Robin 5

Efforts to keep our targets grounded have proven ineffective. After a long chase upwards, the combat has spilled out onto one of the highest rooves in Gotham's financial district. A crew of four high-level jewel thieves, all of them with prolific rap sheets, had attempted to steal over twenty million in diamonds from one of the city's most secure jewellers. When caught by a wandering GCPD patrol in the area, the crew shot one officer in the shoulder and fled in a waiting black van. Robin and I pursued them here and, after forcing the van off the road outside the aptly Chase Building, unfortunately funnelled them to the roof.

Smoke is employed to disorientate our adversaries and weaken their marksmanship. Within moments, a police helicopter has joined the action, shining a spotlight that blinds all in its glare, myself and the boy included. Recovery is swift and I subdue two of them within fifteen seconds by way of efficient parrying and their poor bodyweight distribution aiding my leg sweeps. Once handcuffed, I turn my attentions to the boy. Robin is corkscrewing into one with a heavy kick. His opponent stumbles back in the aftermath, drifting dangerously close to the roof edge. A moment later, he loses his balance completely and begins a slow tumble over the side. The boy goes after him without a second thought, risking his life to save the scum. Both of them disappear from view. I do not even consider the last thief still posing a threat: I immediately rush to the side.

Dangling from a little more than the lip of a window almost ten metres down, Robin is desperately trying to keep his grip on both the lip and the thief's ankle. Just from the strain on his face, I know he only has moments of hold left in his fingers. I am abseiling down the side of the building a second later, hoping the last thief has dispensed with the idea of murder in favour of fleeing or surrendering to authorities. I release my partner of his burden. The man clings to me in terror, making my return to the roof easier. I check the boy has enough left in his arms until I can return. He nods, shooting me a smile in assurance. I ascend back to the roof and drop off my package. The GCPD are now swarming the roof to take the thieves into custody. Satisfied, I drop back down. The boy is still hanging on.

I manoeuvre close and gesture for him to reach for me. I see it before he does. He reaches with his dominant right hand, the one he used to hold himself and the thief up before. That means his left hand, the hand that suspended over two-hundred pounds of weight for almost fifteen seconds, is going to try and hold his bodyweight for a split second. It fails. He falls. I catch him after a three second freefall through the air. I am at the full extent of my line, some thirty metres of carbon fibre cable. If he had fallen even a foot or so further, terminal velocity means I would not have been able to save him. I dismiss that morbid fact as I climb back up to the roof with Robin safely latched on.

I heard him scream during those three seconds. His ragged breaths and inability to speak in the immediate aftermath point to shock or a surge of adrenaline. When getting off my chest on the roof, the boy's hands are visibly shaking. His breathing is barely less frantic than a minute earlier. He swallows hard to compose himself before speaking.

"That was crazy." He says mustering an unconvincing smile. He is visibly rattled by the experience. It is wholly understandable. "Mind if I sit down for a sec, big guy? Kind of got wobbly legs here." He asks a minute later after we attempt to walk off the roof by the fire escape.

"Of course not." I reply directing him over to a secluded corner of the roof, away from the officers and noise still crowding the area. He gingerly sits down and takes a few deep breaths. I sit down beside him. He holds his hands out in front of him, palms down. They are still trembling. He nods at their reaction.

"They definitely thought it was the end back there." He tells me. "This is going to stop, right?" He asks, swallowing hard again. He is attempting to slow his heartrate to normal levels. I pat him softly on the back.

"Yes. It is either shock, adrenaline or an unbalanced mixture of both. Given a day or two, all symptoms will eventually subside. Are you okay?"

"I've felt better…but I'm alive, instead of sidewalk art." He quips rapidly opening and closing his hands before pulling them into his lap. He looks over at me. "Can we go home now? I'm…not feeling like any more patrolling tonight." I move my hand off his back and nod whilst rising to my feet.

"Certainly. Shall we take the stairs, just this once?" I ask offering him a helping hand. Despite his close call and current disposition, Robin smiles at me.

"Yeah, just this once." He responds taking my hand.

