A/N: Thanks for the reviews TMNTGFKittySidekick01 and Blas!
Chapter 2:
Haly's Circus, on the western outskirts of Gotham City, one year ago:
The circus was the perfect distraction. Batman had been chasing Joker all week and had finally captured him yesterday. The hero needed a little break and Alfred had mentioned Haly's Circus. So, Bruce Wayne had decided to attend the last night of the performance.
Everything had been impressive but Bruce was especially interested in the trapeze artists. Aerialists, for some reason, fascinated him. He grinned slightly; maybe Batman was jealous of their acrobatic abilities.
The Flying Graysons began their routine and their performance was flawless, as it probably had been hundreds of times before this night. They were fluid and graceful and made everything look easy. It was amazing and Bruce couldn't take his eyes off of them. He realized that the boy was about to fly so the millionaire picked up his binoculars and studied him. The child seemed very confident, especially for a ten-year-old making his debut. He was grinning and Bruce could see him counting as his parents swung back and forth.
There was an unusual movement on the far side of the large circus tent and Bruce shifted his binoculars in that direction. He immediately identified the shine of bright lights glancing off the barrel of a gun and dropped the binoculars in shock. How had someone been able to bring a gun into the circus tent?!
Jumping to his feet, Bruce rudely climbed over the fourteen people separating him from the stairs. He was eight rows away from the circus floor and he sprinted down the flight of steps, hoping he could catch the owner of the gun before anything bad happened.
But the man was already striding toward the center of the ring, The Flying Graysons were in the middle of their signature finale and all eyes were raised to the sky. Nobody noticed the man who was now pointing the gun at the aerialists. Nobody except Bruce, and he was still four rows away. People were standing in awe, cheering enthusiastically and getting in his way. He already knew what was going to happen and the sudden sound of gunfire confirmed it.
The crowd screamed as bullets ripped through the wires connecting each trapeze to the rafters of the tent. The two aerialists plummeted toward the ground with no chance to save themselves.
Bruce was now on the circus floor and had a choice to make: attempt to save at least one parent or tackle the man who was turning the gun toward the audience. Hundreds could die if he saved a parent but a young boy would become an orphan if he took out the gunman instead.
A flash of the gun made the decision for him and Batman dove at the criminal. The man fell to the ground and the Caped Crusader knocked him out with one punch.
There was a sickening crunch and then complete silence. Nobody wanted to see the mangled bodies but most couldn't look away from the gruesome sight. Then a grief-stricken wail came from high above them and everyone looked up. A sobbing, ten-year-old aerialist began scrambling his way down a thirty foot ladder.
Bruce shook his head in both grief and regret. Batman should have gone for the mother or father. But could he really risk hundreds of lives for one little boy? The gun would have killed more people than the fall that had taken the lives of The Flying Graysons.
The young child was sliding across the floor on his stomach, through the pool of blood surrounding his parents. His head hit his father's arm and the boy threw himself across the man. His entire body was trembling and he was begging them to wake up.
Memories flooded his mind and Bruce almost dropped to his knees in sympathetic sorrow. Closing his eyes instead, he shut out the image of the child covered in the blood of his parents. However, he could still hear the heartbroken wails of the young aerialist who was now an orphan.
"Dick, RICHARD!"
Several circus members were yelling the child's name and Bruce opened his eyes. They widened in shock when he saw the boy sprinting away from everyone. Why was he running away from the people who cared for him and loved him?!
The ten-year-old was fast and athletic. He ducked away from a muscular man, flipped his way around a shorter man, dodged a clown and flew out the back exit. Every single circus performer still in the tent began chasing after him but the trail was lost before it even began. There were no irregular sights or sounds, not even any footprints in the dirt behind the tent. The only living member of The Flying Graysons, the youngest one who had performed for both his first and last time, was gone.
Bruce Wayne had, for some reason, followed the remaining members of the circus as they chased the young aerialist. Actually, he knew the exact reason: it was partially his fault that the boy was now alone in the world and the man needed to make up for it. How he would do that he had no idea. But he had to find the kid first.
