Hey guys! So... It's been awhile. And I apologize. My excuse is college, and I'm sticking to it. Right now I'm on spring break, so I have some time to just sit in my own bed and actually write. Ideally I'll get chapter 7 up too, but no promises. Just know this: I haven't forgotten about this story. It's just that life is awfully busy sometimes, and it's hard to find the time to update. So if it takes awhile for chapters to come up, I really am sorry. But I love writing this story, so don't lose faith! Anyways, here's chapter 6; enjoy Robin's weird dream and some Robin - Batman drama.
The circus tent is bright. Colorful lights flash and dance over the crowd as clowns tumble and play. The audience roars with laughter and claps their hands. It's loud. It's full of life.
The boy stands just outside the ring, feeling confused. Things are blurred somehow, as though the world is spinning too quickly.
"I've seen this before," he murmurs, and glances around. "I've been here before. Where am I?"
"Don't you remember?" a man says. The boy turns to look, but the man is bathed in shadow. "This is when you were born. This is where it happens."
"When I was born?" the boy questions. The man nods.
The boy is puzzled, but turns back to watch. The clowns are gone. The colors have faded to black, until everything is pitch dark. Then, twin lights flash high, high up, all the way at the top of the tent. Two figures, so small at such a height, stand on platforms opposite each other. They hold trapeze bars in their hands.
The boy begins to sweat. "Do I know them?"
The man does not answer, and the boy fidgets nervously. The figures jump, and the crowd gasps in fear as they swing towards each other.
"I know this," the boy whispers. "Why can't I remember? Something's going to happen, but I can't remember what..." His voice trails off. He sees a young boy, watching the acrobats with a big smile. The child is wearing a red, yellow, and green costume.
Head spinning, he looks down at himself and sees he's wearing the same. "What's happening?" he whispers.
The man nods at the child. "He dies..." He points to the boy. "And you're what's left over."
And suddenly he remembers, he knows exactly what's going to happen. Frantic, he sees a thief, a villain, watching from the back with a dark smirk, a knife in hand.
"Stop!" he screams and runs to the center of the ring. "Stop, stop, the rope is cut!" The figures above him don't hear, they keep jumping and swinging through the air. The audience continues to applaud.
"No!" he shrieks. "No, they're going to fa-"
The snap of the rope interrupts him. Everything is silent as he watches the acrobats plummet to the ground, hands still clasped in their final trick. His mouth is open in a silent scream; his eyes are wide with horror.
When they land, the ground explodes.
Screaming, he's thrown off his feet and lands harshly on his back. For what feels like an eternity he lays on the ground, crying out as debris rains down endlessly, the world exploding around him.
Finally, it stops. He coughs and rubs dirt out of his eyes. Blinking, he stands. The tent is gone. All that remains is a crater.
His stomach drops. Tentatively, he moves toward it, and covers his mouth when he sees them, when he sees his parents, mom and dad, lying dead in the center, eyes open in horror, hands still clasped.
Tears trickle down his cheeks. A sob escapes his lips. Trembling badly, he climbs down into the crater. Dust rises in soft clouds when he moves. Sobbing, he finally reaches them and collapses to his knees. He begs them to wake up. He holds their faces in trembling hands, searching for a sign of life. But the light in their eyes has long gone out.
"You failed them," a voice rumbles. Quivering, he turns to see the man from the shadows. His face is half black, half orange. Slade. "You've failed them twice now."
"I didn't mean to," he whispers. "I didn't know... I couldn't stop it."
"And now they're dead, again, because of you... Robin," Slade says softly. Robin buries his face in his hands. Tears trickle through his fingers.
A hand clasps his shoulder. Confused, he looks up.
The man is holding out a gun."Don't fail them again."
Trembling, he takes the gun and stands up. Tony Zucco is there now, laughing and jeering. Suddenly furious, he raises the gun.
"Don't do it, Robin!" A voice cries, and the boy hesitates to look. It's Bruce Wayne, looking ridiculous in a cheesy bat costume. He wears a clown wig. A fake tear is drawn on his face. "I didn't do it, and look how I turned out." Bruce puffs out his chest in pride; the tear slides farther down his face.
