■ Author's Notes:

Here's part two of this chapter! I see that people weren't happy with the "I'm psychic" response, which is kind of what I was going for. It was supposed to be a dumb mistake for the MC to have said. Though, maybe I shouldn't have ended it right there. Anywho, hopefully, this will clear some things up! Thanks for the feedback!

WARNING: Rated T for crude humor, mention of drug/alcohol use, moderate language, and violence. Rating is subject to change later on.

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3
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DEEP DELUSIONS
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Crap, crap, crap!

I want to face-palm myself right now. Hell, is that even still a thing people do? Face-palming? Gosh, I am so out of the loop on what's cool and perceived as socially acceptable...

But, yeah, the fact of the matter is that while I may not be the most comic savvy person around, I do know for a fact that Dick Grayson does not have any kind of psychic powers. Or any other cool superhuman abilities for that matter. It's what makes his unique in the world of superheroes. He's just a normal human.

Well, I wouldn't say normal, 'cause he's definitely above average - jumping off buildings and doing sweet backflips - but not a meta-gene/alien/mutated/science-experiment-gone-wrong kind of human.

Jeez, can I mess up the canon anymore?

Well, I mean, yes. But I shouldn't. My brain's making this reality based off of what it knows about the DC Universe; if I mess with the source too much, for all I know, things could get really weird. And this is already weird enough as is, thank you very much.

I figure that I need to correct myself, and do so quickly. If Bruce thinks I'm psychic, then he'll start asking questions that I most certainly do not have the answers to. And when I don't have those answers, that will just make him more suspicious. Oh, god, what if he asks me to read his mind? Yeah, this isn't good. Do something now, Me!

So I blabber on, trying to make the words that come out of my mouth sound coherent and plausible, while simultaneously making it all up on the spot. "N-not like telepathic kind of psychic. I just, uh, get these feelings. Notions, I suppose? Yeah, sometimes I just know things. Not everything, though, and not all the time. Just random things...at random times." Wow. That sounds real convincing, Me. Keep it up. "H-heck, I wouldn't even say it's a psychic ability and instead more like, I don't know... good intuition?"

Might as well say that I'm just really, really good at guessing things. Man, I really hate that I'm so bad at lying.

Bruce is like a statue; his stony gaze never wanders from me. He's studying me, every tiny movement, every little tick; trying to decipher who Dick Grayson really is.

Oh, who am I trying to kid? This is Batman! One of the smartest fictional characters ever created! The 21st Century Sherlock Holmes! He can so tell I'm bullshitting him right now. I doubt there's anyone who can get away with lying to his face.

Well, maybe Alfred...

Holy Shit, Batman! I get to meet Alfred!

All this lucid dreaming BS will be worth it just for that, I swear.

Bruce sits up straight, his hands draped over the armrests. "And one of these 'things' you know is that I'm Batman?" His face portrays nothing, giving me no hints as to what he's actually thinking or feeling at this moment.

It's interesting, though, because technically, Bruce didn't deny it.

I would have thought that he'd flat out reject that allegation and tell me not to be so preposterous. That my head injury is giving me ideas of grandeur or something like that. Or he'd laugh in my face and tell me that I've read too many silly stories and don't know anything because I'm only a kid, and that there is no way that he, Bruce Wayne, could possibly be the Batman.

Buuuuut, because I am kind of destined to be his crime-fighting partner, is it possible that he's low-key okay with me knowing? Sure, he would tell me - Dick - at some point anyway, but not until he could trust me enough with the information, and do so on his own terms.

On the other hand, he's Batman, and I can't think of another hero that's any more strict on keeping his true identity a secret. Heck, I'm not even sure if the Justice League knows who he is. I'm pretty sure he tells them at some point, but that takes some time. In the Justice League cartoon, the only reason he reveals his identity is because of some alien invasion and it's a life-or-death kind of situation.

Which begs the question, how long has Batman been a part of the League? Or better yet, has the Justice League even formed yet in this universe? Oh, I want to meet Wonder Woman so badly!

