Chapter Text
Dick’s only halfway through thirteen, and already, he’s getting real sick of teenagers.
The cool night does nothing to cool Dick’s temper. Hanging high in the sky, the parchment-colored moon watches the Teen Titans. Dick can’t help but sense judgment in the moon’s gaze. Looking at the pitiful scene around him, Dick knows they deserve the scorn.
Don’t get him wrong, his new friends are incredible. Seriously superhuman. They are brave and loyal and just really cool. They have given Dick a type of companionship he didn’t even know was possible.
All the other capes he knows are adults. For a long time, Robin was the only boy anything. And while he does try his best to participate in Batman and Superman’s tax reform discussions, it is still really lonely being the only cape who had to go to school tomorrow. Dick thought it might always be that way. That he’d always be too childish and annoying for Batman and too…well, Alfred would say ‘worldly’, for other kids his age.
But meeting Donna, Wally, Roy and Garth changed everything. Gone are the days of Dick rushing back from a fight with Killer Croc only to find that all his school friends had already left the Homecoming dance. Now, Robin and the Teen Titans can kick bad guy butt and get pizza afterwards. Dick doesn’t even have to come up with a weird lie about why he’s so sweaty and bleeding a little. They can just eat and laugh and complain about homework instead of the IRS. His new friends have given Dick more than he ever dared to dream. They haven’t been a team for very long, but already Dick knows, the Teen Titans are precious to him.
But, man, on a stake-out? They are a pain in his butt.
Wally’s more focused on filling up his belly than watching for perps. Donna’s okay. Unlike Speedy, Wonder Girl has her binoculars on and pointed in the right direction. She’s approaching the situation with the ‘correct amount of urgency’, as Bruce would say. Which makes sense, it was Diana that told Donna of the potential museum heist.
Apparently, some ancient magic artifact housed in Gotham Museum of Antiquities (or GoMA as the locals called it) had turned on. “Woke up” were Donna’s exact words. Dick hadn’t missed the implied sentience. Mama, and lots of other people at Haly’s circus, had taught Dick that magic was always to be respected. If it was trifled with, it would repay you back in kind. Dick still lives by that wisdom. He much prefers Ivy and Scarecrow’s weird super chemicals over actual magic any day. But the world was bigger than Gotham’s seemingly never-ending supply of pissed off PhDs. Something had woken up Hera’s lotus-tipped scepter, and it wasn’t just going to go back to sleep all on its own.
Lotus-tipped scepter. A really pretty name for a super dangerous weapon. The list of things the scepter could do was so long Donna hadn’t remembered it all when she’d first briefed the Titans. (Wonder Woman, unlike Batman, trusted her protegee and the Team to act on her behalf. Wonder Woman didn’t feel the need to breath down all their necks. She told Donna and let Donna tell the team. Dick’s heart still sinks when he thinks about it. Batman would never trust him or the Titans that much.) The bottom line was that they should treat the lotus-tipped scepter like a magic bomb. Donna had wanted the Titans to just go in, grab the thing, and hit the road. Now that it was awake, the only safe place for it was Themyscira.
But Dick had hesitated. The timing was too suspicious. Dick didn’t know much about the world of magic that Donna came from, but he was reasonably certain you don’t just accidentally wake up a lotus-tipped scepter. Someone did it on purpose. Someone was after it. They didn’t know who this person was or why they wanted the scepter, all they knew was that it was wanted. And that lead was invaluable.
Batman would never let such good bait go to waste. So neither would Robin.
Deciding to stake out GoMA was a no-brainer. A totally reasonable and simple plan. Stakeouts are 101 stuff, the first fieldwork Batman ever let Robin do. The babiest of baby things.
It should have been simple.
But…teens, man. More baby than literal babies. They’re just something else entirely.
Dick’s trying to keep his focus on the mission, but his friends keep distracting him. Garth is a sweetheart and obviously trying his best, but if he doesn’t stop fidgeting Dick’s gonna toss him in the harbor. And why is his breathing so annoying? With each passing hour, his sighs get louder. They’re on top of a skyscraper. The only things Dick should be hearing are wind and traffic.
But that’s nothing compared to the twin redheaded migraine of Wally and Roy. Wally won’t stop moving, and Roy won’t stop talking. Dick’s this close to declaring them both lost causes and sending them packing.