He stopped just inside the small forest as the others spread out to continue their search. The ten-year-old boy – Richard? – was fast and probably well-hidden. He was smart; Bruce had noticed an immense depth of intelligence in the boy's grief-filled eyes. If the now-orphan didn't want to be found, he would go to a place where he wouldn't be found.
Leaning against a sturdy tree and dropping his head, Bruce softly apologized to the ground in front of him. He wished the boy could hear him but was also grateful that he wasn't there.
"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I chose the wrong path, I should have, I couldn't do both. I should have chosen…"
The statement was both true and false. It had been an impossible choice. Bruce should have tried harder to catch the father, the closest parent. Batman, however, had gone for the greater good – saving hundreds of lives instead of one.
Shaking his head, the man turned around and strode toward the limousine where his faithful butler, Alfred, would be waiting. They would return to Wayne Manor, Bruce would become Batman and the Caped Crusader would talk to the man who had taken the two most important people out of the life of a ten-year-old child. If the murderer hadn't been working alone, Batman would force the information from him and go after the leader. He would not stop looking for the monster who had ordered a man to take a gun into a circus tent. If the gunman had been working alone, then he was a psychopath who needed a life sentence in prison.
"Are you alright, Master Bruce?" a gentle voice whispered next to his ear. Bruce looked up, surprised, and realized he was standing beside the open door of the long, black car. Wondering how long he had been there, he shook his head and climbed inside.
Two minutes later they were on the road to Wayne Manor and Bruce told Alfred the entire story. His face and voice remained emotionless but his insides flipped upside down when he described the actions of the lost boy. Bruce remembered the pain of watching his parents die and had witnessed the same heart-wrenching pain burst out of the body of the young, innocent acrobat.
"They will find him, sir," Alfred quietly stated after Bruce had finished the account. "He will go back to them; they are the only family he knows. They will love him and take care of him and he will grow into a strong young man."
Bruce remained silent and the butler glanced in the rearview mirror. Regret and sorrow were now etched deeply onto the younger man's face and Alfred knew exactly what he was thinking.
"It's not your fault, sir; please don't blame yourself."
"I was right there, Alfred! How can I not blame myself?! I was right…"
He trailed off and turned his head toward the window next to him. Staring at nothing, Bruce remained quiet for the remainder of the drive. Alfred was right about one thing, though. The youngest Grayson would return to the circus and the familiar people he had lived with for his entire life. He would probably never fly again, but at least he would be safe.
Pure luck and a bit of fear, that's how Robin found a place to stay. After the circus left, he wandered his way toward Gotham City. He thought about trying to hitch a ride with someone but his parents were very strict about strangers. Rules were rules, even though they weren't here with him.
The road he was on led straight to the center of the city. People began to stare as he walked down the street. He was uncomfortable and, yes, a little bit scared. Then he realized that he probably looked strange wearing an over-sized t-shirt on top but only tights on the bottom half of his body. Quickly turning around, he ducked into the closest alley and followed it for what felt like twenty miles. It was actually only two but he was tired and hungry and anxious and ten years old.
The narrow pathway led him to another, longer pathway that led him to Crime Alley. There were no signs proclaiming that fact so Robin had no idea that he was entering the most dangerous area of Gotham City. It was almost noon but nobody was around. The place reminded him of the ghost town he had seen when the circus had traveled through Scotland two years ago.
A scratchy voice startled him. "Go home, kid. This is no place for a child." The words were whispered and Robin's fear increased.
"Why?" he whispered back, looking around for the source of the voice.
"Just get out!" the voice demanded quietly. An old man with gray hair and a cane stepped out of the house right next to the boy.
"But I have nowhere to go!" Robin exclaimed, his voice a little louder than before.
"Shush your mouth, boy!" the old man replied softly, holding up his right hand and glancing around. "This is Crime Alley, the domain of our city's worst criminals and vicious villains. They'll have no qualms about picking on a kid like you!"
Crime Alley, criminals and villains, exactly where I need to be.
Robin shook his head. "I'm not leaving," he stated firmly. "Like I said, I have nowhere to go. Can you help me?"
The man violently shook his head. "Nobody helps anybody around here. Not even kids. You want to face the wrath of a bunch of bad guys? Fine, stay, but leave me out of it. I'm already too involved because I warned you."
