The Boy Wonder
April 30, 1940
The Batmobile rumbled into the cave, the roar of its engines a manifestation of the frustration that Bruce felt. He exited the car, flinging off his cowl, cape and gloves as he marched. Weeks on the hunt and little to show for it. Tony Zucco remained at large.
It took almost no time at all to determine that he was behind the murders of the Graysons. A stakeout of the circus gave up Edward Skeevers and company, all known associates, paying a visit to Haly himself, intent on collecting what they thought was due. A short chat, performed at the top of the ferris wheel had Skeevers outing Zucco as the man who ordered that the ropes be sabotaged during the show.
This amounted to little if Zucco couldn't be found. For a man known for his prodigious frame, he cut a remarkably slim figure when it came to tracking him down. Batman's approach was direct enough that someone tipped off Zucco, who was hiding in some bolt hole, sweating it out and waiting for the walls to fold in. It was only a matter of following every track.
The list of possible allies that could shelter him was narrowing. Word was that the Roman had disavowed his former acolyte, the circus job an endeavor dreamed up by Zucco alone. Maroni wouldn't break bread with the man. Too much bad blood between their enterprises.
Bruce leaned hard on his knuckles, staring at the map of Gotham, crisscrossed as it was by the web of leads and dead ends. He allowed his eyes to unfocus, to take in the totality of the display. He often visualized his detective work as undoing a complex knot, working his way back along the rope, finding each new point of release.
"Master Bruce," said Alfred. "There is a matter that requires your urgent attention.
Our young guest."
The mansion was at once claustrophobic and maze like. It lacked the airy ease of the circus, where every turn invited new adventures, instead remaining content with a walled in solemnity that hung over every thought. Most of Dick's days were spent mapping the place, coming to grips with its halls and staircases and nooks and crannies.
He was currently perched on one of the gargoyles that overlooked the front courtyard, having slipped out a window. It felt right to be at such a height. Some of the other performer's at Haly's marveled at how Dick could be so calm at the top of the big top, but he preferred it. There was freedom in the perspective it offered.
"Dick?" said a voice from below.
They repeated themselves, as Dick noticed Bruce Wayne leaning his head out the window below. The man of the manor.
"Could you get down from there?" said Mr. Wayne.
Dick ignored him.
"That's quite a climb you've managed."
Mr. Wayne was doing his best to sound impressed, with only a tinge of worry. To an extent it surprised Dick that he was even here to try and talk him down, considering he barely saw the man most days.
"You like the view?" said Mr. Wayne.
"Not bad," said Dick.
"I hate to ruin the fun, but would you mind getting down? If not for me, then for Alfred's sake?"
The old man had been by earlier to try and convince Dick to climb down. A recurring issue. Last week it was one of the chandeliers. Two days ago he scrambled into the branches of the oak tree on the back of the property.
He relented, swinging in the widow as Mr. Wayne stepped back.
"Thank you, Dick," said Mr. Wayne. "You know we have a gymnasium. Where you could keep up your acrobatics. In a.. safer manner."
Dick nodded.
"I know the adjustment hasn't been the smoothest, but I appreciate you making the effort," said Mr. Wayne.
"Yeah," said Dick.
"We haven't gotten a chance to spend much time together, but that should be changing soon. I have tickets to the Knight's game if you're interested. Great seats."
"Alright," said Dick.
Mr. Wayne didn't look satisfied with where they were leaving things, but he said something about work that needed to be done and excused himself. Dick drifted through the manor, back to his room. It was big, the biggest place he had ever had to himself, but it felt empty. Like the rest of this place.
A few of the doors were always closed. Locked even. As if they were being preserved. Mr. Wayne's parents had died when he was young. Like Dick. A fact that snuck up on him, even now. That his world could be so changed in such a short period of time threatened to consume him if he dwelled on it for long.
Becoming Mr. Wayne's ward was not his first choice. He had wanted to remain at the circus. The state did not even consider that an option, sweeping him away to an orphanage. The others visited, but they couldn't honor his pleas to take him home. Mr. Haly teared up when Dick begged him, told him that they had no choice. He had no close relatives. His uncle Rick was out there somewhere, paralyzed from an accident that happened before Dick was ever born.