We arrive home. Alfred diagnoses Acute Stress Reaction, more commonly known as psychological shock, and prescribes bedrest. Dick's hands have stopped shaking now. His breathing is less pronounced as well. These are encouraging signs. His eyes are still troubled though. The old man gives him reassurance with a prolonged hug as he sits on the examination table before taking me to one side for a private discussion.

"He's very shaken by this one, Sir."

"When hurtling through the sky, three seconds can feel far, far longer." I tell him, recalling several dozen instances when I have found myself in similar predicaments. In those moments, the only thing that saved me was desperation to survive. Tremors and heart palpitations after recovering those grim experiences were common. When it became clear I could not avoid those incidents recurring in future patrols and operations, I trained myself to embrace my fear and twist it into adrenaline to fuel an escape without suffering devastating aftereffects. It was only partially successful. Alfred nods.

"Did you ever think you might not have…"

"No." I cut him off before he can finish his question. "Not for a moment." I will not let this boy die on my watch. I look away from the old man to the boy. He is fidgeting nervously in place. "Will he be alright in a few days, old friend?"

"That one is as tough and resilient as you when it comes to surviving and overcoming trauma. He will be fine, given the correct attention." Alfred says, hinting at a long storytelling session and perhaps the necessity of staying with him until he falls asleep. It is barely a task at all. "Are you alright, Master Bruce?" I frown at him.

"What do you mean, Alfred?"

"You nearly lost him this evening. Are you sure you are not in delayed shock at present?" The old man is exaggerating. The line may have been at full extension, but my arm still gifted me an additional foot of breathing space. He was far from being 'nearly lost' tonight. Part of me disagrees with this analysis, but I quash it.

"My vitals are fine." I assure him. He looks dubious.

"With all due respect, Sir, your vitals are not normal. Since you can practically make your body register any vitals you wish outside of extreme exertion, your heartrate and breathing levels are a poor measure of emotional feeling. Did it feel like a close-run thing? Even if just for a moment?" I narrow my eyes at this prompting. That disagreeing voice resurfaces. It is trying to make me admit I was afraid of losing him…for maybe the tenth time in our tenure on the streets. Too many close calls…

"No."

"Then you don't love him enough." The old man says coldly. My jaw tightens at this bold accusation. He remains firm. "Because, if you did care for him as much as I and he believe, you would admit to me if there was anything potentially affecting you that I need to treat. Now, as your doctor and oldest friend, is that the case?"

"It was only those three seconds as he fell. As soon as I caught him, everything was fine. There was barely enough time to even form a doubt, much less let it affect me. And he only fell as a direct consequence of saving that thief from an accidental death: if he were not so selfless, our reputation as 'good' vigilantes might not have survived." I reply before confronting what I believe is the real meaning of this conversation. "You think he should quit, don't you? Have a normal life like his peers."

"Actually no, Sir. I used to, the first half-dozen times he was within a hair's breadth of death or permanent brain damage. However I have come to realise a rather unsettling truth about Master Dick: he is an adrenaline junkie. If he is not pushing himself to the absolute breaking point of his abilities, if he is not under severe pressure to perform, he is not happy. Take this instance: yes, he is suffering from psychological shock today, but a few days from now he will revel in the fact of having cheated death yet again. He will not voice it aloud, but it will be how he feels. As a world-famous circus acrobat, he was already pushing himself to physical and mental limits with his tightrope performances before thousands of spectators. That used to be his threshold for adrenal satisfaction. Being Robin has pushed him well beyond that marker. He is now only contented with risking life and limb on a nightly basis. Removing him from that environment will only force him to fill the void with more dangerous challenges."

"There aren't any more dangerous—"

"Precisely my point. Robin is his apex. So he will overcompensate in what is available. And he will likely kill himself in pursuit of the same high he achieves on the streets with you. The lesser of two evils as it were is him remaining with you."

"Well I'm sold, Alfie."

We both turn to the left and find our subject matter only a foot away. He is getting better at stealth: evidently neither of us heard him approach. He has also changed from his uniform into sweat pants and an oversized wool jumper. I note his eyes convey far less trouble and discomfort. Alfred clears his throat.

