Remember to review and give any advice you can. I'm gonna try to shorten the chapter lengths, if you want. Hope you enjoy March Hare

Chapter Fifteen: Who Protects the Protectors?

The Perigrinator's Club, Gotham Village, North Gotham, Nine Fourty-One PM, January 1990

As the police breached, Batman and Robin slipped away out of the plastic door to the kitchens, into the alleyway opposite to the one were the gunmens' vans were parked. As they stepped out, the quiet whispers of thankful but still shell-shocked civilians gave way abruptly to the flashing of red and blue police lights, their purple not as obnoxious as the clubs. Multiple news stations had vans and pretty reporters out to cover the story, something Batman instinctively wanted to avoid.

"Batman," said the boy as they turned around to walk down to where the Batmobile was, "I heard a thug say something about Lynns, what do you make of that?"

"Lynns is still in a cell at GCPD, awaiting trial in a solitary cell, but judging by the resources here, I doubt that breaking him out is out of their picture. Did you see what was in the van's passenger seat?"

"I- No, Batman?"

"You have much to learn, Robin," said the Bat pleasantly, "They were maps, maps of the GCPD and surrounding buildings. I didn't think too much of it then- my mistake- but with the mention of Lynns, now it's for sure."

"And what if this was Tetch's big endgame all along?"

"If it was, then his months of gaining influence, money, and territory were useless when all he needed was a book of matches and a few dozen mooks to take out two clubs. Even if it was, he won't just give up after we stopped him."

"Good thinking," mused the boy wonder, hoping to soon emulate the detective's thought process.

"Now stop right there," came a voice from behind them, at the entry to the alley. Robin turned in shock, not knowing who the voice belonged to, but Batman simply sighed and turned.

"Well, I figure it's time for you two to meet," he said, walking towards the man. Robin followed. "Lieutenant, meet my new partner, Robin," he continued, pausing as Robin caught up, finally getting a good look at his face- a mustached man with graying red hair and thick glasses, "And Robin, meet Lt. Jim Gordon, my go-to man on the police force."

"Working with kids now?" asked Gordon, not knowing what to say. He didn't seem happy.

"Helping kids, now. And I'm very selective. Robin is very highly trained."

"And I'm having a great time," said the boy, enthusiastically shaking the concerned man's hand.

"Helping them do what?"

"Helping them be better than I was. Than.. than I am," said Batman, not so much as looking at his sidekick.

Gordon took of his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, conflicted. It was entirely due to his influence that there wasn't a city-wide manhunt with shoot to kill orders for Batman (at least, there hadn't been since he took out Maroni, which, as Gordon would put it, "scared the living shit out of Loeb"). But here he was, with a damn ten ten year old! The Lieutenant didn't want to offend the vigilante who was slowly becoming his friend, but still felt horribly irresponsible.

"Kid," he asked, "do you really need this kinda life? This work isn't good for someone your age."

"I don't need anything, sir. But plenty of people do, I've known that since before I met- the, uh, opportunity to even became Robin," he replied, correcting himself, not wanting to confirm if he really was Batman's son or not, or even if he'd known him for that long.

The Lieutenant sighed, but put his glasses back on, "Fine, I'm not dying on this hill. Did you find anything, in there?"

"A thug said they should've waited to get Lynns. And not like they wanted to get him. Like they could and were going to."

"And Lynns is at GCPD- goddamn- uh, sorry kid- are they crazy enough to stage an assault on the police's own headquarters?"

"I don't know how crazy Tetch is."

"Mad," interjected Robin, "You know, like the Mad Hatter? With the talks of hats and tea parties and Wonderland.."

"Smart kid," breathed Gordon, licking his cold lips, "Call him that, it's not proper to call him Jervis Tetch when your link to his ID is tenuous at best."

"See, Batman? He's Mad Hatter, 100%. Mr. Gordon, I like you," the Lieutenant chuckled. "Can we call it the Batmobile now?"

"I'm not calling my car the Batmobile," Batman's uncharacteristic bickering, even in monotone, made Gordon stifle a laugh.

"Sir, I've brought the Batmobile around by remote, and I have a route to GCPD up and ready," came Alfred over the comm, causing Robin to crack up in laughter. Batman just shook his head.

Suddenly, a shout could be heard, "Batman! It's Batman!' Vicki Vale, a pretty young reporter for the Gotham Gazette, came running up to Batman and Robin.

"Now see what you've done?" said Gordon jokingly, "It's okay, you slip off, I'll keep 'em busy."

"Nope," grinned Robin, "Batmobile's this way, remember?" The Boy Wonder ran into the crowd to meet reporters.

