Chapter Ten: Winter Wonderland

Wayne Manor, Kane County, Five Forty PM, December 22, 1989

Bruce tied his tie and cuffed his cuffs and clasped his clasps. He was ready, in a pressed black tuxedo with subtle gold- albeit fake gold, as Bruce wasn't that pretentious- ornaments, which he added himself.

He walked out of the room, chomping on a mint although he had already brushed his teeth. To his surprise, and chagrin, Dick was standing there. He looked like he was in a mood. Again.

"Dick- how are you? You look.. well," Bruce said as he looked at the boy. He wore grey sweatpants, which didn't match with his white golf shirt.

"So, you're going to this Ball. And you didn't bring me. Or tell me."

"Well, no, Dick. It's not an event for children. But-" he seemed to have a hard time saying this, "I'm sorry for not telling you. But don't be upset. Christmas is soon, and that- well that's always wonderful." Bruce remembered how, even in his darkest times, Alfred really could make the best Christmas dinner ever. The butler deserved higher praise, really.

"It's fine, Bruce. Just- tell me one thing. Will Zucco be there?" asked Dick, crossing his arms.

Bruce sighed, "Yes, he will probably be there."

"And what are you going to do about it?" growled Dick.

"Nothing tonight. But I promise, on my parent's graves, that I will stop him."

Dick lowered his arms and said, "Enjoy your party, Bruce."

The Olympus Building, Downtown Gotham, Six-Thirty PM

Bruce Wayne emerged from his car in his square-faced, even squarer-jawed grandeur, hair slicked back without looking overdone, simple black tux hugging him tight. He closed the back door to the car, and went to speak to Alfred.

"Make sure Dick's in bed by nine, and please try to get him to admit what he wants for Christmas?"

Alfred chuckled at this. Bruce wasn't at all the concerned parent type, but it was relaxing to know the man who dressed as a bat was still mostly sane. "Will do, sir."

Bruce turned around to the hordes of press surrounding the ballroom steps, cut into marble just as every building owned by Maximilian Zeus- a man who many, even Bruce, the world's greatest detective, were sure had been using a fake name all this time- was.

The name Zeus, however, fit. It was god-like, with a tall look melding neoclassical and art deco, combined with the moodiness of Pinkey's architecture. above the tall doors, from which came a gold light that surrounded the building, was a black granite lightning bolt. Draped across it was 'WELCOME'.

The Gotham City Servant's Christmas Ball, often called simply the policeman's ball, was an annual celebration by and for the upper class of Gotham, with many police officers and firemen being invited for good press. Bruce had attended for the past two years, but never agreed with it, especially because it was the most lavish gathering of the city's most corrupt of any given year.

Not long after Bruce got out of his Rolls Royce, it was parked at a red light, surrounded by hordes of equally expensive cars in the ghastly canyon between Gothic monoliths. Cars surrounded it, all dangerously close together, but, despite how the rest of the city seemed to try to kill you at every opening, no matter how unsafe their habits, Gotham drivers were famous for how rarely they got into accidents. Perhaps the rot of the city toughened them up. It was for this reason that nobody was worried when a large, tall delivery truck stopped about two feet away from the incredibly expensive car Alfred was driving. As their three lanes were stopped at the light, the trunk to said expensive Rolls Royce was popped, a subtle detain nobody had noticed. Out of the thin opening fell, or rather poured, the lissome figure of Dick Grayson.

The eleven year-old boy was wearing one of his old circus costumes, a deep green one with a yellow breast, with an added red and black leather jacket and winter gloves he found in the manor. In his left pocket he had a thick grapple line and hook, in his right, he had a file. The stowaway stood up, feeling the melted slush on the street under his thin tights. He crouched to make sure Alfred didn't see him, and popped the trunk back into place. He was ready to roll- or so he thought.

Then the light turned green.

With dangerous efficiency, the large truck accelerated at the exact same time Alfred did, and Dick faced his first brush with death.

He dropped to the ground, refusing to panic. He was in push-up position, with only his fingertips and toes touching the ground, as he didn't want to get wet. It also provided a good warm up for his muscles, which he needed considering what he planned to do. He held the position for nearly a minute until the he saw the reflection of the light turn yellow. He shifted to the side, and when it turned red, a car stopped directly above him. My some miracle, nobody at all had seen him.

Dick clumsily moved, one limb at a time, out from under the car. Once he had his left leg out, he put the whole sole of his foot firmly on the ground and pulled himself out. He moved smoothly, got out, and stood up with plenty of time to spare. Turning left, he went through a single lane of traffic, the small boy's presence confusing a few drivers, but he didn't interrupt traffic or have any authorities called on him.

