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DICK.
The idea had been Dick’s, obviously. A very Dick idea. Who else?
It was Halloween, which meant he could wear the Robin suit without raising suspicion. The witnesses’ descriptions were painfully ordinary, and the darkness worked in his favor. Thousands of kids across Gotham were dressed as Robin that night, most of them in cheap, garish costumes that looked nothing like his.
And as an ordinary civilian—even one who happened to be Bruce Wayne’s newest protégé—Dick could pull off a few pranks without getting shot.
Unless dodging bullets was the whole point of the game.
Everyone knew about the old grouch who would raise his gun and fire if you so much as dared knock on his door for candy. He hadn’t killed anyone yet—something Dick suspected was entirely intentional, given Deathstroke’s near-perfect aim—but plenty of unsuspecting kids had ended up injured.
That was why one of Gotham’s Halloween rules was to stay away from that house. Or, for that matter, to stay away from it at any other time of year.
To Dick, it was just another fun game.
If Slade was going to be an arrogant asshole with or without a mask, Dick could be the Robin who drove him crazy with or without one. Even if, this time, he was technically wearing the suit as a costume.
He left his trophies at the edge of the property, tucked behind a bush where he could grab them once he started running. Then he stretched his arms and legs, loosened his shoulders, and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, readying himself for the escape.
Slade wouldn’t be watching him on the way in, but Dick stayed alert anyway. He avoided cracks and fallen branches, testing each porch step for loose boards that might creak beneath his weight as he climbed.
He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
Dick started running.
Batman’s training had taught him to recognize the instant a gun was drawn and readied to fire. He couldn’t know which way Slade would aim, and throwing himself in either direction might send him straight into the bullet’s path.
Still, he had to pick one.
Fifty-fifty.
The shot rang out.
Dick threw himself aside and rolled across the wet grass, coming up already headed straight for his belongings.
Slade wouldn’t aim for anything vital. The reports only mentioned injuries to the legs.
The next shot cracked behind him. Dick launched himself forward into a somersault and came up beside the bush, snatching his trophies without breaking stride.
Another shot followed as he tore down the street at full speed, manic laughter spilling from him over the pounding of his footsteps.
JASON.
Jason glanced back at Dick, still dressed in his Discowing suit. Dick kept insisting that Halloween was the perfect excuse to show off the quality of his costume, especially compared to all the less elaborate disguises around them.
“Why do I have to do this?” Jason asked, not for the first time.
Dick rolled his eyes.
“It’s part of your initiation as Robin,” he said, wearing a smile that immediately made Jason suspicious.
Even so, Jason kept moving.
Dodging gunfire from an unknown location wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him as Robin. Maybe Dick was right. If he couldn’t handle something this simple, then maybe he wasn’t cut out for the mantle.
And if he couldn’t do it—if he wasn’t good enough to accompany Batman—Bruce would have no reason to keep him around. He’d send Jason back to the orphanage. Even if it was a better place now, it still wasn’t somewhere Jason ever wanted to return to.
He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.
If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.
Amazing, even. He’d leave Dick speechless.
Then Dick wouldn’t be able to complain about having him around the manor anymore, or about Jason being Batman’s new partner.
Jason pressed the doorbell and counted to three, listening as footsteps approached from inside with furious purpose.
The lock clicked.
He turned.
A few yards away, Dick tensed. His eyes were fixed nervously on the man now standing in the doorway.
“You kids have no respect for your elders!”
That was a pathetic line. Jason had expected more from Slade.
“Left!” Dick shouted.
Jason moved before he had time to think.
The bullet whipped past him.
“You think you’re Robin in that filthy costume?!” Slade shouted.
Jason wanted to laugh.
He was Robin.
Slade reloaded.
“Down!”
Jason dropped. The bullet whistled over his head as he hit the ground, rolled with his momentum, and sprang back to his feet without breaking into anything less than a run.
Did Slade just shoot at his head? That was a bit much.
Dick reached out as Jason closed the distance between them. Jason caught his hand and let his own momentum carry him sideways, swinging around Dick before they both tumbled onto the neighboring property.