Ezekiel Street, Burnley District, North Gotham, Nine Fourty-Nine PM

The cracked asphalt of Gotham's old streets (but not its oldest) rumbled under the Batmobile's tires.

"I know you love having fun," said Batman, "but that was not appropriate."

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Robin felt very small in the large seat.

"Show you're sorry by not doing that again, okay?"

"Okay, Batman," he said, remembering he was still technically in the field, "Just get the car there, fast."

Silence ensued. It wasn't awkward, but it was sure uncomfortable.

"Robin- if you want to, you can call it the Batmobile."

Dick was reassured by this. He wasn't a disappointment. He didn't know what to say, but he didn't have to- not if they were really a team.

Brubaker Building, Burnley , North Gotham, Ten Oh-Eight PM

March Hare had every last map of the GCPD HQ, surrounding buildings, and damned sewer system in front of her and her goons, sprawled out haphazardly on the door to the roof of the Brubaker Building, across the street from the front entrance of the monolith, standing proudly in spite of the corruption that filled it. How she hated that place.

She wouldn't have to hate it any more if Hatter's plan goes right. But Wonderland would have to wait, she was living in the now, and had to play her part with expert precision. And she would be precise.

"Mad as a March hare I may be, but I'm always precise," she whispered to the wall, brushing off her white frilly shirt and opulent gold stock tie, "I'm even pristine in my dress- oh, I should've introduced myself with my dress- the brown trenchcoat kind of ruins it, don't you think? All fancy and Victorian, and some downright sexy fishnets and white high heels- oh, I hope they aren't dirtied by the snow. But no matter! I may be a relevant part of the story eventually, or at least a recurring character," she stretched her back and arms, "But I hope the writer doesn't forget about me after this chapter. I hope he isn't the kind of chap who'd just ignore publishing the next part of his story for months on end."

"Uh- boss, are we going now?" Asked a thug, peaking his head into the stairwell.

"What? Oh, yes, of course. The beautiful woman began to walk up the single flight of stairs where she was monologuing. It was already warmer down there, but she couldn't just abandon her men out in the cold- she had to be with them, as a strong and wonderful leader." She said, fixing her blonde hair as she moved.

"Is she doing that thing where she addresses the audience again?" asked a thug.

"You mean being a fucking nut who thinks she's in a story book? Yeah," said another one crudely, smoking a cigarette.

"Now now," rang March Hare, coming up behind them, "We're in a children's story, we use appropriate language, right?:

"Right, March Harriet," responded the chorus.

"Wait, aren't we rated T for Teens?"

"Dude," the thug who checked on her bumped the smoking one's arm, "I thought she was gonna get pissed at you for not accepting that our life is a work of fiction. Last guy who called her insane she stabbed a dozen times, saying it was the author's fault, not hers."

"Christ, really?" asked the second thug, while the smoking one looked genuinely scarred.

"Yeah, she also said, as he bled out, that his death wasn't even a scene, and that the audience only knew about it because we'll talk about it later."

"Well, aren't we talking about it right now?" asked the second.

"Yeah, kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy," continued the smoking third, "you're bad at gossip."

The first shook his head, "Either way, she doesn't give a damn about us."

"Course not, even said that we aren't even named by the author, just called 'thug' with a short description," said the thug with the cigarette.

"Sounds like lazy writing."

"Yeah- agh, you know what, let's just go over the plan for breaking in. And remember boys, no mind controlled punks to back us up tonight. It's just you, your boys, and your guns. And this is the godda- uh, bander.. blasted.. police station! So be careful," he said, stepping on the old snow as they walked across the roof.

"You're just changing the subject."

GCPD HQ, Burnley, North Gotham, Ten Twenty PM

Young, tall, blond, and eager to please, Stan Kitch always looked good in his blue GCPD uniform, but the job which he had just gotten last month had taken its toll. He was tired, and had worked triple duty the whole week. Tonight, he was finally succumbing to the stereotype, and eating a dinner of coffee and donuts.

"Here you go, Stan 'ol boy," he chuckled to himself, alone on the blue couch in the grey-tiled employee's lounge on the station's seventh floor. He heard some thuds outside, but didn't pay them any heed. Some people were around him, but none he wanted to talk to. He'd rather just have his donuts.

He brought the glazed delight up to his chapped lips, when suddenly,

B O O M

Stan was thrown against the wall by the force of an explosion, nearly knocking him out, and definitely singing his eyebrows off. The couch was on its back, and his head was spinning. With another thud, a person landed in what used to be the middle of a carpet.