Ah, so many questions. So little time.

But the biggest one is, do I really even care about any of this?

Bruce shifts in his chair, shoulders broad and back stiff as a board as he waits for my response, bringing my attention back to this issue at hand.

Right. Me being a dunce and revealing that I know he's Batman.

And then telling him I'm a psychic. Of all the things I could have said...

That, folks, was pure idiocy right there, is what that was.

Well, I said what I said; no turning back the clock on that goof-up. Guess I'll just run with it for now.

Besides, it's not like this dream will last much longer. I don't actually need to worry about any long-term consequences. This isn't the actual comics or cartoons where I have to consider every action I make and how it'll affect the timeline seven years from now.

So I raise an eyebrow and lean over the bed I'm sitting cross-legged on and whisper, "Well, aren't you?"

Bruce watches me closely and I get the feeling that he's silently picking me apart in his mind – trying to figure me out. He's probably wondering who the hell I am and what kind of circus was I really a part of?

Well, I'd say things have made a turn toward the interesting. I don't know if this will speed the story along or not, but I've definitely already diverted from the canon storyline.

Before he can say anything else, the doorknob wiggles. I hear a huff of confusion come from the hallway, followed by a series of rapid knocking. "Mr. Grayson? Is everything all right?" a concerned voice calls from the other side.

I look at Bruce. I don't know, is everything all right? At this point, Bruce is a total wild card and I have no idea how he'll react.

The richest man in Gotham gives me one more silent lookover before rising from the chair and making his way to the door. He undoes the lock and opens it to reveal a smiling nurse on the other side.

"Oh, hello!" she chirps, surprised to see the Bruce Wayne in front of her. "I, uh, I was just coming in to change Mr. Grayson's dressings."

Bruce smiles and says smoothly, "Of course. I'll get out of your way. Richard and I were just talking. I must have accidentally locked the door when I came in."

Dang, he's good. Maybe he can teach me to lie like that, too.

"Not to worry," giggles the nurse, clearly smitten with the man.

Oh, brother. Give me a break! Here I had always thought that the comics always exaggerated how good looking people found Bruce Wayne to be, but I guess here in comic book land, it's true.

But…Because this isn't really a comic and just my dream, and the nurse is most likely a projection of my own subconscious…

Does that mean I'm the one who actually finds Bruce Wayne to be attractive?

Wow. Uh, okay, that's a lot to unpack right there. Time to compartmentalize and comb through that little inner dilemma later on. And re-evaluate a bunch of things in my life.

Bruce turns to me and gives a small nod of his head. "Richard, it was good to meet you. I'm sure we'll be meeting again soon."

Of course, I'll be seeing him again. He's not going to let me out of his sight now. Sure, I know that it's basically inevitable now that I end up going to live with him – that's just a constant in Dick Grayson's life – yet I can't help but feel that the way he said it… It almost sounded threatening.

Boy, I messed up letting him know that I know who he really is. I'm going to have to watch my mouth more. Gotta be smart if I'm going to make it through this convoluted story.

Way to complicate things, Me. Way. To. Go

Again, though, this is all a dream. My actions don't really matter, as the consequences aren't real. I'm just playing along in hopes that I can wake up sooner. I mean, what's the worse that can happen if he finds out I'm not psychic? Get mad at me for lying?

Guess I can ponder all the theoreticals while I wait to wake up.

After Bruce leaves, the nurse changes my head bandages. The wound still stings and she tells me there are quite a few stitches that will need to come out in several weeks time. What fun.

Then, she too leaves after instructing me to lay in bed properly and rest, because some people will be coming around soon to talk to me some more.

Great, more talking - the best part in any dream...

I'm left alone for probably ten or so minutes. Which begs the question of how time works in this reality? Dreams don't follow the same rules of time and space as the real world, so I wonder how much time is actually passing in real life? How long have I been asleep?

I try to think about it, but then get a headache. It's all too meta.

