Chapter Text
“So far as testing grounds go, Gotham is a prime choice,” said one of a dozen white faces. In the buzzing electric light of the otherwise dark room, each was indistinguishable from the other - all perfectly white and perfectly expressionless. All eyeless save for two empty black pinpoints. All lined up in a neat circle, hands all folded on the white marble table. All staring at the lone man standing with his back to them at the head of the table. A set of computer screens laid into the wall played several videos on a continual loop; the explosion of a freighter ship from a CCTV at Gotham Harbour, the interior of a makeshift lab where two teenage vigilantes attempted to hack a database only to run out once the alarm had been triggered, a close up of the smaller of the two identifying him as Robin, and several windows running diagnostic information on an organic fear toxin formula. The last of the screens, and the largest, played only one video feed. It was this one that the man stood staring at, fixated, blocking out the view from his assembled conspirators.
“Where else would we go?” he asked, a deep baritone that rumbled through the uneasy room.
“I - apologies,” the first masked man stumbled over his words. “I only mean that we have perfect conditions for study. We are waiting only on your direction, Grandmaster.”
There came a scoff from the far back of the room. Though their masks betrayed no fear, every single person seated around the table tensed. No one looked to the back of the room.
The Grandmaster paid it no mind. “Gotham isn’t the prime choice,” he said, as if he’d heard none of the conversation behind him. “Gotham is the only choice. I have no interest in going anywhere else.” A long pause took hold of the room, silence coiled tight around every throat. The Grandmaster laughed quietly as he turned toward the table. “Though I suppose I cannot be too harsh. A wider testing ground means more data, and more data means success, does it not? How has our first stage gone?”
A woman on the left side of the table swiped through a small tablet. “Before distribution was interrupted earlier this summer, our dealers reported subjects experiencing elevated levels of adrenaline, increased strength and stamina in short bursts, as well as feelings of euphoria. One test subject described it to his dealer as similar to the drop on a roller coaster, suggesting that the Fear Toxin isolate is performing as intended. However, over extended periods, we have received reports of heightened anxiety, and in extreme cases, heart palpitations, paranoia, and hallucinations. We are moving forward with a second round of clinical trials to mitigate these effects.”
The Grandmaster turned to face the board. Hands clasped behind his back, he stepped up to the table. “Good work,” he said, tone easy and smooth as he took a tablet off his end of the table. One gloved finger swiped casually through the info, pausing on the scan of a notice of partnership rejection signed V.S, dated the previous year. Though his face was well hidden, the smile was audible in his voice. “And where are we on our latest venture?”
A man sitting on the right side of the oval table, closest to the Grandmaster, shifted uneasily in his seat. “It is responding well to the changes. We are waiting for your command, Grandmaster.”
“Do you have it?”
The man nodded, lifting an armoured briefcase from below the table. He set it on the surface, and after the input of a key code and a fingerprint, the case opened with a hiss. Soft blue light emanated from a thin strip of LEDs. Sitting inside, on a bed of imprinted foam conforming to its shape, was a little glass jar. Entirely unassuming, it had every appearance of a child’s science project. Inside the little glass jar, was a little white worm.
The Grandmaster reached forward and plucked the jar out of the case, turning it over to observe it from every angle. He gave it a firm shake, tilting his head as the worm rattled against the glass, only to right itself and rise up on its tiny body. It seemed to hiss at him through the glass, opening a circular mouth filled with row upon row of teeth. Tendrils morphed out of its body in a threat display. “And it has been programmed?”
Closing the briefcase, the anxious man nodded. “Yes, but.... Grandmaster, please forgive me for being so forward-” The Grandmaster set the jar down sternly on the table, watching the man carefully as he shifted in his seat. “Isn’t this extreme? Counter productive, at the very least. I suppose I am concerned about this working... well, too well.”
The Grandmaster stared him down for a long while, during which no one else in the room seemed to breathe, echoing their agreement. Finally, the Grandmaster spoke. “Did you know,” he began airily. “That for all the leaps and bounds that have been made in the field of... let’s call it Neurological Persuasion, that it’s been proven time and time again that you cannot force a human being to kill themselves by means of external control?” The room remained silent as he stared across at the dozen blank faces. “Human survival instincts are too strong. For all the powers in this world, I for one maintain that Willpower is the strongest.”
