Dick Grayson

The Batcave

Monday, November 19th, 2012

"Where do you think you're going?" Batman crosses his arms over his chest, turning around so he's blocking me from the Batmobile.

"I'm coming with you."

"I need a partner I can trust."

The words hurt like a knife through my chest but I clench my teeth together and push through it.

"You're not leaving me behind," I cross my arms over my chest to mirror him, nodding my head subtly at where my motorcycle is parked. Batman's eyes narrow, but he knows that even if he doesn't let me come with him, I'll follow anyways.

"Fine. But you will follow my instructions. Exactly."

Control freak. But instead of saying that and actually getting myself benched, I nod.

"Fine."

A few seconds and an underground tunnel exit later, the Batmobile is racing through Gotham's streets towards the city.

"What do you think is happening?" I ask. It's been a little while since the Batsignal has been lit, so it could really be anyone.

"Not sure," Batman answers shortly.

"Two-Face? Poison Ivy? Joker?"

"Not. Sure."

"You take point, I've got the henchmen and death traps?"

"Not the time, Robin!" Batman growls. His foot slams on the accelerator and the Batmobile lurches around a sharp turn.

"Sorry," I roll my eyes at the window.

The Batmobile pulls to a stop outside the police department, and the instant the roof pulls back, Batman and I jump out. It takes ten seconds for our grappling guns to bring us to the top of the police station, where Commissioner Gordon waits by the Batsignal.

He turns off the light when he sees us.

"That was fast," he comments, holding out a manila folder. Batman immediately flips through it while I crane my head to see, fighting back a growl of frustration when he makes no effort to show me the files.

"Kidnappings, six of them," Gordon tells me. His eyes flick back and forth between me and Batman. He knows us well enough that he can tell something's off, "Victims are between twenty-eight and sixty. Three work in a gallery in the Arts district, Laverna's. One restorer at the GMA. The other two are local artists."

"Dammit," Batman flicks a picture at me and my hand snaps up to catch it. It's a canvas on an easel, with a green question mark spray painted across the whole thing.

"Riddler."

Gordon nods, "Unfortunately. He's been quiet since his Arkham breakout. We were hoping he was planning to keep that going bit longer. My boys found a calling card at Laverna's and we've got analysts trying to figure out the puzzle now."

"Send me pictures of whatever you found. I'll start at the museum. Have forensics catalog every paint, brush and canvas brand on the workspace, along with any famous pieces that are in the vicinity."

Gordon turns to relay the instructions over the radio, and Batman and I don't waste any time. Batman fires his grappling gun across the street, where it catches on the second floor of an office high-rise. I let out a cackle and throw myself forwards into a free-fall. Just because he wants to take the long way down doesn't mean that I have to.

I lean forwards and tuck my legs in, executing a perfect double flip before extending my arms and catching onto a street lamp. When my palms close around the metal bar, I kick my legs forwards to gain momentum and I release the bar and flip backwards before landing softly on the pavement. The Batmobile is just around the corner and I slide into the passenger seat, pulling up a map of the Art district.

"Three flips was unnecessary," Batman appears in the seat next to me.

"It was efficient," I snap.

Batman pulls on the stick shift and the Batmobile roars into gear. We speed through the streets, rounding tight corners and dodging and weaving through traffic. Batman stops between a Brownstone and a Highrise right behind the Gotham Museum of Fine Art.

The sight of it makes my stomach twist. If Batman was telling the truth, Selina is going to start working there soon, like that fixes the fact that she's a criminal and a thief and a liar. There's no way in hell I'm going in there.

"I'll check out the first studio," I say, reaching for my grappling gun. It's only three blocks from here.

I climb out of the car and aim my grappling gun at the ledge of the Brownstone. Before I can fire it, Batman grabs my wrist.

"You need to be careful," he says, "You got lucky at the Ice Fortress, and I don't need you getting hurt because you're distracted."

"I've got this."