When he reached the sidewalk, he stood up at his full height of Four-foot-eight. He kicked off the egde-of-road slush from his feet, now wet and cold. But he decided to play it tough, as he had a long road ahead. He looked up at his foe, impressed.

He knew he'd never get in by the brightly lit, scarlet staired, tinsel covered front entrance, so if he was to break into the party and confront Zucco, he'd have to climb and find an entrance- one that, if he was really lucky, Batman would use. So first, he had to figure this out.

The Olympus Building was a newer addition to Gotham's Skyline, but it didn't look it. The 21-story building's limestone used looked old and worn, but noble. Judging by the fat Ionic Pillars surrounding the entrance and the replica of a Greek Temple atop it, this was the goal. Unfortunately, the heavy stylization made most of the outer walls seem nearly unscalable, but Dick was determined to climb them. He observed carefully. The front entrance was on the second story, and the first was a square, larger than the rest of the building, and the street level walls were made of white marble, which had many Greek gods and goddesses carved into its side.

Dick bent his knees and ran at the wall. A few feet from it, he jumped, landing his feet on a carving of Zeus' leg, with his gloved hands hanging on the god's arm. He climbed up it like a rockwall, only much, much faster, jetting himself up with Zeus' beard and some lightning bolts, before instinctually doing a cartwheel over the edge.

He stopped himself. This wasn't the focus. It wasn't the time to show off. He breathed deeply, and blinked for a full two seconds. When he opened his eyes, he looked around more. He was in what would be an outdoor cafe, but it was closed for the winter, or at least the night, its black metal chairs on top of the similarly made tables, covered in a cloudy layer of snow. Dick knew he'd make footprints, so he decided not to care as he carried on.

At the corner of the rest of the imposing building was an angualr pillar, which softened the corner out to a diagonal edge. About twenty feet up on this flat side was a flagpole. Dick wasn't sure if it was for an American or Greek flag, but all he really cared about was a good hook point.

Dick took out a wrapped up line from his pocket. Taking a bit of time to untangle it, he eventually managed to toss it up, the sharp weighted tip snagging around the pole. Dick held it tight and lifted his feet up. No give. He bounced up and down, but the pole stayed. He decided it was safe, and stated to pull himself up with the line.

He eventually got to the top of the rope, and, as he gathered his rope, the way down looked more intimidating than the way up. He sighed and kept going. He balanced on the pole and swung the line like a lasso. He let go, and it flew across the building, but falling short of his intended destination, the pole holding the welcome banner.

He was out of practice. It was time for a trial by fire. He inched up, getting himself to the ball end of the flagpole- the highest up, but also the least safe. He held his breath, spun the line, and tossed it with all the might his balancing act could muster. It cut through the air, and the weighted end wrapped around the banner's support pole, another 3 stories up.

It wasn't over yet. Dick wrapped his hands with the line, tight enough to be secure but not so tight as to injure him, and kicked off. He fell for a second, but only just. before the rope swung him over. He looked down, 50 feet bellow. Last time he had swung like this, this far up, was the night his parents died.

Once the rope steadied, he started to shimmy up it. He didn't count on the people looking at the banner noticing him. Damn! He should have. It wasn't something he could change now, though.

After getting all the way to the top, he once again walked out on the banner and peered down. 70 feet. And he really didn't like the look of all the people on their phones.

Cops, he thought, they're calling the cops. This high up, they can't tell I'm a child. I can use that to my advantage, though.

He took a deep breath and hopped down onto the support beams for a large lighting bolt that usually served as the logo for the building, whenever this banner wasn't obscuring it. About three-quarters of the way up the height was an air vent with a support beam a foot or so in front of it. He couldn't believe his luck, climbing down on the steel support beams like they were a normal jungle gym. He didn't look down, but he wouldn't have been bothered in the slightest if he did.

It took a bit of stretching, but Dick soon managed to reach over and take out the bottom screw of the circular air vent. He tried lifting it up.

Wait, this is stupid. I took out a screw. It's still metal, did I expect it to bend?

He grabbed both sides of it, digging under the vent cover with his gloved fingertips. He pulled it to the left, leaving it open for him. The boy stepped back and then flung himself towards the vent, flying into the circular pipe with a clang, followed by a creak from the shutting opening. Good, he thought, my weight knocked it back into place. Now they won't know where I've been since an adult can't fit in here!