Is that even the right word?

Oh, I don't care.

It's right about then that Detective Gordon makes his second appearance. He's wearing the same clothes I saw him in the night we met and I worry that he hasn't been home to change - though Bruce did say that I had been unconscious for the past few days, so I doubt that's the case. He approaches my bed and sits in the same chair Bruce had occupied not long ago.

I can't say I know too much about Jim Gordon, but I respect him as a character. He's one of the few true, dedicated police officers in Gotham. Never falls to corruption and is one of Batman's closest confidants. So, I should trust him, too.

Gordon lets out an awkward scoffing sound, as if he's unsure how to start this conversation. I wearily wait for him to find his words; I want to get this interaction over with. More importantly, I just want to get out of this damn hospital! I'm really hoping that he's here to tell me that Bruce Wayne wants to adopt me or whatever so I can move on from this boring nonsense.

He coughs again and begins. "I know there's a lot going on right now, and you probably have a lot of concerns and questions."

"Not really."

He blinks in surprise. "Y-you don't?"

"Hmm," I hum as if in thought and tap a finger to my chin. "No, nothing comes to mind. Should I?"

"You're not concerned about what will happen now that…" he trails off, not wanting to bring up the elephant in the room.

"Now that I'm an orphan, you mean?"

Oof. I'm sounding way too blunt here. Gotta pretend I'm more vulnerable.

The detective's brown eyes waver, almost with shock. "Yes. That."

I mindlessly tug at an end of the new bandage wrapped around my skull; it's itchy and uncomfortable. "Won't social services just take over? Dump me in some foster home? I'm sure they'll check in on me every so often for the first few months until my name gets lost in all the paperwork, just like the hundreds of other orphaned kids in this city."

Aw. I actually don't hope there are hundreds of orphans in Gotham. That'd just be downright sad. Why did the writers have to make this city so gosh darn depressing?

Gordon scratches his cheek and comments, "That's an astute observation."

I shrug nonchalantly. "I'm pragmatic."

"You're in shock," he quips back, arms crossing over his chest. I think he's starting to get fed up with my attitude.

I roll my eyes. No, Jim Gordon, I assure you I'm not. Maybe Dick Grayson was in the comics, but not me. "Because I'm not sobbing my eyes out? Or swearing to find the guy who did it and kill them?" I ask.

He's beginning to appear uncomfortable in this situation, I can tell by the way he nervously crosses his legs. This wasn't how he'd thought a little circus boy would be reacting. "It would be understandable if you did," he tells me softly, as if trying to encourage those kinds reactions.

Sorry, pal, it's not going to happen. I'm just having some fun impersonating a character - though arguably, I'm not filling the role all that well.

"Is that what you want me to do?" My head cocks to the side, almost sardonically.

Gordon doesn't have a response to that. I might be playing it a little too aloof right now. Finally, he says, "Listen. I think there's a lot of things I don't have the answers to right now, and a lot of things you're going through hat I can't comprehend. That's okay. I don't need you to explain yourself or the way you deal with grief." I think if I'm remembering correctly, Gordon has some serious past family problems of his own. Like his wife died? Or went insane? Point is, he's been through the wringer himself. "We all have our ways."

I feel a little bad now because Gordon is just trying his best to be supportive and I'm being cold in return. He doesn't deserve that.

But, I also want to get out of this hospital, and if being a little mean to a fictional cop is what it takes, well... I think my moral conscious can deal with that.

"Can we just get to the point of this visit, Detective? I'm a bit tired, and honestly, would like to just shake off whatever is going on right now. So if it's social services that you've called, let's get at it. No need to beat around the bush."

He sighs. "It's in regards to your future living arrangments."

I look at him blankly. "You mean foster care?"

"Another option for you has been suggested."

"I get to go back to the circus?" I ask, my tone near sarcastic. Of course they would never let me back there. Though, that would be interesting if they did; then I get to spend the rest of this time with clowns and firebreathers and acrobats, traveling the world. Who says I have to follow the canon and become Robin?