Batman stares at me and it's the longest minute of my life. But he doesn't say anything. He just nods and lets go of my wrist. With him, that's as much as I could hope for.

I shake my head and head for the studio.

Artists don't have a lot of money for security. The first studio has an alarm that hasn't been turned on in about two months. To be fair, it's not like there's a lot worth stealing in here. No offense to Bart Fisher, but his stuff just isn't worth anything close to a Klimt or a Monet. Not that it isn't well-made, but looking at the half-finished canvases lying around the space, he knows how good those are.

I glance at a few more canvases and my opinion shifts a little. His stuff is really good. Most of it looks like a cross between two different famous paintings.

There's a tall easel in the middle of the room closest to the window with a mostly-finished painting on it. The top half looks like an exact replica of Klimt's "Woman in Gold." The bottom half is done in pointillism, a representation of Seurrat's "A Sunday Afternoon."

It's a really cool painting. But is it a Riddler clue?

I look around the space, being careful not to touch or move anything. There are no question marks anywhere, so it's not going to be one of those glaringly obvious clues he leaves sometimes.

There's a mix of different paints on the stool next to the easel, so there's probably not a clue in the paint type. But something on the palate catches my eye. The board is covered in oil paints, half-dried but still a little wet. That means Bart was painting with them recently, within the last day or two.

But the painting on the easel is dry. Once I notice that, I realize I missed something even more obvious. The palate is full of reds and pinks and whites. The painting on the canvas is full of green and blue, with streaks of gold.

This wasn't the last painting he was working on. Someone switched them.

I stop to take pictures of everything before I (carefully) tear through the studio, looking around the canvases for the latest piece. It doesn't take too long to find it. It's leaning against the desk, a large canvas that looks like it was barely started. There's a lot of reds smeared across the top, but the rest of the canvas is blank.

Is that a clue?

I glance over the papers on top of the desk. They're all concept sketches for a piece. The one on top is split in half horizontally, with a sketch of a soup can on the bottom and a series of abstract shapes on the top half. The top of the page says, "Distracans," Which isn't a word, even for me.

Unless it's a portmanteau. In which case it's actually Distra-cans. The top painting is probably called something like "Distra."

The other papers also have some names on them, namely Warhol—which confirms the soup cans—and Garland, who I've never heard of, but Batman might have.

I snap more pictures and take another look around, but this is a good start.

The next studio is only eight blocks away, but when I'm halfway there, an electronics store alarm goes off. I switch direction mid-swing and land on the roof of the store. The Riddler can wait a little longer.

There's a guy in a ski mask by the front door with a machine gun. Talk about overkill. He's lookout, but a quick glance around shows that they don't have anyone guarding the backdoor. They even left their van unattended and unlocked in the small alley between the Best Buy and the Abercrombie, with all the doors open to make a quick getaway.

Amateurs.

First things first, I jump over the side of the roof and land on top of the van before sliding into the driver's seat.

"Really? You left the keys in?" I shake my head, "Guys, come on."

There's a jacket and another ski mask on the passengers' seat. I wonder what would happen if I put them on and pretended to be their getaway driver. Would they realize anything was up before we pulled up to the police station?

I pull the keys out of the transmission, grinning at the thought. Then I hop out of the car, lock the doors and stick the keys in my utility belt. I'll give them to the police later. In the meantime, that should be a nice surprise if any of them get away.

A quick head count gives me six armed idiots robbing an electronics store. They're all armed, which is annoying, mostly because it's complete overkill and that means these guys are mostly likely amateurs and nervous. And nervous idiots with guns are really dangerous. I could charge in, which would guarantee that they start shooting, destroy the store and probably hurt someone, or I could wait for them to try and make their getaway. They don't have any hostages, so there's not really a hurry. Besides, the less property damage that gets caused the better.

