A/N: Thanks for continuing to comment TMNTGFKittySidekick01 and Blas!

Chapter 6:

The Batcave – early morning:

"Good morning, Master Batman," Alfred stated cheerily as he entered the Batcave. "Did you go to bed or have you been up all night?"

"Up," Batman replied grumpily. He was sitting on the chair in front of the Bat-computer, staring listlessly at the machine and drumming his fingers on top of the table.

"What's wrong, sir?"

"Robin."

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand. Are you having a feud with a bird?"

"The boy, his name is Robin."

"He told you his name?!" Alfred was surprised, given the fact that, so far, the boy had been obviously reluctant to have any contact with Batman.

"He was injured, I offered to help, he declined and left, I followed, he knew I was tailing so I said I would leave if he told me his name."

"How injured, sir?" Alfred inquired, concern manifesting itself in his voice.

"I know the one rib was already broken from Joker. But you should have seen him, Alfred. He was curled in a little ball, as if his entire torso was on fire, he was wheezing and gasping, he could barely talk! Then he just stood up and left, as if everything was fine!

I waited thirty seconds before following but he knew, Alfred! He knew I was behind him so he took me on a sixteen minute loop of Crime Alley! Then, after whispering his name, he raced away so fast that anyone watching would have thought he was completely uninjured!"

The butler was speechless. How did a child go from lying practically helpless in the street to running away in less than twenty minutes?

"He looked to be nine, maybe ten," Batman continued. "But his uniform…. Alfred, he was wearing tights and tennis shoes and some sort of dark-red top with a yellow patch over his heart. And his mask – it was a tiny strip of black material that barely covered his eyes. They're blue, by the way. A brilliant, distinct hue of blue that is dulled by whatever pain he's carrying around with him."

"Broken ribs, sir?"

"No, I mean, yes, of course his ribs. But his eyes were full of both pain and grief. When I went to Crime Alley as Bruce Wayne I could feel sorrow radiating off his entire body, Alfred. Whatever happened to cause that…" Batman trailed off as an image of the expressive eyes manifested itself in his mind.

"You seem to have a lot of useful information, sir. Why did you sound so frustrated earlier?"

"Because that's it! All I have is a name and the description I just gave you. Who is he?! I put 'Robin' in the Bat-computer and received all sorts of information about birds, feathered birds that fly around and sing!"

"It seems, sir," Alfred began wisely, "that he is as paranoid about protecting his identity as you are about yours."

"And another important question," Batman continued as if his butler hadn't even spoken. "Why would his parents allow him to go out and fight criminals, especially when he's so injured?! Maybe they don't even know, but how could they not know?!"

The Caped Crusader abruptly stood up and threw his arms in the air. "HOW DO I FIND OUT?!" he yelled, startling Alfred.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Yes, Commissioner?" the hero growled into the Batphone. "The Archer and The Minstrel?" There was a short pause then Batman stated, "I agree, there is a chance that they could be working together. I'm on my way." Sighing, he shook his head in frustration as he hung up the Batphone.

"So the kid, Robin, goes on the back burner again," Batman grumbled. "Alfred, if anything other than information about birds comes out of the Bat-computer, I want to know right away!"

"Yes, Master Batman, of course," the faithful butler replied dutifully.

"Thanks," the Caped Crusader whispered wearily. Climbing into the Batmobile, he started the engine and sped out of the Batcave.

"And thank you, sir, for that information," Alfred declared quietly. The sly butler had slipped a tracking device onto a Bat-a-rang. Hopefully it was one that Batman had used in the general vicinity of the boy – Robin.


Six hours earlier:

Robin waited in the shadows until Batman disappeared. Then he waited until he heard the distinctive roar of the Batmobile fade away into silence. Then he counted to one thousand, as he usually did when he wanted to be sure he was safe.

Sighing gratefully when he finally said the last number, the young crime-fighter left the safety of the shadows in the alley behind the bakery. The bread had been left out tonight so he had been able to snack while waiting for Batman to leave.

He wanted to go straight home but Robin also wanted to examine whatever it was that Batman had thrown to knock the gun out of Bear's hand. It was a difficult choice, he was so tired, but the weapon could be useful. Especially if it was something reusable.

So, silently and doing his best to appear confident, Robin strode back to the main street. Bear, Bull and the leader were still unconscious but had been secured with those cool cuffs and some rope. He walked over and tugged at the ropes. The knots were tight and the rope was strong. Robin wished he had some of the awesome gadgets that Batman used.