Dreams are very fluid, after all. Maybe this will shift into a Water For Elephants type of fantasy.

The more I think about it, the less bad that option begins to sound. Could actually be kind of coll, even.

Hold up, do I actually want to go back to the circus now? Trek a new path for Dick Grayson? Venture into the unknown? Say sayonara to Batman and Gotham?

"No. I'm afraid not," Gordon says glumly, shattering those ideas instantly. Yeah, I should have known that I wouldn't get an interesting option like that - I mean, I'm terrible when it comes to controlling lucid dreams, so believing I could change this was a bit of a stretch.

Gordon continues. "After the accident, social services won't allow you to rejoin Haly's. They've deemed it an unfit environment for a child."

Well, they're not wrong. But Dick Grayson wouldn't give up his family and the only life he's ever known so easily. Hell, maybe if I really try and I can still end up with the circus. Like a choose-your-own-adventure. I just need to say the right things to unlock that path.

I muster up a quavering voice and wilt my body into the bed, doing my best to look crushed by the news. "Even though all those people are the closest thing to a real family I have? That the circus is the only thing I've known my whole life? You're telling me that social services would rather transplant me into an alien environment that I'm completely unfamiliar with, where I'll have to learn brand new social standards and expectations. They truly believe I'll do better then than with the lifestyle I'm comfortable with?"

That was a bit wordy for a pre-teen. I need to dumb things down a bit.

"Certainly seems like you're clever enough that you'll adapt," Gordon responds, trying to keep the mood optimistic.

"I've heard that being a smart kid only means I'll get into more trouble," I grin shrewdly.

Yeah. I should probably tone back on the wise-cracking, deadpan humor, too. I'm supposed to be a kid, and even though Dick's a super smart guy later on, I kind of doubt he's been exposed to a well-rounded education or extensive vocabulary while growing up in a traveling circus.

Gordon clearly can't figure me out. To his defense, I am a bit all over the place, right now. "That maybe be true..." he murmurs.

All right. Gotta' keep this moving forward.

"What's the proposition?" I ask, feigning intrigue, as if I already didn't know.

Gordon sits up straight, remembering why he'd come in to talk to me in the first place. "Right. Bruce Wayne, who I believe you've briefly met earlier, has offered to take you in temporarily until a more permanent solution can be agreed upon."

"Yeah, didn't think I'd be getting out of that one so easily…" I mutter beneath my breath.

Okay. I'm stuck with Bruce. Fine. I can live with that - well, dream with that.

"Excuse me?" Gordon looks confused. I really need to pay attention to what I'm saying.

I bat my hand apologetically. "Nothing, sorry."

It seems like Gordon is still trying to figure me out, the same way Bruce was earlier, with his eyes trained intently on my person. He's a detective, too, after all; understanding people is his job. "Bruce Wayne is a very wealthy man who has access to a variety of resources that can help you during this time of transition."

"So you think just because he's rich and powerful that it's smart to leave a seven-year-old orphan boy in his care?"

Okay, I had to ask. It's one of the things that I've never understood in the comics or cartoons. Why does everyone just let this orphaned kid go live with Gotham's millionaire playboy without any delay? Where's the all the boring bureaucracy? The piles of paperwork that has to be filled out? The legality of it all?

Surely it can't be that easy to just take in a kid.

Then again, Gotham is Gotham, and I don't think the city is known for following all regulations and laws perfectly. Hell, social services probably are glad they have less paperwork to file and one less kid in the system to deal with.

"Mr. Wayne has actually been through quite the deal of tragedy in his life and is familiar with what it's like to lose family. He, too, lost his parents when he was just a boy. I think he might be the only one who's familiar with the situation you're in right now." Gordon suddenly pauses, caught in thought. He pulls out the notebook I saw him use back at the circus and flips through a few pages. "Wait, did you say you're seven? The file we have on you says you're ten years old, born in 1996."

