ION

Part II

If I hadn't known better, I openly admit my surprise would have been great when Master Bruce not only stormed out of the manor in a mad and blind rage but also returned with none other than Richard Grayson himself.

However, I did know better and as such picked the two up myself. It was truly wretched sight, the Detention Center. Crumbling bricks dyed by time and iron to a bright and sickly yellow, brown smearing the walls from goodness' knows what, the fading letters of the sign reading "Go ham uven tion Cent" instead of the intended "Gotham Juvenile Detention Center," and large walls blanketed with harsh barbed wire.

Master Bruce had come out, still in slight anger, to the car; and I found beside him walking a truly tiny eight year old. With long, inky black bangs and glowing azure eyes, Dick Grayson could have easily passed for Bruce's own biological son. His skin was toned with an olive color, and exotic almond eyes further attested to his Romany heritage, but if one did not know better, he could have passed with little suspicion.

Despite the fear in the boy's eyes- the downtrodden and beaten look- he still seemed to have a bounce to his step I had not seen in Bruce for years- and even then, the rarity of such innocent delight had always been slightly foreign to my Master.

I do not know precisely what happened at every moment of Master Richard's days in the Detention Center, but he has confided in me somewhat. Despite this, in essence, his journals are all that I need- as long as I can translate the wild French he wrote in. French because Master Richard's mother tongue, Romany, was a nomadic and non-written language. His mother, who grew up the most part of her life in France, taught him instead to write in such a language. Master Richard had always been a careful journalist, something to thank him for, as it helps fill in the holes of the story I am telling you.

Now, to begin; it, of course, all started mere hours after the death of the young Master's parents. Instead of comforting hand, the cops had grabbed his wrists and quite literally dragged him from his parents, whom were already being bagged. They had thrown him at the feet of Jack Haley, saying his social worker would arrive soon.

The next part I am going to tell you… you must remember the utmost importance. If Master Bruce or I had known this, I do believe… things may have taken a different course. As it is, in scribbled French, this is what Master Dick wrote- in rough translation:

"I… the whole world was falling around me… and I… I was so lost. Thrown at the feet of Pop Haley, I thought someone may be able to protect me. Somehow rescue from the indescribable pain that seemed to consume me. When Pop knelt, I thought he'd do what he'd always done. I thought he'd take my face in his huge hands and explain that even if right now it wasn't going to be okay, that someday the Circus and all my family in it would make it okay. That Daj [Mother]and Dadu [Father] were in heaven now, that God held their hands, and they would watch over me until I came to join them. He would help me believe it. That's… that's what he'd always done.

"But not this time.

"This time, when he knelt, his words didn't soften the pain but hit me like a sand bag falling from the stage.

"It's time to go with them, Gray Son. It's time to join your parents. Your Grandfather." He said this coldly, all the "Pop" in "Pop Haley" gone. I was choking inside, the pain already too agonizing to bear… when… when… he pulled… a knife…an Owl crescenting it… out and… he tried to… to…

"No.

"The problem is, I was so broken. I couldn't see straight with the blood in my eyes. Plus, just minutes later Pop was fighting for custody over me. The social worker arrived, her cold hand gripping my arm, and she took me. She was speaking things in English, which I don't know so well, but I think she said something about Gypsies- as if they were bad. I love being a Gypsy, though…"

If I had read this before… before… just before, things may have turned out better. My heart aches for the young master, an innocent child pulled into something to dark for most of us to comprehend.

I am all but perfect, but through the years I have compiled what I believe is a complete account- a dangerous puzzle people would kill to keep quiet. I have compiled what I am near to sure is the most part of the story of my younger master, and as I have stumbled across each shocking discovery, my heart throbs and bleeds a little more for the one person who knew the whole story, the person to which this is not a tale of treachery and death, but his very own life.

Part III

Tim wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Like, at all.

Surely a long dead Robin couldn't just leave him a card saying that if his butler gave it to you, you were suddenly the Robin.

…Right?

He shivered, continuing his path across the grounds of Gotham Academy in a haze. He… was no hero. Goodness gracious, he couldn't even run a mile without losing his breath! One time during a kidnapping, he'd hid in the corner when the kidnappers were searching for him. People had been hurt. That was no heroism, that was cowardice.

Yeah. He openly admitted it. He was a coward.

He was okay with it, too. He didn't want to be selfish per say, but sometimes (okay, always) it was easier to just kinda hang out and trust that the real heroes would protect you. Plus, he wasn't sure if Batman even was a hero anymore.