Robin turns back to Zucco, but he feels sick now, not as sure. "Don't fail them again, Robin," Slade purrs.
"Don't fail us again, Richard," his mother's corpse is saying, her eyes dead and her skin pale.
"We know you can do it," his father adds, and worms are crawling in his eyes.
The boy points the gun, but it's melting now, hot metal in his hand, and his skin is melting off with it. He screams and screams but no one is moving, his parents are just chanting "don't fail us, don't fail us," and Slade and Batman stand by and watch, and Zucco is laughing and laughing as Robin falls to his knees and screams. He holds up his hand and watches as the skin bubbles and melts until all that's left is bone, and then the hot metal of the gun is everywhere until he's melting into the ground, and his parents are watching, and all that's left are his hoarse screams, and-
"Alfred!" Bruce roared, sprinting into the batcave with Robin's limp body in his arms. "Alfred, where are you?!"
The old butler ran toward him and gasped. "Oh god, what happened?"
"He was attacked," Bruce said shortly. "Now for the love of christ, help me! Clear a table!"
Eyes wide, Alfred ran to the nearest work table and unceremoniously swept everything off of it. Gadgets and papers fell to the floor with a clatter. "Here, here, put him here," he said frantically, and Bruce gently laid the boy's battered body on the table.
"Scissors," Bruce said, voice dark. "We need to cut his clothes off."
Face lined with worry, Alfred nodded and jogged off.
Bruce looked down at his ward, and his face darkened. The boy was muttering and twitching. A few tears were trailing down his face.
Bruce tightened his jaw. "I swear to god, Robin," he growled. "I will find the man who did this to you, and I will do much worse to him. I swear to god."
Alfred came running back only moments later, scissors gleaming brightly in his hand. Bruce nodded and took them. He took a deep breath. "Okay... He's going to be okay, Alfred. I promise."
Leaning over the table, he began to cut away the boy's clothing.
It took hours. Robin had broken two ribs, a finger, and had sprained his ankle and wrist. His face was covered in dark bruises and bloody scrapes. And there were deep cuts filled with dirt all over his body that needed to be cleaned and stitched. Bruce and Alfred painstakingly cleaned each wound, splinted each broken bone, and stitched the worst of the boy's wounds. When they had finally finished, they collapsed, exhausted, in nearby chairs. It was nearly six in the morning.
Bruce brought a hand to his face to rub his temples. His arm trembled badly. Alfred saw and sighed. "Go to bed, master Bruce. I'll look after him."
"I won't leave him," the man said stubbornly.
Alfred furrowed his brow. "Master Bruce, I really must insist -"
"It's my fault," Bruce said sorrowfully, cutting the butler short. "Look at him. He wasn't ready. I should've known better, I should've made him wait, I shouldn't have left him alone..." Bruce buried his head in his hands and breathed shakily.
Alfred's face softened with pity, and he put a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "It is not your fault, do you understand?" His face darkened with anger. "It is that monster's fault and no one else's. What he did to that young boy... It was inhumane. But it is not your fault that he did it."
"Dick is my responsibility," Bruce said slowly, raising his head. "I'm the only parent he has left. He looks to me for guidance, and safety. I failed him. And with this kind of life, fighting the worst kind of people and sacrificing everything else... Failing has very severe consequences." Bruce sighed heavily and glanced over at the boy. "Which is why he can't be a part of it anymore."
"Are you certain that's the best way?" Alfred asked quietly. "He'll be furious if you try to take crime fighting away from him. And it gives him so much hope, Master Bruce. It helps keep him distracted from the grief."
"Maybe it's better to face grief," Bruce said softly, "Instead of constantly running away from it. He'll hate me for it, but at least he'll be alive. I thought, when I saw him, that he might be-" he shuddered and swallowed heavily. "That we might have lost him. He could've died tonight, Alfred. And no matter what you say, that would have been because of me." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's done, Alfred. He's done. From now on, Dick leads a normal life." He glanced over at the boy again and felt his heart contract. "No more fighting."
Dick wrinkled his nose. "More turkey sandwiches?"
Bruce glanced down at the tray, looking confused. "You love turkey sandwiches. That's what you told me to make."