"Ah, is that how old I am?" Damn, Dick Grayson is short for a ten-year-old.

Gordon raises a brow. "You don't know how old you are?"

All right. That's probably a bit too weird; all kids know how old they are, sometimes down to the quarter. It's like weird little proud achievements they brag about. What can I say to make it sound like I'm not insane?

"I grew up in the circus, Detective. Things like ages and dates aren't as important there. Never really celebrated birthdays."

I can tell that Gordon doesn't fully believe it, but who is he to question the accuracy of circus life? I could tell him we go by a completely different calendar year and he'd just have to take my word for it.

Then there's a change in his demeanor and it's like the entire room drops a few degrees. "There's something else you need to know," he tells me, his voice sinking even lower now.

Oh? Another piece to the puzzle? Do tell, Mr. Future-Commissioner. Though, from his posture - slumped shoulders, slack jaw, and twiddling thumbs - I already know it's not good.

Just how much more f'ed up can this kid's life get?

No. Stupid question, Me. He's a superhero comic book character. The answer is very much more f'ed up.

"Your uncle, Rick," Gordon breathes out with an expression of devastation, "he's still alive."

That's right! 'Uncle' Rick must have been the one I had heard groaning that night!

I stop and frown, realizing what that means.

A man who fell nearly fifty feet onto a rock solid ground is alive. There's no way in hell that he's getting out of that with only minor injuries. "Can I see him?" I ask, the words coming out of my mouth automatically.

Where did that come from? Why do I want to see him? I don't even know the guy.

Gordon frowns and shakes his head. "Unfortunately, he's still in an unstable condition and in the ICU. The doctors are doing their best to make him comfortable."

Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good. Anytime doctors have to make someone "comfortable," it usually doesn't end well for the patient. "Is he going to live?" I question softly.

I didn't realize Dick Grayson had any living relatives. Wasn't that supposed to contribute to his tragic backstory? A young boy suddenly finds himself all alone in the world, and then is taken under the wing of the wealthy philanthropist who privately fights crime wearing an overpriced, military-grade Halloween costume.

Maybe I'm in a continuity that's different from the central comics. Then again, all this just being in my head, I might be fudging a bit of the details here and there, and not following the script to a T.

"It looks that way," Gordon says with a small smile of reassurance. I don't think he wants to scare me, but he also doesn't want to lie. That's not in his nature. "But..."

Ah, yes. There's always a 'but.' Why do comics always have to make things so dramatic? Might as well be a soap opera.

"The doctors are fairly confident that your uncle will be permanently paralyzed for the rest of his life. He'll be unable to live without constant support and aid."

Bummer.

Oh, try and be more empathetic, Me! Fiction or not, a man's life is ruined! I really should have more compassion.

Okay, what would a ten-year-old say in this situation? I do my best to look disheartened and turn my head to the floor. I would try to cry even, but tearing up on command is not easy. "So I can't live with him when all this gets sorted out?"

"No," Gordon says apologetically. "I'm afraid not."

Wow, did things get gloomy in here REAL fast! I don't like that. Time for a change of scenery.

I look up to Gordon, pretending to wipe a tear away from my eye, and mumble out, "Hence Mr. Wayne stepping in." Bring the conversation back to Bruce. If I'm destined to end up in his care by the end of this dream, then I'm going to do everything in my power to get there as soon as possible!

"You really are sharp," Gordon tells me, sounding mildly impressed. "I have a daughter about your age. She's bright like you, too; maybe one day you could meet her."

All right, Barbara Gordon exists in this continuity (or is it timeline? Universe? Reiteration?) God, this shouldn't be so damn confusing!

Gordon stands with a grunt, his back cracking. It wouldn't be too far of a stretch to assume that the good detective doesn't take the best care of his body. He looks down at me and says, "I'll let you rest up. Jack is here, but I can tell him you're not up for more visitors right now."