Stepping over the motionless bodies made him gasp. The movement stretched his ribs, which were still throbbing horribly, and he almost dropped to his knees. But weakness was like a death sentence in Crime Alley. And Robin was a crime-fighter, not a weakling.

The small black weapon, whatever it was called, was lying underneath the right hip of Bear. Using his foot, the boy carefully slid it out from under the limp body then bent down and picked it up. It was hard, sharp, smooth and shaped, unsurprisingly, like a bat. Robin grinned as he started for home. Maybe he could figure out how to copy it and make some of his own.

Fourteen agonizingly slow minutes later, he walked in his front door. He could let down his guard now so he wrapped an arm around his torso and gingerly made his way to the shelf. Carefully placing the unknown weapon on the wood, Robin grabbed his notebook, stumbled toward his bed and sat down. The adrenaline was gone and he knew sleep would not be easy. Everything hurt: his entire ribcage, an enormous headache, even the soles of his feet where his shoes were beginning to wear out. Leaning against the rough wall, the eleven-year-old crime-fighter began to write.


Monday, March 29

I saw Batman again today. Actually, I met him. He saved a little girl that I was trying to save. That kind of sucked but at least she's okay. I mean, I wanted to prove myself to him but the bad guy had a gun that was two inches away from her head. How am I supposed to compete with that?!

Batman had some sort of cool weapon that sliced the gun right out of the criminal's hand. I picked it up on the way home. It's awesome and I hope I can make some of my own; it doesn't look too difficult to construct. Of course, it's Batman's weapon so maybe it's impossible to duplicate.

There was another cracking sound, on my left side this time. I'm pretty sure I have at least two broken ribs, although it feels like all of them have shattered. Batman met me at my weakest moment. Of course that's how it would happen. He couldn't see me when I'm flipping my way around a bad guy or standing over an unconscious criminal. Nope, I was curled in a ball on the sidewalk, like a little baby!

He did offer to help me, said he had a friend who was good at fixing injuries. I actually thought about accepting but decided that keeping my identity safe was more important than allowing a stranger to help. I'll just have to figure it out on my own again.

Then he tried to follow me. I've been in Crime Alley long enough to know when I have a shadow but I think he was surprised that I knew. I'm pretty sure he wanted to find out where I live but I got him to leave by telling him my name. My crime-fighter name, I mean.

Anyway, I'm going to wrap up my ribs again because I'll probably have to go out tomorrow. It was a huge gang fight tonight and I can't let that happen anymore. I can't afford a night off to heal so I'll just have to be more careful when I fight. I don't know if I can, though, since I fight with my entire body….


The Batcave – present time:

Luck was with Alfred; Batman had used the Bat-a-rang with the tracker and, for some unknown reason, had neglected to retrieve it. The butler checked the Bat-tracker activity sheet from last night and smiled. The Bat-a-rang had slowly moved away from Crime Alley and was now stationary just north of that area. Hopefully that was the boy's location, not a villain-filled hideout, because Alfred was going to take a trip.

The Alf-cycle was entirely unsuitable for this mission so the butler decided to use Bruce Wayne's midnight-blue Corvette. Batman was currently out chasing villains and Alfred knew that Bruce had several important Wayne Foundation meetings to attend later in the day. The millionaire wouldn't be back until early evening, giving Alfred at least eight hours to travel to and from his destination.

Robin.

What an interesting name for a young crime-fighter. Of course, Alfred had raised a man who ran around at night dressed like a bat. A bird might not be as scary-looking but from the way Batman had described his fighting, Robin was more than capable of instilling fear into the minds of criminals.

"Well, Robin, let's see if we can find your home. An old butler who is lost won't be suspicious at all if you happen to be there."


Crime Alley – noon:

Robin was eating lunch in the shadows of the top steps of the theater. This was his favorite spot; he was unrecognizable and had a quick get-away path around the corner. Every move, every breath, was excruciating but he had to eat. The two small slices of bread had been his best meal yesterday. He needed fuel for tonight – fuel that came in the shape of a hot dog draped with ketchup from one of those little packages that came with a meal at the small diner down the street. There had even been an unopened, individual size bag of chips in the dumpster behind the diner. That was very unusual and a fantastic surprise.


Robin's house – noon:

Alfred stared in astonishment at the crumbling shacks. Was this where Robin was living?! Quietly, he walked slowly around the entire building, carefully peering into each small crack he could find. Luck was with him again – the boy wasn't home.

The butler walked through the front door, if it could even be called that. It was held in place by just the upper hinge and would probably fall down soon. He gasped in dismay; the room was almost completely bare! The Bat-a-rang was the first thing he saw, sitting in the middle of the only sturdy thing in the room – a long, dusty shelf. It took him two steps to get there and he noticed several very light, circular imprints.