"Wh-what the hell," said Josie MacDonald, a short, fit black woman and another new officer, pulling out her service pistol, "You can't just break into the GCPD, you maniacs!"

March Hare flicked her bunny ears and whipped out her own pistol- a finely decorated revolver, "Oh, dear readers, you may not know, but I stole this pistol from Ronald Edwards himself, after we burned down his first hideway!"

"What?" asked Kitch, pulling his pistol too, "What the hell are our readers? And put your hands up!"

"Oh, you wouldn't understand, officer," she laughed as four armed men dropped in beside her. From the hole in the wall, it could be seen that the intruders had fired zip lines into the side of the buildings. To the shock of both her men and the two officers, she threw her revolver on the ground and put her hands up.

"I- Boss, what the hell are you doing?" snapped one of the gunmen, backing up in fear.

"Being smart, put 'em up too," said MacDonald with relief, flipping her black, braided hair.

"Oh, am I now?" laughed March Hare, "oh, but what these poor policemen don't know, half of my men got onto the roof ten minutes ago! The unfortunate officers have already lost!" she chuckled to herself.

"Uh- boss- I think they can hear you," questioned a gunman, but he too obeyed and put his rifle down.

MacDonald walked over slowly, darting her gun between the four intruders. Kitch followed close behind, stepping carefully of the damaged floor. Neither expected their night to go like this.

"Hear what?" asked McDonald, the business end of her pistol right at the bridge of the Hare's nose.

"Oh, oh!" screamed the Hare, nearly causing MacDonald to pull the trigger, "oh, our hour has hurried here, and it looks like your tea has taken a tumble, it's been spilled one floors!"

"Oh, shut the hell up, lunatic," grumbled MacDonald throatily. Kitch pulled out the cuffs.

"Foolish female, forgetting floors!" Raved the Hare, "Floors, not a fine floor, but a few floors? Five floors up, coming five floors down- finally, it's here!"

"What-" she and Kitch looked over their shoulders. They knew that the rec room was right under the cell maintenance area, a mostly off-limits area- but clearly someone had gotten in, and poured March Hare's 'tea' down a few floors. Bubbling acid was melting the ceiling, and forming a sinking pool in the floor.

While they had their backs turned, the Hare snatched back her revolver. While MacDonald was watching the floor tiles sink below, Kitch noticed Hare's quick action, and pushed MacDonald out of the way. Hare missed them both, and so both kept running, but Hare had more bullets in her cylinder. As the other men picked up their guns, the two officers ducked behind a smoldering couch, and carelessly shot at them several times. She was eerily casual.

Eight floors below, Batman and Robin exited the Batmobile.

"Holy.." muttered an onlooker, not even noticing the famous vigilante beside her.

"Holey building, Batman!" grinned Robin, "get it?"

"There could be people dead in there."

"Right. Shutting up now."

The two grappled up to the hole in the building, stepping lightly on the explosion-wrecked floor.

"Careful Robin," said Batman, "could be compromised." His sidekick simply nodded, and both wend in.

"Help- we need help."

The Dynamic Duo came over to find Kitch and MacDonald. Kitch's right shoulder was grazed, but his bleeding wasn't too bad. MacDonald, on the other hand, was shot right in the back, and was bleeding badly.

Batman looked behind him, seeing the acid-degraded floor, "What happened here?"

"Four punks broke in- leader was.. a woman in bunny ears.. pretended to surrender, but their friends are upstairs. Poured acid from the maintenance rooms. Shot Josie and I. I... think they know the blueprints. Went upstairs," breathed Kitch shallowly.

"It's okay, we'eve got you, Robin, grab her, I've got him," commanded Batman. The two carried the officers into the stairwell, attached their grapples, and rappelled down. They dropped them off at the first floor, where emergency medical was already there, and without stopping to explain or even get a thank you, shot back up.

"So, Batman, where is Lynns' holding cell?" asked Robin.

"Tenth floor," said Batman, walking up the stairs from floor eight, and then breaking into a jog. He could go up three stairs at once. Robin had to sprint.

When they got there, it was already chaos. Blood was on the floor- whoever it belonged to looked to have been dragged off already- alarms were going off, ceiling lights had been smashed, and all cells were, of course, open.

Batman looked up, and Robin immediately understood what he wanted, "Hey, I can help- boost me up!" Batman looked at him, somewhat confused, but did it, boosting his partner by interlocking his fingers, giving Robin a platform to spring up on. The boy flipped in the air, and managed to grab a pipe on the side of the stairs, two stories above. He pulled himself up for a quick glance, and then dropped down, and then again to where he started. "Nope, sorry Batman, we've got a full-scale prison riot on our hands."