A third shot rang out behind them, fired more out of frustration than any real attempt to hit them.
Dick didn’t give Jason time to catch his breath. He hauled him back up and dragged him into a run.
Neither waited to see if Slade would come outside and decide that shooting at children in the street was practically legal.
Jason wanted to swear.
This was Gotham.
Maybe it was legal.
TIM.
Tim had heard the story once from a drunk Dick reminiscing about the good times he’d had with Jason. He’d told it with an unsettling mixture of delight and fear, describing how Jason had stood his ground at Slade’s door and held down the doorbell for what Jason had declared were three whole seconds.
Neither of them had been injured, but it was an exercise Tim had absolutely no desire to repeat. Even if Jason had called it “essential training to become Robin.”
Still, Tim couldn’t let it go. He already had everything: the suit, Batman’s approval, Dick’s support, and extensive training under his belt. This shouldn’t be anything more than child’s play.
And with no Dick—or anyone else—there to stop him, Tim planted himself in front of Slade’s door.
Five seconds. If he wanted to beat Jason and prove that he wouldn’t fail, it had to be five.
He shook out his hands, rose onto his toes, then settled back onto his heels. One deep breath and Tim pressed the doorbell.
One.
Something moved inside.
Two.
Footsteps. Approaching fast and heavy.
Three.
A gun being snatched from wherever it had been resting.
Four.
The safety clicked off. The slide racked.
Five.
The handle turned.
The door had no lock.
Tim yelped and spun around.
The gunshot cracked somewhere behind him.
He ran. Adrenaline surged through his veins, his pulse roaring in his ears as he tore across the property.
Another shot.
Tim gasped through clenched teeth, his body trembling. That had sounded far too close.
Was Slade following him? A cold shiver raced down his spine. That would be a very bad sign.
Tim ducked and covered his head without slowing, lengthening his stride and running faster than he ever had before.
Slade fired again.
The shot reverberated in his ears. Adrenaline drove Tim forward while Slade’s shouted insults grew fainter behind him.
He rounded the edge of the property just as another shot rang out.
Tim kept going, forcing one foot in front of the other as a manic laugh climbed into his throat.
He had done it!
Dick watched him with a deep frown, arms crossed over his chest.
Tim winced as the needle pierced his skin again.
“Hold still, Master Timothy,” Alfred gently admonished him.
Dick clicked his tongue. “I can’t believe you actually did it after I told you not to.”
“You and Jason did it,” Tim muttered. “I just… wanted to prove I could be Robin.”
“Oh, Tim.”
Dick sighed, pulled up a chair, and settled beside him.
“You don’t need to run from Slade on Halloween while he’s trying to shoot you.” He gave Tim a sideways smile and ruffled his hair. “That can happen any time of year.”
“Master Richard,” Alfred admonished sternly.
Dick raised his hands in surrender.
“It’s not a lie,” he said. “Tim is an excellent Robin.” He turned back toward him. “This childish prank is beneath you. Believe me.”
Tim smiled and straightened his posture.
He believed him.
He would always believe him.
STEPH.
“Even if it was only for a short time, you do know I was Robin, right?” Steph asked, narrowing her eyes accusingly at Tim.
“I know. I do,” he said. “Bruce proved, once again, how incapable he is of working alone.”
Bruce was incapable of many things, she thought. But that wasn't a conversation they needed to have right now.
“And I was a very good Robin,” she continued.
She had done her part. She had tried. She simply hadn't been what Bruce wanted, still haunted by the ghost of a dead son. Something Steph would never be. (If she later faked her death, that was another matter.)
Tim nodded. “Definitely.”
What a basic answer from her boyfriend. Textbook. Tim should have known better than to give her something so uninspired. If he had that much power over her feelings, the least he could do was learn how to be a decent boyfriend when it came to them.
She shook her head, returning to the matter at hand.
“So why did none of you tell me about Ding-Dong Ditch at Slade’s house?” she demanded.
Tim shrugged. “Dick forbade me from doing it last time,” he admitted. “I just forgot.”
“I want to do it,” she declared.
“Steph.”