The wait is actually pretty short. After they finish loading up the duffel bags with stolen goods, the rush out of the store for the van. As soon as the last one is out of the store, I drop down behind them silently. I grab the first guy by the shoulder and throw him backwards before he can make a sound. Number two turns at the noise and I punch him in the face, knocking him out with one hit. That's about when they realize their getaway van is locked, and the four remaining guys turn around in time to see me hit guy number three in the chest with a side-kick, followed by an elbow strike to the temple.

"Shit! It's Robin!"

I hear a safety click and throw myself into the air, diving out of the way of the bullets.

"Dude stop!"

"You're gonna hit us!" another yells. They're too busy yelling that they don't notice the birdarang that hits the wall between them, letting off a cloud of knockout gas. Two identical thuds mean they're both out. I throw one more birdarang, knocking the gun out of number six's hand. He puts his fists up to fight, but I block a sloppy punch and answer with an uppercut. Number six drops. A duffle bag filled with stolen electronic falls to the ground, and I pull it off the guy's shoulder.

"Robin, status report," Batman's voice fills my ear.

"Checked out the first studio and stopped a robbery on the corner of East and 42nd. I have six dumb-and-dumbers and some stolen tech with me. They're taken care of. Do you need any help?"

"Negative. I'll call Gordon and have him send out a squad. Rendezvous on the GE building when you're done."

And just like that, I'm stuck waiting around for the cops to show up, while Batman tracks the Riddler down.

It's so unfair.

I wanted to check out the other studio before Batman and I meet up, but now I'm not going to have time to. That means he's checked out five places in the time it took me to do one. I climb up to the balcony and let my legs dangle over the store's sign. The robbers are still tied up, but someone has to keep an eye on them. I stare out over the city and huff. This part is so boring. I can't even put the stolen stuff back because the police have to catalog it as evidence.

While I'm waiting, I look back over the pictures from the first studio. Was the clue the finished painting on the easel or the red one by the desk? Or did I miss it entirely? I haven't seen anything in the news lately about a Klimt or a Seurat, but I know the GMA has some of both artists' works. But if the Riddler was planning to hit the museum for a painting, why did he kidnap a restorer? Better question, why did he kidnap so many artists?

I snort. Maybe he wanted a portrait done.

Finally, I can hear a cop car approaching. Perfect. I have enough time to get to the roof so I can make sure the robbers are taken care of without letting the police see me. It's not that I don't trust them, but I've gotten into some uncomfortable situations with the cops that I'd love to avoid. Like that one cop who really wanted to know if Batman slept upside down, like a real bat. That guy was seriously creepy, but he was persistent. I had to give him props for that, even if the rest of him was underwhelming.

I pull out my grappling gun and swing up to the next roof. I make my way three blocks north when I get a weird feeling, like someone's watching me. There's an alley between the apartment building I'm standing on and the shorter building next to it, so I swing down and drop onto the street. I pull out a birdarang and scan the alleyway. The streetlight flickers, illuminating the shadows for a second before burning out, and I see a flash of orange.

The next second, it's gone so I shake my head to clear it. There's no way Slade would actually be following me. Even if there was, he's still out of the country on whatever contract he took. But judging from the heavy footsteps, there's someone in the alley. They've probably seen me, so better to spring the trap on my own time.

I move forwards slowly, watching the shadows carefully. It's a dark night and it's impossible to make out anything beyond the side of the apartment complex. I step into the shadows, letting the darkness wrap around me. The lenses in my mask adjust quickly and I can make out the outline of a pair of trash cans. I walk towards the end where the two buildings converge, keeping my breathing quiet and my footsteps silent.

A strong wind knocks the cans against the wall and flares my cape out around me, but the sound helps mask the tap of my boots against the pavement. The wall is right in front of me and I reach out my free hand to judge the distance when my gloved fingers slide against the rough surface. I pull them away from the wall while I rub them together to gauge the slipperiness.

There's something wet on the wall. Thankfully, it smells like fresh spray-paint.