He looked back. Let's just hope I can open it again. He crawled through the pipe, the hot air feeling good, but soon not so good on his thin-covered toes or inside his leather jacket. He didn't know how ventilation worked and really hope this lead somewhere. The only way to find out, of course, was to climb.

He eventually came across what looked like a fan room. It sucked him in, and, when he looked down the vent straight at it, it was a little harder to breathe. Thankfully, between he and it was a grate build into the shaft. Some wrappers and napkins clung to it. The air was cold, but Dick expected that. He was actually finding this rather exciting. He wished he hadn't gotten a haircut, as his hair was rather fun when it got windy.

Close to the inner grate sat an outer one. Dick took out his file and forced it open, sticking his head out from up top.

Clang

"Ow!"

In his excitement, he had forgotten to look up. Now he was half in a round ventilation shaft, his hand rubbing his head, which had just collided with a smaller pipe a foot or so above it. At least he hadn't hit the bolted part, but still.

No matter. He climbed out of the pipe and silently landed on the concrete floor. He walked up to the door and pressed his ear to it. Silence. The (in his mind) well-dressed acrobat opened it. Silence. He looked up and down the hall. Silence again. He fully stepped out, allowing for some noise as he closed the door, and took a deep breath.

It'll be fine, he thought, maybe I'll even have fun.

Fat chance.

The boy's brow furrowed as he stalked the hallway, eyes squinting and back hunched. He eventually found his way to a stairwell and followed the noise. No more silence.

At the 3rd floor, there was a door blocked by two men. They weren't security, judging by the fact that they lacked an earpiece and their suits weren't up to dress code.

Thugs in cheap suits. Dick decided to hate them, as they probably deserved. Dick dwelled on this, fists tightening. He could take them, he was sure of it. He had the element of surprise, and these were idiots, willing to do anything for any of the bad people here for a few bucks. But what would he do? They were both a foot taller than him, and probably weighed twice as much. He sat there, feeling useless, wallowing in anger and self-pity yet again.

But then an explosion was heard in the distance. Dick ran a dozen quick possibilities through his head, ranging from a fuse breaking (Dick didn't understand electronics) to the outbreak of nuclear war, but his attention was diverted when he saw the door unobstructed. Everyone else had clearly ran to see what it was as well.

Dick pushed open the door and ran, peering around people to see what was happening. The action was one the floor below him, on the ballroom, but the 3rd floor balconies had ample space for everyone. There seemed to be people coming in from a hole in the wall. They were wearing an assortment of masks, from ski ones to bunnies, but they all wore a bowler hat. A few had machine guns, some had bats, but most were unarmed.

"Ah!" Said the one in front, who wore an expensive tie and vest and wielded a shotgun. He continued in an airy, monotone voice "So you came to the Winter Wonderland! But this year, everything shall be wonderland! Let's decorate for it, shall we, party-goers?" He whipped the shotgun in front, shooting a woman in the face. Dick could only watch as her brains splattered, painting the white ballroom floor.

"Falcone! Wayne! Bertenelli! Kane! Maroni! Zucco!" Dick's eyes widened at that one, and he began to scan the room. "Elliot! Cobblepot! Crowne! Thorne! You are all invited." The goons began to open the winter coats, pulling guns out of pockets, hurling them at the guests.

"Put the shotgun down, now!" yelled a security guard, commanding a sizable force of 15 men surrounding the intruders.

The leader paid no attention, and said, finally with some emotion, "You have your paintbrushes. Get to decorating!" He then drew the shotgun to his chin and shot himself. His hat flew off

Dick paid no heed to this as security swarmed the dead man's body, for he saw Zucco. The boy ran around the floor until coming across a marble staircase, filled with fleeing party-goers. He jumped over them, pushing of the walls and banisters with ease. The mob boss was still in sight, and Dick sprinted after him.

Dick followed them through the kitchens and out the back of the building. He could already see the purplish flashing lights of police cars around the corner to the alley when he opened the door.

For whatever reason, in the dirty gutter, in front of two of Zucco's men, lied a man with a bullet in his head. Zucco pointed to an older man and a middle-aged woman in the corner, huddled against a concrete shipping ramp under a brightly shining light. The boss lit a cigarette and told his men, "No witnesses, dammit! An' for chrissakes, don't use another gunshot, cops are right there!"

A thug pulled out spiked brass knuckles and cracked his wrists. Dick's blood boiled. He saw pieces of broken asphalt and old wine bottles. He could have easily done the old, fat bastard in, maybe taking a few of the goons with him. He could probably smash in their skulls or cut open their throats or poke out an eye or two. He could end them, right then and there, like he wanted.

