Saturday, March 21st, 2009

Gotham City

Dick Grayson

The man I'm chasing suddenly stops and whirls around, waving a knife in the air.

I flip in front of him and smirk, getting into a fighting stance. There's a pause before he lunges and then I'm dodging and ducking away from the blade's erratic pattern. I see an opening and swing my leg around in a spinning hook-kick, catching my opponent across the face and sending him to the ground, unconscious. Arms wrap around me from behind and lift me off the ground. Another gangster stands in front of me with a knife and slashes down towards my chest. I lift my legs to counter the attack but the blade changes direction and slices across my thigh. It cuts through my uniform and deep into my skin and I scream as pain crashes through me.

The gangster pulls back the bloody knife for another swing but I kick out, smashing his wrist and sending the blade flying. I wrap my calves around his neck and reach back with my arms to grab the shoulders of the guy holding me. I twist my whole body and the three of us go spinning to the ground. I wriggle away from the two stunned gangsters and flip away, pulling a batarang out of my utility belt. I throw it and it embeds in the floor between them, releasing a cloud of knockout gas. My heart pounds and adrenaline rushes through my veins.

Click.

I whip around and there's another gangster.

"Say your prayers, Boy Wonder." He aims his gun at me, and a gunshot thunders through the warehouse. The man's head explodes out, splattering the wall behind him with blood and lumpy gray fluid.

My heart slams against my ribcage as it beats.

I'm still alive.

I didn't get shot.

There's someone else in the warehouse.

My knees give out, and the gash in my thigh bleeds harder as my heart races. The world shakes and fades to black for a few seconds. When it comes back into focus, I'm lying on the ground, and there's blood everywhere. My blood is everywhere. I struggle to grab my leg and press my hand over the open wound. It burns and stings and I shout at the sudden pain. Fumbling at my utility belt, I can't stop my hand from shaking long enough to pull out a bandage or a strip of cloth.

In the distance, people are screaming and alarms are wailing and there are more gunshots. I manage to grab a bandage, but my hand is too slippery from the blood, and it slips out of my hand. My gaze wanders to the body that was a gang member until a few seconds ago. He was going to kill me. Someone killed him. I'm still going to die. The burning pain in my thigh throbs again, as the adrenaline of having a gun pointed at me starts to fade. I groan, loudly, and I feel something wet drip across my face.

I don't want to die. I just have to wait for Batman to find me. I just have to survive until then. Holding onto that last bit of hope, I grab blindly for the bandage. My hand can't find it. I cry harder, and I'm choking on my own throat in fear.

I look around for anything that can help me, moving my head too quickly, and let out a desperate scream.

"Batman! Help! Someone help me! Please!" My voice is scratchy and weak and my head is spinning. The world spins too, and suddenly the world turns black.

Something squeezes my leg, and the pain is horrible. My eyes fly open as I scream and writhe.

"Stay still," a voice commands, low and authoritative. Dizzy from the pain, I don't argue. I bite my lip and grab at the ground as the stranger finishes bandaging my leg. When his hands move away, I fight to lift my head off the ground so I can see what they did.

The bandage, bloodier than before, now tightly binds the gash shut. It burns and I can't stop the tears. My head throbs and it drops to the floor painfully.

The last thing I see before I pass out is a black and orange mask.

"Introducing… the fabulous, the death defying, the FLYING GRAYSONS!" Mr. Haly shouts and the crowd goes wild. The stands are packed with millions of people, watching us, waiting for us to fly.

"That's your cue," my dad winks at me.

"Show them what you can do, my little robin," my mom says.

They're both standing behind me on the platform towering high above the ring. Mom is wearing her favorite dress and her great-grandmother's ruby earrings. My dad is wearing a blue flannel and his favorite bathrobe, saved for Monday mornings after a long weekend of performances.

I stare down over the edge of the platform, and there's no net. Just a long, long, long fall.

"AND FOR THE FIRST TIME," Mr. Haly screams into the microphone, "The newest member, DICK GRAYSON!"

The trapeze is swinging towards me and the platform is getting smaller. I turn around, dizzy from the sheer height. My parents are watching me expectantly, waiting for me to jump. They don't move, even as the platform shrinks and there's nothing beneath their feet.

And then they fall.

"NO!" I scream, running over to the edge, but then there's no more platform and I'm falling too, and the crowd is cheering and the spotlights land on me as I plummet down, down, down.

I look up, and the trapeze is still swinging between the platforms, but instead of falling my parents are performing. My dad catches my mom, and then she's flipping through the air again and the crowd is cheering and I'm still falling.

"DAJ! DAT! HELP!"

The ground gets closer… and closer… and closer… and I reach up and then-

I jerk upright. My breaths come quick and heavy, the lightning still flashing before my eyes.