I'm guessing Jack is Mr. Haly. For a moment, I think he should – after all, Mr. Haly is practically the next closest thing to family Dick has right now; but, if I'm being honest, I don't feel like dealing with another heartfelt pity-fest. Especially from some minor side character I likely won't ever see again.

"Actually, maybe not right now. I'm feeling tired," I tell him and stifle back a yawn.

"Of course," Gordon replies with a nod. He makes a swift exit and I am once again left alone.

After what feels like an eternity, but really most likely was only a few hours (and only seconds in Real World Time) I see a few more doctors while in the room. They perform final examinations, ask me some questions, and basically make sure that I won't die the second I'm discharged from their care. I also meet with two social service agents – neither of which seem to enjoy their jobs – and they explain what will happen to me.

It's been decided that I'm going to go live with Bruce Wayne (big shocker), who out of the kindness of his heart, has offered to take me in instead of forcing me into the system where I'd most likely end up in some terrible foster home and then eventually out on the streets of Gotham. I will stay with Mr. Wayne until the state can come up with an adequate permanent solution or I simply age out of the system. Because I am a minor, with no living relatives who are well enough to care for me, I'm essentially the property of the state. All autonomy is gone.

As they talk to me in their dull voices, I can only sigh and wonder why my dreams have to be so incredibly boring. Again, if get to imagine myself as a superhero, why not place myself into the fun and interesting points of said superhero's life? Where's Two-Face and Poison Ivy? Let me take down the Joker!

Well, maybe not him.

Real or not, that monster is terrifying.

The agents continue to rattle on and I roll my eyes. I guess my brain is too uncreative to do the fun things, so now I'm stuck living through this.

How exciting… (note the sarcasm.)

At last, after one final check-over, I am officially deemed healthy enough to be released from the hospital. Thank god. I was afraid I'd go crazy if I were stuck there any longer!

I'm given a fresh set of clothes that I can only guess Mr. Haly dropped off, and an apple for the road. A nurse instructs me to take it easy for a bit and that I can take off my head bandages in a few days. She then directs me to the lobby and says that there's someone there for me.

When I enter the waiting area, I spot him immediately.

Bruce Wayne.

Batman.

He wasn't kidding about seeing each other again soon.

All right, Me. This is where the story really begins.

He's waiting for me in the lobby, eyes fixated on the floor. I'm not sure why, but I'm still having difficulty believing that this is Batman – the Dark Knight, protector of Gotham city. He just doesn't look like much, right now. Dare I even say it, but I'm not too impressed.

I walk forward and Bruce looks up. There are the beginnings of dark circles beneath his eyes, as though he hasn't slept for the past few days.

Not since the accident.

Seeing him hunched over in the waiting room chair like that, I don't see Batman before me. No, instead what I see is a tired man who feels like he's failed.

And, well, maybe he has.

He's supposed to be one of the greatest heroes in all of comics, right?. The world's best detective! He can outsmart anyone and is always five steps ahead of everyone else. So, why couldn't he figure out that the local mafia/mob/gang/whatever in his city was trying to extort the poor innocent circus that had come into town? How did he not realize that they would resort to using such extreme measures? That Tony Zucco would stay true to his word about hurting Haly.

People are dead now. A kid has been orphaned. One man paralyzed for life.

All right, all right, pump the brakes.

I think I'm looking way too deep into all of this.

I'm sure that when the original writers for Batman came up with this stuff in like the 50s or whenever, they were more focused on the entertainment/drama value of it all. Not so much the deep critical psychoanalysis on how successful Batman is as a hero after not preventing the death of the Flying Graysons.

The writers needed to give him a sidekick. They needed an orphan for the part - made things easier storytelling-wise. Bing Bang Boom. Robin is born from tragedy.

Drop this weird resentment and move on, Me.

I shake my head slightly. I really need to get over myself.

Bruce stands as I approach. Neither of us says anything, only looking at one another. I don't think he really knows what exactly he's just signed himself up for. Does he even know the first thing about parenting?