“How much longer do we got to do this for, Short-pants?” moans Roy.
Short-pants. Dick’s told Roy a million times that it’s a leotard. He stifles his huff, keeping his voice at a low whisper. Somebody here has to be a professional about this.
“Until we see the perp approach.”
Roy grumbles. “How do we even know it’s going to be today?”
“I already told you,” says Donna. “It’s a full moon. The call of Hera’s scepter will be at its strongest tonight.”
For a few blissful moments, there is silence. Dick can finally appreciate his surroundings. It’s the best kind of autumn night: crisp and clear. There aren’t any stars in Gotham, not in the sky anyway, but the moon is particularly luminous tonight. It’s the perfect stakeout conditions. If Dick could just ignore Garth’s heavy breathing and Wally’s vibrating leg.
Roy throws his binoculars to the ground.
“This is a waste of our time,” says Roy. “It’s a museum. Everything in there is stolen goods. What do we care if one guy comes in and steals it back?”
Dick cares. That museum belongs to Bruce’s mom. Not literally. Well, maybe literally, Dick really has no idea how museum land deeds work. All he knows is that Martha Wayne founded GoMa and it’s the Martha Wayne Foundation that continues to fund it. Dick’s not gonna debate the ethics of museums with Roy. He sees where Roy’s coming from, but Roy doesn’t know this museum. While Dick may find the exhibits pretty pedestrian himself, it’s free to senior citizens, children, and students on the weekdays. And it offers cheap history and art classes to the public. It does good for the community and that’s enough for Dick.
And. Well. Bruce’s mom made it. If Dick’s mama had built a museum, Dick would lay siege to protect it. His thoughts drift, as they so often do, to Bruce. Bruce and Batman, both of them hold their feelings in a lead line box. All Dick can do is wonder. The Waynes built most of Gotham. Is that what drives Batman’s nearly god-like devotion to the city? That it’s his family’s?
His mama never had a city. She didn’t even claim a country, not really. She claimed people. The Romani, Haly’s Circus, John Grayson. Even Dick’s papa was like that. He was born in Gotham, just like Bruce, but he never seemed from Gotham the way Bruce is. Dick’s parents raised him to not pay too much mind about the destination, or even the journey. It wasn’t the flight, but who you were flying with that mattered. Your flock.
Dick catches himself reaching for his mama’s gold bracelet he’s almost always wears, now that his wrist is big enough for it not to slide right off. Instead, his fingers graze over the heavy Kevlar of his gloves. It shocks him back into mission mode.
He’s not Dick right now. He’s Robin. And Robin always has to stay alert.
Clearly Dick hadn’t zoned out for too long, though, because Donna and Roy are still arguing.
“No, you listen! My sister says Hera’s lotus-tipped specter is in there,” says Donna, her calm demeanor heating up like a vase left in a kiln for too long. Oh, no. Major mayday. Dick does not want to be around when Donna blows. “You have no idea how powerful it is, how dangerous. Ugh! It’s not just about the museum, Speedy, this scepter could hurt a lot of people! What about that aren’t you getting?”
Roy looks scolded for all of three seconds before his face settles into a grumpy pout. He pops to his feet like a disgruntled gopher.
“If it’s so dangerous, then why isn’t the Princess herself here getting it?” Roy shoots back. “I thought we got together to do our own thing, not play errand boys to the grownups.”
Oh my god, Dick thinks, you don’t get this upset when we respond to police calls. How is that any different? He knows better than to voice his irritation, but it turns inside of him, a whirlpool. If anything, Diana being willing to delegate a mission to them is a good sign. Dick would give anything for Bruce to trust him enough to assign the Titans to one of his missions. Most days Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge the Titans’ existence. Dick doesn’t think he’s ever heard Bruce call the team by their name.
“I thought we formed our alliance to help people,” Garth says, full lips pulled into a deep frown. And oh crap, if Donna and Garth are sniping at Roy now, Dick is really losing his hold on the situation.
“How are we helping people by just sitting around with stupid binoculars while Kid Flash eats half a 7/11?”
Wally swallows a hot dog whole. “Hey!”
Dick wants to slam his hands into his face and then his face into the ground.
Normally Dick loves the Titan’s bantering, when it’s all funny ribs and witty comebacks. But this is something else. Something juvenile. Impatience is probably what Bruce would call it. The other Titans just can’t focus like Dick can. This isn’t the first time this has happened. It frustrates Dick, like all the time. They’re all older than him. He doesn’t know why they can’t just do what he does.