"Gentleman should not eavesdrop on private conversations, Master Dick."

"Yeah, but I'm not a gentleman, Alfie: I'm an adrenaline junkie." He says flashing a smile that holds on his face afterwards. The old man cannot suppress a smile either. A moment later, I join them. "I get what you're saying. I'm lucky. I'm lucky I can shrug this stuff off. Other people can't do that. And you're right too. There isn't anything bigger than being Robin for me. I don't want to be Batman: just myself. Maybe a few years ago I wouldn't have ever wanted to be Robin either. But I had parents back then and a comfortable life. This is the new normal. Compared to now, my life in the circus was boring. It sounds totally crazy to say that, but with Gotham as the new status quo, it was." Dick pauses to point at me, "And he does care, Alfie. That's why he's going to drop all this bunk and read me a story upstairs. Aren't you big guy?" He is still unsettled by events this evening, but already controlling himself better than anticipated. I incline my head in sound agreement.

"Yes I am. Shall we?"

It is twenty minutes later. We are upstairs in his room. He has selected Lord of the Flies for my storytelling abilities. Both of us are now in pyjamas. He is underneath the duvet, I am on top. It takes less than four paragraphs for his head to come to rest on my chest. I am halfway through Ralph and Piggy's first conversation when the boy interrupts me.

"'Them fruit' he said, 'I ex—"

"Were you really scared? That you wouldn't catch me I mean." He asks casually enough. I nod.

"Yes, of course."

"Then why did you tell Alfie you weren't?"

"I…don't know. Habit perhaps."

"But it's Alfie, not a threat." Dick reminds me, shifting position until he is facing up my chest and we can look each other in the eye. I sigh lethargically.

"I know." I say, temporarily placing the book to one side to give the matter my full attention. "Were you scared I wouldn't catch you?" I ask. He smirks.

"I…was freaking terrified you wouldn't catch me. There's always a first time, right? But at least I can't hide that. You don't admit your feelings even in private, even in the confidence of a guy who's known you all your life. That's got to change before you really get traumatised. Otherwise you're going insane alone and everybody still thinks you're fine." He is right. But Alfred has been espousing similar advice and concern for more than a decade. And little has happened in the meantime. I pat his hand briefly.

"Well, let us both agree now is not the time or the place to try and break a near twenty-year habit. I appreciate your concern, but right now, I am comforting you. And that is all I wish to do this evening." His ensuing sigh is enough to show he is begrudgingly in agreement. He twists himself back into his previous position, head on my chest whilst lying on his right side.

"Fine. But this isn't over." He tells me as I pick up the book again. I ruffle his hair.

"It is for tonight."

I am surprised when, after graduating to chapter three, I find Dick is still awake in spite of his comfortable surroundings. I imagine it is simply down to the shock. I do not draw undue attention to it and continue reading. When I conclude chapter four, the boy reaches over and pushes the book down to my chest with his left hand.

"That's enough for me." He announces finally lifting his head off me. "Thanks for that." I sit up from my reclined position and close the book.

"Will you alright to sleep?" I inquire placing the book on the bedside table. The boy nods and gives me a smile.

"I'm good. But let's pick this up again tomorrow night." He says settling down under the covers as I vacate the bed entirely. "You know it felt really weird, freaking out like that? I've fallen before, but that really felt like the end." He adds bunching the sheets underneath his chin as I approach the doorway. "Crazy, huh? After everything else I thought that was curtains?" He laughs, "I'm going to have to raise my standards." I pause by the light switch and consider. I cross back to the bed, sit down and half-cradle him in my arms.

"Don't talk like that. I won't let it happen. I promise." I tell him softly. He does not attempt to hug me in reply. He just relaxes into my embrace.

"I know you won't, Bruce. Just angling for a hug is all. Know just where to prod, huh?" He admits with a chuckle. I concede the point and nod. He nearly died: I should be able to spare more than one. I smile.

"Evidently."