When Mr. Wayne first visited he wasn't entirely caught off guard. He was one of the first to comfort him when it happened, one of the few who hadn't fled the big top. Mr. Wayne had a somber expression, with eyes that told Dick he knew. Really knew what this meant. It was that look in his eyes that convinced Dick to go ahead with becoming his ward, even with his misgivings. Mr. Haly and the others were sad, but they told him it would be good to be raised by a man of means. To have options in life.
He only had a few personal belongings in his room. His clothes. A poster of his family's act. A handful of pictures, including the one from outside New Orleans, when Dick was six, with the whole circus troupe. His costume from the act.
Dick opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a wrinkled stack of papers. They were dominated with headlines and stories on his parents death. One name stuck through the mess, like a dagger buried in his heart. Zucco.
Dick remembered that toad talking to Mr. Haly a few days before the show. He hadn't heard most of the conversation, but he could see that Haly was fearful. Zucco swaggered about like he owned the place, thrusting his cigar into Haly's face. It was this moment that was imprinted in Dick's mind as firmly as his last look at his parents. The one moment that asked, "Why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you stop him?"
He looked at the paper on the bottom of the stack. A faded photograph and smeared print. The Red Fox. A bar frequented by Zucco.
A chance to make things right.
May 2, 1940
"The boy needs you around," said Alfred.
"I'm aware. But, if I delay much longer, Zucco will be gone. It's only a matter of time before he tries to skip town."
"I appreciate that you desire for that brute to be brought to justice, but I assure you that Master Grayson's needs should be a higher priority."
"I can do that. Soon."
"Think of your own experience. After your parents. What you needed then," said Alfred.
"I'm thinking of how Dick has a chance to see his parent's killer brought to justice."
Alfred was unsatisfied with Bruce's answer, but the man did not press him any further. Bruce left, to prepare for his night. He had a few more leads to follow up on in regards to Zucco. And a visit he owed Cobblepot.
The Iceberg Lounge almost seemed to appear overnight. It went from a decaying building on the outskirts of Gotham's harbor district to one of the most sought after dens of excitement and vice in the entire city. All thanks to the machinations of one man. Oswald Cobblepot.
The interior was sleek, filled with ice sculptures and polished surfaces. A massive block of frozen ice, representative of its namesake dominated the center of the lounge. Batman had already scoped out the locale. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he was battering down Cobblepot's doors. The man was up to his nose in illicit activities, including the smuggling network. The question was how to make any of the charges stick. He was as meticulous as the Roman. And at least as ruthless. Gordon and Batman had found the bloated body of one of his rivals, floated up from an underwater grave. How many more already sat on the bottom of the harbor was anyone's guess.
In the end, Batman only had to dispatch two of Cobblepot's men to get to him, the pair of guards stationed outside his office. Cobblepot didn't look particularly surprised when Batman entered his office. He gave Batman an ugly smile.
"It's been a while since our last chat," said Cobblepot.
He got up from his desk, pulling out a pair of drinking glasses and a bottle of vodka from a crystalline cabinet. A twin pair of gold penguin statues sat on either side of the room. Batman observed Cobblepot carefully.
"Care for a refreshment?" he said, pouring into the glasses.
"Zucco."
"More for me. You need to learn how to relax, Batman."
Cobblepot took a gulp of the alcohol.
"You know where I can find Zucco," said Batman, standing closer to the desk.
"I think you've made a mistake. I don't consort with such individuals."
"I've followed the trail. Enough of it leads back to you. You've helped him hide."
"Why would that interest me?" said Cobblepot.
"Zucco's not the biggest player in town, but he has his uses. Easier to fold him in by hanging this debt over his head."
"You give me far too much credit, Batman. I'm busy enough running this club."
Batman took another step closer. Cobblepot performed a slight flinch, almost imperceptible, but enough to let Batman know that there was fear. He made sure to not lose sight of his hands, which rested on the edge of the desk.
"I'm going to find Zucco. If I need to I'll bring you down with him."
"Something's really riled you up this time, hasn't it?"
Before he could reply, Batman felt a buzz on his utility belt. The signal that meant Alfred was trying to contact him on the Batmobile radio. It would be something urgent.