Turning around, the old man walked back into his house. Robin stood on the cracked cement of the sidewalk and tried to think of some sort of plan.
"Or you can join my gang," a menacing voice whispered from the darkness behind him.
He didn't turn around, he didn't even wait for the voice to show himself. Robin took off, sprinting down the street and not daring to stop until he had left the place in the dust. Now, however, he was practically in the middle of nowhere.
There was a group of three dilapidated shacks in front of him, the only structures still standing in what looked like a small suburb of Crime Alley. They had clearly been abandoned for a long time and were crumbling into each other. The rooms were probably going to be hot in the summer and cold in the winter.
"Good a place as any," Robin mumbled as he walked toward the shack in the middle. It would provide the most shelter – the roof was intact, there was a door hanging by its hinges and the walls would stay upright, as long as the other two buildings continued to provide support.
The first thing he did upon entering was shoo the five or six rats out of the place. He looked around: there was a fairly long, sturdy-looking shelf on the wall to his left, a rusty sink straight in front of him and a partially chewed thing that looked a little like a sleeping bag on the floor to his right.
Placing the blanket on the ground, and sighing in relief at the easing of his burden, Robin opened it and immediately began placing the food on the shelf. Rats were less likely to get it if it was off the floor. Well, he hoped that was the case anyway. The sink would never be good for water so he put the pillowcase of money in the bottom and piled the fabric and soap on top. Now he had a home, not the nicest place ever but it provided shelter and that's all he needed.
Three months later:
The last portion of food he had brought from the circus was currently on its way to Robin's stomach. He was going to have to begin buying food, which meant going to Crime Alley during the day. It was something he had never done and it made him nervous.
He had hoped that the food would last longer, especially since he was only allowing himself two meals a day instead of three. But even carefully rationed supplies eventually run out and now he had no choice: he had to buy food.
Training himself to fight was harder than he had originally thought. He had no expert examples to follow and, really, no idea what he was doing. Robin had been going to Crime Alley almost every night, watching rival gang members fight each other and attempting to sear the images into his brain so he could practice at home. But even that wasn't helping much; most of the criminals used guns or knives, neither of which Robin had or wanted to own.
There was an old Sycamore tree in Robin's "backyard" and it became his practice dummy. After numerous nights of attacking it with random punches, like he had seen the street gangs do, the ten-year-old decided that maybe he should attempt to invent his own way of fighting. It would save his knuckles from their nightly bath of blood, the result of hitting the bark of a tree over and over, and he could customize it to fit his much smaller body size. He also realized that his arms, although strong, probably wouldn't make a significant impact on a large face or adult-sized body. But using his legs to add power could make a difference.
So, Robin began creating his own style, one that depended on momentum and acrobatic tricks. The force he could generate from a simple round-off back handspring surprised him and he started adding flips and aerials and twists. His favorite, so far, was a back layout that would end with him clasping his hands around the back of a criminal's neck and slamming the bad guy to the ground face-first. He had never tried anything on a real person, though, so he wasn't quite sure what would actually work and what was just an awesome yet impossible idea.
Three months later:
Now he was out of money. Crime Alley had very affordable prices but allowing himself a third meal once in a while had depleted his resources much quicker than he had anticipated.
"So, what now? Do I just go digging through dumpsters?" he asked the two rats that had made themselves at home under the old, rusted sink.
The thought made him gag slightly but old food was better than no food. He made a promise, though: he would only eat something that was completely intact and safe – no animal or human bites, no mold and definitely no maggots.
The boy had been working on his "uniform" in preparation to begin his career. The sheer tights, green leotard and dark-red tunic were the major components. The dried blood of his parents had stiffened the material but it was still sufficiently pliable for his athletic tricks. Robin was smart enough to realize that he needed some sort of disguise for his face but the only thing he could think of was a thin strip of fabric with two holes for his eyes. He thought it probably looked really stupid but at least people would remember a black mask instead of distinctive, light-blue eyes.
A final touch was added as an afterthought. There was a small square of yellow fabric, his mother's favorite color. Using a sharp stone, the boy had painstakingly cut a jagged 'R' out of the material and fastened it on his tunic, right over his heart, using several strips of black tape he had found in an alley. That same alley had provided him with four dirty but brightly-colored thumbtacks, which he had used to pin his poster of The Flying Graysons to the back wall of his home.