I transfer the birdarang to my other hand and pull out a flashlight from my utility belt. Right behind me, cloth ruffles and there's a soft whine, like something electronic charging. Instinct throws the birdarang and launches my grappling gun at the apartment. There's a grunt of pain followed by a burst of electricity. I shoot up into the air, shining my flashlight down into the alley as I do. The light glints off the henchman's eyes, making him flinch. The light also illuminates the modified taser in his hands.

I climb onto the fire escape just in time to dodge a trash can lid. Below me, the henchman is shouting threats and he reaches for one of the cans.

I shine the flashlight down towards the wall, looking at the Riddler-commissioned graffiti. It's the word "Distraction" in bright green and orange paint. I grin.

"Batman, come in. I found something."

Then I flip into the air, soaring over the trash can which crashes into the wall and lands with a clatter on the fire escape. I fall, feet connecting squarely with the henchman's chest. He hits the ground and in an instant, I have a pair of bat-cuffs around his wrists.

"Where?"

"East and 39th."

"Distraction," I say as soon as Batman lands on the roof next to me, "Fisher was working on a cross between a Warhol and a Garland, he called it Distracans. Assuming the '-cans' was for the soup, the Garland piece was called Distrac-something."

I send him the search through my holocomputer.

"I searched Garland Distraction and sure enough, the Gotham Fine Arts' Commission is hosting a showing with Garland's newest work as the centerpiece. The exhibit opens in two weeks. Quick check into the bios of the other hostages, Hadley Mason was in the same year as Garland at the Savannah College of Art. Two of the other hostages are professional restorers, one who specializes in Pop-art, cubism and post-modernism."

Batman doesn't say anything, but his glare deepens.

"Did you miss the part that Riddler is telling us he's distracting us?"

"Batman, that's the name of the painting. He kidnapped all those painters to make a copies and switch it for the real one!"

"That's one possibility," Batman says, "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Fine! What did you find?"

"An address," he holds out a business card.

"I thought we weren't to get ahead of ourselves. How do you know it's not just a distraction?"

"Read it."

There are black letters printed onto white cardstock with a logo of a P decorated to look like a sun. The words are complete gibberish.

"It's a cipher?"

"The symbol was used as an identification mark on Rookwood pottery, an American pottery company founded in 1880. The identifying marks left by each individual artist were known as ciphers. This one belonged to Edward Hurley, initials ETH. The first five letters on the card correspond to R,P,E,T and H. Solving the cipher gives an address in the arts district."

"You figured all that out on the way over here?"

"No. I had the card deciphered before you called."

"So I've just been slowing you down this whole time?"

Batman turns away.

"Let's go."

The address turns out to be an old art gallery. There's nothing in the display windows and it looks like it's been sitting empty for years. But there's a big green, "Le Gentilé Gardener" sign.

"Nigma, you ass," Batman mutters, glaring at the sign.

"What?"

"The Gardener Museum heist was the largest art theft in history. The value of the paintings is estimated at $10 million and none of the paintings have been recovered. Back in 2010, Robert Gentile was charged as an accomplice, but its likely he was the fence for thieves."

"So it's basically the Riddler's idea of a joke?"

"At least we can be sure he's stealing art."

"How are we going in?"

"Roof."

I pull out my grappling gun and follow him up the fire escape. There's a raised glass ceiling that looks down into the gallery below. It's a classic Riddler setup.

"Are we going straight down?" I point at the glass. Batman rubs his eyes with one hand, and I don't have to be a Martian to know that he's thinking about all the Riddler lairs he's had to smash through the roof of.

"No."

He pries open the maintenance hatch that leads down to the gallery. We climb down service stairs, and split up at the top floor. I sweep for traps while he combs the building for henchmen.

"No sign of anyone," I report after checking the last room on the floor.

"Take the second floor but stay vigilant. Riddler's men were here."

"You found the break room?" I ask. Batman grunts, which means 'yes and it's empty, so there's an unknown number of henchmen in the building along with the Riddler and I hate not knowing how many or where they are.'