At thirteen, it had been over five years since Dick and Jason died. Five years was a long time. Batman had changed… a lot. Just like Dick and Jason had predicted in their letters.

But didn't that make it even more prudent for him to become Robin?

He pushed into the hall, cowering under the height of the rest of the students. He was, despite his misgivings, a sophomore in highschool, causing his already undersized height to be completely dwarfed. See?! There was no way a midget could be a superhero! Superheroes were supposed to be the peak of humanity- tall, broad, chiseled, perfect faces and everything! Not short with an obvious t-zone, scruffy black hair that looked like it was dragged out of an exaggerated manga for tweens- not to mention a (possibly unhealthy) obsession with hacking and certain unnamed Animes!

"Yo! Tiny Tim!"

Tim's thoughts screeched to a halt as Chase's words cut through his stupor. Now, Chase wasn't technically a jerk, but the tall and broad young man was a pain. Tim was a charity case in the well-meaning jock's eyes. Not to mention Chase was really bad at the whole "helping out" thing. This was further attested to as Tim got the wind beat out of him and stumbled to his knees when Chase slapped his back.

Tim mumbled, muttering to himself as he pushed green-rimmed glasses up on his nose and gathered his papers back up, dread mounting as he realized his carefully coordinated and organized pages were now anything but.

Chase waited patiently form him to stand, smiling all the while. He was sure the epitome of Gothamite charm, pitch black hair tucked neatly back and shining ice blue eyes peering over a chiseled and square nose accompanied by porcelain skin and painfully symmetric features. He stood at a clean and poised height of six two with muscles visible even through his blazer. This was what a Robin would look like, not… not acne-emo-nerdy-short-kid.

"Yes, Chase?" Tim mumbled.

"You coming to the party t'night? There'll be food, and girls, and food, and, uh, well, girls." He beamed.

Tim, meanwhile, gripped his textbooks close to his chest. "Uh… no thanks. I'm busy."

"Come on! With what?!"

"With, uh, studying, and, uh, I, UM…" truth is, he was re-binge-watching one of aforementioned unnamed Animes while, yes, studying that night. At least, that what he had been planning.

"Duuude, get a life! You're freakin' the son and heir of both Drake and goodness' freakin' Wayne Industries! You need to have fun, there's no need to study when life's set for you!"

Well, that seemed counter-productive. "Um… I… I… um…" Tim really had no idea what to say to that. "I need to go. To, class, I mean." He walked away towards the bio-lab, cringing as Chase kept up with him.

"Come ooon, part-ay! With cheerleaders! I could even introduce you to my little sis, I dunno if you'd like her, she's kinda weird. She's like really smart and a hermit and stays in her room watching Anime all day, but-"

Tim froze. What? It was involuntary. "What animes…?"

Chase blinked. "Uh… Sword Gaming and um, Dragon Ballz?"

"You mean Sword Art Online and Dragon Ball Z?"

"Yeeah! But whatever, who likes anime anyway, it's for chicks and tweens, right?" Chase looked hopeful that Tim would be in agreement.

Instead, Tim looked sharply away, continuing his swift pace down the emptying hall. "Not really," he muttered too quietly to hear.

"Well, whatever. I'll even pick you up, if you want. I mean, really, bro. It will be fun! And I'm sure the girls will love you!" due to his long legs, Chase easily kept pace, waving his hands with a passion.

Tim didn't like girls. He was thirteen. He wasn't supposed to have fancies or any crap like that until he was older. He was happy drinking coffee, eating corn dogs, watching anime, reading, and studying. That's all he needed and certainly all he wanted.

Chase was getting more perturbed by his denial as they reached the library, not too far from the bio-lab. The jock reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Tim stiffened as he slowed in his tracks.

"Tiny Tim-"

Chase was interrupted as the doors to the library banged ceremoniously open and a red-head wheeled out in a wheel-chair rather superiorly. "Ugh!" she exclaimed. "What are you two doing?!"

Chase somehow paled, which was rather surprising with his already light skin. "O-oh, hi, Ms. Gordon. My friend Tim and I were just heading to the bio-lab-"

Her sharp brown eyes narrowed. "Tim? As in Timothy Drake?"

"Yeah, this is him." Chase pulled his hand back into his pocket.

"Well, Mr. Drake, do I have a bone to pick with you. You'd think someone as filthy rich as you would be able to pay your library fines, but nooooo…" the red grabbed his wrist harshly after she'd said this and dragged him back into the library, leaving a poor, confused Chase in their dust.

Tim was lost on this point; he spent a lot of time at the library, too much time. He was there so often it would be near to impossible not to return a book on time. "Ms. Gordon, I'm… I'm afraid I'm confused."

