ION

I Own Nothing

Part 1: He

Walking through the coldly shifting air, he let his eyes wander across the streets, taking in the world.

High, towering buildings. People clogging and crowding the streets. Cats flickering among the alleys and gargoyles that perched in their majesty on the Victorian buildings. Rats tittered and scampered about. "Innocent" children wandering aimlessly, hands moving into pockets far too fast for most to see.

He shook his head, his lips pressed thin, hands shoved firmly in his own pockets to ensure no one mistook him. Reaching up, he made sure his hood was fit over his head and shadowing his face. Pushing out a breath, it made no cloud in the air despite the freezing temperature.

Near him a woman hailed a taxi, bending down and talking to the driver before walking away. Giving her a glance, he decided to find out why she'd left. He bent down to the window. Inside a man sat gruffly, his bald head gleaming and rounded figure toned by muscles and inked in tattoos.

The man glanced up, anger in his pale blue eyes. "Watcha' want, kid?"

He blinked in surprise, although logically he knew he shouldn't have, he had been the one to approach. He pointed to the back seat and the driver shrugged. He stepped in tentatively, taking a seat on the torn and threadbare seats. He shifted.

"Where ya wanna' go?"

He didn't know. He was just going on a hunch here that the cab was part of something he ought to look into. He raised his finger forward, causing the driver to not only raise an eyebrow, but also shrug, saying: "Whatever. You're paying."

He took a deep breath as the car lurched forward, uncomfortable by the sensation. He cocked his head, wondering how he could question the man without talking. Looking around, his eyes caught on the heater, hungry for the cold to be blown away. The driver must have seen his desperate stare, as he flicked it on.

"You a cold li'l crepper, are ye?"

He didn't answer, merely looking up at the man in confusion. He did not know what a "crepper" was. The man sighed. "'Ome on, punk. Yur making me like yeh."

He cocked his head again, blinking. He had no idea if that were a good or bad thing. The driver settled further into his seat, quiet for a long while before glancing over his shoulder. "Mm... so we been driving 'while now, 'ow bout ya take off the hood?"

He paused for a moment before reaching a thin hand up and pulling back his hood slowly. He briefly saw his reflection in the mirror, his features washed out and pale. He missed his bright blue eyes, wishing away the gold peering at him. He missed his natural-colored skin instead of the white stretching over delicate-seeming blue veins. He wanted his inky black hair, aching to see the color that had been reduced to a pale gray.

The driver seemed shocked at his appearance, nearly crashing into the side of the street and letting out a stretch of curses. When the car was back on track and under the driver's control, the man whistled. "Took me for a surprise there, kid. Don't see alotta light people here. Black hair, blue eyes, that's the definition of ma old lady, Gotham. But how'd you get lookin' like that?"

He wasn't sure if the man was complimenting his appearance or alienating it. He went with alienation, as that pretty much summed up his life.

Without an answer, the man continued. "Whoo-whee. It almos' makes me wanna' keep yeh for m'self. But I gotta contract' ta feel. Sorry 'bout this kid. It's jus' how Gotham works."

Wait- was something happening?

"Yur probably not from around here or yeh'd have checked out the cab firs'. Makes me feel bad. I like yeh. But," the driver sighed. "This is wha' I 'ave ta do. G'night, little crepper." The man reached to press a button, putting on a mask at the same time. On cue, purplish fog crept out of the vents, filling the car.

He didn't know what to do. Should he act as if it worked? As if he was knocked out? Or was he suppose to act dead? He really didn't know. So he just sat there. After about five minutes, the driver began looking panicked. He was yelling something through his oxygen mask that his rider couldn't understand.

Finally, a fan began blowing and the driver twisted, tearing off his mask. "HOW'RE YEH NOT ASLEEP?"

His charge blinked owlishly, almost innocently. He watched as the driver sunk into his seat, beginning to hyperventilate while muttering to himself. The man suddenly froze, and he watched calmly as the man grabbed a phone, sticking it to his ear after dialing a number.

After a moment, the man's mouth wet off at an alarming speed. "Boss! E's not asleep! Five minutes o' the gasser and he 'asn't so much 's twitched! What d' I do?!"

He stopped listening. He was supposed to be asleep. So should he act as such? Was he getting "kidnapped"? Either way, he gently lowered himself to the seat, resting his head in the hood of his jacket. The cab driver kept panicking for a moment before noticing the ruse, but not seeing past it. His cold and stubby hand worked its way into his charge's hoodie to check for a pulse. Slow and steady. He heard the driver sigh in relief whilst restraining himself. He did not like being touched. In fact, it took just about everything he had not to kill the man.

The Beginning of Alfred's Tale

Bruce Wayne.

He was known for many things. His fame. His looks. His money. His entrepreneurship. His love of ladies.

But there were some things he was much happier about being known for. Namely his great skill in managing the money he'd been given. But if he was honest, the favorite thing to see on magazine covers wasn't himself with a random chick, it was him with his son. But that was long ago. Now he doesn't like magazine covers at all. Now he is hurt, broken by the world, rotted to point of being cold and much to busy for the pleasantries of life, certainly for a child. That does not mean that fate isn't cruel and did not give him one, though.

Timothy Wayne.

Left to Master Wayne in the will of the boy's parents, it was made official just a week ago.

My Master does not yet know how fate had lain it that another little ink-haired, azure-eyed little boy had wormed his way into his life and onto his lap, or why. But this was different than the others. Much different than before.

The others... they are never spoken about by any. But I, as Alfred Pennyworth, feel it a responsibility to tell you the story of the infamous playboy and his journey into not only Batman, but the ruthless, cold CEO of the most powerful company in the world. And it all started with one, innocent, precious, and heart-melting little boy with midnight black hair and dark azure eyes, the only one able to break the ice that gripped the man.

Before it is too late for Master Bruce and Master Timothy, I must tell you the story with urgent hast.

The story of Dick Grayson.

I need to explain some things. Okay. A lot of things.

1 - This story has been nagging at me a long time. So I'm going to write until I get writer's block. So yeah.

2 - My computer is broken but sometimes you just NEED to write no matter the pain, so yeah. I get a new computer tomorrow so I'll be back in business with my normal stories. So excuse my mistakes, please.

3 - Every chapter will be comprised of 2 (possible up to 4, there are 4 but which one I choose will alternate) parts. If it says "Part 1" it's current and about "him" (he doesn't have a name yet in the story although I'm pretty sure we all know who he is), If it says "Part 2" it is Alfred telling about the PAST... okay just read this:

Part 1 = Current and with "him."

Part 2 = Past from Alfred's P.O.V, he's telling the story

Part 3 = Current with the Waynes

Part 4 = you will find out #mysteriousmusic

AAAANNNDDD 4 - (IMPOORTANT!) This story is way bigger than my summary. If I give a better one, it will reveal things about the story. So this will be awesome. I promise. THHHANKS.

Please review, if you can! Thanks! My "" button is't workig real well... (try ad guess which oe)

~Universe