Thanks for the 1000 views! Any advice or critique, anything at all, is accepted! Sorry for the long update time, I was having a bad case of writer's block, but now I can't wait to write more
Chapter 13: The Sensation of 1990!
Brentwood Academy, Uptown Gotham, Two Twenty-Nine PM, January 1990
It was Friday, and the end of the week marked the newest of beginnings.
The boys of the school were all excited to get out, prepared to run off to their rides and homes, ready for another relaxing weekend after the start of the new semester. Dick Grayson, however, was probably the most excited to get out. His last period was library, a class designed to encourage reading, something that Dick rarely did, although he could read very well. He had it once a week, this being his first, and was ready to read one short novel in class, and take one out for the weekend, his reading speed being over 500 WPM.
As it turned out, Dick couldn't even concentrate for a page.
He was brimming with anticipation for the weekend. This wasn't abnormal, but Dick was far more excited than any other boy in the school, and he was more justified. This night being a non-school night, Bruce would finally take the boy out on patrol as Robin- and he couldn't wait.
After twenty minutes of pacing around the tight, low-ceilinged library (annoying several classmates), he eventually settled on a tall, wide book whose title stuck out to him- A Complete History of the Justice Society of America. On the cover were an assortment of heroes- The Flash, Green Lantern, Wildcat, Hourman, and more. Dick flipped through this, looking at collections of news reports of the JSA detailing their adventures through their decade of activity and celebrity.
This will be me one day, though Dick, smiling ebulliently.
He read the entire book in class, but still checked it out.
Three PM
Alfred was always on time, impeccably. Dick knew this, and, to get to him amain, he broke perhaps all of the rules of the school and jumped out of the second story window. He rolled on the grass elegantly, getting grass stains on his khaki school pants, ran straight across the ground, and, after getting a few hundred feet from the school building, he thrust himself onto one of the old trees, using one of it's lower, sturdier branches to jump onto the tall brick wall surrounding the school, which he soon jumped off, landing on more soft grass, and running down to the deep blue, nearly black, Rolls Royce Alfred always drove.
"Get out of the line Alfred, we're going home!" Dick said, getting cocky, as he did whenever he was excited.
"Why, Master Richard! I heard the bell ring not a minute ago! You better not have skipped school for even a moment." Alfred replied firmly.
"Relax Afred," Dick said. Now that he calmed down, he let himself pant. And he did so a lot, "I ran across the yard, and had my books ready already. I even have the grass stains to show for it!"
Dick started to move his foot up, but Alfred stopped him. "No, no sir, I'd rather not look at stained clothing," he said clearly, "Let's take you home now, with haste."
Wayne Manor, Kane County, Three Forty-Nine PM
Dick dropped his backpack at the front door, he didn't have to do homework until Sunday evening. He then ran straight to the grandfather clock, rotated the hands properly, and flipped a small, disguised switch in the middle. It popped open, leading Dick through the drywall, down the tight staircase, and into the cave. Dick soon got to practicing, something he'd been doing all week. He was, of course, always practicing at the circus too, as that was very important.
This thought of the circus, however, brought Dick down. In recent weeks, the pain had lessened severely, but some days he was far worse than others. When he was sad or happy it'd go off- the average days were the most comfortable. Dick felt the usual emotions, of loss and fear and bitterness, and of anger for letting himself be happy, only for it to be torn down so quickly. He sat at the chair to the Bat computer, but not crying. That was new, and a welcome surprise. Then, he promised he'd never so again.
After that, he got up, committed to optimism, and did a series of cartwheels over to the training wing of the cave. It was funny, thinking about the circus hurt, but doing things like he did- such as with the cartwheels- made him feel better. Perhaps he was more of a doer than a thinker- he only hoped that he could do as much good as he could. That would make up for their deaths.
Of course, despite having inner conflict over the matter, he still considered killing Zucco.
His mind, however, wasn't wrapped up in revenge. Small parts were, but, with the expectation of him joining Batman's crusade, he firmly decided that he'd make his parents proud by the delivery of justice, albeit with some lectures of Alfred on what driveless revenge did to the teenaged Bruce Wayne.