"I suggest you think long and hard about how much Zucco is worth."
"Always a pleasure, Batman," said Cobblepot, downing the rest of the vodka. "Don't be a stranger."
"What is it Alfred?" said Batman, cradling the radio receiver in his hands.
"Master Grayson is gone," said Alfred.
"What?"
"I've searched the whole manor. He's left, somehow."
"Could he be on the grounds? When's the last time you saw him?"
"He was holed up in his room all day. Or so I supposed."
Which meant Dick could have left at any point. The manor was a ways out from the city, but there were means to get there if you had a purpose.
"I found something. A series of papers. One was marked with a location. The Red Fox. A bar that with connections to Tony Zucco."
Batman keyed the ignition of the Batmobile, gunning it out into the midnight streets. This wasn't the first time Dick Grayson went looking for his own answers. If the boy was out there he didn't have long.
Oswald Cobblepot overlooked the Iceberg Lounge from the viewport of his office. He enjoyed how small everyone looked from up here. It suited them.
"Hey boss," said one of his men. Phelps.
"What is it?"
"Do you want us to halt the deliveries? To Zucco?"
"Did I ask you to halt them?"
"No. It's just-"
"What?"
"We got the bat breathing down our neck. Shouldn't we stop them to throw him off?"
"Phelps, do I pay you to make plans?"
"No."
"Then don't question mine. Keep making them. Hell, make more. Lord knows, Zucco can eat. Give the fat man his food."
"Won't Batman find him more easily then?"
"I'm counting on it."
Dick squatted on the bottom floor of a fire escape, above the alley outside the Red Fox. The smell of rancid garbage flooded his nostrils, but he ignored it, waiting as patiently as he could. This was the tough part.
He had left the mansion early in the day, walking and then catching a ride with a truck driver headed into the city. Told the man he got separated from his classmates on a school trip. It was astonishing how easily adults would believe him.
His watch over the Red Fox had already lasted nearly three hours. He almost gave it up, till he saw Joe Dolan go inside. Dolan was one of the men with Zucco when he threatened Mr. Haly. He was in some of the papers that Dick had collected, a known associate, allegedly involved in other crimes.
He sat on his perch and rehearsed the questions he would ask Dolan. How he would respond if the man tried to be difficult. The metal pipe he had wrested from its place in a nearby wall lay beside him. The element of surprise was vital. It wouldn't be his first fight. He thought of brawls in the quiet, lonely corners of the circus, where adult eyes did not peer. Of coming home to his mother's admonishment with bruised cheeks and bloody lips. Of the slight approval he sensed from his father beneath the reprimands.
It was the better part of another hour when Dolan staggered out into the alleyway, under the stupor of too much drink. He yelled something back into the bar, before heading down the alley, already reaching for another flask in his coat pocket. Dick began to clamber down from the fire escape before sense could catch him.
"Dolan," he said, landing in the alleyway.
"Who wants to know?"
Dolan was too slowed with liquor to react in time. The pipe smashed into his leg, in the crook of his knee. Dolan cried out, crumpling over to the ground, letting out a stream of curses.
"You bastard," said Dolan.
"Where's Tony Zucco?" said Dick, the pipe raised for another strike.
"I don't know," said Dolan.
Before Dick could bring down the pipe, something cuffed him on the back of his head. His vision went wobbly and he fell over too, the pipe bouncing on the hard pavement.
"Geez, Dolan, you let a kid get the drop on you," said a gruff voice from behind.
"You try getting hit with a pipe," said Dolan, starting to get back up.
The man from behind grabbed Dick, hoisting him up.
"Let's see who our friend is," he said.
Dick blinked off the pain. He sunk his teeth into the man's hand, tearing off a bit of flesh.
"Dammit," the man cried, letting him go. "Kid's feral."
He snatched up the pipe, whirling it around to smash into the man. It hit his midsection, with the follow up toppling the man. Dolan grabbed the shaft, stopping Dick. They wrestled over it, with the larger man gaining the upper hand.
Dick drove his foot into Dolan's crotch. He wheezed and let go, with as Dick swung the pipe upward, colliding with the underside of his chin. Dolan landed on his knees. Dick prepared to swing again.