With a simple nod, Batman motioned them inside. They walked through the hallways, the only people visible being unconscious (well, hopefully unconscious) officers.

"How did you know what I wanted?" asked Batman in a whisper.

"Lucky guess. We're a good team." Robin replied. Batman nodded, almost smiling, but then held Robin back, and pointed to his cowled ear. Beyond them, voices could be heard, talking about.. freedom.. revenge.. wonders.. guns.

Guns clicked, and Batman looked at Robin and Robin looked at Batman. Batman climbed into the ceiling, which was missing a few tiles, while Robin went into the ventilation.

Three guards passed, all of which got an electric pellet to the collar. Before they could turn the next corner, they were unconscious, a small scorch mark on each of their necks.

"Batman- they have guns- and not ones used in a police station."

"I know. They brought their own in- question is, how many?" Batman grabbed their guns, "Robin, keep watch," as the boy went up into the ceiling, his teacher examined the guns, cataloging every thought on them that crossed his mind, New guns- polished and clean. Seem to be.. oil-processed carbon fibers, this years model... oh, they still have ordered stickers. Batch.. numbers here. 10 of 25. Twenty five guns ordered? And that's just of this make and model- who knows how many handguns, or shotguns, or grenade launchers.. He jumped onto a pipe in the ceiling, pulling himself up to his partner. "It's gonna be a long night, Robin."

A thug walked down the GCPD's tall, grandiose Bullpen. Though he may have been wearing an inmate's uniform, he was running this damn place. He felt pretty good- that is, until he got his teeth kicked in by Batman's black boot.

"One thug down, like five or six to go," grinned Robin, speaking in a hushed whisper, then running into the shadows, cape behind him. He knew that his bright red colors wouldn't blend in to the drab shades of dark gray that went throughout the building, and he was certain that these thugs took hostages. It was no time to have fun.

His first order of business was to kill the lights. While some were out- shot at, and hanging from the ceiling with sparks. While Batman could probably operate in the dark corners of the room, Robin could not, and as such, he had to get rid of all remaining lights. That was easy enough, with a bit of work and intelligence.

He found an untripped alarm, a gold mine for him. He smashed it and looked at the ceiling- the first alarms to turn on were to the left of the room. So that's where the circuits are wired from.

"Hey, what the hell is that! Find out!" Yelled one of the gunmen, coughing on his cigarette. Robin ignored him, heading to the wall.

"No, don't!" came another, "This is a big-ass building, and who knows where that was tripped. The outside is swarming with cops, and Batman's probably dealing with all the shit upstairs! So don't scatter yourselves. We're smarter than him."

"Smarter than Batman, huh?" chuckled the red-clad vigilante, "I don't think you're even smarter than me- now, where were we?" he looked at the wall where he determined the light circuits were based, "Break into a wall panel? Snip some wires? Detonate an electrical charge?" He shuffled down the wall, his fingertips against it. "Ah-ha!" he whispered, and executed his plan to turn off the lights, flicking a light switch. Click.

"Creative problem solving, Dick Grayson. A light switch," he turned on his domino mask's night vision lenses and cracked his neck, "You're a rare genius."

The rush of Batman's cape told Robin to get to work. He slid on the floor under thug's legs. He pulled some down to the floor with a grapple line. He slammed a few's heads into the nearest wall. A stressful time for the rookie vigilante, but a successful one.

By the time the lights turned back on, not a single gunman was conscious.

"How'd you turn off the lights?" asked Batman.

"Lightswitch. Ever hear of them?"

Batman may have replied to the joke, but he never got the chance, since the lights went back on, a dozen men surrounded Batman, and March Hare slow clapped.

"Batman! Dark Knight! Other name I have to use cyclically so that the audience doesn't think the way we refer to you is repetitive! How are you?"

Batman looked around, crouching to ready himself for a fight, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Why, I'm March Hare-!" she exclaimed, throwing off her trenchcoat to show off her revealing outfit, "And I have the honor of being our author's story device to advance your plot! Now, do you know why I'm here?"

"To.. advance the plot?" asked Robin, exceedingly confused about what this obvious nutcase was getting at.

"No, no, I'm here to tell you where your story will end- and that is with Wonderland!"

"You're talking about Tetch's plan. It won't work. Tell him he'll lose. Badly," growled the Bat.

"The Hatter planned for everything- but I think you're uninvited to the tea party- after all, you're one of the reasons we have to have it!"