Dick sat in the dim light of the Batcave, listening to the faint, yet sharp squeals of the bats in the vast cave, kept away from the 'business' center of the cave by sonics unhearable by human ears. It was rhythmic, smooth, and, now, familiar. It calmed the anxious Dick, who's thoughts had been racing wildly. He was now focused on his need to be perfect when Bruce came home.
He got up, walked over to the closet/changing/supply room (Dick didn't know exactly what to call it) where the suits were stored, and put on his costume, minus the domino mask, and got out his utility belt. He packed it full, every device and gadget in its proper place, and walked out. He stretched for a bit (but not too much, as he knew that wasn't healthy for a workout), and then went to the computer to ready a voice command for a stopwatch. Silently, Dick walked over to the training space, opposite from the stairs down to the Batmobile's turnstile, adjusted his belt, and planted his feet.
"Set!" He yelled. The computer beeped, and the trial had begun.
Dick flung batarangs and sticky bombs at the targets, adding in a few flips and spins for style, and finished fine on his feet.
"Stop!" he yelled. The computer beeped again, showing his time.
00:11
Eleven Seconds! Eleven! Without so much as a stumble or fumble! No way Bruce would say no now!
Dick stood up straight, and, to his slight surprise, laughed. It was a healthy, full laugh, one that made him feel light. Dick basked in triumph.
Five Forty-Nine PM
"Hello, Alfred", greeted Bruce in his usual manner, "How are you today?" he asked as the sound of the garage door closing went on behind him.
"My day has been quite well, Master Bruce. Young Master Richard has spent the entire day downstairs."
"In the wine cellar?" said Bruce.
If Alfred was taken aback, he didn't show it. In this time, after Bruce got home and before he went on patrol, the butler was the only person, until recently, to know Bruce's true personality- however, that true Bruce still wouldn't tell a joke. Perhaps the boy had rubbed off on him. Nevertheless, Alfred replied, "No, Master Bruce, in the cave. He was very adamant about how his homework could be done on Sunday."
"Well, let's hope he didn't tire himself out too much," said Bruce pleasantly.
Alfred still didn't show it, but he sure was taken aback.
When the two men got down to the cave, Dick, to their surprise, wasn't there.
"Master Richard?" Called out Alfred, his voice echoing throughout the cave.
Bruce said nothing, his ears and eyes perking up at each and every noise. Soon, he heard a woosh sound, but, with seemingly superb reflexes, turned around, grabbed a pair of green-clad arms, and swung the boy onto the ground.
"C'mon!" exclaimed Dick, fidgeting, as Bruce still wouldn't release him. He was dressed in his full Robin costume. "I almost had you!"
"No," Bruce stood up, brushing off his pants, "You didn't." He then walked away to get changed.
"I suppose I'll get some food while you wait," said Alfred, leaving Dick by himself. In his defense, the butler hadn't been a boy in decades, and especially not one faced with what Dick was. For now, the boy felt happy, but who knew when that'd change. He could soon get angry or sad, perhaps even for no reason. What if crimefighting scared him? What if he wasn't cut out for it? What if he wouldn't even be allowed out tonight?
Dick, alone in the cave, decided to make another oath there. He stood up straight and clenched his jaw, swearing to himself that tonight was it- he'd go out, and show people like Zucco that Dick Grayson, the fun kid loved by all who knew him, didn't die that night at the circus.
And thinking of Zucco stopped hurting for a bit.
"So, am I ready to go out yet?" asked Dick from in front of the dressing room door.
"Well, that depends on how well you can do," replied Bruce behind it.
"Then let's do it!"
Bruce had to chuckle at his enthusiasm (although the chuckle was entirely mental, Bruce may have made history with his joke earlier, but he didn't chuckle).
It seemed that the second Bruce stepped out of the changing room, Dick ran over to the training area, and began to show Bruce- now Batman- what Robin could do. He did phenomenally, especially compared to Monday's performance, but, be it nerves or exhaustion, Dick made it in 12 seconds, not his record of 11.
"Well, Batman? I've mastered every weapon in you- uh, in our arsenal, and-" he notice Batman had signed deeply, "what's wrong?" The caped man only turned around and shook his head. "What is it, Bruce? It's not like I'm not ready!" his voice became agitated.
"I don't know, Dick. That choice... was a lot easier on Monday. It's... probably too dangerous out there. Please- forget what I said. I'm sorry."
