"Robin's Song"

by: Dannell Lites

Bruce is odd.

Clark says that Bruce is one of the only people he knows who frightenhim. Coming from Superman who counts among his enemies people like LexLuthor and Brainiac that's pretty impressive. But, then, Clark isreally just a Kansas farmboy at heart. He may have been conceived onKrypton, but he was raised in Smallville, Kansas by two of the nicestpeople you'd ever want to meet. The Kents are amazing. Bruce ...

Bruce doesn't come from Smallville.

One of the many, many amazing things about Bruce is that memory of his.He's never had it tested, of course, for obvious reasons. But I'd bewilling to bet you that it's eidetic *and* photographic. Among otherthings. For example, he still remembers absolutely everything about thenight his parents died. I guess it isn't easy to forget the night yourworld fell apart and everything stopped making sense. But twenty fiveyears later he's still trying to beat it into submission; still tryingto force it to make sense. Bruce can describe the scent of the perfumehis mom was wearing, the slow graceful arc of each falling pearl fromher necklace when Joe Chill tore it from around her neck. The sound ofthe gun shot that killed his father is indelibly embedded in his memory,like gunpowder beneath the skin.

I can barely remember my real parents, anymore. I was only eight whenthey died. Almost as young as Bruce. I remember my father's hands bestof all. Big strong hands that could pluck you safely from mid air andset you back down on the platform as lightly as a feather. That and hissmile. He was always smiling. But the one thing I remember best aboutthat hideous night is Bruce's voice.

"It's going to be all right, son," he told me. "I promise."

I'd been shuffled off into some forgotten corner while the grownups goton with life. The Police had already removed my parents bodies. PopHaley was talking to a grim middle aged cop named Gordon. People weremilling about restlessly but no one seemed to have time for me. I havenever been more alone before or since in my life. Everyone seemed tohave forgotten me.

Well, almost everyone ...

Bruce knelt down beside me there in the sawdust of the big top. Iremember thinking that he was going to ruin that Saville Row suit ofhis. The muscles of his jaw were working silently and the tendons ofhis neck stood out like cords. But there was no sign of all that angerand passion anywhere in his voice. I remember looking up at him. Andup and up and up ... Christ, he was tall. It still amazes me thatI'm almost as tall as he is now. But not quite. No one is ever quiteas tall as Bruce.

"I tried to warn them," I stammered. "I tried! But no one would listen! No one would listen!" I think that was when I started to cry.My small fists began pounding a steady tattoo on that massive chest.But, my strongest blows bounced off the muscles of his hard body likeraindrops. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in thesafety of his embrace, sobbing like the broken hearted little boy that Iwas. He didn't say a word. For a moment he stiffened, taken bysurprise. And then, like rusty hinges, his arms went around my smallform and gathered me in haltingly, hesitantly, as if they hadn't touchedsomeone in a very long time and might have forgotten how.

Alfred Pennyworth is probably the Eighth Wonder Of The World. In thosefirst days with Bruce Alfred is the one I remember. I think ...

I think that if it weren't for Alfred, I might have ended up as ... odd... as Bruce. That wonderful English voice and those ever busy handswith all their late night freshly baked chocolate chip cookies andpeanut butter and jelly sandwiches saved my sanity, I think. Alfredalways had time for "Master Dick". Bruce isn't easy to talk to backthen. Barbara says it's like talking to a stone wall, sometimes. She'sright about that.

"Rule Number One" he told me as he tossed me over his shoulder on to thepractice mat the day he agreed to let me work with him. "You give meone hundred percent." Groggily, I picked myself up, gritted my teethand came at him again from another angle.

"Rule Number Two:" he said calmly when he caught my ankle as I tried oneof my more acrobatic maneuvers. "And then you give me more." I meantto end up behind him and surprise him. It didn't work. I hit the mat again, breathing hard, and in pain. Bruce loomed over me like a stormcloud.

"Rule Number Three: *I* make the rules."

Watch out for that last one, kid, I once told my successor, Tim Drake.It's a killer. He did pretty much the same routine with Tim. Bruce isa creature of habit.

Bruce has always taken a lot of heat because of me. Oh sure, Wally wasBarry's sidekick from Day One and Donna was always fighting along sideDiana. But they had superpowers. Me? Not a superpower to my name.Just like Bruce the only thing I have going for me is my training and mywill. See? Nothin' up my sleeve ... Just like Bruce. Early on, Iheard Bruce and Clark arguing about me.