I take the main staircase down to the second floor and the door opens onto a landing overlooking the main floor. There's a big curtain wrapped around the presentation stage, and the room looks like a dusty, abandoned ballroom. It's creepy. It gets even creepier when I open the first door. It's an office that's empty except for a desk and a bookshelf covered by a white sheet. There's an archway on the back wall that leads to another hallway, and I feel like I'm in an episode of Scooby-Doo when the hallway is lined with doors on either side.

"Anything?" I ask Batman over the comm.

"No."

"This place is super creepy. And spider-webby."

"Yes," Batman agrees.

The doors at the far end of the hall creaks open slowly and I tense, grabbing a birdarang. But nothing happens after. I let out a huff. There's no way I'm falling for that.

"If this is some weird version of hide-and-seek, I'm not playing," I announced loudly. After a few seconds of bone-chilling quiet, a loud tapping sound emerges from behind the door, echoing down the hallway. It's exactly the sound a carbon-fiber cane hitting painted drywall makes. My eyes basically roll themselves, "Are you seriously standing there tapping your cane on the wall? I can't even see you and I know you look like an idiot right now."

The tapping sound gets louder and I give up. I'm not walking into a trap. If he wants me to fall for it, he's going to have to do better.

"Batman, this building is a bust. He's not here. Let's try the next one," I say, not actually turning my comm on. The Riddler lives to outsmart Batman, but if I get in the way, that ruins all the fun for him. He's even easier to bait than the Joker. Sure enough, the door slides all the way open, revealing the Riddler leading casually on his question-mark cane. He's still standing inside the room, which means he could be a projection. I'm too far away to know for sure.

"Spoiling the fun already, bird brain?"

"You might not have a life, but I have better stuff to do than hide behind a door in the dark," I retort, "You didn't even make a tapping machine, did you? You were actually standing there with that stupid cane the whole time!"

"If games aren't doing it for you, then maybe you can handle a riddle," the Riddler grins, "What can you go over, under and through, but not when you want to?"

"No idea," I throw the birdarang to make sure he's not an elaborate hologram, and thankfully he bats it away with his cane. He's real.

"Not in the mood for riddles either?" he tsks condescendingly, "How about something a little more your speed? Catch me if you can."

Without another word, he disappears through the door. Dammit.

I activate my comm.

"Found the Riddler. Second floor, I'm in pursuit. I'm not exactly impressed so far."

"Be careful! Don't underestimate him."

I duck through the door and the room behind it is filled with sheets hanging from the ceiling, forming an impromptu maze. I push through the first sheet and follow the trail of fluttering sheets and echoing footsteps. There's nothing to see but walls of sheets, and I try not to but it's only a matter of time before I'm totally lost and disoriented. I keep up with him for a while, but then I reach the center of the maze and there's just an empty square and no sign of the Riddler. The sheet falls shut behind me.

Shit. This is why I didn't want to come in here.

"I lost him!" I tell Batman. The comm line fills with shouts suddenly, and then I get an earful of heavy breathing and fist meeting flesh.

"Found the henchmen," Batman reports evenly, "Meet me on the first floor. Watch your back."

"Any sign of the hostages?"

Grunt, followed by a loud crash.

"Not yet."

At least the Riddler and the henchmen being here means we're in the right place. For now, it's time to rip apart a sheet maze so I can get back to help Batman. I pull out my bo staff and swing at the nearest sheet to bring it down, but my staff hits a wall.

"Oh shit," I pull the sheet down and there's a wall behind it. The other three sheets come down to reveal the rest of the room. There's a door behind the fourth sheet, and it's locked, "You've got to be kidding me!"

I kick the door, but the hinges hold. Then there's a whirring sound, and the floor starts to slide. A hole in the floor opens, getting bigger and bigger as the floor retracts into the wall. I fire my grappling gun at the ceiling, bracing myself for when the floor disappears completely. The Riddler's riddle clicks. What can you go over, under or through (but not when you want to)? A booby-trap trapdoor.

