Work Text:
The Masterplan
“No.”
Robin skidded over the floor, stopping abruptly, “You don’t even know what I’m gonna say, Mr. Batman!”
Somehow, Mr. Batman—black cowl on, scary white-lenses, probably in his late 20’s to mid 30’s if Robin had to guess just by looking at his jaw—gave him a totally-not-surprised look.
“I saw the news, Robin.”
Robin pretended to be interested in his gauntleted hand. “And? I also saw the news and I’m not showing off.”
“We are not interfering.”
“But—”
“That is final.”
Robin blew a raspberry at him. “Ya boring!” Batman remained unfazed. But Robin still had his attention, so: “If we help this guy out with his legal battle against The Penguin he might help us with the whole," and he crazily moved his hands around, "probably losing our base of operations AKA our Cave situation! We'll all benefit from it! The guy will have his tower’s scriptures back and we wouldn’t have to stop fighting crime in order to look for a new place. We could have all these real state just for us, B!”
“I do not think you know how property assets work.”
Batman was right. Robin was clueless in the whole realtors bizz and stuff. But the old man didn’t need to know that.
Also: Robin was right! Mr. Wayne needed the absolute best on his side in order to win the trial against Oswald Cobblepot, and his ludicrous-and-honestly-unashamed scheming.
He opened his mouth to speak, just to be interrupted by Batman:
“Furthermore”—aw, God, not a speech!—“Having commodities is not a priority. We took a vow, Robin. We are here to protect the people of Gotham, whether with a roof over our heads or perched over a gargoyle, people count on us to do our jobs.”
Batman was always so right. So on point.
Robin hated him for it.
“Right, yeah. Okay, ‘kay, ‘kay, ‘kay, ’kay,” Robin gave him a thumbs-up, “Justice doesn’t need a scary-looking Cave with top notch tech and stuff.”
Batman nodded—practically the equivalence of the words I am glad I inspired you to be better—and replied, “That is right, sport. And remember,” Batman leaned a bit forward, "you do not need to add 'and stuff'."
See? Boring!
“Psssht.”
Nothing.
”Psssht.”
Still nothing.
“Psssht.”
The man on the expensive blue robe and pajama pants finally looked up.
“Psssht!”
Up.
“You," he pointed at Robin, "What are you doing in my tree?”
“Mr. Wayne, hi,” Robin waved his hand, smiling bashfully, “Sorry I startled you. I’m Robin.”
Mr. Wayne had crazy-blue eyes; too expressive, bordering on unreadable. Suddenly, his eyebrows jumped, “Shouldn’t you be at school, little guy?”
What? “I’m not little.”
Mr. Wayne laughed widely at him. It sounded like a million dollars falling, if million dollars falling made a sound.
“Ha! You look like a tiny red dot with boots on.”
Robin made a face. “If you give me a minute of your time, I’m here to talk about a serious matter.”
“I’m sorry, Tiny,” and Mr. Wayne full-on yawned, “It’s way past too early for me to function—”
“It’s eleven AM?”
“—besides I don’t give autographs anymore ever since that weird guy used my signature to hack into my bank account. Well, accounts. You know how it is.”
Robin frowned, “Wha—?! I don’t—” Then he came back to his senses, “Mr. Wayne, this is a business meeting, I don’t want yo—”
“Why are you all dressed-up anyway? It isn’t Halloween yet. And I know that because, believe me, kiddo, I know when the spooky season’s near. Bunch of girls appear claiming to be mother’s to my unborn children. Here, there, and everywhere. There’s nothing spookier than a gal with a plan. Be careful out there…”
“Mr. Wayne!” Robin huffed, truly exasperated. This man knew how to cut people off. Robin decided to bring out his big card, “I’m here on Batman’s behalf.”
At his words, Mr. Wayne stopped talking altogether, just to start laughing maniacally the next second. “Oh my! Children are priceless!” He managed to say between wheezes, “But seriously, where are your parents, kiddo? I need to call them ASAP.”
“What? I’m not gonna give you my parents’ numbers!” Robin frowned, “And don’t change the topic, Mr. Wayne!”
The man shrugged, blasé, “Okie-dokie. But please, do me a favor and call me Bruce. You make me feel old,” and Mr. Wayne wrinkled his nose. So expressive. Then, he held up a finger before Robin could reply. “Alfred! Alfred! There’s a weird little kid in my backyard! Alfie!”
An older, tired-looking man appeared out of nowhere behind Mr. Wayne. Robin hid behind some leaves.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Alfred,” Mr. Wayne—Bruce—almost sounded whiny. “Be a good butler and do something. A child is tormenting me.”
“Should I run facial recognition immediately, Sir?”
Robin’s heart drummed inside his chest, “Don’t!”
Two pairs of eyes fell over him.
The older man, apparently Bruce Wayne’s butler, smiled kindly at him. There was something about him that made Robin’s walls disappear.