"Taking an unpowered little boy into situations where he could easily be killed!" Clark cried. "Have you lost your mind completely, Bruce?"

That usually well modulated baritone is one of the most reassuringvoices you can imagine. Heh. You don't have to imagine it, I guess.Just tune into WGBS Nightline News from Metropolis and you'll see what Imean. Whether he's reporting the news as Clark Kent or as Superman,urging people not to panic that it's just another routine alieninvasion that he'll have taken care of quicker than you can say, "Up, upand away!" that voice is always calm and soothing. I don't think I'dever before heard it raised in anger. When Superman yells at you, you*know* you've been yelled at.

Bruce, of course, was utterly unimpressed.

"Not the last time I checked," he said crisply and left the room with Clark goggling at his back. As usual, it was Alfred who came to myrescue.

"Master Superman?"

It's amazing. Alfred pretty much knows everybody in the superherocommunity by their first names. But whenever they were in costume orbeing particularly dense it was always, "Master Flash" or "Master Green Lantern". Or even, "Master Superman".

"I'm afraid you don't quite understand, Sir," began Alfred quietly. I saw Clark frown.

"Master Dick is necessary," Alfred explained simply. "Without him andthat bright, silly costume, without him and his atrocious puns, hissmiles and his enthusiasm, Master Bruce would be lost. Without someoneto directly protect and guide, Master Bruce might be worse than thecriminals he wages such ruthless war against ... and, well, that isn'ta very pleasant thought is it, Sir?" I wasn't close enough to see ifClark shuddered. But, I know *I* did.

"And without Master Bruce, young Master Dick might have turned out agreat deal like Master Bruce himself. And, well, I hardly think there'sroom for *two* of him is there? No, Master Bruce will see to it thatthe lad is safe and that he doesn't spend his life as he himself did infruitless anger and frustration." Clark sighed.

"You'll look after them?" he said with a rueful shake of his head.

"Indeed, Sir," said Alfred, politely.

And that was an end of the matter. Clark never mentioned it again. Unfortunately, it took me almost a week of cajoling, hard work andpractice before Bruce would let me rejoin him on his nightly patrols, soI was really pissed at Clark. Yes, Bruce *does* listen. But likeeverything else, he just does it in his own way.

Superheroes talk just like regular people. For the most part we *are*regular people. Donna assures me that she and Dinah and Babs have hadsome great girl talks about who has the best butt in herodom. I haveit on good authority from Donna that that particular honor probably goesto Wally. All that running, I guess. But one subject that's prettycommon to most JLA off duty chats is the Big Knock Down Dragout FightQuestion. I've indulged in that one sometimes myself. You know, theone where everybody reveals their idea of who would be the last herostanding in a JLA free for all. Silly kid stuff, really. But I've keptnotes. Over seventy-five percent of the people I've talked to put their money on Bruce. So would I. Don't *ever* count Bruce out. He's always prepared. Facing down Superman, he'll come up with some tiny fragmentof kryptonite from out of that bottomless utility belt and WHAM! That'sall she wrote. The trouble is, people are rarely prepared for him.*Me* least of all. Let me explain.

Back when Raven first showed up something strange happened. We Titanshad teleported onto the JLA satellite. Caught them completely bysurprise. Raven hadn't been able to convince them to help and they werein the way of something important. I had everything planned perfectly.I knew just who should take on who and just how they should do it. Itwent down beautifully. We had them down for the count and reeling, areal TKO. Until it happened. I took out Green Lantern by tangling himin my yellow cape and hitting him *hard*, came up rolling and lookedaround for The Martian Manhunter. That's right J'onn, go ahead, turn invisible. I reached for some nice little flash and smoke pellets withhis name written all over them and then I heard it. That *voice*

"All right, Dick," said Bruce in that cold soft voice he uses when he'sreally angry, "that's enough."

And I froze. Right then and there. My knees locked up and I couldn'tmove.

Pavlov's dogs, I guess. Almost all my life I've been listening to thatvoice and doing just as it said, instantly, without thought orhesitation. There I was, a grown man, a hero and leader in my own rightwho had just aced two of the most powerful members of the JLA all bymyself without blinking an eyelash, and I suddenly felt *exactly* like alittle boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Again.