The other man smacked him in the side of the head with something metal. Dick was on the ground before he could blink. Everything felt too heavy to move.
"Crazy goddamn kid. Try this one," the man said, pointing a pistol at Dick's face.
A shape flowed out of the darkness above the alley, a form that rippled out of the night. It was the last thing he saw. The bat.
"Will he be alright?" said Batman.
"Yes. The injuries are minor enough."
He and Alfred were at Dick's bedside in the cave. Batman had arrived at the Red Fox in time to overtake the man intent on shooting his young ward.
"Though I fear for his health if this trend continues," said Alfred.
Batman did not respond. He knew what lay behind those words.
The decision to become Dick's guardian was not on a whim. The murder of the boy's parents struck a chord with Bruce on its own, but it was in following up with the orphanage that he came to recognize the danger in leaving Dick to the system. The boy kept sneaking out to pick fights, hunting down anyone connected to his family's murder.
What he witnessed tonight demanded a response. Dick was only nine, but he was strong for his age, possessed of an athletic prowess that put even Bruce to shame. Bruce wasn't just worried that he would get himself killed. Seeing him about to swing that pipe made him fear the opposite as well.
"I'll handle it, Alfred. Give me some time alone with Dick."
"As you wish, Master Bruce. I am here to help. With whatever you need."
"I don't say this enough Alfred, but I can't do this without you."
Alfred took his leave, while Bruce waited for the boy to wake up.
Dick awoke to the flutter of wings high above, in the murky black of an empty space. He sat up in the cot that he rested in, a sharp pain drilling into the back of his head. The lights blurred as his eyes adjusted.
"Easy," said someone seated nearby.
That someone was clad in a black cowl, his cape draped below him. Dick breathed in sharply.
"Batman," he said.
"Don't be afraid," said Batman. "You're safe."
Dick took a moment to understand his surroundings. He was in some sort of cave, one that went on far beyond what the light touched. An imposing black car sat below them on another platform. In another section, there was a complicated looking machine that let out a steady thrum of noise.
"What is this place?"
"My headquarters."
"Does it have a name?"
"I've never given it one," said Batman.
"Aces," said Dick, sitting up fully now.
"You nearly died tonight. It was a reckless thing you did," said Batman, standing up.
"I needed to know about the man that killed my parents. Zucco. They had information."
"They knew nothing. I already ruled them out."
"You're looking for Zucco too?"
"I nearly have him."
"You have to let me help you," said Dick.
"You're untrained. I can't let you do that."
"You don't understand," said Dick. "I had a chance to stop him. To let someone know what he was planning. I can't let this go."
Batman walked over to the edge of the platform they were on, his gaze off into the depths of the cave.
"That's what eats away at you. The thought of doing something differently," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"You lie awake at night thinking of everything you should have done. All the ways it could have gone."
Dick remained silent, watching the man in black.
"I lost my parents the same as you, Dick. A loss that made me swear a vow to avenge the evil that took them from me. You're staring at what that vow has made me become," said Batman.
Batman turned back to Dick. He pulled off the cowl.
"I haven't been honest with you. That changes today," said Bruce Wayne.
June 5, 1940
"Again," said Bruce.
"Again?" said Dick.
"Again."
Bruce observed as Dick vaulted over the first series of obstacles set up in the gymnasium. The boy weaved, jumped, rolled and swung through the course with the utmost precision. And no small degree of playfulness.
Dick landed at the end, a spray of sweat flying off him on impact.
"Ta-da" he said, arms raised for mock applause.
"Again."
"Come on Bruce. Isn't ten times enough?"
"In the field your enemies won't wait for you to catch your breath."
Dick prepared to argue, then buried it, running back to his starting place. The boy really was something else. For the past month, Bruce put him through the paces. An abbreviated version of everything he had learned in his travels. Acrobatics, calisthenics, fighting, marksmanship, escape artistry, chemistry, deductive skills, psychology and all the rest. Dick took to it like a bird takes flight.
"Master Bruce, while I am certain that this is of the utmost importance, please recall that Master Richard does have school tomorrow," said Alfred.
"We're almost finished," said Bruce.
Dick ended the course again, this time landing in a triple hand spring.
"You see that Alfred?"