“Grandmaster,” one of the dozen asked. It was impossible to tell sometimes, behind the masks. “You don’t really want the Batman to-”
“No,” The Grandmaster cut them off sharply. “But think of a man with greater self control. With a greater will. Name one and I will gladly change targets,” The Grandmaster lifted his head toward the back of the room. “And what do you think?” he asked to the shadows. “You don’t share their concerns?
Silence, again. No one but the Grandmaster looked back as their silent observer stepped forward. He wore a mask like the rest, but his was black, set with round eye pieces, with a hood pulled over his head. “I have no complaints,” he said. His voice grated like sandpaper on wrought iron, like a bell that had been left to rust for a century. “I want to see how this plays out.”
The Grandmaster snapped his gloved fingers in delight. “My thoughts exactly,” he cheered as he lifted the jar to eye level again. “It has to be him. I want to test his Will. I want to break him. I want him to know fear. But, you cannot break a man who has mastered his greatest fears. So, what do you do?”
No one answered.
The Grandmaster chuckled under his breath. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question,” he said as he shook the jar again, angering the creature inside. “You give him a new fear.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The thing that most people don’t get about Gotham City is that it’s quieter than they’d first assume. Most people who’ve never been, in any case. Which, all things considered, ends up being most people who don’t live there. Gotham is many things, but a hot vacation spot isn’t one of them. They might expect a lot of things; heavy base music shaking the foundations of the city, both distant and all-too-close gunshots slapping off high rise walls, so much noise that laughter and screams become indistinguishable. They might expect more action, more movement in the streets; car chases, fires, brawls spilling out of the clubs and casinos. They would describe Gotham City as a war zone.
But even Gotham was quiet, sometimes. That night, the air was ambient with passing cars and the general white noise of life below the modern gothic skyscrapers, but that was really all. Up on the high rise, it was peaceful in an eerie sort of way. Contrary to popular belief, not every night in Gotham wrought disaster. Thank God too. They’d never get a decent night’s sleep.
Robin leaned out easily over the edge of the building, the cable on his belt keeping him steadily anchored to a stone gargoyle. This earned a disapproving glare from Batman, but no outward scolding. Robin was quick to shake off. In his defence, any look from Batman looked like a glare by design. He offered a grin in retort, and leaned out just a little further to push his luck. It was just a patrol tonight, no other business to attend to other than to make sure the city was secure. Surely he couldn’t be blamed for passing the time by being a nuisance to his mentor.
A sharp buzz from his utility belt diverted his attention. Robin flinched. Now Batman was definitely glaring. He tried to turn away, as if that would make a difference, and slipped his cell phone out of one of the back pouches. Wally’s name flashed in a notification bubble on the screen.
Coming to Movie Night? WW
I’m voting for The Conjuring and I need a vote on my side. WW
Robin quickly typed out a reply - as quickly as he could with his gloves on.
Why do you assume I’m voting on your side? DG
Wally’s reply was almost immediate.
Because watching a horror movie means you’ll get scared and then you’ll sit in my lap so really it’s a win-win. WW
Or you can pretend to be scared for the sake of my ego. WW
Robin didn’t realise he was laughing until he felt his line go slack. He let out a yelp, scrambling to keep from falling into the abyss of light pollution below. It was only a split second before the line was taught again, and he looked behind him to see Batman, entirely too unassuming, with his hand on the back of his belt over the release of his cable.
“Point taken,” Robin grumbled as he returned his phone to his pocket.
Batman said nothing. Didn’t need to. Cell phones on patrol were strictly off limits. Still, as Robin moved back against the wall and crouched next to him, he could have sworn he saw just the barest hint of an amused quirk at the corner of his mentor’s lips. It was gone just as quick.
“There’s a robbery in progress,” he said, bringing a hand up to the side of his cowl. There was a bit of fine mesh grating molded in over his ear to let in natural sound, as well as a micro receiver to tune in to police radio. “92nd and East Lafayette Avenue.”
Robin pulled up his arm, and with a tap to his glove, summoned his holocomp. He brought up a map of the city, and narrowed down the address. “Two blocks north of here. Rocco’s Electronics” he reported. Typing out a command on the holographic keypad, he found a CCTV camera nearby the scene. The footage was unclear, but they could just make out a group of men as they plundered a small electronics store. “Petty theft?” Robin scoffed. “Not to betray little faith in the GCPD, but I think they can handle a little job like this without us.”
Batman was quick to snap back. “Got something better to do?”