“I’m afraid the child’s wearing a mask, Sir. Facial recognition would not do.”
“I know that, Alfie,” Bruce replied too chirpy, “Contrary to popular belief, I’m no himbo.”
Robin suppressed a giggle at the absurd word.
The butler—Alfred—exhaled quietly through his nose, “Definitely not, Sir.”
“Well, sport, why don’t you come on in, huh? It’s freezing cold, and this old guy makes the best hot chocolate in all New Jersey!”
Robin looked at Bruce Wayne, then at Alfred, then back at Bruce.
What would Batman say in this situation?
Hot chocolate is for children, and I am not a child.
Or,
Meep-murp. I am half robot, half vampire. I am too stubborn to behave normally. Meep-murp-meep. I will never tell you my real name. I trust no one. Not even you, Robin. Meep-murp.
Or… Batman would simply leave because strangers inviting you to drink hot chocolate inside their home wasn’t something trustworthy.
“I’ve been to too many dinners my whole life,” Robin replied instead, feigning wisdom, “No offense, but I don’t think the best hot chocolate’s been found.”
Robin was wrong.
It was the best goddamn hot chocolate he’s ever drank.
Also, the plan worked.
Kind of?
“So…” Robin started. Batman kept typing in the main computer’s keyboard. “Someone reached out…”
Batman grunted in reply.
“He contacted me… Said Commissioner Gordon told him how to find us…”
Batman froze. His shoulders tensed. “Robin.”
He smiled widely, “Yes, o’ Cap’n, my Cap’n?”
“Did you talk to Bruce Wayne?”
His smile turned into a grimace, “Would it be better if I lied to you?”
At that, Batman turned to look at him. “No.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“You didn’t speak to Bruce Wayne?”
“Nope.”
“At all?”
“Didn’t even know his last name was Wayne,” Robin snorted, then muttered, “What a himbo.”
Batman’s lower lip twitched.
“He said he could help,” Robin cracked. “He even asked me for a selfie! Said he was a big fan.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, fine!” Robin rolled his eyes behind the mask, “I trespassed his home. He didn’t believe me about being Gotham’s Robin and stuff.”
“You don’t need to stay ’and stuff’ every time you finish a sentence.”
“I did my signature moves and everything!” Robin continued, ignoring him. “But no! I don’t think he’s even in tune with pop culture. Plus, it's impossible to talk with him. He’s silly, though.”
Batman seemed visibly tense.
“Alfred—his butler! Spoiler alert: He makes the best hot chocolate I’ve ever drank!—is much, much, much more normal,” Robin rested a hip over the computer’s console. “But yeah, Bruce thought I was trying to prank him. He didn’t call the cops on me so that’s also a point in his favor. And he did let me leave with a bunch of protein bars and advice to be more responsible in school, so that’s cool,” Robin recalled with a grin and nod.
“Bruce?”
“He doesn’t like when people call him Mr. Wayne,” Robin immediately explained, “Makes him feel old… I think it’s because it reminds him of his father,” he shrugged, “But that’s just me.”
Batman paused, then said slowly, “What did you tell him, exactly?”
“Nothing incriminating,” Robin shrugged. “Just that we were getting evicted like him and many other Gothamites in this District, and that we had our ways of dealing with Oswald Cobblepot. Wouldn't be the first time.”
“We will not be homeless,” Batman scolded, “You should not be doing that comparison. At the end of the day this is only a building. A work place. We both have homes to return to.”
At that, Robin deflated.
“And you're right,” he muttered rapidly, “but—“
“We help because we care,” Batman continued with passion, “Not in exchange of favors.”
“I know, B—“
“Consider this topic done,” Batman interjected, somehow still gently, respectfully, “And do not contact Bruce Wayne again. He’s not someone you can trust.”
It was like Batman didn’t listen to the hot chocolate and protein bars part.
“Whatever,” Robin replied, turning to leave, “Ya boring,” he muttered to himself, still pretty sure Batman had heard him—good. It wasn’t any lie; he was boring.
“Oh, hey Supes. What ya doing in here?”
Superman turned around, smiling blindly, “Hey, bud. Just passing by to say hello. I haven’t seen you guys around much. Metropolis misses you.”
They bumped fists.
“I’d be lying if I said I do too. Y’know how much I hate the sun.”
That made Superman laugh.
“Batman, why can’t you be like Robin?”Superman asked.
Robin assumed Batman was behind him.
“None of your business.”
Yep.
“‘Cause Mr. Batman’s here so boring, Supes,” Robin turned around to look at Batman, crossing his arms, “Likes to make everything his way even when that turn things around for the worse.”
Batman only grunted; he would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t consider it childish.
“Ouch,” Superman grimaced funnily, “But Robin’s right. You got to let yourself be more authentic, B. More you,” he emphasized.