He was getting much better at fighting. Robin had been skulking through Crime Alley every night for the last three weeks, searching for illegal activity and taking down small-time criminals – mostly muggers who were snatch-and-run experts. Last night, though, he had actually saved a woman who was about to be jumped by two large men. That had been painful but very informational.
Robin had left two unconscious bodies lying on the sidewalk in the shadows of a tall building. He had also departed the fray with a swollen left eye, a dark bruise on his right forearm, a slightly sprained left ankle and several smaller bruises scattered around his entire body. However, he now knew that it would be smarter to find his target's weakness before attacking. The larger man had a limp and, if Robin had noticed it, the guy could have been taken down quickly. Then he would have been able to focus on one pair of giant hands instead of having to dodge four hands and three legs while flipping around in the air.
Most of his tricks actually worked, Robin had discovered that fact last night, but he hadn't been strong enough to try his favorite one. The nearly five minute fight had taken its toll and the ten-year-old had instantly decided to work on endurance. The stamina necessary for an aerialist was definitely not the same as the energy required to be a crime-fighter.
Three months later:
The back layout was an impossible trick. The first time Robin had tried it he had flown too far over his opponent's head and had received a hard kick in the chest upon landing. The second time he had done better, grasping the man's hair when he reached the peak of his flip. That, however, had allowed the criminal to grab his shoulders and throw him to the ground. It was the first time he had discovered how it felt to have the wind knocked out of him. Robin decided that he would rather be able to easily breathe without gasping, so he put the trick on a shelf in the back of his mind. Maybe he would try it again in a couple of years, after he was both stronger and more experienced.
Almost every single criminal he fought was larger than him. Robin never left a fight unscathed but most of his injuries were bruises. Many of the bad guys couldn't keep up with him but were able to get in at least three or four lucky punches. More than once the young crime-fighter had returned home with blood dribbling down the side of his head or dripping from a split lip. But he had never sustained serious injuries and was gaining confidence. He knew, however, that his luck wouldn't last forever. Someday something really bad was going to happen but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
Crime Alley, as horrible as it was, had many law-abiding citizens with good hearts. The man who owned the grocery store would sometimes leave a little bowl of fruit – usually grapes or apples or bananas – by his back door with a small note: for the boy in the mask. Robin was always extremely grateful when he found that brown bowl sitting in the alley behind the store.
The woman who owned the bakery did the same thing. Her tiny plates of bread were usually accompanied by a small bottle of ice-cold milk. Those didn't appear as often as the fruit but when they did Robin felt he was eating like a king. Especially when all three donations were gathered on the same night.
But there were nights when nothing was in the back alleys and Robin was forced to look through dumpsters. It was amazing how much leftover food was tossed away without any sign of consumption. Hamburgers, bread, hot dogs, crackers and once in a while a potato would show up. He was disgusted by what he was doing but the fuel allowed him to do his best to protect the citizens of Crime Alley night after night.
Robin rarely went there during the day. He had no money to spend and the sight of Crime Alley in the daytime was not at all pleasant. Sometimes he would wander around, unobtrusively listening for criminals making plans, but those days were few and far between. Strolling through the streets during the day meant wearing one of the two sets of clothes he had brought with him, which were getting holes. It wasn't unusual for people to have clothing like that in Crime Alley but his jeans, t-shirt, long-sleeve shirt and thin jacket were the only protection he had in the winter. And he was just discovering how cold Gotham City could be during that particular season.
The cold made fighting in his short uniform more painful. Robin often began his night by jogging around his house and tree at least three times to warm up his muscles. Every punch or kick hurt more than usual but that meant the hits he landed hurt the criminals more, also. Upon his return, and after doing what he could to fix his injuries, Robin would put on every single piece of clothing he had and wrap himself tightly in his parents' blanket. Sleep was slow in coming on those cold nights but his dreams always turned into nightmares anyway so the lack of sleep didn't bother him very much.