Dick's heart sank, his excitement plummeting, but his rage growing. Nothing this week but disappointment, "Yeah, well, if it wasn't dangerous I wouldn't want to help." He walked off, resisting the urge to stomp.
Batman heard his voice. It was clear, but not stunted in anyway. Dick wasn't just saying what he wanted to hear. He understood.
When Dick was halfway up the stairs to Wayne Manor, Bruce called out to him, "Stop!"
Dick stopped and turned around.
"You're right, Robin. You're right," Batman sighed even deeper, but then shrugged, an awkward movement with the heavy cape. He stood in front of the stairs to the turnstile and, arms raised adamantly, said, "What are you waiting for?"
Robin was in the Batmobile before Batman.
Miagani Point, Northwest of Gotham, Six Fifty-Eight PM
After several minutes of driving, Dick finally noticed that the two of them were not taking the path into Gotham City. In fact, they were running parallel to it, driving on a tall hillside road, miles away from the bright lights of the Gotham islands, shimmering brightly as they broke up the bleak, grimy wastes of the alleyways and As dark trees began to swallow up his view, Dick figured he'd stop admiring.
"Br-Batman, where are we going?" Asked the chipper boy.
As a sign looked overhead, obscured by darkness, Bruce, unrecognizable with his face so darkened, spoke, "Miagani Point, former neighborhood of Jervis Tetch."
"I got it. Let's go-" replied Robin, but instead, Batman drove past.
"We go on foot, the gate has cameras, and we don't want to be seen. " said he as he stopped the car. "The car-"
"Batmobile"
"Car"
"Batmobile"
"Say that again. Go ahead."
Robin was silent.
"Stays here."
It was a weird sight. Miagani Point was built back when Thomas and Martha Wayne were around, a project for Gotham's growing middle class, but, in all its years, the aged brick wall around the neighborhood had never been the subject of two capes vigilantes clambering over the featureless surface.
The pair hopped down, brushing off their costumes onto the snow.
"I think this'd be either with grapnels.." muttered Robin.
"No place to get a good grip," said Batman, matter-of-factly, "Now be quiet, it's after dark, but there still may be people outside."
As such, in a sight like nobody had seen- Batman with his eyes narrowed and his blue-grey cape draped over him, and Robin, with his hands dopily in front of him and his white eyes wide, walked down a suburban neighborhood for blocks on end. Despite vastly varying levels of experience, both were way out of their element. When he took up the cape and cowl, Bruce never thought he'd be ducking behind bushes when a car came by.
After several minutes of walking, the two came by a house, burnt to the ground, surrounded by a number of men in Black cars.
"Is that it?" Asked Robin in a hushed whisper.
Batman nodded silently. He ran crouched across the street, form draped by his cape. Robin followed suit, soon getting behind a set of bushes.
"Are they supposed to be here?" whispered Robin.
Batman shook his head, but asked, "What would you do in this situation?" so quietly his lips barely moved.
Robin thought for a second, eyeing the nine men, not wanting to be too rushed, nor too slow. "I'd scope it out first," he began looking at Batman for a look of approval or disapproval, but he maintained a poker face, "Next- well, I'd get the licenses plates down, then put tracers on their vehicles. Only then would I try and take them down."
Batman nodded, doing exactly that. He went out into the street, body held low and tight, cape disguising his form, going around their vehicles.
Meanwhile, Robin observed the men. When his boss came back, he asked, "Batman, did the men who were with Tetch when you fought him at the storage yards dressed like the men at the Christmas Ball?"
"Yes," Batman looked over at the men around the house, "but these aren't."
"So.. does Tetch want them here? Because they aren't his men, and that-"
"Quiet, Robin, use few words. But yes, you're correct in your questioning.
"So what do you think?" said Robin, trying to be concise.
"I don't know," said Batman, still looking at the men on the other side of the bushes. Then, he turned to his partner, "Let's find out."
Robin smiled.
Soon, Batman was on the opposite side of the house from Robin, who was waiting his signal. Soon, the Bat jumped out from the bushes, flipping into the lamplight, landing with his cape spread across the dead grass.
That was probably the signal.
"It's the goddamn Batman!" Yelled a thug. "Shoot the bastard!" yelled another.