Alright, point taken again. Robin barely held back a groan as the holocomp disappeared. “No.”
Unconvinced, Batman continued on. “No task is too little, Robin. You know that. Doesn’t matter if it’s a purse snatcher or a Class A-“
“It’s our responsibility regardless. Alright, you got me, fair enough.” Robin replied.
With just an exchanged glance and a nod, the two of them released their lines and began a free fall down the height of the building. Robin lept into it, arms out wide. A cold wind bit at his face, but the thrill pumped a supernova into his veins. With an echoing laugh, he followed on Batman’s trail, capes catching the wind, grappling hooks latching onto the closest roof top and swinging them upwards in an arch. Sailing high up over the city, they navigated seamlessly toward the active crime scene, landing deftly on the top of a disused office building across the street. Batman moved silently to the opposite edge of the roof top. Robin was close behind, peering over to watch. They’d broken the front window and disabled the silent alarm, and were now stepping over broken glass with as much loot as they could stuff into the back of a gray, unmarked van. From their new vantage point, they could see inside the store, where the two clerks had been beaten and bound.
Robin straightened up and turned back to his mentor. “Can I take this one?” he asked hopefully.
Batman seemed to deliberate for a moment. “Hostages first. Be quick.”
Robin grinned, shooting his mentor a mock salute as his line clicked loose and he tumbled into a free fall down the height of the building. Once again, he shot his grappling hook out again, catching a streetlamp and swinging onto the roof of the truck. He landed in a roll, his movements silent and furtive as he continued off the momentum and leapt off. Over the oblivious heads of the criminals, he soared in through the broken window and landed in the shadows of the store, hidden behind an empty display case. One of the crooks walked passed him with of box from the corner and carrying it back out to the van.
Robin timed their movements, waiting until their backs were turned before creeping across the floor to the cashier desk on the other side. The clerks had been tied back to back, gagged and beaten with what Robin could tell was a blunt object – a baton maybe. The two young men jumped when he emerged from the shadows, struggling against the zipties and crying out through the cloths tied around their mouths. Robin pressed a finger to his mouth in a hushing gesture. Once they’d realized who he was, it was all the clerks could do not to cry in relief.
Another goon came back. Robin ducked back into the shadows, slinking down against the far side of the cashier desk. He counted down until the man turned with his loot, heading back toward the van outside before hurrying out toward the hostages again. Using a bataraang, he sliced at the rope and the zip ties around their wrists and feet. “Stay here,” he whispered, leaving no time for them to respond before slipping away again.
Outside, one of the men called to another inside the store. “Hurry the fuck up, Dan! Cops’ll be here any minute.”
The thug in question waltzed back out, boots crunching on broken glass, carrying a pillowcase full of hardware. “What’s the rush, Mike? This shit’ll pay for our retirement. I, for one, plan to enjoy myself,” he said. For all his apparent bravado, his demeanour betrayed a sort of anxiety. Robin watch him through the windows as he looked periodically up at the towers of Gotham overhead.
Altogether, the looters were a greasy bunch, all hair slicked back and so much gaudy gold jewellery it was a wonder they could walk straight. The named one just coming out of the store, Dan, seemed the more anxious of the bunch. His companions seemed more annoyed and bored than nervous, as they stood around the van waiting for their companion to finish up.
The man behind the wheel of the van leaned out and put up his middle finger at Dan. “Go fuck yourself, man! I’m not going back to jail just because you got greedy.”
Dan’s eyes narrowed as he stepped out onto the pavement, nerves suddenly forgotten. “Lou did you seriously just fucking flip me the bird?”
Flipping Bird. They just made it too easy. Robin too his cue as the burglars broke into an argument outside. He dashed out from hiding, jumped, planed his hands on Dan’s shoulders, and flipped over him from behind. He kicked out on the fall, the soles of his boots meeting his face as he landed in a crouch in the centre of the group. “Nope,” he grinned, “that would be me.”
The crooks burst into a panicked frenzy.
“Shit! It’s the Bat’s brat!”
“The hell’s he doing here?!”
“Don’t just fuckin’ stand there, shoot the little bastard!”
Robin struck out before the two closest to him had the chance to grab their guns. He flipped backward, bracing himself on his hands as he kicked them both in the stomach, knocking them back hard into the side of the van. He followed through on the momentum, springing to his feet and disarming the next one over. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he quipped. “That’s some industrial-soap-in-the-mouth level stuff,” Robin delivered a swift uppercut to an advancing man’s jaw. “Then again, I’ve heard worse.”