“Being authentic serves me absolutely no purpose,” Batman replied dryly.
Robin and Superman turned to see each other. They both shrugged.
“Not surprised,” Supes said.
“Nope,” and Robin sighed, “Not surprised either.”
“A new update in the Cobblepot v Wayne trial has divided opinions among the general public,” the news anchor on the computer said, “Mr. Dent, the plaintiff’s lawyer, presented to the Judge a years-old document apparently written by Thomas Wayne in which he states, and I quote, ‘All of Old Gotham’s properties if and when restored cease to be part of my family’s properties thus remaining available for the people of Gotham’. This alleged statement turns things around for Mr. Wayne, who two weeks ago declared that, legally, Old Gotham’s District belonged to his family. But now, with this document being part of the supporting evidence for Mr. Cobblepot to win back most of Old Gotham’s properties, evicted and displaced Gothamites have been protesting in his favor outside the court, demanding Bruce Wayne to stop, and I quote, ‘his rich pig tendencies to steal from the good and hard-working people’…”
Robin closed the news tab. This for sure changed things for everyone involved.
Contrary to popular belief, Robin sometimes obeyed Batman’s orders.
Especially now that he managed to see past the shadows and realized that Batman was pretty tense about the whole losing their base of operations thing and trespassing Mr. Wayne’s not-for-long real state. So when Batman had ordered him to stop contacting Bruce Wayne, he had.
But now, Robin couldn’t ignore Bruce Wayne, not when the man’s life was in danger.
And it was silly, really, because the timing turned out to be perfect. They’d been at the end of their patrolling in Old Gotham—last stop before going home—when they heard the screams. Robin had immediately somersaulted towards the sound, sure that Batman would follow him, and… man, seeing a group of uniformed men with gorilla masks trying to kidnap Bruce Wayne wasn’t in his bingo card of the week. What made everything even more weird was Batman’s lack of verbal expressions—and don’t get him wrong, Batman definitely didn’t enjoy yapping, but tonight of all nights he seemed different, off, like it wasn’t him wearing the suit at all. Seeing Bruce should’ve elicited some kind of reaction out of the man, but no, he’d stayed unfazed and adrift.
But that’s another weird thing, so Robin focused solely on trying to save Bruce Wayne from the gorilla creeps.
And, of course, they did. Batman even made a new fighting move that knocked down two of the gorilla men in milliseconds and Robin immediately noticed. “You haven’t taught me that! Is it new?!”
Batman, who also seemed lighter on his feet, and somehow more shy, only replied: “No,” and immediately began to unveil Bruce’s eyes.
Robin tried not to feel disappointed and anxious. It’s passed some time since Batman had been this curt with him. Maybe he’d done something wrong? Said something stupid? There was literally no explanation for Batman’s cold attitude tonight.
Finally, Bruce’s intense voice captured his attention. “—believe you were for real! Oh my God. This is insane. I need to call Vicky right now! Robin! Robin! It’s me! It’s Bruce! You drank hot chocolate with me last week!”
Now, this man right here was the yapping king.
Robin forced himself to smile. Not even Bruce Wayne’s silly attitude made him feel better about the whole Batman situation. Batman whom, of course, stayed detachedly angry, assessing Bruce as if he were a mere criminal that belonged in Arkham.
“I know, Bruce,” Robin replied kindly, making brief eye contact with Batman’s white-lenses, “We’re very glad you’re fine. Can you make your way back home? Or do you need us to call someone?”
Oddly, Bruce blinked slowly at him, seemingly speechless for a second, before the light came back into his crazy blue eyes, “Don’t you worry! Alfred can be here in the snap of my fingers,” and he snapped his fingers, “Just like that and I can have the whole world at my feet. Ha.”
The petulant tone made Robin recoil but he managed to hide it quickly. It was also weird that Bruce wasn’t acknowledging Batman, but maybe the latter had been right: Maybe Bruce Wayne wasn’t trustworthy. Maybe Bruce was the kind of a bit deranged, a bit evil rich man.
The thought made Robin squint his eyes. “Mr. Wayne, would you mind if I asked you something?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Batman’s head tilt.
Somehow, Bruce’s smile turned sharper, “I see we are back to last name’s basis.”
Robin waited.
“Shoot,” Bruce shrugged. “But if it’s something about the near elections beware that my comments may vary depending if I’m being aired on Gotham News or FOX.”
Robin ignored the info dump. “What were you doing wandering in the streets at nearly four in the morning? Weren’t you supposed to have Alfred driving you around? Or some bodyguards protecting you and stuff?”
Bruce quickly replied, “You do not need to add the ‘and stuff’ bit.”
What’s with old people being all grammatically correct all of a sudden?!
“Please answer the question, Mr. Wayne,” Robin crossed his arms.