"Batman…" I hit my comm. Through it, I hear grunting and gunfire and the sound of henchmen hitting the ground. Shit. He's busy.

"Batman!"

There's only a tiny bit of floor left, and then it slides away and I'm hanging over the pit from my grappling hook. I look down, an instead of total darkness or a piranha pit or chainsaws, I see the floor of the main gallery.

Do I risk it?

"Robin, come in. What's your situation?"

"Just hanging out," I say, trying to decide if the drop is a trap or not, "Literally. Locked room, hole in the floor leads to the main gallery. Do I drop?"

After a pause, Batman says, "I have a visual. Be careful."

That's a yes then.

I press a button on the grappling gun and it slowly lowers me down, giving me a view into the gallery. Batman is standing on the far side of the room, and there's a stage with a green curtain in the center of the room. There's no sign of the unconscious henchmen, but from my vantage point I can see a pair of shoes sticking out of a doorway. He must have fought through a different hallway to get there. My grappling line hits the limit and I release it, dropping to the floor.

My feet hit and there's a loud click.

I look down. There's a green light coming from the floor tile I just landed on.

"Robin!" Batman shouts.

"Oh, you bird brain. I can't believe that actually worked!" the Riddler crows, stepping out from behind the curtain on the stage.

Batman pulls out a batarang and growls, "Enough with the games, Nigma. Let them go."

"Uh, uh, uh, Batsy. Unless you want your little sidekick to go kaboom!"

Batman looks over at me, trying to determine the firepower behind the explosive.

"That's right. He steps off that panel…," he snaps his fingers, "Or, you know, if you try and stop me. Now, since you're here, why don't we have a little fun? You think you're clever, let's see how good you at picking the truth out of the lies."

He pulls a cord and the purple curtain pulls away to reveal a semi-circle of hostages tied to chairs. Behind each of them is a copy of Garland's Distraction.

"Six bombs, five fakes, four minutes, three guesses, two clues and one priceless painting right under your nose. Guess wrong, kiss a hostage goodbye. Get three wrong, they all go. Including the Boy Wonder. So, step right up, get as close as you want. But try and untie any of them, and all the bombs go off."

He steps back, and the trap-door on stage lowers, whisking him away to the basement where we can't follow.

"Timer starts now!" his voice calls over the intercom. Batman climbs up to the stage. As he tries to decipher the clues, I look around. There's got to be a way out.

Maybe there's a way to deactivate the pressure plate? What kind of bombs are they? If they're on an electronic trigger, maybe I can use an EMP pulse to knock out the connection.

But something just feels wrong. And not the fact that I'm standing on a pressure plate on top of an explosive.

If any of the bombs go off, there's no way the paintings will stay intact. And if Batman gets it right, the Riddler won't let him walk out with the painting. And if he gets it wrong, what does the Riddler get out of it? He already got the painting, why go through all this after he has what he wanted?

OH.

"Distraction!" I shout, "This is-"

"Uh-uh, Robin. You're not part of the game," the Riddler booms over the intercom, "But if you're feeling left out, I'll give you something that's more at your level. Ten seconds to tell me, what do you call a sidekick that's not less off?"

My face burns.

"More on."

"Bingo!"

"Keep him talking, Robin," Batman orders through the comm.

"You're the moron!" I shout up at the security cameras, "Stealing a painting only to blow it up? You could've just stolen it when we were investigating the missing artists. Instead, you're going to all this trouble just to get yourself dragged back to Arkham. Where you belong!"

"That's the problem with kids today. No respect for their elders."

"Calling yourself old? I don't even need to insult you, you're doing it for me," I taunt.

"Be ready to jump," Batman tells me.

"Of course, you missed a few things," I add, "Egotistical, insecure, smelly, self-inflated, and don't forget balding!"