Lou, the driver, came stumbling out of the van, fumbling with a high calibre pistol. “Christ kid, do you ever shut up?”
Robin threw a bataraang at his hand, knocking the pistol onto the ground. “Careful what you wish for,” he grinned. “When it gets quiet, that’s when you know shit’s about to hit the fan.”
A massive shadow descended upon the street. Batman landed in a crouch in front of his partner, slowly rising to full height. His attention, however, wasn’t immediately on the stunned criminals. He glanced back at the boy over his shoulder. “Language, Robin,” he grunted.
Robin only shrugged. That, it would seem, was all the time the assembled scum needed to recover from shock. In an instant, the duo surged into action. They were outnumbered about seven to two, meaning that the odds were stacked immeasurably in their favour. Working in tandem, back to back, the two of them disarmed and subdued the criminals before a single one of them had the chance to discharge their weapons. Batman landed a solid punch to one of the goons, and the second he was down, Robin threw an expanding net from his belt to subdue him. Robin then jumped up, kicked off the side off the brick wall of the storefront, and came down in a spinning kick, taking out another. Batman was there, grabbing the man as he staggered and tossing him into the back of the open truck. Second nature at this point. Robin landed with a quick survey of the remaining crooks. There was only left - the anxious one, Dan, had stuck to the sidelines until now. He stumbled out, fingers shaking as brought a small jar out of his pocket and threw it at the side of Batman’s head. The glass shattered on impact, harmlessly falling to the concrete. Batman turned and returned the favour with a swift punch to the solar plexus.
And just like that, within a minute, all seven men were immobilized, moaning on the ground and cursing their luck. Robin dusted off his gloves with a smirk, taking a length of cable from his utility belt. One by one, he dragged them to the nearest light pole and tied them around it. “I think we can leave these ones for Gordon to pick up in the morning, Boss. Or the garbage truck, whichever comes first.”
As Robin tied off his cable, he turned around, expecting as always to find Batman waiting for him to finish up. There would be a few words, well-meaning critics mostly, before they took to the rooftops again. Not tonight. As Robin watched, Batman stooped down across the street to pick up one of the guns the men had dropped. Clean up, he supposed. Wasn’t wise to leave dangerous weapons like these on the streets where next week’s robbers could sweep it up. There was a routine to these things; securing the perps, releasing the hostages, cleaning the scene. Robin was used to a strict order to these things, but it wasn’t totally abnormal to deviate every once in a while, right? Why else would Batman be picking up the highest calibre weapon he could find?
Batman checked the magazine. Unloading, okay. He’d taken him aside once in the Cave and taught him how to handle a gun, Told him that he needed to understand them, to not be afraid, to know their weaknesses. Still, Robin watched with a growing sense of dread, until Batman clicked the magazine back into place.
He frowned, going still. “Batman?” he called out.
No reply. Batman rose up.
Robin swallowed. “Batman?”
Batman turned to face his partner, aiming the gun directly at him. Blood leaked down from the mesh in the side of the cowl. Robin’s heart shuddered in his throat. “Batman!”
Robin heard the shot slapping off the city walls before he registered that he had back flipped out of the way. He landed in a crouch, springing off to the side as concrete debris sprayed up from where he’d been two seconds before.
Batman was shooting at him. Batman, who refused to kill, who wouldn’t fire a gun if you put another one to his head. Robin ducked behind the van, pressing his back against the wall as he fought to catch his breath. No time to panic. Something was wrong, he knew that much. Not a single doubt clouded his mind, an intrinsic trust he had never hesitated on. Robin knew, unquestioningly, that something was controlling his mentor. He also knew that in a situation like this, pride couldn’t get in the way. There was no chance that he could handle Batman on his own. Not when he was out for blood. Robin was many things. He was the youngest of the protégés, he was the most experienced, and he was completely out of his league.
Batman jumped over to the top of the van, descending on him like a wraith straight out of hell. Robin rolled out of the way, clumsy – the fear was getting to him. Pushing through it, he rolled to his feet and struck out with his fist. He didn’t quite believe he would get a hit, too many hours spent sparring with his mentor gave him enough evidence for that. The motivation wasn’t to get in a hit. While Batman effortlessly moved out of the way, Robin spun around and kicked the gun out of his hand. The weapon went skidding across the pavement.