"I know why Tetch- Hatter- is doing this. I know about his family and the mob. I want to stop them too-" he was interrupted by Hare slamming the butt of her gun against his face. Batman's hand moved to it as fast as he could.

"No! You're all about order, you've never partied! You'll die alone and afraid- at least we will die happy! Which side do you want?!" rambled Hare.

"I'll be on the side of sanity, thank you. And next time you hit me with a gun, check it."

Hare obeyed, and saw, to her surprise, a smoke pellet. It sparkled and crackled, and then exploded in a cloud of smoke. Hare and the guards fell back. Knowing that the gunmen wouldn't shoot at their boss, the Dynamic Duo rushed past her, escaping through the smoke.

"Dammit!" Yelled March Hare, turning around an firing her gun, it going right in between Batman and Robin. While the Bat jumped to the left, the boy went to the right- and when the smoke cleared, each realized their mistake.

"Batman! Crap, I'm sorry- I- !" stammered Robin.

"Don't," maintained Batman, nodding firmly. Robin nodded back, and watched Batman point to himself, then the gunmen, and then to Robin, and to the ceiling. Batman gets these loony tunes, Robin gets back to searching the place. Easy.

Before the goons could so much as get a shot off, Robin was already in the upper level, running through the ruined cell blocks. He caught quick looks at the cells- most were just broken out of, but then he came across something unusual- a cell that was scorched black. Without even thinking, he did just what Batman taught him, and started to investigate. The source of the fire couldn't be found- he was looking for a gas tank, or a Molotov cocktail's shattered remains, but instead found, what? Goop?

Robin facepalmed, of course, detective boy. The fire was from a plastic gas can- one that was totally melted. But what's a plastic gas can doing all the way up here? Why this cell? He kept looking around, and then realized something- footprints! His footprints had brushed off the ash, and new footprints were uncovered. Robin looked closely- the footprints were muddy, and not prison slippers. Possibly the mercenaries'? But similar footprints where also above the ash.

"Well, that just brings me back to the beginning- why this cell?" whispered Robin to himself- but then he realized something else was burned. It seemed to be.. an inmate's slippers, placed neatly in the corner. Why would they go barefoot? Unless- "Lynns!" gasped Robin, realizing who this cells' occupant was.

"Was that an invite?" came a raspy voice.

"Lynns!" yelled Robin, ready to hide behind a cot in case of gunfire.

"No need to jump away- heh, yeah, you aren't as good a fighter as the Bat. But you know what you do have as good as?" Lynns smiled, stepping into the light, revealing what looked like a huge, metal backpack he was wearing. "A name. And a nice gimmick. Is it more bird Robin or Robin Hood?"

Robin looked back. No Batman to help now.

"Don't answer that- I want my name to be your last words, be it Lynns, or my new one-" he pulled a cord on his straps, and the backback unfurled into a winged jetpack, "Call me Firefly." He whipped out a trigger, pushing its button.

BOOM

The wall behind him, along with several cells, blew up, falling onto the street bellow.

Robin looked behind him- no Batman. But he was fine- he'd trained, he had years of experience with fire and acrobatics- even if the goal was never to kill him, fire was still fire. He whipped out his batarangs in a show of confidence, "Firefly!" he screamed, sounding very much like a young child, but he couldn't pay attention to that, "You'll never get away with this!"

"Get away?" chuckled Lynns raspily.

"Yeah! And you're NOT allowed to say you already have!"

"Oh, don't worry- Wonderland will never get away. We're staying right here, in Gotham, forever." He put his feet on the jetpack's stirrups, turning it on as he flew out of the building, "HEAR THAT GOTHAM? GOTHAM WILL BE OURS- JOIN US OR NOT, GOTHAM WILL BE FREE!"

Robin charged, firing a line at Firefly, stopping him from flying off.

"Let go, little boy! You don't understand what we're getting at!" Flames shot at the line, not doing anything to the fireproof material. However, his jetpack's force was stronger than Robin's desperate attempts to hang on to the charred floor, and he got away as Robin's boots slipped from under him.

"Agh! No!" Robin fell, grabbing at kicking at the floor as he slid out of the hole in the building. He caught himself before he began to drop, barely hanging on to charred metal.

He hung there, tired. A few moments later, as he tried to pull himself up, he felt a hand pull him up- Batman.

"Robin, are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah- c'mon, let's go get-"

"No, Robin. We still have business here."

"But-"

"Lynns is too far ahead to be pursued. It may be less exciting, but what he have to do here is more important, for now. Now c'mon, chum, we have a long night ahead."