The Riddler makes a tsking sound, "Well, I hope you enjoyed your little outburst, because it's the last thing you'll ever do. Looks like Batty's out of time, and he hasn't made up his mind. And if he doesn't pick, he forfeits. In five, four, three, two…"

"Now!" Batman yells. I throw myself into the air and shoot my grappling hook at the far wall. The line shoots me towards the wall while behind me, the pressure-plate explosive detonates. The explosion burns behind me, but my cape absorbs most of the heat and debris. I land on the ground and there's a massive chasm behind me. On the stage, Batman stands up. The hostages are huddled behind him, untied and looking awed.

"It's over Nigma," he presses a button on his gauntlet and Commissioner Gordon says, "Got your tip. My boys caught a squad of henchmen red-handed at the Garland exhibit. They're in custody and the paintings are all accounted for."

"Good try, Batman, but you're still too late. I'm long gone," the Riddler laughs, "I already got what I needed."

I hear cop cars outside and Batman pries open the trapdoor Nigma disappeared through.

"Wait here," he says.

"But I can-"

He's gone. The cops bust through the door, guns raised and ready to fight. They take in the smoking pillars and giant chasm where the bomb went off.

"He's gone," I tell the lead officer, "Batman's clearing the perimeter."

"Alright. Let's get these people out," he says, and instantly there's a bustle of motion. Pairs of cops lead the hostages out and ambulances are already waiting outside.

"We'll take it from here," Officer Blake says.

Her partner's lip twitches before he adds, "You guys are really something, you know?"

I try to smile, but it feels empty. Batman's the only reason any of us made it out of this mess. I just walked right into a trap.

"He's gone. Meet me at the Batmobile."

"I've got to go."

Batman hasn't said a word the entire drive back to the cave. My fingers are digging into the seat nervously. Now that the crisis is over, it hits me that Batman was going to bench me. He wasn't going to let Robin come out tonight, and the only reason he did is because I threatened to come no matter what. He must be pissed at me, even more than he already was about me and M'gann sneaking out to save the circus.

The Batmobile pulls to a stop inside the cave, but neither of us move.

I want to say something, to break the silence, to apologize for everything and just explain it all to him. That I've been training with Slade since I was eleven, that he's blackmailing me, that Jason and Tim and Steph and Cassie are all in danger if I don't do what he says, that I didn't tell him about the circus because Slade ordered me not to. But I know that Slade will find out if I do. He's always watching.

I want to tell him the truth more than anything I've ever wanted in my life, but if I do... I can't risk it. There's too much to lose. Batman might be pissed at me, but he won't lock me up or hurt me or go after the people I care about if I don't do what he wants.

So I don't say anything. I wait.

The silence weighs me down like an anchor.

"Robin," For the first time ever, Batman breaks the silence. My eyes raise up to meet his cowl, "What really happened at the circus?"

Batman watches me with the intensity of Superman's x-ray vision. It feels like he's looking all the way through me and I'm suddenly terrified that he's going to read my mind and figure out everything. I break his gaze, looking down at my boots. My throat feels tight and I know I have to give him an answer, but what do I say that won't give it all away?

I swallow the lump in my throat and mutter, "If you really want to know, ask Parasite."

Bruce Wayne

Metropolis Penitentiary

Tuesday, November 20th, 2012

"Well, if it isn't the Man of Steel himself. I'm flattered, I was beginning to think you didn't care about me," the Parasite rasped, an amused grin on his disfigured face.

"We have some questions about your recent trip abroad," Superman crossed his arms over his chest. Parasite raised an eyebrow.

"We?"

Batman strode into the interrogation room, dropping the stack of files onto the table. Parasite grinned, flexing his hands against the cuffs bolted to the tabletop.

"The Batman. We've never had the pleasure, have we?"

"What was Intergang's goal for the particle collider?" Batman demanded, sitting across from him at the table.

"To see if it would work. There's a lot of potential for blackmail, Batman. Give us a billion dollars or we'll obliterate the city off the face of the Earth, that sort of thing."

