Little Bird's Vengeance Part 3 Fighters
Steve Rogers was looking forward to meeting the mysterious little intruder. While he'd been at Tony's when the kid appeared in the living room and promptly collapsed, most of what he knew about Red Robin was from what Natasha and Clint had told him.
And that hadn't been much; the boy was not very good at sharing. He'd spent a lot of time asking about the world, the most powerful countries, the governments, who was at war with who. In exchange, he'd told them he was from a city called Gotham in New Jersey, probably somewhere near where Atlantic City was on their own planet. He'd told them he was a crime fighter, and had been for eight years. His definition of crime fighter came out as sort of like vigilante, only with a set of principles and a working relationship with the police. He'd explained how he worked with a large number of metahumans, who called themselves (and the media also called) superheroes. He was junior partner to another non-meta crime fighter, and co-led a team called the Teen Titans. He'd been going from the Titans' base in San Francisco to the Watchtower, the satellite base of a group called the Justice League (who sounded basically the same as the Avengers), to report to his boss. Instead, he'd ended up in Stark Tower, unconscious.
Steve stepped through the door to the prison chamber designed for the Hulk, rebuilt after Loki dropped Thor in the cage. They didn't think Red Robin was enough of a threat to merit the highest security cell, not now that they'd talked to him, but they had decided against moving the boy. He was taking imprisonment quite well, had even said that he'd feel a little insulted if they didn't consider him enough of a threat to lock up. But Natasha also said it was hard to tell when he was joking, and when he was being serious.
Right now, the kid was sitting back on the bench, his leg up and reading a newspaper. He'd already looked up, hearing the footsteps, and started folding the paper. "Hey," he said. "Have I seen you before?" He stood up, tossing the paper onto a small pile of others.
"I was there when you appeared in our world," Steve replied.
Red Robin cocked his head, pursing his lips. "Captain America?" he asked.
"How do you know?"
"Aside from how you just confirmed it?" He smirked. "I appeared in the Avengers' Headquarters. Therefore, you are most likely one of the Avengers. The Avengers are Iron Man, aka Tony Stark, who is not you; Thor the Norse God, who I'm guessing would have a Scandinavian accent, or at least his hammer; Hulk, the mutated form of Bruce Banner, who I doubt has special forces muscles; Black Widow and Hawkeye, who I think are Agents Romanov and Barton; and Captain America, the world's first super-soldier, a relic of the Second World War; and you seem to prefer a rather old fashioned style of dress. No offence."
Steve just stared at him. "How old are you again?"
The kid was still smirking. "Age hasn't got anything to do with it. I figured out one of the best kept secrets in the world when I was eight."
"Oh yeah?" Kid had dropped his guard at last; excellent. "What was that secret?"
Red Robin looked at him. "I can't tell you, it's a secret," he said slowly. "Besides, it wouldn't mean anything to you. You're not very good at interrogation, are you?"
"I just want to talk," Steve told him. He pulled out the chair that usually stood just to the side of the door, and sat down.
The boy folded into the lotus position right in front of him. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked.
"You're a crime fighter?" He nodded. "What does that mean?"
"I fight crime. Is that a difficult concept?"
"Could you be a bit more specific? What does the average night of crime fighting consist of?"
"There is no average night. There are quiet nights, planned nights and busy night. A quiet night will just be six to eight hours on patrol, or until you call it a night, generally involve stopping a couple of muggings, maybe a carjacking or two, a break-and-entering. Small stuff, street crime. Generally no injuries, unless you're clumsy, or unlucky."
"Is that often?" The fact that he was even mentioning injuries was…worrying.
He shrugged. "Not any more, not really. Not for me anyway, unless I've been really busy. I'm told I have a tendency to overwork. That probably doesn't help. Planned nights normally involve stakeout and a raid, sometimes over several nights. Those are really low risk, because we get to pick our moment just right. That way, when we jump in, it's over quick and clean. Sometimes they don't even have time to draw their weapons. We'd generally do one of those if we get word of a smuggling ring, or drug dealing, or something like that. Busy nights usually involve an Arkham escapee." He grimaced.
"What's Arkham?"
"The Arkham Institute for the Criminally Insane. It's where the crazies go. And then break out again. Most dangerous revolving door in the country. Seriously mad place. The most dangerous inmates have cells waiting every time they escape. That's when we really pick up injuries. And get poisoned. Or drugged. Pretty much anything, really."