Bruce has that effect on almost everybody, so I guess I shouldn't be sopissed about it. The Batman has made his own myth and he's verycomfortable with the fit. It's just everybody else who has trouble withit. But after all this time of listening to jokes about "Robin, the BoyBlunder" and hearing all the speculation about us, things start to wear,you know? Even Jim Gordon once asked me about it. Poor stumbling oldwalrus whuffled into his mustache and turned beet red.

"How are ... *things* between you and your mentor?" he asked.

We were alone in his office, waiting for Bruce to return and I could seethe embarrassed concern in his blue eyes. I didn't understand him atfirst. Hey, I was only 14, ok?

"They're fine, Sir," I replied, puzzled. Gordon shifted uncomfortably in his office chair and persisted as though with an onerous, unpleasantduty he wished with all his might to avoid. Babs says he sucked at thebirds and the bees thing, too.

"No ... problems?" he inquired, increasingly mortified. "I mean, nothing that you want to ... talk about?" That's when it hit me what hewas getting at. There are times when I wish my costume included a fullface mask like Bruce's. Jim Gordon continued to study his shoes verycarefully. I gulped.

"Oh," I quipped hastily to cover myself, "you mean other than the factthat he won't let me take the Batmobile on dates? And slumber partiesin the Batcave are right out."

"The Joker is planning to assassinate Mayor Hill," said Bruce from the shadows. "You should warn him about that."

I swear Jim Gordon jumped three feet straight out of his chair andturned white as a rain washed bone. I don't *think* Bruce was closeenough to see the guilt that flashed across his broad features, but Iwouldn't bet on it.

"Lord God, have mercy on an old man's heart!" he cried. "Don't *do*that!"

"Sorry," said the Batman and smiled.

Me, I wondered how long he'd been standing there, listening.

I used to worry about sex. I used to worry about it a lot, in fact.Ask Donna. But then, don't most teenage boys? *Is* Bruce a homosexual? I don't think so. Most of the time The Batman is the next best thing to asexual that I know. He uses dissolute, scatter-brainedplayboy Bruce Wayne's women the same way he uses his millions ... ascover. If Bruce is gay, he hides it well. There are many things that make The Batman the Dark Knight Avenger that he is and there are timeswhen even that magnificent body can't contain the size and force of themind and spirit that drives it. But I don't think that being gay is oneof Bruce's problems.

Ok, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Remember a couple ofyears ago there was all that publicity about Wonder Woman's love life?It was all over the tabloids. WONDER WOMAN TAKES SECRET LOVER! Therewas even a "60 Minutes" special about it. Barbara Walters was lividwhen they stole the interview from her. It died down, of course asthese things do. But no one ever did figure out who Diana's lover was,not even her JLA colleagues. Now most people just assumed that it wasClark. A natural thought, I guess; he's the ultimate man, she's theultimate woman, etc. Lois almost had a cow. She put poor Clark throughhell and it really wasn't funny. After all, he was innocent of allcharges. No, Clark wasn't Diana's lover.

It was Bruce.

How do I know? Look, I'm not the *second* best living detective fornothing, ok? Bruce is the best there is at what he does and I'm a quickstudy. The only thing that really surprised me was Diana. What wassurprising you ask? I hope I don't need to draw you an Esso road map.Diana *does* come from an Island where there aren't any men, doesn'tshe? And she's a big girl now. Bruce? Well, Bruce has always gotteninvolved with women he can't have. Selina and Ivy and Talia are noaccidents. Bruce can't seem to stop punishing himself for surviving whenhis parents didn't. I didn't say anything, of course. Bruce and Inever talked about it. But then, we've never talked about a lot ofthings so I guess there's nothing new there.