"The agents who stopped you, were they-"

"The agents? Don't insult me. As if those inflated monkeys at Interpol could ever get close."

"What, so you knocked yourself out and put an inhibitor collar on before the agents arrived?"

Parasite grinned, leaning forwards as he took the bait.

"You heroes really are clueless. You want information, I'll give it to you, but I want something in return."

"No," Batman snapped.

"That's a shame, then. I guess I don't know anything after all."

Batman growled and started to rise, but Superman interrupted him.

"What do you want?" he asked, putting a hand out like he was trying to hold Batman back. Superman was overdoing it like he always did, but that never stopped villains from falling for the good-cop bad-cop act.

"Privileges. Immediate enrollment into the rehabilitation program. I'm a changed man, I've seen the error of my ways and I'm ready to start rejoining society," Parasite grinned.

"Fine. I'll speak to the warden," Superman said, "If you tell us everything you know about whoever caught you."

"It's a deal," Parasite extended his cuffed hand as much as he could, "Shake on it?"

Both Batman and Superman glared at him and he laughed.

"What are you afraid of? With this inhibitor, I couldn't eat your powers if I bit you."

"Enough. Tell us what you know. Who stopped you in Geneva?" Batman growled.

"It was those circus brats," Parasite snapped, true anger coloring his voice, "The two of them turned up out of nowhere and cut a deal with Haly in Brussels. Got in my way at every turn."

"Circus performers? You expect us to believe that?" Batman repeated, letting incredulity leech out of his words. Parasite bristled.

"Oh, they weren't just any performers. A Martian and a science experiment, a freakshow crime-fighting duo."

"A Martian? There's only one Martian on the planet," Superman lied, faking surprise.

"Guess again. Sneaky little blonde bitch but her powers, now those I wouldn't mind borrowing again."

"She can't be a Martian. We'd know if there was another one on Earth."

"Please, the taste of a Martian is unmistakable. I'm sure the Manhunter will be thrilled to know he's not alone on this rock."

"And the other one?" Batman asked, keeping his voice steady through sheer force of will that would impress even a Green Lantern.

"He's definitely human, or at least human plus."

"What do you mean?"

"Accelerated healing, boosted strength, endurance, the acrobatics, and some magnificently honed combat skills, all with an unmistakable laboratory-synthesized aftertaste. The perfect human weapon. Someone put a lot of work into making him."

The words hit like a mallet to the chest. Batman couldn't breathe. Parasite had to be lying. He couldn't be talking about Dick. Dick didn't have any powers, he wasn't a lab experiment or a weapon or…

But wouldn't that make sense? If Dick had started to develop powers, that did explain his strange behaviors. All the tells that just didn't add up, the hesitation, the obvious signs of guilt and worry.

"If you want to track them down, you're going to have to hurry. Those two are running from something, and they're crafty little bastards. I'm sure they're long gone by now."

Parasite didn't know anything, he was just guessing and making assumptions. Maybe Dick and M'gann lied to him, fed him false information on the mission to keep their covers secure. But the idea that Dick had developed powers, that there was an explanation (a really unexpected one) for all the strange behaviors, that needed further investigation. He had to know more.

But Dick wouldn't give him any answers. He'd tried that, and it ended in one shouting match after another. Would he have talked to Barbara or any of his teammates? If he did, would there be a record of it on his phone?

As soon as he'd had the thought, Batman frowned. Dick was on thin ice, but he and Miss Martian successfully apprehended a dangerous criminal, saved an entire city from complete destruction, and he'd been on his best behavior since then. Going through his phone or his laptop would be a violation of the trust that was still left between them.

There was a better way to find out what was going on with Dick.

AN: Actions have consequences, even if Dick has managed to scrape by another close call. But if he really out of the woods yet? Batman is chasing a trail, and even if his theory is wrong, he's actively looking to find the truth.

It looks like we're about to find out how far Dick is willing to go to keep his secret hidden.