This is why Dick never wanted to be the leader. He’s not Batman. He can’t just bark, Robin, enough jokes, and expect all of them to shut up.
The worst part is that there’s no one he can talk to about this. Alfred hates it when Dick brings up Robin stuff, he always gets that pinched sad look on his face. Alfred’s never believed in Robin. Dick can’t ever tell him anything that might prove him right.
Dick used to be able to turn to Batman. And while the big guy isn’t comforting in Dick’s parents’ sense of the word, he always has the solution. Whether that be more drills, or more books to read, or long conversations about philosophy, Batman is always there to help Dick figure things out. Or, he used to be. But now…Batman is waiting for Dick to fail, too. So he can’t tell him about his fears either.
And, oh boy, does Dick have a lot of fears. He’s just been blustering his way through this whole leader thing, but there’s no telling how much longer he’ll be able to keep that up for. Every day, that pit at the bottom of Dick’s stomach that tells him he’s worthless gets a little bigger. Inside that pit, Dick buried a truth: he’s not cut out for this. Leading. How does he know when things have gone too far? Not far enough? How can he ever be responsible for five real, breathing, people? How can he earn their trust?
Dick looks at the four teenagers, squabbling at each other like loud, angry chickens.
How can he ever trust them?
What Batman said when Dick called the Titans his friends for the first time still echoes in his head. Be careful with that word, Robin. They aren’t like you. Don’t ever forget that.
Batman. God, that’s twice now thoughts of Batman have distracted him. He’s really slipping. But it’s not new. Dick doesn’t remember exactly when thinking about Batman went from being a comfort to being a one-way ticket to a queasy stomach, all he knows is that it’s been happening for a while now. Ever since Dick and the Titans created their own cave lair, it was like a switch flipped in Batman. He’s never been a super democratic guy, but lately he’s just been a flat-out dictator. He doesn’t think the Titans are cut out for the field. He doesn’t trust the Titans, full stop. And now that Dick does…it feels like Batman has stopped trusting him, too.
It hurts Dick, in ways he’s trying really hard not to think about, but the enormity of that wound keeps pulling his thoughts back to it, whirling and warping them in his mind. Like some kind of horrible psychic black hole.
Batman doesn’t think Robin is good enough to lead his own team.
Bruce doesn’t think Dick is good enough.
Determination hardens in Dick, a closed fist. Moping about it isn’t going to change anything. Dick will just have to prove Batman wrong. He’ll show Batman that the Teen Titans are a worthwhile addition to their crusade. That Robin is worthy of leading his own team. That Dick can still be trusted.
And then everything will go back to normal.
Better than normal. Because now nothing will be missing. He’ll have the friends that deep down he’s always dreamed about, and he’ll have…whatever Bruce is to him. Batman. The dynamic duo, perfectly in sync, forever and ever.
Dick just has to complete this mission.
His eyes turn to his super team. Donna has Roy in a headlock. Wally is trying to pull Roy free and failing, miserably. Garth is off to the side, lecturing them all on dishonor.
Okay. New plan. Clearly, the Titans aren’t cut out for a stakeout. There’s no use in cramming a square peg into a round hole. It’s time to switch tactics.
“You’re right, Speedy,” says Dick, already starting to put away his stakeout gear.
Roy, still firmly caught in Donna’s elbow, twists his head towards Dick.
“I am?” says Roy, clearly confused.
“He is?” chorus Wally, Garth, and Donna, equally confused.
Dick nods. He puts both his hands on his hips and projects out beams of confidence that he is absolutely, one hundred percent not faking.
“No more waiting around. Titans! It’s time to make our move.”
After Wally runs a quick perimeter check, Robin leads the Titans into a stealthy break-in. It shouldn’t be too difficult; Dick downloaded the GoMa’s blueprints before they left base. The rooftop and side entrances are all rigged with a ton of alarms. The simplest plan of action is actually just to go through the front door.
GoMA is modeled after the Pantheon, so that means its front door is aggressively impressive. A long marble staircase that leads to five towering marble columns. Martha Wayne, like her son, never spared any expense. Dick feels as naked as a newborn leading the Titans out in the open like this, but it’s the only plan he’s got. He thinks that being closer to the action will help settle everyone down. If they can see what they’re fighting to protect, it will help them focus better.
