehead seems to stop the spinning sensation. My cape is all hanging in front of my right shoulder. I toss it over my shoulders again and try to assess the damage.

Whoa, I came real close to crashing into the sharp metal corner of this dumpster.

My right hip and shoulder are throbbing a little. I'm going to have bruises tomorrow. No other pain I can't walk off. I'll have to check the gadgets in my right shoulder compartments to make sure I didn't break anything. Great, my communicator is in there. The right knee of my pants is ripped, and my knee is skinned and bleeding. It stings like you wouldn't believe. Weird how the smallest wounds can hurt so much. Man, it's been years since I've skinned my knees. I think the last time was when I fell off my bike and Mom...

Let's not think about Mom.

I stand and dust myself off. I'm a little wet and a lot cold, but no one was around to see that. Thank God. I think I'll go around the back of the building, so I don't have to walk on the street looking like I've been dragged from a dumpster. Another inch and I would have been. Not that there's a soul out there.

Alfred's waiting in the next alley. The sight of the red van is comforting. I'm dying for someplace warm and dry and with locks on the doors. The idea that The Joker is loose in Gotham with a vendetta against Batman is making me a little nervous, especially alone and in this costume. Okay, now I'm feeling just a bit like a coward. I'll deal with the Joker later when I have a plan. I climb into the van and Alfred turns the headlights on.

"I trust everything is in order? You are ready to go home?"

"Nothing's in order, Alfie. The Batsignal was lit."

"Indeed. I saw. But if you are here and not out there..."

"There's been an escape at Arkham. It's bad."

"Whom?"

I know what he's going to say. He's going to say My word! "It's The Joker."

"My word!"

At any other time, I would be mildly amused by Alfred's predictability. But right now I'm too worried.

"The Joker!" I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I wish I had long sleeves on this costume. Wet Teflon against bare skin is the worst. "I'm not ready for this, Alfred! I haven't been at this long enough to go against a heavy like that on my own!"

Alfred is trying to keep his worry from showing. "Chin up, Master Robin. Just because that madman is abroad again doesn't necessarily mean he's coming to Gotham to make trouble."

Of course it does. Where else would he go? Metropolis? Alfred's just trying to comfort me. "You don't really believe that, do you, Alfred?"

"Just trying to look on the bright side of things, young man."

"Well, let me panic a while first and get it over with, okay?" I just want to go home and pull the blankets over my head. In this situation, any other kid my age would tell his dad. My dad's in a coma. And wouldn't he keel over if he knew I was Robin. Any other kid might even confide in his mother. My mom's dead. I wonder what she thinks of the teenage vigilante gig. She even panicked when I told her I wanted to play baseball. And I don't even have Batman to run to. ...I'll face these problems tomorrow.

"Can we hit it, Alfie?"

"Of course, Master Robin," and he shifts the van into gear.

Well, at least I have Alfred.