Three months later – present time:
Robin crouched in the shadows of the crumbling diner, watching the small family stroll down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. They were on their way home from the theater, having just seen a performance of "Cinderella" by the Gotham City Ballet Company. Why someone would build a theater in the middle of Crime Alley would forever be a mystery to Robin. He also didn't understand why a company as reputable as GCBC would choose to perform there. But solving those two mysteries wasn't part of his job description.
Narrowing his eyes, he redirected his thoughts. The father, mother, teenage son and young daughter were chatting and laughing, completely oblivious to the danger lurking behind them. The eleven-year-old crime-fighter watched the tall, shadowy figure ambling along, staying far enough away to avoid suspicion but close enough for a quick attack-and-run.
There was no doubt in Robin's mind about the imminent act of violence. The large silhouette carried in his left hand the distinctive outline of a knife. Robin hated knives. Close combat, something in which he was not yet confidently proficient, became much more difficult with a weapon involved. The young boy didn't scare easily but he was scared of knives.
Shrugging his shoulders, there was nothing he could do about it right now, Robin waited until the family was ahead of his position. Three seconds later the shadow was striding past him. Jumping to his feet, Robin sprinted across the street and slammed his entire body into the left side of the man. The knife clattered to the ground underneath the combatants and the boy allowed a quiet sigh of relief. They were even now, neither had a weapon.
The large man stumbled sideways but recovered quickly. Twisting to face the boy, he threw a huge right fist at the small face. Robin ducked, easily avoiding the hit, then dropped back until his hands hit the ground. His wrists accepted all of his weight as he lifted his legs and shoved them into the unprotected ribcage of the criminal.
This time the shadow stumbled backward and curved in on itself as Robin popped up to his feet. Clear opportunities could be few and far between. This was one of them and the boy didn't waste time – that, after all, could get him killed.
The man was bent over, hands on his knees and gasping for air. The former aerialist took one giant step back then sprinted toward the man. The front flip was executed perfectly and Robin landed squarely on the criminal's upper back, shoving him to the ground. The tall man landed face first on the cement and stopped moving as the still-oblivious family turned the corner and disappeared.
Breathing heavily, the young vigilante – because, really, that's what he was – jogged across the street and headed home. He didn't feel the dark gaze on his back or hear the whisper of a cape swishing in the slight breeze. Robin did, however, hear the soft sound of two boots landing lightly on cement and he quickly turned around in the cover of the shadows.
High above the street, on the rooftop of a tall building, a muscular silhouette watched the boy leave. The dark-blue eyes, nearly hidden behind a cowl, were wide with astonishment. Batman was fascinated by the fluid way the person – obviously a young kid – had fought, although the beginning move was rather sloppy. However, a running front flip that knocked a large man out cold was very impressive.
Before the man could glide off the building to follow the small fighter, the boy was gone. The only evidence that he had been there was a body lying motionless in a small puddle of blood. Athletic and speedy – a good combination for a crime-fighter to have, especially one so small.
As he put the Bat-cuffs on the limp criminal, Batman wondered what had motivated the kid to take out this man. A dot of light from a streetlamp fell on the blade of the criminal's knife and the Caped Crusader immediately understood the boy's reasoning. That realization brought several questions to his mind. Did the boy patrol Crime Alley every night, like Batman did Gotham City? Did he have any real training or was he self-taught? Where did he live? And why were his parents allowing him to run around at midnight fighting bad guys? Perhaps they didn't know….
Batman pulled his Bat-communicator out of his belt, called Alfred and asked him to call Commissioner Gordon. A criminal needed to be picked up and the crime-fighter needed to continue his patrol. After ending his call, the usually-keenly-observant Caped Crusader glanced around one more time. Seeing nothing unusual, he returned to the shadows and moved down the street.
The quiet, nearly invisible Robin watched with wide eyes. He had just seen Batman in action and the man was intimidating but amazing! The guy had swung down from several stories up without hurting himself and used some kind of special cuffs to restrain criminals!
The young boy didn't even have cuffs, or a way to contact someone and tell them to send the police. He usually just left the criminals where he had knocked them out, knowing that eventually someone would find the unconscious bad guys.