Batman lashed out with a roar, catching Robin by the throat. Robin let out a strangled yelp, kicking his feet out uselessly and prying at the strong grip around his neck. Batman was nothing short of demonic with the unmitigated bloodlust sharpening the lines of his cowl. Robin grabbed at his arm, his hands, anything he could reach as his vision darkened at the edges. “Batman,” he gasped. “It’s me. It’s Robin! Stop!”
Batman could have crushed his windpipe, could have done it without flinching as he lifted the boy off the ground inch by inch – but he didn’t. The vigilante threw him, hard, into the brick wall of the adjacent building. Robin dropped to the ground, heaving for air, as Batman turned away from him entirely and walked calmly back toward the gun.
This was objective based, he realized. Whatever was happening to Batman wasn’t making him want to kill Robin – it was making him want to shoot him.
Grappling through the throbbing in his head to regain his senses, Robin activated the transmitter on his glove, a little red light popping up from his wrist as he spoke. “B01 to Watchtower. Robin to League. Code Red, Priority Alpha–”
Robin’s ears were ringing with his own scream before he felt the pain. His vision blurred, just for half a second, and when he looked down, a batarang was sticking out of his glove, tearing into his wrist. It hadn’t struck bone, he could tell that much immediately, but it had destroyed his only means of communication with the league. His vision cleared, a dark shape ahead of him stepped into the halo of a street lamp, morphing into his mentor. Batman raised his gun again, cold, calm, and Robin was motivated by fear alone to rip the blade out of his forearm and dodge out of the way.
Robin couldn’t fight him. He needed to get away, catch his breath. Batman was infinitely stronger, but Robin was faster, and an acrobat. He didn’t have the time to feel the sting of irony that it was Batman who’d taught him to use that to his advantage. Shooting his grapple onto the nearest rooftop, Robin leapt up into the air. A second cable shot out next to him, as Batman followed close behind. He knew he’d follow. Had to time this right. So when Robin was half way up his line, he released it. His cape caught the wind as he fell past Batman, out of his reach but not yet out of his range. Batman trained the gun on him and fired twice, missing both times as they soared in opposite directions. In his free fall, Robin managed to blast his grappling hook up to a fire escape on the other side of the street. He swung up, feet slipping on the edge of the iron grating for a moment as a bullet whizzed past his ear. Still, he held on with his good hand, using the fire escape to boost himself up to the roof. He took off in a dead sprint toward the next rooftop over. Now that he had a bit of distance, it was a matter of speed, and staying out of range.
With speed on his mind, Robin reached into a pouch on his belt to pull out his cell phone. His communicator was useless. If the metal slicing through the circuits hadn’t been enough to destroy it, the blood soaking into his glove would be. Hitting Wally’s contact, Robin launched himself onto the next rooftop, tucking into a roll as he landed. Batman had just gotten to the first rooftop behind him. “Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up-”
“YYYello,” came the casual response on the other end.
“KF!” Robin panted.
“Dick, what’s go-“
“Kid Flash,” Robin interrupted, “I need you to call the League. Right now.” The insistence on using their hero identities would let Wally know that he was in uniform. There was no telling who was listening.
Wally’s tone change instantly. “Robin, what’s happening?”
“Batman,” Robin grunted, “Gone rogue. Mind control. He has a gun.”
“What? What do you mean he-”
“He has a gun!” Robin shouted. “I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s got a gun, and he seems pretty dead-fucking-set on shooting me with it!”
“Shit,” Wally cursed. With a few muffled shouts and distant replies from what sounded like his parents, the speedster’s end of the line went silent. It was a tense moment before he picked it up again, wind roaring over the microphone. Robin could just barely make out his voice. “Okay, just - just stay calm, try to get away from him. I’m getting Barry.”
“Get anyone who can help,” Robin panted. “We don’t need everyone, but I mean… it’s Batman.”
“Enough said,” Wally replied with a strained humour that sounded painful even over the phone. His voice was already shaking in his own fear. “Where can we find you?”
The sound of a heavy body slamming down onto the roof behind him prompted Robin to run faster. “Hang on a sec,” he rushed. Stuffing the phone back into his pouch, Robin broke into a sprint, changing directions with a slide at the last second as he reached the end of the roof, forcing Batman to jump into an alley. He cringed when he heard his mentor fall, the rusty screech of a fire ladder grating echoing from below – Batman could only do so much when he still had that gun in his hand. A minor advantage, but Robin had to use it. Besides, he’d be fine. Batman took harder hits than that. He could only hope it’d slow him down for a minute.