But he didn't. He couldn't. He remembered the bat signal, he remembered his pain, and he remembered his parents as he printed across the concrete shipping catwalk so fast that it disturbed the moths hovering around the light he jumped under. He landed mere feet from the men- from Zucco- and stuck his arms out in front of the people.

"S-STOP!" he yelled, "NO MORE!"

Zucco stared a bit, then realized what this was, facepalming. "Damn kid's been watching to many news broadcasts from Metropolis. Be gentle with him, aight boys?"

The two thugs looked at each other, smiled, and cracked their knuckles. Again.

"That, seems redundant...," said Dick in a small voice, the gravity of his situation donning on him.

Whoosh.

A shadow fell over the already dark alleyway. The puddle's reflections vanished, even Zucco's cigarette went out. They all looked up. Looked at the unmistakable wings of a bat.

The Batman landed crouching between the two thugs. He burst up, punching each in the jaw. His left leg went around, tripping the right goon as Batman avoided the punch of the left one's brass-armored fist, grabbed his arm, and broke it clean at the elbow. He then did a flip, his legs first smashing the right one's nose in, and then finishing the flip by landing flat on the other's chest, leaving them both barely conscious. Dick was in awe.

Batman charged at the boss, his scalloped arm blades at his throat. "You're going to stop. Tonight," he growled angrily. The man collapsed, hyperventilating.

"Cops!" He gasped. "Officahs!" He howled. "It's the goddamn BATMAN!"

Batman ignored him, walking up to Dick.

"Come with me. Now."

Dick didn't ask questions.

The drive was long and frightening. Batman was a crazy driver. Eventually they started driving through empty forest streets outside the city.

"So, Batman- are you kidnapping me?"

No answer. Just another glare.

"Okay, can you at least tell me why you're doing this?" The eleven year-old didn't expect a response.

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"I-" Dick stammered, not exactly ready for this, "I wanted to- to really stick it to 'em. I wanted to hit them where it hurt!"

"So why didn't you touch them? You had the element of surprise." His voice got calmer. Dick was surprised.

"I- I wanted to show them that they can't do anything. They didn't! Those people are fine, and I was right! They're useless, and cowardly!"

"And do you really think you stopped anything?"

Dick paused. "I- I will! Their work didn't change anything! They didn't get any better because of my parents- and they never will! You have to understand that!"

Batman just looked straight forward unwaveringly. "I understand," he said, "more than anyone."

The car swerved off road. Dick screamed, but Batman stayed calm. They were going down a thin, worn, unpaved path through the woods. Eventually they got to a creek, which the car followed until it got to a waterfall.

"Uh- Batman? You know what you're doing, right?"

They drove right under it, now in a cave. The narrow path went on for miles, but, at their speed, it only took a minute or two to get to the cave's main body. The car's roof popped open and Batman hopped out. He walked over to a desk, only visible due to the lights around the turnstile where the car was parked.

"So, Dick, what do you want to do?"

"I-" He stammered again, thinking back to what happened in this past hour. "I want to stop Zucco. And show him that my parents weren't wrong. And that that's all he'll ever be."

"Good." Batman lit a candle and extended his hand. "Take it. Repeat after me."

Dick did.

"Do you, Richard John-"

"How do you-?"

"Grayson, swear that you will devote yourself to fighting crime and corruption in all forms, never to swerve from the path of righteousness."

"I- I, Richard John Grayson, swear to devote myself to fighting crime and corruption in all forms, and I will never swerve from the path of righteousness. I swear it!"

"Good," said Batman, slowly reaching his fingers under the face mask of his cowl, pulling it off to reveal, to Dick's astonishment, Bruce Wayne.

The boy's eyes widened.

"Time to get to work."

Gotham City, 22 December 1989

Jervis Tetch was gleefully watching the news feed when the phone rang.

"Hello there," he said.

"Mr. Dodgson, its Skeevers, I-"

"Yes, yes. I saw what happened," he said in his strained voice, always sounding both youthful and old, "call me in the morning next time, I know tonight was a disaster, but I promise, Mr. Falcone will be the only man to profit."

He hung up. The phone rang again.

"Hello there," he said.

"Mr. Lewis, Boss Zucco told me to call, we-"

"Yes, yes. I saw what happened..," he droned on, "speak to me in the morning to schedule a meeting. I know tonight was a disaster, but I promise, the only man to profit from this, will be Zucco."