“I’m not asking for permission.” Steph stood, determination settling over her. “I’m doing it, whether you like it or not.”
Tim ran a hand over his face before rising to join her.
“There are still a few hours left of Halloween,” he said, holding out his hand. “Will you let me come with you?”
Steph smiled brightly.
“Of course.”
Steph crossed the lawn toward the door. The grass had grown wild, weeds brushing against her ankles and making her skin itch even through her tights. Her skirt swayed with every step, her Robin suit still looking impeccable despite the years that had passed.
It was one of the suits Bruce had kept after firing her, a small relic for her to treasure. A reminder that she had once been Robin, and that she had done a good job. She simply hadn't been what Batman needed at the time. (Again, she faked her death. She didn't fail.)
The rotting porch boards creaked beneath her feet, leaving little chance of approaching quietly. Paint peeled from the wood, its surface badly scraped and worn.
The house looked as though it had been left to rot. The only indication that anyone still lived there was the light spilling from one of the windows.
She took a deep breath and positioned her feet, ready to sprint the moment the door opened.
Her hand was already hovering over the doorbell when the door swung open.
Before she could even ring it.
Steph stumbled backward in surprise, scrambling to react to the unexpected turn of events.
The girl standing in the doorway was certainly not who she'd expected to see.
“Steph?” Rose smiled at her, a bucket of candy cradled in her arms. “Aren't you a little old to be trick-or-treating?” she teased.
Steph blinked, forcing her brain to start working again.
“You're never too old for free candy,” she shot back.
Rose let out a small laugh and offered her the bucket. “Then take whichever one you want.”
Steph picked out a piece of candy. Bruce could check it later in the Cave.
“Strange seeing you here. Did something happen with your father?”
Rose shrugged. “Something bad, probably. I didn't stick around to ask. His business is none of my concern.”
“That's a shame,” Steph murmured.
The candy sat firmly between her fingers, and Rose wasn't an enemy. Without giving it much thought, she unwrapped it.
“Did you have business with my dad?”
Steph hesitated, casting a sideways glance at Tim, who was hiding among the bushes.
“Maaaaaybe,” she drawled, popping the candy into her mouth. “Are you a good shot?”
Rose raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but if you want me to kill someone, I only do it for money.”
The smile on her face made it clear she was joking, though Steph still hesitated before asking her next question.
“Could you… shoot at me while I run off your property?”
A second passed in silence. Rose's expression didn't shift in the slightest.
Which made it all the harder to notice her drawing the gun.
Steph yelped and took a quick step backward. Then another. She stumbled on the third.
The shot rang out, striking the exact spot where her feet had been a moment earlier.
Steph burst out laughing and launched into her long-awaited run. It wasn't quite the same, but it would have to be enough. Besides, she liked being different. She'd gotten her own mercenary to shoot at her, unlike everyone else.
“Your dad should cut the grass!” she shouted, twisting around and taking a long leap to avoid another shot. “Your house is two inches away from being haunted!”
“I know!” Rose fired again. The bullet didn't even come close to Steph, striking the ground well beyond her. “But he refuses to fix this junk!”
“Tell him—”
Steph turned toward the spot where Tim was waiting. Another shot rang out behind her, the bullet kicking up dirt near her feet without touching her.
“—that if he keeps letting it look this creepy, kids are going to start using it as a set for internet videos!”
She reached Tim's hiding place and caught his waiting hand, muffling her laughter so she wouldn't give them away.
“Thanks!” she shouted, making sure her voice carried back to Rose.
She didn't hear a response, but she didn't need one. She was certain Rose had enjoyed herself just as much as she had.
Tim squeezed her hand and let out an unrestrained laugh.
“That was insane.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “And at least I can say my mercenary was more interesting than old Slade.”
Tim nodded. “Completely, baby. You're the only one who actually asked to be shot at.”
Steph shoved him with one hand. “Shut up, idiot.”
Tim kept laughing all the way into downtown Gotham without another word.
DAMIAN.
“This childish game is absurd,” Damian said, staring intently at the house across the street.
“It’s a ritual,” Jason corrected.
“We’ve all done it,” Tim added.