The thing I really remember the most about that whole business is thatI'm pretty sure they called it off just before the annual advent of HellWeek. Now if that isn't rotten timing I don't know what is. Damn, Iguess I should explain. Hell Week ... That's my private name for theweek leading up to January 15. See, every January 15 Bruce just ...disappears. No warning, no explanation, no nothing. He's just notthere and no one can find him. If the Second Coming falls on January15, Bruce won't be there. And for about a week before that day Alfredand I used to just batten down the hatches by unspoken agreement.Bruce's temper would fray, he'd be even more silent and unapproachablethan ever and he prowled Gotham every night like a restless demon. AndLord help the hapless crook who chooses Hell Week for his big heist.Bruce has a bad habit of leaving preps bloody and battered anyway.During Hell Week I've seen him beat them half dead. My first Hell Weekwith Bruce I was scared spitless. There have been plenty of times thatI've been afraid *for* Bruce. That first Hell Week was the only timeI've ever been afraid *of* him. I was sure he'd lost his mind. But he disappeared on an January 15 and on January 16 he was back as if nothinghad ever happened. After that things calmed down quite a lot. The nextyear I took my cue from Alfred. He took special care of "Master Bruce"during Hell Week, asked no questions and when the rage had passed hewelcomed him back. I was 16 before it occurred to me to wonder *where*Bruce went every January 15 like clock work.

So I followed him.

All right, I'm an idiot. I was a cocky 16 year old, what do youexpect? Following him was easy. It was keeping him from seeing me thatwas the tricky part. Christ, if you don't think *that* was hard! I'dnever had made it but he was ... distracted.

It was pretty confusing all the way around, if you want to know thetruth. The first florist shop he broke into near Gotham Internationalwas a surprise. But he was in and out of there so quickly it almostmade my head spin. He made a through search of the place, though.Didn't even disturb the dust on the floor, but before he left I'll bethe could have given you chapter and verse on every flower in the place;how many, what kind, location, whose nursery they came from and howrecently. He was looking for something. But he didn't find it there.He left empty handed. By the time he ransacked the fifth florist shopover on the East End he was getting a lot more careless. In the last onedown by the docks he smashed some refrigerated glass cases in a blackfury, ripped apart some standing displays and then had to leave money topay for the damage. Over all he searched more than a dozen floristshops all over Gotham before he was done. I was starting to get a badfeeling about this. I almost wished that I had stayed home. Somethingwas *very* wrong. You have no idea how glad I was to see him emerge atlast from The Rain Florist carrying a single red rose. He tucked it carefully into a fold of his cape and took off, heading east.

But it wasn't until he came to rest in an alley about a block away fromthe old Rialto Theater that I suddenly knew in my bones where he wasgoing and why he was there. I started to sweat despite the cold.

These days they call the place Crime Alley and it's one of the veryworst sections of Gotham. But twenty-two years ago it was called ParkView and it was one of the nicest places in town, bright and lively withshops and happy people.

And then something bad happened there and the area went down hill fast.

Two really nice people were murdered there and left behind a confusedand grieving young son. Two nice people named Wayne. Thomas and MarthaWayne. Their son's name is Bruce and he has never stopped grieving. Iwas looking at the place where The Batman was born. Bruce had comehome.

Slowly, he sank to his knees and lay the rose in a certain place. Thenhe pushed back his cowl. I swear he was almost smiling

"I'm sorry, mother. I couldn't find white roses. I know they're your favorites, but I couldn't find any this year. I'm sorry."

I'd never heard his voice quite like this before. There was alightness to it; almost a shy quality as if he been away from someone heloved for far too long and had eagerly returned to their embrace. Myeyes widened. I think that was when I realized that I was listening toBruce Wayne and not The Batman. I began to remember that voice, now. Ihadn't heard it in a very long time, it occurred to me. Mostly Iremember it from my childhood when a grieving and frightened little boynamed Dick Grayson first came to the immense sometimes lonely halls of Wayne Manor. Yeah, I heard it a lot then. With mounting fear Iwondered when I had stopped hearing it. And why.

Silently, I stepped to his side and stood there for a moment. I lay myhand on his head and stroked his hair. It seemed to comfort him.

"For her, they'll always be roses, Bruce," I murmured.

He didn't move at all for a long time and I just stood there. Icouldn't leave him to be consumed by his inner demons. I still can't.After a moment he stood and he was The Batman again. But from then on Iknew that there *was* a Bruce Wayne. He's in there somewhere tuckedaway safely where no one can hurt him ever again. And I love him. I'ddie for him. Suddenly I heard Alfred's cultured voice from long ago.

"Master Dick is necessary."

Yes, he is.

Bruce looked at me and those intense blue eyes were calm and peaceful.

"Let's go home, son," he said.

The End

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