To his right, on the floor, was a sort-of bed. There was a thin sleeping bag with several small holes and a large, rough blanket. Two rats scuttled away when Alfred turned his attention to the sink in front of him. It was a rusty piece of metal, about to fall apart like almost everything else in the shack. Then he saw it. On the wall just above the sink was a giant clue: a large, slightly faded poster of The Flying Graysons.

Alfred walked to the poster, staring at the graceful bodies that practically flew off the paper. Someone, possibly Robin, had drawn a nearly invisible tiny person in the lower right hand corner. The person was looking up at the duo of aerialists and there were obvious tears dripping onto the floor.

Was…could it be? Was Robin actually Richard Grayson? Alfred was in shock and briefly thought about how impossible the idea sounded. How could a ten-year-old aerialist become a strong crime-fighter in only a year?!

The youngest member of The Flying Graysons was an acrobat, just like his parents, which made him both athletic and light on his feet. Those were the exact characteristics that Batman had described when speaking of the child's fighting style. Perhaps the idea wasn't so impossible after all. But why hadn't the boy returned to the circus after running away? What had made him stay and choose this particular path?

Shaking his head, the butler saw an image of a young Bruce Wayne, vowing to make sure that what had happened to his parents would never happen to anyone else. Apparently, young Richard Grayson had chosen the same career. But this…the boy was living in squalor! How was he eating enough to be able to fight hardened criminals night after night?

There was an old, ratty notebook resting on top of a small pile of fabric in the sink. Alfred, without thinking, picked it up and opened the cover.

"Today is my eleventh birthday…My name is Richard John Grayson…"

Absolute proof. Tears filled Alfred's eyes as he silently closed the obvious journal. The poor boy, living alone in a dump like this for so long. Nobody to talk to, nobody to help him…and he was only eleven!

Alfred carefully returned the journal to its place on the material in the sink. He turned around, walked out the door and climbed into the Corvette. Batman was going to receive information, but not from the Bat-computer.

"I'll be back, Robin…Richard," the old man whispered, his tone filled with sympathy. A tiny tear slid away from his left eye and Alfred wiped it away with his right forefinger.

"I will find some way to help you, even if you think you don't need it."


The Batcave – seven hours later:

Alfred was somewhat nervous, although he wasn't quite sure why. All he was going to do was tell Batman the information the hero had been searching for with no success.

"Alfred," Batman said loudly. Startled, the butler looked over at Batman, who was sitting in front of the Bat-computer again.

"Yes, sir?"

"What's going on? You've been especially quiet, your thoughts are obviously elsewhere and I've been calling your name for the last thirty seconds."

"You have, sir?" Alfred stated, shocked that he hadn't heard his name.

"Come on," Batman sighed, "out with it."

There was a long pause and Batman almost rolled his eyes. What was Alfred afraid to tell him?

"I know who he is, sir!" the butler suddenly exclaimed and Batman jumped to his feet. His jaw dropped open in shock and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"WHAT?!" the hero shouted. "How…? When…?"

"I'll go into the 'how' and 'when' details later, sir. You might want to sit back down."

The Caped Crusader reluctantly obeyed and Alfred sighed softly before beginning to speak.

"The most important piece of information, sir, is that Robin is actually Richard Grayson, son of the famous aerialists The Flying Graysons."

There was a long beat of dead silence and then Batman whispered incredulously, "You're joking."

"Would I joke about something like this, sir?"

"It makes sense, I guess," the hero stated, pondering the idea out loud. "He's athletic and acrobatic, he's smart and careful. But why didn't he leave with the circus?"

"You'll have to ask him that, sir, if you can ever get him to trust you. There is something else, however."

Alfred described Robin's living conditions and Batman's eyes widened again.

"He's thin, that's for sure, but still incredibly strong. There was no food, anywhere? And he's sleeping on the floor?!"

"I saw nothing but some light, circular imprints that could have been left by cans of food when they were stored on the shelf, sir. There is not even a mattress, Master Batman; he is sleeping on the floor. On the rusted sink there was a notebook that I opened, inadvertently discovering that it was his journal. The fifth sentence begins with the words 'My name is Richard John Grayson…'. I have no doubt, sir, that the book belongs to the boy who has been fighting in Crime Alley nearly every night."

"He's all alone," Batman growled softly, his voice outlined with frustration. "This whole time, he's been alone. WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS?" he suddenly roared, the question reverberating loudly around the Batcave.

"As you said, sir, he's smart and careful," Alfred began.