Sprinting in the opposite direction, Robin leapt onto a higher building, forcing him to grab onto the ledge to haul himself over. Robin cried out, agony ripping through his injured wrist, throbbing through his fingertips and down to his bones. He gritted his teeth hard and pushed through it, ignoring the blood dripping down his arm as he climbed up. No time to sit there and recover. He had to keep moving. Reaching back into his pouch, Robin took out his phone again.
“-in? Robin! Are you there?!” Wally’s frantic voice shouted down the line.
“I’m here,” Robin gasped. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” Behind him, he could hear Batman’s grappling hook latch onto the last rooftop as he took to the chase again. “Listen, just get the League. I’m taking him to the Wayne Enterprises’ warehouse at the dockyards.”
“Got it. Be safe Robin, please.”
Robin didn’t reply. Ending the call, he shoved the phone into its pouch again, freeing his hands to use his grappling gun. As Batman slowly caught up from behind, he shot the grapple eastward toward Gotham Bay. If there was going to be any property damage, it might as well be Wayne.
The scent of high tide, of salt water and industrial smoke and seaweed assaulted Robin’s nose as he descended on the warehouse. He broke through a skylight, his cape wrapped around him to protect against the shattered glass falling with his entrance. Robin landed in a crouch, his legs aching, on an iron catwalk 20 feet up above from the warehouse floor. It was a massive building, not unlike the one he and Wally had broken into that summer. Stacks of shipping containers waiting to be loaded onto freighters took up the entire space, a miniature city with its own avenues and high rises. He afforded himself only two seconds to catch his breath before he was leaping off from the rail, a series of flips and bounds lowering him to the next level. Had to hide. Fast.
Robin sprinted into the nearest open shipping container and pulled the metal door shut behind him, with only a slight crack to peek through. It was just as he closed the door, when the creaking hinges silenced to an echo, that Batman descended through a skylight on the other side of the warehouse.
Safe for now, but Robin knew it wouldn’t last. Batman would find him. So, he had to come up with a plan. Robin held his breath as he watched his mentor stalk over the iron grating of the catwalk above. As he moved, the moonlight glinted off the gun in his hand. Now that he had a good look at it, Robin could see that it was, in fact, a kind of high calibre handgun. Could probably pierce through steel. The magazine was large, heavy duty bullets, about ten per mag if he remembered correctly.
Ten bullets. Batman had already used three, and that was assuming it hadn’t been discharged before he’s gotten it. Robin just had to make him waste the other seven. Granted, it wasn’t a very good plan, but it was something. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Robin kicked open the shipping container and rolled across the narrow avenue to the next one. A shot rang out through the warehouse, the bullet missing him by a few feet. One down, six to go.
Now that Batman knew where he was, the vigilante jumped off the catwalk, flipping over Robin with his gun outstretched. He fired off two rounds at the boy, who flipped out of the way, throwing open the door of a container to take the bullet for him. As he thought, the bullets pierced straight through the metal, flying over his head. Never been so disappointed for being right. Four bullets.
The moment Batman had landed, Robin was on him. It was the most vulnerable position for an enemy to be in, as they recovered the momentum and struggled to find their centre of gravity. Batman’s own voice was practically coaching him through. Robin ducked out from behind the metal door and threw out a barrage of batarangs, hoping to knock the gun out of his hands. No such luck. Batman sprung up instantly to avoid the assault, throwing himself forward and kicking the door back. The metal slammed into Robin and threw him onto the ground with a shout. He barely managed to scramble out of the way before another shot was fired. Three.
Robin pushed himself back, somersaulting away and launching himself off his hands. His wrist burned in pain, but he muscled through. Finally upright and a good distance away, he landed in a crouch, the momentum sliding him backwards across the polished warehouse floor. Batman was quick to follow. Robin spun up, making another attempt to kick the gun out of his hands. Batman blocked with his forearm, reaching around to grab his protégé by the ankle and throw him into a tall stack of boxes. Robin handed on his back, the wind knocked out of him.
As the stack tumbled down, the boxes became an obstacle between the two combatants. The Boy Wonder used it to his advantage while Batman was struggling to get through it. He crawled out from under the fallen stack and threw a batarang at the nearest target, a lift truck a few feet away. As the blade struck the tire, Batman turned and fired, believing the sound to be Robin trying to get away. Two.