"Focus on your heart rate. Take a deep breath in, and slowly breathe out. Keep breathing slowly, and count the number of seconds each breath takes. Slow your breathing rate until your heart is back to normal."

Bruce's words ring through my head, allowing me to take control of my heart rate.

Once I calm down, I sit upright in bed. My room is pitch black as usual with the dark curtains closed, but it's scarily quiet. I don't hear any footsteps below me, no dishes clinking. Bruce is probably out dealing with some work thing, and Alfred is most likely cleaning every room in the house twice.

I yawn, stretch, and reach for the light on the bedside table. My fingers miss the lamp, hand reaching out into empty space.

That's not right. My heart starts pounding again and I look around for a light. As I climb off the bed with sore arms, the ceiling lights suddenly turn on and my heart stops.

The room itself is tiny, and there's not much decoration aside from gray walls, a dresser and a single lightbulb in the ceiling. The only exit is a steel door in the corner.

I manage a few steps before my leg buckles and I cry out. I look down and see thick layers of gauze wrapped around my upper thigh over the shredded fabric of my uniform. My utility belt is gone and I feel naked.

I suddenly remember the warehouse and the gangster with a gun. I thought I was going to die. Brain fluid and blood coating the wall suddenly flash before my eyes.

My eyes water as bile rises in my throat.

Someone killed him before he could kill me. Someone saved me, and it wasn't Batman.

I can't panic right now. If I'm going to figure this out, I have to stay calm, so I take a deep breath. I push against the pain as I trudge towards the door, needing to get out. I have no idea who brought me here, and even if they did save me, I can't just sit and wait to find out what they want.

I push open the door and step into a brightly lit hallway, wincing as my eyes adjust.

"You shouldn't be up."

I jump. The motion sends a wave up pain up my leg and I wince.

The man crosses his arms, switching the bundle of bandages from one hand to the other. He only has one eye, which watches me closely. He has white hair and a goatee and his skin is covered in scars. He's built like a brick wall.

A shiver runs down my spine.

"Where am I?" I demand, "Who are you?"

My leg is throbbing, but I refuse to shift my weight off it.

"Sit back down," the man says, "I won't have you hurting your leg after all the work I did patching you up."

I hesitate and the man narrows his eye.

"Sit down, Richard."

"How do you know my name?" I demand, getting into the best fighting stance I can manage, "Who are you?"

"My name is Slade. I found you in the warehouse. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Where am I?" I repeat unsteadily.

"You need to sit down and rest your leg. Then I'll answer your questions. Deal?"

Slowly, I nod. My leg feels like it has been filled with acid and my vision has begun to blur from the pain. Playing along may be my only choice right now.

Slade helps me walk back into the room and he carefully helps me back onto the bed.

"I need to clean and redress the wound." He explains, holding up the bandages he brought and I nod, lying back against the mattress and extending my leg.

"This is going to hurt," he warns. My fists clench around the sheets in response.

Slade removes the bandages and the throbbing pain in my leg becomes worse with every touch. His fingers move deftly around the wound, but they feel like knives.

When he peels away the last layer of the bandage, the sudden burst of cold air burns my leg. I can't stop myself from crying out.

Slade's head snaps up, his eye scanning my face intently. "Are you alright?"

In too much pain to say anything, I nod my head in stiff and jerky movements.

Slade's hands return to their work, although he watches me closely as he swabs it with a disinfectant that feels like being rubbed with a cactus. My teeth grind together in response and my eyes press as tightly closed as they can.

I force breaths in and out, trying to shut out the stabbing, burning pain attacking me. My cheeks are wet with tears and I narrow in on the sensation of water on my face.

It almost helps.

Finally, Slade stops working and the pressure eases off my leg. I cry out again in relief.

My breathing is short and my fingers ache from how tightly they were pressed into the sheet.

"It's not infected. You're lucky. Knife wounds can be extremely messy."

"I know," I wheeze between gasps for air, "I've gotten stabbed before."

I wait for Slade to respond, but he just shakes his head in disbelief.

"What the hell is Wayne thinking, letting a kid fight on the streets?" He asks himself slowly.

Rage explodes inside me, masking the pain.

"Leave him out of this!" I yell, pushing myself forwards, hands digging into the sheets again when my leg protests.

"Calm down. I didn't mean to upset you." Slade says pacifyingly. "I just…"

He sighs.

"What?" I demand. Slade doesn't answer. "What?!"

He sighs again.

"You're only a child and you're fighting in a very dangerous war. It makes me wonder how many times the Batman has had to come save you when you're in over your head?"

Slade's voice is low and steady. For a split second, his gaze is like a tiger stalking its prey. I blink and shake my head, but his face is gentle and concerned.

What?