Well, I guess that's where Alfred will come in.

He clears his throat. "It's good to see you again, Richard."

"Call me Dick," I tell him automatically.

Wait, do I want that to be my name? It's so retro and outdated. I could just be Rich or Ric, instead.

But no, I think. The name Dick is such a part of who the character is. Guess I'll just have to put up with the constant teasing and jeering from teammates later on.

Bruce nods in understanding. "Of, course Dick." He gestures down the hall toward the exit. "Are you ready to go? Do you have all your belongings?"

I hold up the apple the nurse gave me. I doubt that the Graysons possessed that many personal belongings while in the circus. It would just be dead weight that need to be packed and moved every time they went to a new city.

We start to walk out.

"So," I eventually drawl out, holding my hands behind my back, and breaking the awkward silence. I even incorporate a little skip into my step, just so it really cements that reality that I'm a child. "Bruce Wayne, are you taking me in because you genuinely care for my well-being and want to make a difference in a young boy's life, or is it all because I know who you secretly are and want to keep a close eye on me?"

His head swivels a bit, checking to see if anyone is in ear-shot.

"Both." His reply is curt, even gruff sounding. He's not going to hide behind a façade. I know the truth, so has no reason to lie.

"That's fair," I nod. "And I respect the honesty."

As we walk toward the exit, he then asks, "What else do you know?"

I smirk. I've been waiting for this. "A bunch of things. The sky is blue, the sun is made out of hot gas and will one day explode, the Earth is round… Shall I continue?"

Maybe I shouldn't be such a little troll, but it's oddly satisfying. And I believe whole-heartedly that Dick Grayson was just as much of a jokester when he was a kid; he's always been portrayed to be the most laid-back and humorous of all the Robins. Might as well try and keep some character aspects true.

We step through the sliding glass doors and into the outside world. I hold up my hands to shield my eyes from the harsh light. As I blink, I notice a sleek black car parked at the curb; it fancy, but it's no batmobile. We make our way toward it.

Bruce grunts, "What I mean is, what else do you know about me?"

Oh, the dilemma. Should I reveal that I know more information or play it dumb? If I tell him I know more, that might lead to animosity and questioning; it'll create a hostile environment where I'm seen as a potential enemy and end up more like a prisoner than a ward.

On the other hand, if I say that I only know he's Batman, then he might question my "psychic" abilities and whether I'm telling the truth. Who's to say that someone else didn't tell me that information and I'm secretly working for them as a spy? Infiltrating Batman's sanctuary from the inside. Again, that could lead to hostility and overall, a bad prognosis for me.

Oh, well. I'm not going to think too much about this and actually have some fun.

I stop at the sidewalk when we reach the car. I crane my neck to look up at him. Dang, it's like he's a whole two feet taller than I am, and I'm reminded just how small this body I'm occupying is. I'm really hoping that Dick hits a growth spurt soon, because I am not a fan of being short.

"Alright, then. Tell me about the Justice League?" I ask innocently enough – but there's a slight jeering undertone in my query. This might be a bad idea, sure, but I'm also a bit curious to see how far I can get under the Batman's skin. "You're on it, right?"

He doesn't give any sort of response.

"Well, why, may I ask, do you always carry around kryptonite when your teammate is Kryptonian? Clark's a good person. To me, it seems like you have some serious trust issues that need resolving."

And as Bruce opens the door and I step inside, I notice the look that crosses his face. From it, I get the slightest hunch that if I keep this up, I may end up being the shortest-lived Robin in any continuity.

✖.✖.✖

■ A/N: I apologize for all the dialogue, but I just needed to get the story to the next part. Again, this was originally part of the last chapter but I decided to split it into two parts due to its lengthy-ness.

And after this will be the chapter that the MC has the big existential crisis. The big "Oh-Shit-This-Is-Real" moment of realization. After that, it'll be getting more into the action and MC coming to terms with their new reality.

Also, still looking for a beta, so if you know anyone, send me a PM!