"Why didn't he go to the commissioner?" The hero was glaring at his butler, demanding a response.

Sighing – it was, after all, a question that young Richard Grayson should be answering – the older man replied, "If your parents had died in an unfamiliar city and you were all alone, sir, would you have gone to see a complete stranger?"

"No," the younger man murmured thoughtfully. Standing up again, Batman began pacing.

"There has to be something we can do!" he exclaimed after a brief pause.

"I believe there is, sir."

The Caped Crusader stopped pacing and stared at his butler expectantly.

"Get him to trust you, sir. Stop following him, stop trying to get information from him, don't offer help until he comes to you. This needs to be on his terms, sir, otherwise you might never be allowed to help."

"Can we at least take some things to his…shack?"

"Then he would know that someone has figured it out, sir."

"But his injuries, his ribs!"

"He now knows that you patrol in Crime Alley, sir. If and when the pain becomes too much, he will reach out to you, I'm sure of that."

"Alfred, I can't - we can't - wait for that! He could die before he decides to trust me!"

"Place a few Bat-cameras around Crime Alley, sir, in strategic yet invisible places. We need some there anyway. I will monitor him from here, just as I do you. If anything happens that could result in his death, I'll communicate it to you."

"He's so injured, Alfred, that any major hit to the ribs could result in his death! You didn't see him, it was bad. And if he doesn't know how to take care of his injuries, he could be in his shack dying right now!"

Dipping his head in deference, the butler replied, "It is, of course, your decision, sir. I will abide by your wishes, no matter what you decide."

"Maybe I'll put a Bat-camera in his…living place," Batman stated as he folded his arms across his chest. "Then we will know for sure if he's dying."

"First of all, sir, that is a huge invasion of his privacy. Second, there is no place in that shabby room to hide a Bat-camera; he would immediately see it. And when that happens, Master Batman, you will most likely lose him forever."

"We'll lose him forever if he dies, Alfred!" the hero exclaimed heatedly.

"Again, sir, it is your decision. Please forgive me if I have overstepped my boundaries."

Batman removed his cowl and hurled it across the room in frustration. Running both hands through his hair, the man flopped onto the nearest chair and sighed loudly.

"You'll figure it out, sir," Alfred stated before turning away. "You always do."

The butler walked over to the Bat-camera monitors and flipped them on in preparation for a night of careful observation throughout Gotham City. Everywhere except Crime Alley, where dangerous villains resided and a young boy barely existed.


Crime Alley:

Robin crouched in the shadows between the two air conditioning units of a tall building. It was the same spot that Batman had occupied several nights ago, although Robin didn't know that. After what had happened last night, with the gangs and Batman, everything had been quiet. Nobody was out, not even the usual mug-and-run criminals.

Boring nights usually frustrated Robin but tonight he was grateful. The fabric was wrapped around his ribs, although he knew it would throw him off. But the pain had been too intense when he had tried to remove the material.

A small movement on the roof of the building next door caught his eye and Robin slowly turned his head. There was a man pacing and talking loudly. Batman was the only person that the young crime-fighter knew of who would be on top of a building. But this man was too skinny to be Batman and, instead of a cowl-covered head, his hair was sticking out wildly in random places.

Suddenly the person grabbed his torso and started cackling quietly. Robin frowned; it was the same crazy laughter from the night he had rescued Batman. But he knew that villain had been arrested so how was he out of prison already? It had only been a few days since the incident!

Another movement caught the boy's eyes and he looked down at the street below. Two average-looking men were strolling down the sidewalk, seemingly paying no attention to anything around them. A flash of light made Robin realize that one had a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. Something important was foolishly being carried through Crime Alley late at night and the villain probably knew the contents of the case.

Robin was startled when the man on the roof unexpectedly disappeared. He understood why twenty seconds later, when the villain exited the ground floor of the building and raced after the men. A combination of a groan and a growl softly floated out of Robin's mouth. Whatever was in the case needed to be protected, along with the two men, but this villain was the most dangerous man that the boy had ever met. And Robin couldn't use his full abilities to fight him. At least the guy didn't have a weapon, that he could see, anyway.

It was Robin's turn to disappear off the roof and exit the ground floor twenty seconds later. The villain had already caught up to the men and was prancing around them, his hair flopping wildly and his arms flailing around. Robin never used weapons but he grabbed the nearest object he could see. It was a short stick of wood and the irony of the situation didn't escape the boy's notice.

"Just hand it over and I'll let you gooooo!" the dancing villain shouted in a sing-song voice. "No need for violence, I detest the very word!" he exclaimed with a wicked grin.