Bruce held his hands up, and finally acknowledged Batman. He made eye contact with him for a few seconds before replying, “First of all, I find it insulting that your friend over here is throwing daggers at me with his lifeless white eyes. Is there somewhere else we could go where he wouldn’t follow? Creeps give me the creeps,” Bruce spat and didn’t wait for a reply, “Second of all: Duh, hello? Why am I the one being interrogated when there are seven gorilla men with guns unconscious on the ground? I should be asking you the questions!” A pause. “Wait. That’s not right. You should be asking them the questions! I’m the victim here! Don’t blame the victim!” And Bruce pointed accusingly at them.
Batman audibly sighed. Robin turned at him, surprised. It wasn’t often that Batman let out a sigh that loud.
“Oh, sorry!” Bruce continued, this time sarcastically, “Am I boring you, crazy bat-man?”
“You talk too much,” Batman gruffly replied.
Robin gave Batman a reprimanding look before turning to Bruce again, “We’re not blaming you for anything, Mr. Wayne. I’m just trying to make this make sense.”
“And I thank you for your hard work, Tiny,” Bruce said smoothly, “But me being out this late isn’t something new. Haven’t you read any tabloids lately? Apparently, I am dating more than three women at once.”
Robin opened his mouth to reply just to be interrupted again by Bruce.
“And my Tower is just a few streets down,” Bruce crossed his arms, “I may be a shitty boss but I try to come by every time I’m not skiing in Colorado… which isn’t often but a man gotta try.”
Robin fought the urge to roll his eyes. Bruce was getting under his skin pretty fast. Maybe Batman was right. Maybe the people protesting outside court had been right. But if that were true, if Bruce Wayne was in fact spiteful, that meant The Penguin was right this time, that he’d been right to sue the hell out of Bruce, and that wasn’t… that wasn’t ideal. That sounded wrong.
“Right,” Robin muttered, once again carrying the conversation even though Batman was often a control freak. “You can go now, Mr. Wayne. We’ll just make sure to call the Commissioner so the police can come pick these—“
A sudden flash made Robin stop.
“What the hell?” Robin yelled.
Batman was suddenly in front of him, protecting him. Oddly, he turned at Bruce, “Was that part of—?”
“Of course not!” Bruce hissed at Batman.
Robin gaped, “What—?”
“I should go!” Batman yelled, giving Robin no time to process the weird interaction.
Robin stayed still for a few seconds, made eye contact with a seriously frantic Bruce Wayne, before speeding towards Batman too.
“Go home, Mr. Wayne!” He yelled the man’s way.
They had a mysterious photographer waiting to be caught.
“What the hell was that?” Robin asked Batman when they were riding back to the Cave. They hadn’t been able to catch the mysterious photographer, and when they’d came back to where the gorilla men and Bruce were, the latter had been already gone. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Unsurprisingly, Batman didn’t reply. He just held the steering wheel tighter and kept driving.
Robin sighed out loud, “Did I do something wrong?”
At his words, Batman visibly flinched, “Of course not.” But his voice sounded off, and he gripped even more the steering wheel.
A lie.
So, back to square one.
A couple of days later, Robin arrived an hour early than usual at the Cave and accidentally eavesdropped.
“You can’t keep going like this, B,” Superman was talking quietly, delicately. He sounded preoccupied. “The truth will come out sooner rather than later, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not you, not him.”
“You know I can’t.”
Batman’s defeated tone made Robin’s worries grow exponentially.
“You can,” Superman insisted, “You can tell him. You need to. It’s the least you can do. He deserves to know.”
After that, silence reigned for a few minutes, before Superman talked again:
“I can’t keep doing this. Not even for you. I’m sorry, friend.”
A whoosh kind of sound announced that Superman left. Robin retreated quietly, making sure that Batman didn’t hear he’d been nearby, or even at the Cave.
Robin had an inkling about what was going on—and it wasn’t good.
They were at the Cave, each working on their recent mission’s logs when the computer announced, “News alert. News alert. News—“
Batman quickly clicked on it, and immediately a new tab opened. The same news anchor that Robin had seen before appeared on the computer’s screen.
“—even though the photographer remains anonymous, we must ask ourselves: why were Gotham’s infamous vigilante and his sidekick—“
“I’m no sidekick,” Robin muttered. Batman gave him a look.
“—seen with Bruce Wayne? Who are the unconscious men surrounding them? And what is Bruce Wayne yelling them about? Multiple sources have claimed that Batman and Robin had been paid many times by the billionaire to do under-the-table jobs, and that this was just another meeting from hundreds. What did go wrong this time? Did Batman and Robin kill the wrong target? Were they demanding more money for the job done? Is this going to affect Mr. Wayne in court? Let’s see what the plaintiff, Mr. Cobblepot, said this very afternoon.”