Robin decided he wanted a big, cover-half-his-face mask, like the man, instead of the one he currently had that only went across his eyes. The cape was pretty cool, too, but he didn't have enough material to make something like that. Now that he thought about it, he probably didn't even have enough for the larger mask. So he pushed the idea to the back of his mind, whirled around and raced away without making a sound. He turned north into the alley behind the diner, heading for the relative safety of his home and a restless sleep full of nightmares.
The Batcave:
"Alfred!" Batman shouted as he exited the Batmobile.
Glancing up from his position by the Bat-computer, the butler inquired, "Is it absolutely necessary for you to yell every time you enter the Batcave, sir?"
Ignoring the question, Batman strode to the Bat-computer but immediately realized that he had nothing to input. He didn't know anything about the small crime-fighter, except for the fact that he was athletic and speedy.
"Master Batman?" Alfred quietly interrupted his thoughts.
"I saw someone, Alfred. A boy, probably around nine or ten, and he knocked out a criminal. He was a little sloppy with his first move but then he did a perfect front flip in order to land on the man's back and knock him to the ground! I've never seen anything like it!"
"Did you get a good look at him, sir?"
"No, he was quick. I was seven stories up and by the time I landed he was already gone. I don't even know which way he went!"
"Hmmm, an interesting mystery for the World's Greatest Detective, sir?"
"Maybe," the hero murmured. "But I have my hands full right now. Is it important enough for me to take my attention away from protecting Gotham City?"
"That, Master Batman, is for you to decide. He did help you, sir, although he probably didn't know it."
"It's not an urgent priority," Batman sighed. "Penguin escaped yesterday and I just found out that Riddler was let out on parole for 'good behavior'."
"I doubt that his 'good behavior' will last long, sir."
"I agree. Those two by themselves render the boy less important," the Caped Crusader replied. "Gathering information about him, I mean," he amended. "The kid himself is obviously significant."
"Obviously, sir," Alfred agreed with a slight grin. Batman was more interested in this new development than he realized.
The next morning:
The familiar scratching of the rats, his alarm clock, woke Robin out of his troubled dreams.
"Sorry, guys," the weary boy whispered as he sat up. "I don't have any crumbs for you today. Dinner consisted of two pieces of bread that were a day older than the expiration date. Don't people realize that food usually lasts longer than the date? Anyway, I forgot lunch so I ate both pieces. Sorry," he stated again.
The larger rat stared at Robin in obvious disappointment while the smaller one scuttled away. Shrugging, the eleven-year-old stood up and began his morning stretches. Sleeping on the floor was not good for the back but during the past year he had figured out the exact combination of stretches to keep himself limber and flexible.
His heart suddenly felt heavy with deep sorrow. Robin retrieved his old, ratty journal from off the long shelf and sat down on his makeshift bed. Maybe writing would help.
Wednesday, March 24
Well, the anniversary is almost here. I don't want to think about it but how can I not? In two days it will be the first anniversary of the death of Mom and Dad. Training myself and fighting bad guys has helped lessen the pain, once in a while, but it suddenly came back with a vengeance and I know it will be worse by the time that night rolls around.
I saw Batman last night. It was a cool experience, even though I didn't get to watch him fight. I've heard he's really good. Hopefully, he didn't see me take down the bad guy because I'm still not very good at hand-to-hand combat. It's hard to train for that when I can only fight a tree.
But I think I'm pretty good when I have the advantage of surprise. I can knock a guy out with a front flip or a backflip, something nobody expects from a kid. Crime Alley can be scary but it's also the best place to find the bad guys. I've been to a few other parts of Gotham City and taken down some criminals but there is usually a policeman somewhere nearby. I can't let an officer see me and discover who I am because then everything I've worked for will be taken away. Nobody would ever think that an eleven-year-old could, or should, fight crime.
So, I usually stay in Crime Alley. It is both the safest and most dangerous place for me to fight. I haven't seen any of Gotham's famous villains yet and I'm not sure I want to. There are so many stories and I don't think I would win if I had to go against Penguin or Joker or Riddler or Two-Face or even Catwoman. Yeah, they have some pretty weird names around here.
Anyway, I'm done writing for today. I'm pretty sure I'll be back on the anniversary. I don't think I'll be able to hold my emotions inside on that day. So, for now, bye.