"Drugged and poisoned? You're kidding." He was joking, the kid had to be joking…
"I wish. I have moderate immunity to practically every common poison, limited immunity to half a dozen rarer things we get frequent exposure to, and resistance to far too many painkillers. And truth drugs, so I know the agents have been lacing my food. Tell them not to bother."
"They're drugging your food?"
"It's actually a very good idea. It just doesn't work very well on me." Red Robin shook his head. "You really are naïve, aren't you? Real boy scout."
"I have ideals. Is that a problem?"
He chuckled. "No. You remind me of a friend. He never really understood Gotham either. We - those of us defending Gotham - can't afford ideals, just principles. Gotham's got the highest crime rate in the country. It's been over fifteen years, and there's still a long, long way to go."
"Why do you keep going, then? If you're getting hurt, getting poisoned and drugged, and you're not making any progress, then what keeps you going?"
"Well, for one thing, we have more nights where next to nothing happens than bad nights. Usually no more than a couple of bruises over the course of a week." He looked up from where his masked eyes had been burning a hole in the floor. "And everything makes a difference. A life saved. A future mob boss stopped as a two-bit thug. A murderer locked up before he strikes again. I can't stop just because it's hard. I can make a difference, and I can't ignore that. I've spent nearly half my life doing this. It's too late for me to stop."
"Is that why your gear's so sophisticated?" Steve asked. "The report used words I've never seen before."
"Yup. Lots of gadgets and tools to get the job done, armour to keep me alive, you know."
"And that mask? Why did they let you keep it?"
Red Robin smirked. "Watch." He lifted a finger, and pressed it against the bridge of his nose. Immediately a spark flew out and shocked his finger. He grimaced and sucked the burnt finger. "Safety measure. They couldn't find the disarm switch."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Not for me. My gloves are insulated, and anyone who has any business taking it off me knows how. And the consequences of my identity getting out would not be pleasant."
Steve thought of Tony, perfectly happy with the whole world knowing he was flying around as Iron Man. Natasha and Clint didn't care; they were SHIELD agents anyway. Bruce had his…issues which kind of prevented any sort of double life. And Thor was, well, Thor. They didn't seem to suffer from only having the one side to show the world. "Why?" he asked the kid.
"I have a lot of enemies. If they knew who I was, they'd know how to find me. How to hurt me." Steve started to interrupt, to tell him that was sheer paranoia, but he cut him off. "Believe me. I've been through it once already." He sighed deeply. "And there're other reasons, but they're not mine to share."
"But your city doesn't even exist. What have you to fear now?"
The boy rose gracefully, and turned his back. "What have I to fear, Captain? My home doesn't exist. I most likely don't exist. I'm stranded far from home with no friends and no way back." He turned around again, the mask now in his hand and his clear sky-blue eyes staring back. "What have I to not fear?"
Steve could hear in the back of his mind the plaintive cries refugees displaced by the Nazi onslaught, but at the same time startlingly different. This boy was as determined to make a difference as he himself had been, and was being pushed so far. "Don't worry, Red Robin," he said. "I'll talk to some people; see if we can find a way for you to go home."
Red Robin nodded. "Thank you." He took a deep, steadying breath, and was about to speak again when a siren went off.
"Intruder alert," Steve interpreted, jumping up and pushing the chair away. "Sorry, but…"
"You need to help see 'em off." The kid smiled wryly. "Go."
Steve turned and started to run for the bridge, picking up his shield from beside the cell chamber door. Poor kid would have to wait.
AN: Wooh, new Avenger. And an attack. Speeding up a bit now, yes?
Oh, and I know Tim may seem a little OOC at the end there, but he has been locked up for about a week, and fed truth drugs, so I think it's reasonable that he's a little bit OOC. Yes? No?
Any feedback will be greatly appreciated. Likewise, if you have any questions, any little thing about this that are nagging you, feel free to ask in a review or PM.
One other thing: I know I recommended this story to the readers of my on-going Bat-piece Wayne's Boys. If you haven't read it, may I recommend it to you? It's mostly focused on the interactions between the younger Bats as they go through normal Gotham life. Family Ties is set in the "present", and Flashback is the collective backstory. One or other of them is updated every week, generally just before I update this one.
That's all for now, folks. See you next week.
Katara