“This is clearly some shady business,” Oswald Cobblepot appeared in the screen, “I’ll not be intimidated by some crazy guy in a mask. I have the law by my side. I have my people. We must stand against the rich! Bruce Wayne knows he’s lost. He’s desperate, seeking for non-American ways to throw me down. But he’s wrong! You’re wrong, Mr. Wayne! You’re going down! You’re losing! Start saying goodbye to your ‘home’,” and the sketchy man made air quotes, “It was never yours to begin with—!”
Robin blinked and the screen turned black. Batman had turned the computer off.
“Do you think he set us up?” Robin blurted.
Finally, and after days of awkward interactions, Batman acknowledged his presence. His white-lenses seemed sadder today, somehow.
“I do,” he replied. “Oswald saw the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. And he took it.”
“I was talking about Bruce Wayne,” Robin said warily. Batman, even with the cowl, looked childishly confused for a moment; almost human. “What if he planned everything? It seemed too manufactured to be real. I mean, just the timing of our patrol with his attempted kidnapping seems off, don’t you think?” Batman didn’t reply. So Robin kept going, “It’s weird. I think he could’ve hired that photographer. Maybe he was trying to scare The Penguin off, tried to make him drop the lawsuit. Mr. Wayne’s a civilian after all. He doesn’t know the shady businesses Cobblepot controls.”
Batman took his time to reply. “I find it… unlikely.”
Robin frowned, “You told me I shouldn’t trust Bruce Wayne, and when I tell you that something’s off with him you don’t believe me?”
“It is not about whether I believe you or not,” Batman said.
“It’s not?” And this was such a stupid time to feel every negative emotion trying to break free from his heart but Robin couldn’t stop himself, “You’ve been treating me like shit ever since I talked with the guy. You told me not to talk with him, I obeyed. You told me to drop off the topic, I obeyed. You told me that losing our Cave wasn’t a big deal, I agreed. You told me that Bruce wasn’t someone trustworthy, I agreed too! So what the hell? What did I do wrong?!” Robin stood up from his chair, leaving aside his paperwork. “What did I do wrong if all I’ve tried to do was to make you happy?!”
Batman stood up too immediately after him. He raised his arms in a placating gesture, “Robin, I understand your concern. But I assure you that you have done nothing wrong—“
Robin laughed bitterly, “Right! Right! And what were you and Superman talking about the other day, huh? What aren’t you telling me?”
At his words, Batman visibly froze.
Robin’s heart raced like crazy. He felt his shoulders slump. “Oh. Are you going to fire me?”
Oh damn. Oh God. Robin was going to lose everything. He was going to lose his freedom. He was going to lose the cold air biting his skin every night. He was going to lose the emotion and exhilarating nights. He was going to lose his only source of empowerment and happiness and selfless acts.
Robin was going to lose his mentor. Just like that. Just because he was childish, and stupid enough to believe that he could have this. This duty, this purpose, this sense of belonging. All gone.
“I—“
Robin interrupted whatever Batman was about to say, “Don’t say anything,” and he turned to leave, “Just shut up.”
“Robin!” Batman called after him, “Robin, wait!”
He left.
They each had their own home, after all.
After two hours of being hunched down over the same spot behind some leaves, Robin started to question his sanity.
Nope. He was here because of his sanity! Robin needed to know if Bruce Wayne was the Bad Guy here. He needed to make sure that he hadn’t landed in some parallel universe where The Penguin was right and Batman hated his guts to the point of having to fire him.
And the only guy who could give him an answer wasn’t home yet apparently, so trespassing the mansion of one of the most famous guys in the world for a second time in a month looked kind of pointless now. Maybe he was with one of the three girlfriends he’d mentioned when they ‘saved’ him from being kidnapped?
“Are you going to come down or do I need to climb up?”
Robin jumped on his spot. He immediately felt embarrassed for having being scared so easily.
“Bruce,” he cleared his throat and said with wonder, “How long’ve you been there?”
“Eh,” and the man shrugged, “So,” he dragged the O’s, “do I climb up…?”
Robin didn’t reply, he just stood up in the tree and then jumped.
“You should not do that!” Bruce sounded strangely concerned.
Robin paid him no mind and grinned blindly. “I’m going to ask you two questions and I need you to answer me honestly.”
Bruce looked warily at him. “That is some smile.”
“Are you a bad person?”
The moment the question left his mouth, Robin felt stupid. Bruce Wayne was a grown man. He was a billionaire. He didn’t need anything in the whole damn world, could have everything just at the snap of his fingers, and here he was, asking the man to answer honestly to some dumb ass question.
What is wrong with me? Robin thought. Why am I so stupid? Is this the real reason Batman fired me? My stupidity?
Bruce probably took pity on him.
“It depends.”
The reply made Robin square his shoulders again. He hadn’t expected that.
“You thought I would not answer, huh?” Bruce looked down for a moment, and his scarf obscured most of his features. He almost looked ordinary. “Well, there’s your answer: It depends,” he repeated.