With Batman turned away, Robin took his last chance. He crawled out from under the boxes and jumped, latching onto his mentor’s back. Batman roared in fury, backing up against the metal wall of the shipping container to try to get him off to no success. Robin grunted as his back slammed against thewall, but refused to let go. Batman’s fury grew, his arm coming back in an attempt to shoot Robin from behind. Robin grappled with his arm, using all of his strength to deter him. In the struggle, the trigger was pulled, and a shot broke through a glass skyline above them. One.
Using Robin’s grip on his arm as leverage, Batman reached around and grabbed the boy, hauling him over his shoulder and throwing him across the warehouse floor. Robin just barely managed to flip over before he hit the ground, but didn’t get the chance to recover before Batman was advancing on him. He landed a solid punch to the side of the boy’s head, leaving his ears ringing, before following through with a knee to his stomach. Try as he might to keep up, to avoid a hit or land one of his own, he was steadily outmatched. Batman lashed out with a side kick that sent Robin launched backwards, until he hit a concrete pillar and slipped down to the ground. Teeth gritted, bruises blooming underneath his skin, Robin could do little else but watch as Batman approached. Stoic and unflinching as he pointed the gun straight at him.
Robin scrambled back, his feet pushing feebly against the ground, but there was nowhere to go. He stared up at the mass of his mentor towering over him, and for the first time that night, the real mortal fear. He’d always thought he’d felt it before. Thought he knew the feeling, but it was a half truth. He knew danger. He knew the relief of a close call. He’d never known this kind of fear, knowing that the clock was ticking down, that his time was up. Robin’s head fell back against the concrete pillar, eyes pleading through his mask. “Bruce,” he moaned. “Please. Don’t...”
The anticipation was the worst of it, and a desperate voice in the back of Robin’s head was nearly begging for him to just pull the trigger just so he wouldn’t have to wait for it. But the waiting went on and on and on, and without Robin realising at first, Batman’s hand began to shake.
Whether or not it was enough didn’t matter. He had nothing else to lose. Robin reached into his belt, pulled out a taser, and aimed it for Batman’s neck, right where the cowl met his cape. The cables shot out and latched onto the weakpoint, crackling with blue electricity. Batman roared, muscles seizing as, finally, he dropped the gun. The Dark Knight went down hard, collapsing in a heap and landing forward. The cables went dead. Fighting to catch his breath, Robin dropped the taster on the ground, and moaned as he held his injured arm against his body. Ears still ringing, Robin stared warily down at the unmoving body of his mentor. The warehouse was silent. The waves of Gotham Harbour lapped at the docks.
A distant green light grew to life out over the bay. Robin’s head dropped to the side, to look out through open loading bay leading out toward the water. The approaching specs against the night sky could have been mistaken for a flock of birds. In his exhaustion, it took a moment for his vision to clear, to see Superman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter descending on the harbour from the broad night sky. The cavalry had arrived. Robin grunted, braced his good hand on the pillar as he shifted onto his unsteady legs, and pushed himself upright. Heavy exhaustion made each step feel impossible, but he managed it, and limped his way toward the loading bay to meet them, leaving his mentor subdued on the ground behind him. It was stupid, probably, and entirely inappropriate - but he couldn’t help a bit of pride dripping in with his relief. He’d done it. Stood his own and made it out.
Two red and yellow blurs zoomed into the other end of the dockyard. Flash and Kid Flash both skidded to a stop around the far corner of the warehouse. Leaning against the threshold of the loading bay door, Robin watched as Kid Flash’s head turned in every direction in search of him.
“Over here!” Robin called out weakly.
Kid Flash stopped. Their eyes met across the dockyard. Behind him, he was just aware of Flash bringing up a hand to the side of his crimson cowl and turning in the direction of the other arriving heroes. Probably telling them they’d found him. Robin payed it no mind. He felt the first twitches of a breathless smile at his mouth, as he watched Kid Flash’s shoulders slump.
It was only a second. Maybe two, three if he were being generous. A few breaths, and an exchange of mutual relief, and a shadow fell on Robin from behind. He turned. Superman was flying faster down toward them. In his peripherals, Flash and Kid Flash had become blurs of yellow and red again. Not ten feet away, in the acrid yellow light of the warehouse, Batman stood with the gun in his hand, pointed at straight at him.
Zero.