"Exquisite as always Master Richard."
"I think the reason Bruce makes me do it so much is he's taking notes," said Dick.
"A deft observation," said Alfred.
"That's enough for today," said Bruce. "Get some rest. Alfred is right. As he so often is."
Dick grumbled about school, but he followed instructions all the same.
"He really is marvelous," said Alfred.
"A natural," said Bruce. "But he still has a long way to go. Months at least."
"And you are certain this is the best course for him?"
"We tried the other way. He's doing better, but there's still that rage inside him. It needs an outlet. A productive one."
"Curious what counts as productive these days," said Alfred. "Though at least you are not the only one running around in strange costumes."
June 16, 1940
"I can help," said Dick.
"It's too soon. You're training isn't finished," said Bruce, as he suited up.
"This isn't fair. You told me I could stop Zucco with you," said Dick.
Bruce paused with his cowl in his hands. He glowered at Dick.
"There's no guarantee this is Zucco."
"It's only your best lead. Come on, Bruce. I can do it."
"No. That's my final answer. This only works if you listen to me."
"But.."
"That's a command."
Bruce pulled on the cowl. Dick watched him continue his preparations, feeling the frustration boil over within him. All this work and for what? To lose the chance to catch Zucco.
Like hell.
He did his best to act as though he stormed off. On the way up the stairs out of the cave, Dick doubled back. He found the work bench he had been brainstorming his costume at, pushing aside the bunches of unfinished scribbles. It wasn't fully set, but it would have to do.
Bruce hadn't shown him much of the Batmobile, but Dick loved to examine it when he could. In those inspections, he had found a small panel, near the back of it, a storage space, unfilled. One that couldn't fit a person.
Or at least not an adult.
The Penguin was the linchpin to finding Zucco. As Batman had suspected. A thorough surveillance of his men uncovered a pattern of deliveries that converged at an unused synagogue in Downriver. The neighborhood held the largest collection of Gotham's Jewish citizens, but it was sliding into the same disarray that characterized much of the rest of the city.
He left the Batmobile far enough away that the men guarding Zucco wouldn't hear it and advanced on the structure. Once he started, he would have to be swift, to avoid giving his target a chance to flee through another exit.
Batman made quick work of the outer patrol of guards. He pried loose the boards on a broken stain glass window, using it to gain entry to the interior. No one gave themselves away on the inside. The pews remained standing, though the ground was littered with broken glass and fallen tiles. Noise echoed out of the back, behind the platform that stood above the pews.
He crept towards the sound. There was a doorway that led into an unmapped set of backrooms. As Batman opened the door, he heard a match lit. The flame raced along something. He threw himself backwards.
Dick had scarcely emerged from his hiding spot in the Batmobile, finally content that Batman was gone, when he heard the explosion. A column of smoke rose over the nearby buildings as glass rained on the streets.
He steadied his nerves and ran closer to the origin of the blast.
Batman dug his fists into the ground and pressed his body up. A shard of wood stuck out of his left shoulder. His belt was partially ruined, its contents gone. Bits of flame rained around the ruins of the synagogue. The doorway he tried entering was completely blown away, as was the majority of that side of the structure.
Voices emerged from the debris cloud. A trap.
"Find him. Or what's left of him."
Dick was startled by the outburst of gunfire. A chaotic, unpredictable pattern of shots. As he neared the source, it was mixed with shouts and cries of pain.
The focal point of the explosion was now a husk, with the wall that face the street barely standing, its windows completely blown out.
A gunshot struck the ground dangerously close to Dick. He sheltered behind a nearby wall. Sirens were distant, but closing in. The struggle sounded like it was dying down, the frequency of gunshots going down, the amount of voices decreasing.
Batman's kick sent the last of the gunmen flying into the rubble pile. He scanned the ruins. No other aggressors made their presence known.
He noticed the crumbling stonework too late, as the falling debris hit him. He managed to avoid being fully crushed, but his legs were pinned. It would take a heroic effort to wrench them free.
"You know, I almost resented Penguin for making me the bait in all this," said a voice.
The rotund form of Tony Zucco stepped over a mound of rubble, a pistol in hand.
"But now I ought to thank him," said Zucco. "After all, I get to be the man who killed the Batman."