“And if you succeed, you win half of everyone’s candy.” Steph smiled, ignoring the murderous looks the other two boys shot her.
Damian knew exactly what she was doing. She was playing with him, using him to provoke the others.
Regardless, it was a tempting offer.
“Does Richard know about this?”
As the first Robin, it made sense that he should be present for Damian’s initiation.
“He’s busy,” Tim blurted out, offering an excuse flimsy enough to be suspicious coming from him.
Jason caught Damian by the shoulder, drawing his attention away from Tim.
“But don’t worry,” he said. “We’re more than capable of judging your skills. And we have a camera. Dick will see how well you performed today.”
Damian straightened, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin.
If Richard and his father were going to judge his performance later, then he had to perform accordingly.
“Fine.” He tightened his grip on the katana—real and razor-sharp—and turned toward the house. “We’ll do this.”
Cheers and the rustle of pom-poms followed him as he ventured onto unfamiliar ground.
For the home of a mercenary who spent more time away from Gotham than in it, Slade’s property was remarkably well maintained. The grass was freshly cut, the driveway free of potholes and grime, the painted wood unmarred by cracks. It almost looked like the home of a normal person.
Except for the door. It was a deep, solid black, with no doorbell. Only a small knocker. Old and creepy, just like Slade himself.
Damian grasped the knocker and struck it once.
No response.
He frowned and knocked again, then a second time, a third, and finally a fourth before he heard footsteps approaching.
Without a doorbell to hold down, Damian had no way to count the seconds or compare his performance to those of his predecessors. And he could not afford to rank below them. That would be dishonorable.
He drew his katana and settled into a fighting stance.
The instant the door opened, Damian found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
Slade didn’t fire. He simply watched him, waiting for Damian to move so he could redirect his aim toward his feet. That was where his brothers had told him Slade would target.
“Running away is for cowards,” Damian said, raising the katana level with his face. “My duty is to prove my superiority.”
Slade’s laugh came loud and deep. He cocked the gun and leveled it at Damian without hesitation.
“Looking for revenge, son of the Demon?”
“I seek victory.”
Damian lunged.
The gun went off.
Sometime between the start of the fight and the second shot, someone slammed into Damian and knocked him backward.
He caught a glimpse of Jason rushing past him toward Slade, with Tim close behind. Damian barely had time to regain his footing before he threw himself forward again.
Arms locked around him from behind.
Steph hauled him backward as Damian fought against her grip, twisting in her arms and trying to get past her to rejoin the others.
“Release me,” Damian snapped.
“Nope.” Steph tightened her hold.
“I was winning.”
“You were getting shot at.”
“That is not the same thing as losing.”
Steph dragged him another step back.
“I can’t believe you actually did that,” she said through her laughter. “I don’t know if that counts as a win, but Dick is going to lose his mind.”
She gave him a wide, amused smile.
“You did great. Just don’t do it again.”
Damian didn’t understand that last part.
If he’d done well, why shouldn’t he do it again?
It was only after Dick reprimanded him that he understood why.
DUKE.
“And that’s how every one of us has done it over the years,” Dick finished, stopping the video on the final image of them fighting Slade.
Duke lowered his popcorn, thoroughly entertained.
“You’re all insane,” he said, looking around at each Robin in the room. “How did you get all the videos?”
Jason grabbed another handful of popcorn.
“After the first few incidents, they gave the woman who lived across from Slade a free camera and made sure she recorded the entire week surrounding Halloween.”
Tim nodded. “Hacking into it was child’s play. Even Dick’s footage had incredible quality for its time.”
Dick frowned. “Did you just call me old?”
“Considering I just turned sixteen, and four Robins came before me,” Damian said, looking up without the slightest hint of guilt, “that would be an accurate statement.”
Whatever complaint Dick was about to make was cut off by Steph, who took control of the player.
“So what do you say, Duke?” she asked with a wide, playful smile. “Up for running across Slade’s property tomorrow?”
Several pairs of eyes turned toward him, expectant.
Duke flashed Steph a grin and sprang to his feet.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The room erupted in cheers, excitement rippling through the group.
This was going to be fun.