One man was muscular and the other, the one carrying the briefcase, was small. The bigger man kept shifting around, apparently attempting to find a way to completely shield his partner.

Robin had been slinking in and out of the shadows, unnoticed by any of the men. He was now in the alley directly next to the soon-to-be victims and a plan formed in his mind. The villain was still circling the pair of men. When he was on the far side of the larger man, Robin stepped out and grabbed the smaller man's arm.

"Run," he whispered as he pulled him into the shadows. The guy didn't hesitate; he raced away down the alley and turned left at the end. Robin quickly took the place of the man with the briefcase and lifted the wood so he was holding it like a baseball bat.

Joker made it around the large man and stopped short, shock on his face. The kid he had seen a few nights ago, the one whose rib he had broken, was swinging something solid toward his head! And the man with the briefcase was nowhere to be seen!

"Brat," he growled as he threw his arm up to block the weapon. Pain shot through the limb but Joker ignored the feeling.

The muscular man took advantage of the distraction and swung a large fist at the villain's face. It connected and blood spurted from the felon's nose.

"Idiot!" Joker screeched as he pushed his hands against the wound.

Taking that as his cue to leave, the big man looked at Robin, shrugged his shoulders and took off. Robin's eyes widened in surprise as he watched the man run away. He had assumed that the guy would help, not flee!

This time it was Joker who took advantage of the distraction. His hands were occupied with stopping the blood flowing down his chin but his legs were free. The villain picked up his deceptively strong right leg and kicked out as hard as he could. The large foot slammed directly into the young crime-fighter's ribcage and Robin dropped to his knees. The stick of wood fell from his hands and he wrapped both arms around his torso, gasping in pain.

The kick connected with his head this time and the pointy end of Joker's shoe dug a short but deep crevice in Robin's forehead. The boy was shoved backwards and he landed hard on the street, the momentum causing his head to bounce off the asphalt.

"Until next time, brat," Joker growled before turning around and striding away. He wanted to stay and finish the job but needed to take care of his nose.

Robin was frantically trying to bring air into his lungs but it wasn't working. His vision, already blurry from the hits to both his ribs and his head, was darkening and he was ready to slip into the blackened world of unconsciousness. But he heard soft footsteps and knew that some criminal had probably seen what had happened and was coming to finish what the villain had started.

"Come on, kid," an old voice whispered. "I'll get you out of the street but I can't do it without your help. Get up!" the man demanded quietly.

The young crime-fighter couldn't see anything now but decided to trust the slightly familiar voice. He slowly rolled to his stomach, pushed his palms against the ground and shakily made it to his feet. A trembling hand grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the shadows from which he had first entered the action.

"This is where I leave," the voice whispered as he dropped Robin's arm. The soft footsteps quickly faded and the eleven-year-old boy collapsed. Blood was streaming from the open wound on his forehead and he knew he had to get out of Crime Alley immediately.

The closest place was the border; home was in the opposite direction and Robin was sure he wouldn't make it there. But the border had all kinds of places where he could rest without having to worry about being attacked. His vision had gone from black to hazy and Robin decided he could get there.

"Where is he?" a deep voice growled as heavy footsteps pounded on the sidewalk to his right. "The boy in the mask, where is he?"

"I…I'm not sure," the shaking voice of the man who had helped Robin was full of fear.

There was a loud thud and a quiet groan.

"Then I'll teach you a lesson instead."

"Stop!" Robin yelled from his position on the ground just around the corner. He wasn't going to let the old guy take a beating for him.

A short, fat man immediately appeared and grinned down at the boy. The grin was full of evil and Robin squeezed his eyes shut in preparation to receive more pain. A foot kicked out at his chin, snapping his head back against the wall. Two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him off the ground. Robin's entire body was slammed against the wall this time and his eyes popped open.

This was a fight and Robin had trained his body to react to a fight. Bringing his legs up between his body and that of the criminal, the boy pushed his feet against the man's chest and shoved him back. Surprise filled the eyes of the man as he dropped Robin, stumbled back and hit the wall on the other side of the narrow alley.

Adrenaline was flowing through his body, lessening but not overpowering the pain. Robin had landed on his feet and he kicked his right leg out. This time it was the criminal's head that snapped against the wall behind him. The man's body instantly became limp and dropped to the ground. Turning away from the street, Robin began stumbling his way toward the connecting alley that would take him to the border.


A/N: I know that a "deep crevice" cannot be the result of a kick to the forehead, since the skull is right up against the skin. However, for purposes of this story, please pretend that it can. Thanks! :)