Robin wasted no time, “Why?”
Bruce tilted his head.
“Why does it depend?” Robin asked again.
“Ah,” the man laughed quietly. It didn’t sound expensive like last time. It sounded heavy instead. “I think I have met many people throughout my life. Some think the best of me. Some do not. It depends.”
The explanation was simple and made sense. It screamed truth. Because: Truth is often the most obvious thing, Robin, Batman had told him once.
His brain and heart finally felt in sync, so he let out an exhale he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Okay, ‘kay,” Robin muttered. Now came the second one. “Do you know Batman?”
That made Bruce recoil slightly. “Do I know Batman?”
“Many things have happened since I reached you out,” Robin explained, “And the night they tried to kidnap you, something felt off…” and Batman acted too weird ever since and every time Bruce was mentioned. But he wasn’t going to tell Bruce that.
Bruce sighed, “Let’s say… we had some good friends in common.”
Robin frowned, “Who?”
A beat of silence.
“He knew my parents. Before.”
Oh.
Oh.
But how? Was Batman his childhood friend? How? Robin had a hard time imagining Batman as a child, more so picturing him having friends.
“I’m sorry,” Robin said defeated.
Bruce shook his head in surprise, “Why?”
“I made some pretty shitty guesses about you.”
The sad atmosphere disappeared when Bruce gasped funnily, “You should not be cussing like that. Aren’t you ten?”
That made Robin snort. So many emotions; someone please have mercy and kill me.
“There is nothing to apologize for, Tiny” Bruce smiled tight-lipped. “Well, just for the trespassing, and the stalking, and the making me bring up my dead parents—“
“Shut up,” Robin laughed out loud and exhaled once again. Bruce Wayne was something else. Maybe Batman didn’t need him anymore, but now that he knew the truth, he felt lighter, somehow. “Okay. I’m sorry about… everything. Trespassing and stuff. I’ll let you be, then. Goodbye, B.”
The nickname surprised not only himself but Bruce too. Maybe it wasn’t often someone called the man by a silly nickname. But it was also weird that it didn’t feel weird to call him B.
B was Batman, forever and always, and for Bruce Wayne to steal that in just days was… surprising, to say the least.
“Wait.”
Robin stopped in his tracks without doubt.
“I need a favor,” Bruce requested earnestly.
So Robin waited.
Now they had a plan.
Kind of?
Robin just needed some courage to talk to Batman again and a few hours to gather incriminating intel.
And more of Alfred’s hot chocolate.
So he asked for more.
“Thank you for meeting me here.”
Batman kept gazing into the horizon. “You know how much I like it here.”
Robin kept his eyes glued to the man. He didn't know how to reply to that—yes, I know you like it here, I know everything about you because I cherish you and think of you as a father; “I need one final favor,” he replied instead, “For a mutual friend.”
“Last night you left before I could explain,” Batman tried to say.
“Please, B,” Robin interrupted, half-smiling with a tint of sadness, “Hear me out. We can talk about what happened later.”
We can talk about my financial settlement later.
“Alright. What does our friend need?”
So Robin explained.
“You’re acting all weird again,” Robin huffed, “If you didn’t like the plan you should’ve said so.”
Batman crossed his arms hastily, “I’m acting normal. See? I’m normal.”
Robin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right. Now you use contractions when talking.”
“Sometimes I contract my words,” Batman said defensively. “I’m only human.”
Robin was about to reply how much like a lie that had sounded when he saw Bruce taking the stage, waving at the curious reporters that had accepted his request to attend an urgent Q&A regarding the Cobblepot v Wayne trial and the most recent news about his suspicious meeting with Batman and Robin.
Then, Bruce saluted at one of the many cameras pointing his way.
“That is our cue! C‘mon!” Robin grabbed Batman’s cape to pull him in his direction just like many times before because he was, quote-unquote, ‘often childish’, when the sound of Kevlar being ripped apart resounded in the air.
Flabbergasted, Robin slowly turned back to Batman, who was standing still, apparently speechless too. “What the fuck?!” Robin hissed, “Now your cutting edge technology fails?! What’s happening with the world?!”
Batman finally took a step forward, “Forget it and keep moving,” he grumbled. Or tried to. He looked like he wanted to laugh maniacally.
Robin eyed him with judgement before nodding frantically, throwing the useless and ripped-apart Kevlar over the window ceiling they were currently on.
They managed to enter the elegant building silently. Batman moved with a level of efficiency and lightness that put any Olympic-level athlete to shame, making Robin wonder for a moment if the old man had taken any drugs before this mission.
Of course not—but it was a silly thought to have.
When they finally made it stealthily backstage, Robin shook his head, shooing away the thought of Batman being as high as a kite, when he heard Bruce announcing their presence.