"That's what I told you to make four days ago," the boy said, rolling his eyes. "You've been feeding me the same meal for days. Have some culinary creativity, Bruce. Or just let Alfred make me lunch."
"Alfred makes us every single other meal. I thought it would be nice to change things up a bit," Bruce said, face a little red. "I just uh, haven't had to make lunch for anyone else in a while."
"It shows," Dick said wryly. "Variety is the spice of life, pal. Make me some soup or something."
Bruce raised a brow and placed the tray on the bed. "Little bossy, don't you think?"
Dick sighed and rubbed his temples, or at least tried to; the cast on one of his fingers hindered the movement. "I'm sorry. I'm just sick of being in this bed." He scoffed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't wait to be able to go back to school. When will I be able to leave?"
"When I say you can," Bruce said drily. "School can wait."
The boy smirked and grabbed a sandwich. "Now who's being bossy?"
"Unlike you, I've acquired the right to be bossy after many years of deep life experience," Bruce said with a smile.
Dick grinned and took a bite. "So," he said after swallowing. "Any news on Slade?"
Bruce hesitated before answering, looking uncomfortable. "Look, Dick, I really don't want you to worry about him, okay? Just try to keep him off your mind."
Dick gave him a disbelieving look. "Seriously? The guy almost beat me to death. I'm not gonna be happy until he's behind bars."
"I understand that," Bruce sighed. "But he's my problem, not yours, got it? I'll take care of him."
Dick blinked, confused. "He's my problem too, Bruce. I mean, I know I don't stand a chance against him, but I want to help you at least."
Bruce sighed and looked away. Dick suddenly started to feel nervous. "What is it?"
"Look, Richard," Bruce started slowly. "I am so proud of all of the progress you've made in the past year. I really, truly am. But this life... I shouldn't have introduced it to you in the first place. It was a mistake. I mean, look at you!" he burst out, looking agitated. "Look at what happened! You're twelve years old, Dick. You shouldn't be bedridden for days because a criminal almost killed you; you should be outside, making friends, playing. I took that away from you the moment I introduced you to crime fighting." The man's gaze hardened. "But not anymore. You're going to live a normal life, Dick. I won't let this happen to you ever again."
"So then don't!" Dick burst out desperately. "But I can still learn to fight! We'll just be safer about it! I promise I'll stay in the car next time, or we can just keep training until I'm actually ready to go out there. I know I messed up, I know, but you have to give me another chance!"
"Don't you get it?" Bruce said sadly. "You didn't fail, Dick. I did. This is my fault for thinking that someone your age could possibly handle a life like this."
"I can, though!" Dick said shakily. Tears were starting to burn in his eyes, and he swiped at them irritably; he didn't want to look weak, not now when Bruce was staring at him with so much pity. "I can deal with this, I promise! Please, you can't take this away from me. It's all I have!"
Bruce nodded slowly. "I know. And that's the problem." He stood up and looked down at his ward with pity. The boy looked utterly lost. "There's so much more to life than this, Richard. I sacrificed that happiness to protect the people of Gotham. But I won't let the same thing happen to you. You're going to be happy, and safe." He sighed heavily. "Look, I know it seems bad now, but trust me: you'll thank me someday."
He began to walk out of the room, but hesitated in the doorway. "I'll bring you some soup tomorrow," he said softly. "Alfred will take care of you tonight." And then he was gone.
Dick stared after him, trembling. He wanted to run after the man, make him see that he wanted this life, that it was okay that he was hurt now because he'd heal, and he'd be so much more careful next time, really... But all he could do was stare at the empty space of the doorway, shaking from an emotion he couldn't name.
Fighting was his life now; he remembered what it had felt like to fight Slade before the beating had started. It was like everything in his life had suddenly made sense, like he was satisfying the dark part of himself but doing the right thing. He wanted to be a hero; he needed it. Because the alternative was just sitting back and letting life happen around him, not making a difference, disappointing the memory of his parents. He remembered the nightmare he'd had, the gun melting in his hand, his parents chanting that he couldn't fail them again.
And now, because of his one stupid decision, he had.
Feeling very small, he curled up in the bed and started to sob.