Not many options. No room to dodge. No way to move. Out of gear on his belt.
Zucco aimed his heater.
"All alone in the end."
Dick vaulted the cracked frame of the window, springing off his hands into a full forced kick that collided with Zucco. The man stumbled back, nearly dropping the pistol.
"Not alone," said Dick.
He recovered faster than Dick hoped for, firing off three shots that sent Dick rolling for cover.
"What's this? Another one?"
Zucco took a wide route around Dick's cover, intent on flushing him out. He could hear the man's heavy breaths as he neared.
"If you need to take a breather that works for me," said Dick.
Dick darted out, avoiding the first gunshot, cartwheeling into a leap that put him behind the remnants of a wall.
He had no idea how much ammo Zucco had left. It would be suicidal to charge him in the open, but if Zucco turned his gun back on Batman he would have no choice.
"You got guts, kid. Too bad you're gonna have to spill em," said Zucco.
Dick glanced up. A plan formed. He began to climb, quietly as he could.
"What happened to the jokes? You got five seconds. Or I put a bullet in your buddy here."
Dick reached the top of the wrecked wall, straddling the outcropping. He visualized the moves it would take to reach Zucco.
"Four, three, two…"
Dick descended. The yellow cape flared up behind him. He used his momentum to ricochet off an adjacent wall on the way down.
Zucco must have heard him, as he angled the pistol up at Dick's body as he fell towards him.
A chunk of debris hit Zucco's arm, throwing him off. Batman.
Dick kicked Zucco in the face, using all the force of the fall to follow through and send the man to the ground. Dick rolled with the impact. He spun back and swept the gun out of his opponent's hands.
He leapt onto Zucco, using his knees to pin him as best he could, his fists waling on the man's face. Blow after blow. Past a certain point Zucco wasn't even really fighting back, only trying to shield himself.
"Wait. Wait!"
Dick became aware that Batman was yelling at him. He held his next strike.
"That's enough. You stopped him."
Dick looked down at the bruised and bleeding visage of the man who killed his parents. If Zucco remained conscious, he couldn't tell. He looked at his own hands, covered with Zucco's blood.
The sirens were closer. Almost on their street.
"That's enough," said Batman.
Dick got off of Zucco. He went over to Batman, helping him lift the piece that had him trapped.
They brought Zucco and the other men outside the ruins, leaving them for the police. Batman had a brief talk with the officer that arrived, while Dick waited by the Batmobile.
The ride back to the manor was far more comfortable sharing the seat next to Batman, instead of being folded up in his hiding spot. They hadn't talked much since they left the scene.
"I told you you weren't ready," said Batman.
"But.." said Dick.
"Let me finish. You saved me. And when it came down to it, you made the right choice with Zucco."
Dick stared at his companion.
"It was hard. To let what he did go. But between you and the thought of what my mom and dad would've wanted… I'm not like him. I can't be like him."
"Justice. Not vengeance," said Batman.
"Justice," said Dick.
"This isn't an easy life I've chosen. You still have a choice."
"If you think I'm backing out now, you've got another thing coming. You saw I can help you. I can help others. That's what my parents would want."
They enjoyed a moment of silence.
"You'll have to tell me about that costume you've fashioned It's... colorful," said Batman. "And come up with a name."
"These were my parents colors. As for the name, I have one in mind," said Dick.
July 1, 1940
Dick stood on the edge of the rooftop, his cape blowing behind him. Batman was beside him. The signal before them painted itself on the clouds above. The air was humid, a promise of rain to come. He could barely contain the excitement.
"You know this doesn't mean the training is over?" said Batman.
"I know."
"And you follow my commands. To the letter."
"Got it."
"You ready chum?"
"As I'll ever be," said Dick with a wide smile.
Batman went first, using his cape to glide by the Batsignal. Gordon didn't look surprised by his appearance. They exchanged the usual pleasantries.
"Jim, before we continue, there's someone you need to meet. My partner."
His cue.
Dick used his grappling hook like he practiced literally hundreds of times before, swinging down from the rooftop above. He released the line, tumbling through the air, coming to a halt beside Batman. He gave a salute to Jim Gordon, who stared at him incredulously.
"Meet Robin."