“—why I’ve invited my very good friends, Batman, and his sidekick, Robin.” A round of applause and what sounded like gasps and a million cameras going off followed the announcement.
“Sidekick? Really?” Robin asked to one in particular.
Batman started to mechanically walk towards the stage, moving the big red curtain to the side for him to walk past.
“Why do I have to go first,” Robin muttered to Batman, who ignored him in turn, “I’m the sidekick here.”
The instant he put a foot on stage, the reporters went even crazier.
Thankfully, Bruce was beside him in a second, gripping his shoulder in an anchor kind of way. Robin felt Batman beside him, serious and deadly, probably being everything the people imagined him to be.
“Batman! Batman! What’s your opinion about the current rumors involving the Major—“
“Robin! Do you think your job counts as child labor—“
“What’s your stance on gun violence, Batman—“
“Batman! Are you tied with organized crime—“
“Robin were you threatened to—“
“How much did Mr. Wayne here paid you to—“
“Robin! Do you find it weird that your only coworker doubles you in age—“
“Batman, Sir! Excuse me but don’t you use a cape—“
“Batman! Robin! Were you paid by Bruce Wayne to intimidate Mr. Oswald Cobblepot—“
“Please, please,” Bruce smoothly quieted the frantic reporters, raising his arms in a placating matter, “This are very special guests. If you don’t behave they will leave.” Yeah, that made everyone shut up.
Robin blinked a few times. He could see lights that were not there anymore. “And yes, we’re all wondering the same thing,” Bruce continued, “Where is the cape?”
That made everyone laugh out loud. Robin caught Batman trying not to. Weird.
Bruce looked too serious for a moment, before cracking a smile of his own.
“Now, I have here two of the greatest detectives—“
“Overstatement,” Batman huffed beside him. Robin discreetly elbowed him.
“—of Gotham City to clear once and for all the rumors surrounding our very persons. But before we get to talk about that, they would like to show you some, hmm, how do young people call it nowadays?” Bruce took a pause. “Receipts.”
The TV standing to his left started to show scanned documents and photographs that Robin knew like the back of his hand. Batman and he had stayed up all night searching for them, analyzing them deeply, and compiling them into what it is now: Proof that Oswald Cobblepot was corrupt, that he’d manufactured many of the evidence brought to court, like the document allegedly written by the late Thomas Wayne, and that his ulterior motive to suing the hell out of Bruce was because of selfish, criminal and questionable reasons; like, say, building a gigantic base for organized crime, opening a bunch of highly unethical joints to distribute drugs, and displacing hundreds of innocent civilians, leaving them homeless.
So, when Robin caught sight of a thin red light coming through one of the high windows on his right, he had less than two seconds to react as expected of a trained vigilante like him.
He didn't react at all. In fact, Robin stayed still like the dumb kid he was—Batman was right, he was often childish and he should stop adding ‘and stuff’ at the end of every sentence; and Bruce was also right, he looked like a tiny red dot with boots on and he should be more at school and drinking hot chocolate than in the streets waiting for an early death—and, hah! Brains are some funny things!
Brains are something funny, because the only thing that Robin heard inside his head, weirdly—and a lot of things had been so weird recently—was the intro of 'The Masterplan' by Oasis, but not only the intro, it was also the first verse, like that moment before the chorus hits like a bullet—and oh, a bullet was about to hit him, wasn't it?
Should he close his eyes? Should he pray? Should he beg Batman to hold him gently until the pain stopped? Should he—?
Robin felt pain; but not the kind of dizzying and bitchy pain that should've caused a bullet straight to the chest, no; the pain was dull and encompassing, like that time some goon had thrown him against a brick wall and Robin felt one of his ribs crack and the air get stuck inside his throat. That kind of awful pain.
There were screams all around him, and when he opened his eyes, groaning, barely hearing Batman yells, who was looming over him and who sounded nothing like him. Nothing at all.
“I’ll keep him safe, B! Go after them! Go, go!”
In fact, Batman sounded like Superman.
Robin saw tiny spots of color, and he wondered if he’d been concussed, and if that was why his brain thought that Superman was dressed up as Batman, when he felt a hand cradling his face.
“It’s okay, bud. You’re okay. I'm sorry, I hit you pretty bad to keep you away from the bullet, but you’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.”
Robin tried to whisper something.
“What is it, hmm? I can’t understand you, bud.”
Robin tried again, and this time he could whisper loud enough: “Tell that motherfucker,” his head pounded horribly, “I know.”
Robin last thought was that, hopefully, he’d also managed to laugh before going unconscious.
When Robin opened his eyes once again, he was back in the Cave.
For a moment he wished it’d been all some weird dream where he mixed everything from the last days into a mushed up parallel reality, but then he felt the stiffness of his body and groaned his way into the real world.
Do not contact Bruce Wayne again. He’s not someone you can trust.