Ms. Gordon nodded to the librarian, dragging him to the back and wheeling behind a table, motioning for Tim to sit across from her. Barbara was in charge of the entire Gotham County library system, and apparently today she was checking in on the Gotham Academy wing. Why she had recognized Tim was beyond his understanding.

All air of professionalism and haughtiness gone, the young woman huffed a deep and mournful sigh, sinking back into her seat. She sat there, just staring at him for a quite literally five minutes, and for Tim, this was about the most uncomfortable experience he had been through. She just stared.

Finally, she leaned forward. "Let me see it."

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"You know what."

"N-no, I really don't."

Ms. Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Dick gave it to Jay, Jay gave it to you."

Tim's heart screeched to a halt. "W-what?"

"I can see it in your eyes, sweetie. Now let me see it, I know you have it on you."

Tim trembled, hesitating. Ms. Gordon gave him time to contemplate before he reached carefully into his pocket and pulling out the now wrinkled papers. He handed them to her, fear lacing his movements. He hoped this would not turn to be a grave mistake.

As Ms. Gordon read, tears gathered in her eyes. By the time she got to the end of the first letter, they had begun to roll down her cheeks. "I haven't seen his writing in so long…" she whispered. "So long…"

Tim's eyes shimmered as the woman wiped her tears away to no avail. She choked, breaking down into herself. "Oh, Dickie… you idiot…"

After a time of silence, she straitened, steeling herself and opening Jason's letter. As she read, her face softened with grief and love whilst somehow simultaneously hardening with determination. She set it down, raising her eyes and sweeping her glasses away.

"Robin, my name is Oracle.

"Welcome to the Batfamily."

Part IV

Jason was this close to just pulling out his gun, training it on everyone's brains, and watching as he blasted them out with a satisfying splatter.

Because the doe eyes.

This… wasn't right.

One glance from a brown-skinned, brown-eyed, brown-haired nine year old and he was having a very hard time not becoming a terrorist. Because goodness gracious, he wanted to freaking kill these traffickers about a million times over in the most painful away he could imagine.

And… he could imagine pretty bad.

Beating their brains out… or gassing them with this special poison he'd picked up… or- or! Oh! He could just, oh he didn't know, skin them alive and force them to live that way for three days without food or water or-

"Uh, Red Hood, what is so funny?"

Jason paused mid-laugh. He had no idea he had begun to chuckle darkly. "Nothing." He growled, laughing internally as everyone cowered under the voice modifier. He liked to think his normal voice was pretty scary, but he knew that if they found out he was barely seventeen he might lose some respect.

He watched broodily as they continued their conversation, trying to gulp back his anger to remain the cool figure he was… or was supposed to be.

"The new shipment's coming in, says there's only fourteen but one of 'ems real unusual 'round here."

"When exactly is it coming in?"

Crette hummed a moment. "Tuesday. So two days."

Jay followed the conversation, internally choking as people discussed women and kids as property. He logically knew he needed to infiltrate further to take this whole ring crashing, but emotionally, he was more than prepared to take everyone here out. He could only thank goodness' his changing and strained facial expressions didn't show through his helmet.

He huffed, leaning forward. "Anyone special gonna' be at the auction this time?"

Crette's eyes turned sickening as he grinned. "Oh yeah, we got some weird people comin'. Two Face is onea' them. Can ya imagine?"

"I wouldn't be too excited," Jason growled. "If it's Two-Face, he'll probably take your ring for his own."

On the one hand, Jason was not thrilled about a big-guy coming in. On the other, if Two-Face was making a move, he probably knew enough to take the ring down. Therefore, Jason just needed to bide his time a little longer to steal the intel and finish this job once and for all. But Two-Face was no idiot, Jay would have to be extremely careful.

The meeting continued on, and despite Jason's stark stand on his own maturity, he was still a teenager and by the end of the meeting was doodling images of everyone present finding unfortunate and painful deaths.

Wow… this reminded him of sixth grade.

So... I finally figured out the timeline for this story.

After a lot of changing.

Basically, Dick was killed a little more than five years ago and Jason followed only about four months after.

Dick was killed age 15, and Jason 13.

Dick was brought back by the court of Owls about three months later. Jason was brought back by the Lazarus Pit about 1 year later.

Thus, Dick is perpetually 15 and Jay skipped a year of aging and is 17.

Tim was 8 when they died. He is now 13.

Babs was 17 and is now 21.

AAAND... yeah. Hope that's clear, I will not change.

...hopefully.

Review are the best! And so are you!

~Universe