"He doesn't! That's not true!" I protest, off guard.

"And you had the situation fully under control tonight? You successfully defeated four gangsters on your own and walked away unscathed?"

My face starts to burn with embarrassment and my eyes narrow in rage. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"And you followed your mentor's orders to not separate? You protected your partner's back during the entire fight?"

"It wasn't my fault that we got separated! One of them broke off during the fight and I had to stop him!"

"Leaving Batman to fight twelve armed men on his own?"

My heart skips a beat, clenched tightly by icy fingers.

"Is he okay?!" I demand, voice shaking with desperation. "What happened?"

Is that why I'm here? Is Bruce… dead?

I can't tear my eyes away from Slade's face, which stays impassive. I can't read his expression at all and that just makes the panic worse.

"Bruce Wayne was checked into the emergency room for minor smoke inhalation. According to the police report, there was a small kitchen fire that luckily caused very little damage to the rest of Wayne Manor. He will be fine with some rest."

I let out a huge breath, but my heartbeat is still wild and I can't calm down. Bruce got hurt because I wasn't there to watch his back. I got stabbed because I disobeyed Batman's orders and went off by myself. I almost got shot because of it.

"I need to see him!" I exclaim.

"I'm sorry, Richard. You can't leave."

"What are you talking about? I have to see Bruce! My leg is fine!"

"I can't let you leave."

"Who are you? Where am I?!"

"Richard…"

"No! Tell me the truth! What's going on?!"

Slade sighs.

"I saw you bleeding out and I couldn't stand by. I can't see a child suffer. There was no time to wait for an ambulance and you needed medical attention, so I brought you here. But I shouldn't have, because now I can't let you go. It's too risky."

"Why not?!"

"You've seen my face, you know my name, and you've been gone too long. If I let you go, do you think your mentor will simply accept your mysterious reappearance?"

"You said he was in the hospital." My mouth is dry and my heartbeat has started to race.

"I have it on good authority that the Batman was seen searching the area three hours before Bruce Wayne was checked into the hospital."

"He wouldn't give up… if he thought I was… he wouldn't... Slade, please let me go! I need to see him."

"Richard, Batman is not called the World's Greatest Detective for nothing. If I let you go, he will find me and destroy everything I have worked for."

"Who are you?" I ask again, trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach. If Slade is afraid of Batman, then he's bad news for me. I have to get out of here now.

"I told you. My name is Slade."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. Who are you really? What do you want?"

Slade smiles grimly. "I'm not going to get anything past you, am I?"

He sighs. "I'm a mercenary."

"What… what are you going to do to me?!"

"I don't know." He shakes his head distraughtly, "I'm so sorry Richard. I never should have taken you out of that warehouse."

The gunman's head exploding flashes back to me.

"Was that you?" I ask quietly, not looking Slade in the eye. "The gunman?"

A gentle hand lands on my shoulder. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I… I lost my son a few years ago. I couldn't watch another child die."

The silence hangs between us, almost stifling.

"My parents were murdered," I confess, my voice heavy with pain. "Bruce is all I have left. Please, Slade, I can't lose him too."

Slade closes his eye silently. I hold my breath, waiting for him to respond.

Finally, he admits, "There… might be a way. I don't like being vulnerable, and I can't leave loose ends, but it might be possible for you to go home without jeopardizing everything I've worked for."

"What is it?" I ask immediately.

"If you were to agree to work for me for a few years that would justify the risk of letting you return home. I'll train you to fight against your villains, and I'll keep your identity safe. In exchange, you'll help me with occasional small tasks and keep my secrets hidden."

He wants me to work for him?! He's a mercenary! I saw him murder the gangster in the warehouse… which he only did to save my life. He pulled me out of the fire and closed the wound on my leg so I didn't bleed out. He kept me safe when Batman couldn't.

If he was going to hurt me, he could have let me get shot, left me in the warehouse to burn, or let me bleed out. Instead, he saved my life. What does he gain by lying about that?

"Okay."

Slade looks surprised and wary. "Richard, this isn't a decision to make lightly. If you agree to work for me, you can't change your mind or back out later. I take contracts very seriously."

Suddenly, it occurs to me that I have no idea what I'm agreeing to. If I do this, I can't go back.

But if I don't, I might never see Bruce again and my decision is made.

I hold out my hand.

"Deal."

"I'll take you to the hospital after you've slept a little more. I will contact you in a few weeks."

Slade moves out the room, and the door closes behind him with a snap.

I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

AN: And just like that, the story begins.

Translations for Romani using the glossary:

Daj- Mom

Dat- Dad

If you enjoyed this and want to read more, please let me know. I'm still working on the ending, but if there's enough interest I'll keep updating as I'm working on it.

Thanks for reading!