The truth had been right there in front of his stupid nose!
Robin hid behind his arms, groaning.
“Welcome back, Master Robin.”
The familiar voice made him sit up immediately. “Alf-eaaaagh!” Robin yelled from the pain for a good minute, then: “Tell Supes this is the last time he saves my life! This is ten times worse!”
Alfred, of course, Alfred would be here. Alfred! Wow!
My whole reality is falling apart! Yay!
“I will not tell him that,” Alfred replied smoothly and handed him a bottle of water, “We gave you painkillers. Please drink. This will make you feel even better.”
Robin obeyed him without thinking twice. He’d interacted with Alfred for a total of two times, but if the man told him to throw himself off a building, he would. It was funny how much trust he put on people, given how Batman often tried to taught him to be suspicious of every living thing in the whole wide world.
But Robin knew things too; he was smart, capable and learned the hard way to just trust his gut.
“I believe you want to talk to Bruce about what happened,” Alfred inquired.
Robin nodded slowly, “I would like that very much before I go insane.”
Alfred chuckled quietly at his choice of words, “Very good. I will make you some hot chocolate while you two catch up.”
Catch up—as if Bruce Wayne wasn’t about to confess to him that he’d been the freaking Batman all this time.
Amazing. This was easily top 2 of the most bizarre moments of his life and Robin was here for it. He tried not to grin like the Joker at Alfred’s direction. That would be weird. Everything was so weird already.
Immediately after Alfred left the medical lab, Bruce materialized in front of him. Materialized because Robin blinked and the next moment there he was; still and tense like he was about to apologize to him for lying to his face, gaslighting him into thinking that he was two different people at the same time, and for using Superman for his malicious schemes.
Bruce cleared his throat, “…yes, exactly. That is why I want to apologize.”
Robin blinked again, “Did I say that out loud?”
“You did,” and Bruce gave him that same tight-lipped smile.
“Oh, man,” Robin whined, “It would’ve been so much better to hear you say it.”
“I can say it.”
“And I’m all ears,” Robin replied blissfully, then, “Wait, but you have to do the voice.”
“The voice?” Bruce raised both eyebrows.
“Damn, you’re expressive,” Robin wondered out loud.
“Do not cuss.”
“Do the voice!”
Bruce laughed. Batman laughed. He laughed. “What voice, Tiny?”
“Your Batman voice!” Robin insisted, “Meep-murp, I am Batman, murp-meep, I do a mean voice every time I put on a cowl, meep-murp-meep, I am so scary.”
Bruce frowned, “That’s not—“
“You sound like that!”
“I do not have a voice. This is always my voice.”
“Okay, ‘kay, ‘kay, ‘kay,” Robin shrugged, “Whatever you say, B.”
Bruce—Batman, Batman, Batman—sighed contentedly, “I am sorry for not telling you my real name.”
Robin opened his mouth to talk.
“Wait, please,” Bruce held a hand up, “Let me say it. You deserved to know. It was the least I could do—to share my secret with you, after you have been selflessly putting yourself at risk because of our mission. You are like a son to me,” he quietly confessed, “I often thought about my father, and how he always used to make me part of his life, and I felt… I felt useless and ashamed for not being able to provide the same for you.”
“B…”
Bruce shook his head, “There is no excuse. I was just afraid. I am often afraid. I am afraid of losing it. I am afraid of letting myself feel. I am afraid of losing someone I consider family. Someone I love dearly. I know you have a home to return to, parents, but I can’t help but feel protective of you. I thought I was protecting you. I see now that I was… wrong.”
Robin smiled at Bruce. Maybe some day he would know everything about him. Maybe someday he’ll have the opportunity to tell him all about his life. Robin felt… safe.
“I forgive you, Bruce.” It was what he could offer right now; emotional, high on painkillers and happier than ever. “And I understand… the fear, and the love, and everything,” Robin gulped, “I get it, Mr. Batman.”
That gained him another tight-lipped smile from the man who made the world work for him.
“Thank you, son,” Bruce replied with fondness and a bit of awkwardness. So weird. “I hope someday you can tell me your name too; your story.”
Robin frowned and smiled in surprise, “You want to know about me?”
“Of course,” Bruce said gently, “We have a lot to catch up on.”
At that, Robin grinned widely, “Guess.”
Bruce tilted his head. “What?”
“My name,” he replied still smiling like crazy, “Guess it!”
Bruce squinted his eyes, “Harold.”
“Oh my God, you suck!” Robin groaned, “Forget it. You lose; it’s over. You’ll never know.”
“Wait, wait,” and Bruce squinted his eyes again, “Lyndon!”
“No,” Robin pretended to stand up from the medical cot, “Nope. I quit. Goodbye forever.”
Bruce’s crazy blue eyes looked at him like he couldn’t believe he was letting him be part of his life.
Robin wondered if he looked at him the same way.