At this moment, when their heads were turned, Robin shot a line at the lamppost, securing the top, and launching himself up. He thrust his feet forward, swinging them into the back of the head of a thug with a machine pistol. Robin pulled himself up, halting his forward momentum, changing it to vertical, and then, one second and ten feet later, he released the line, dropping his feet flat on the face of the helpless goon.
"What the hell?" nasally yelled a thug to the left of them. He backed up to the charred house and fired a few shots, but, nervous to hit his friend, gave Robin the opportunity to back flip over these shots. The boy produced batarangs from his utility belt, flinging them at the gun, plugging the barrel and injuring the man's hand. Robin ran up to him, punching him in the face.
"Why you-" he lunged at Robin, who rolled between his feet effortlessly, attaching glue bombs to the man's stomach. They detonated when he was down, stunning him, and trapping him in a hunchbacked position with adhesive glop on his torso.
"Don't worry," quipped Robin, kicking the man square in the jaw, "It'll wash off fine in a few hours- can't be said about your ugly face though!"
Two gunshots snapped Robin back into it. He turned around, and, seeing that Batman had already taken down five men, and was working on the last two, threw a batarang at one's back. It didn't stab him, but provided enough distraction for Batman to gut punch him real hard, knocking him at least down, but likely out.
"What the hell- what the hell?" asked the final thug as the Dynamic Duo approached him, "you employ kids now Batman, is that right?" He swung his pistol towards Robin, "and you? Who the hell are you?"
Robin shot a line at the thug's gun, knocking it out of his hand, and embedding it in the side of a car, "I'm the sensation of 1990!" exclaimed he, shooting his secondary line into another car, flicking the switches to keep the lines in place, pulling himself back, "I'm Robin-" he lifted up his feet, launching himself towards the thug's chest, knocking him down off the sidewalk onto the street with a thud- "THE BOY WONDER!"
Robin landed on top of the thug, zipping the lines back into their grapple guns, grinning ear to ear.
"What the hell!?" repeated the thug, "you don't scare me, kid! L-look at you, you're dressed in red and green tights! I-I"
"You sound pretty scared," mocked Robin, stepping on his hand.
"O-OW! That hurts, damn you!"
"And I just kicked your butt." Robin loomed over him on his left, and Batman at his right. He was definitely scared.
Batman looked like a shadow to the man, draped in his cape, standing in front of the pale yellow lamplight, obscuring it like a black hole, or a portal to hell. He lifted him up from the asphalt, "Why were you here?"
"N-no way, Bat! You ain't shit, you came here, all chummy with your little clown boy, and he's clearly human- so what are you? Your act don't work no more!"
Batman glared into the man's black eyes, "Your head is bleeding from when my chummy friend smacked it into the pavement. Now, do you want me to make it worse, or do you still think we're just an act."
"Fine," said the man, his tall, strong physique quivering before the Bat, "I'll talk." Robin simply stood by, beaming.
"Good," said Batman in his deep, commanding tone, "I want to know who you work for, and why you're here."
"S-sure. We work for Falcone's mob, but a guy who works for him sent us here. His name's Dodgson."
"Dodgson?"
"Yeah, he- uh, he works for the boss. But I don't know why he sent us here."
Batman threw the man against a black van, pulling out a photo, "It this Dodgson?"
"I- uh, no, I've never seen him."
"You're lying," said Batman bluntly. Before a response came, he pinched the thug's lower neck, pulling at a sensitive nerve. He gasped, and after a few seconds, collapsed. The Bat threw his cape around himself, and walked away.
"Uh, Batman, do you know Dodgson?" asked Robin as the tall, caped man walked past him.
"In a way," said Batman. The boy began to follow. "What can you tell my about that punk's response?"
"He was lying, obviously. You have a picture of Dodgson- can I see?"
Batman led his sidekick down the road past dark houses, "Do you know who wrote Alice in Wonderland?"
"Tetch's inspiration? It was Lewis Carroll, right?"
"Right- but that was a pen name." They turned the corner, a few blocks down from where the Batmobile was hidden behind the wall, "his real name was Charles Dodgson. Not unlike a certain Charles Lewis."
"Charles Lewis?" asked Robin, "That was Tetch, ri-?"
Batman handed the photo to Robin. It showed Tetch.