That’s, of course, assuming the villain is just running late to pick up his ancient relic carry out order. It could be that he’s already inside. He could know he’s being watched and is waiting for the Titans to make the first move. Taking the fight to him could either scare the perp off or provoke a confrontation. Dick’s praying it’s the latter. The Titans might not be great in a stakeout, but they are great in a fight, no matter what Batman says.
He’s so determined to prove Batman wrong, Dick doesn’t pay enough attention to the omens. If he had, he would have known this mission was doomed from the start.
The first bad omen is that they have no trouble evading the museum’s alarm system. Dick knew the front door would be the least secure of them all, so he’s not surprised when he hacks it in ten seconds flat. But every other alarm is that easy to disable. And it’s not Dick’s great hacking skills. Dick’s trying not to be, but he knows he’s being careless. He’s distracted. Wally keeps trying to rush ahead. They nearly miss triggering two different laser alarms in a way that definitely isn’t skill. And something in Dick’s gut tells him it’s too coincidental to be luck, either.
Something isn’t right here. So many lights are on but there are no security guards in sight. By the time they walk through the lobby, Dick’s get already concocted an elaborate conspiracy theory to justify it. Maybe Batman programmed all Waynetech alarm systems to not go off if it was Robin sneaking in? But the longer they skulk through the museum, the more Dick realizes what a stupid idea that is. An emergency override like that would only be set for Batman, with the assumption that Robin was always beside him, just along for the ride. Batman would think to plan for a contingency of Robin working without him. The bitterness of the thought leaks bile into Dick’s mouth.
The second bad omen is a lot harder to explain away.
Outside, it had been a windless night. But inside the museum, strange things are happening. When the first and second gusts of wind hit, Dick just assumes the museum was drafty. That’s not super out of ordinary. Art and artifacts often have to be kept at very cool, precise temperatures. Alfred always makes Dick wear a light sweater when they come here.
But the wind keeps picking up the closer and closer they get to the main gallery. The central room’s large white doors are shut tight. The breeze leaks out from the cracks underneath.
Dick knows that’s weird. He’s intimately familiar with this room in particular. When Bruce first took him in, Alfred homeschooled him for a while before Dick was ready to enroll in school. GoMA was a favorite field trip destination for Alfred. Dick loves this room the best because it is so unique compared to the rest of the museum. Located at the center of the museum, it’s the only gallery with two floors. There’s a main floor, wide and sprawling, filled with display cases and artifacts and benches to sit on. Above the main floor, there’s almost like a boardwalk around the edges of the room. There are smaller exhibits there, mostly flat things, like paintings and stone tablets. But when you’re up there you can look down at everyone in the main atrium, which is a lot of fun. Plus the big windows on the second floor let in tons of light during the day. Sometimes, when Alfred wasn’t looking, Dick would climb all the way up to that second floor with his bare hands.
Dick tries to tell himself that there’s a logical explanation for the wind. A malfunctioning A/C unit, an open window. Something totally reasonable and harmless.
And then they opened the doors to the main gallery.
It’s pure chaos. Education pamphlets and museum advertisements whip around the room, like the game show Money Booth. Inside the display cases, the artifacts make a horrible rattling noise as they hit against the glass. Anything that isn’t bolted down whizzes through the air. It’s like someone’s bottled a tornado into a snowglobe and the gallery was the snowglobe.
In the center of the storm, Dick can just barely make out a human-shaped figure, pressing a glowing hand against a tall glass case. Dick doesn’t have to see what’s inside the display to know that it contains the lotus-tipped scepter.
“Stop right there!” says Dick. He wrangles together all the lessons in authority he’s learned from Pop Haly, Commissioner Gordon, Alfred, and Bruce into his throat. His voice booms without cracking. Success.
“Oh, hey,” says the tornado. “What’s up?”
The winds die down in an instant, as if they had never been there at all. Where the eye of the storm once stood, there’s a kid.
Just like, a regular kid.
They can’t be much older than Dick. Judging by their height, they’re probably Wally or Roy’s age. Very lean. Fair but not peach skin and a strong, straight nose. Mediterranean, maybe? Their hair is tied into a long, sandy-colored ponytail. It falls straight down their back, elongating their form even further.
Dick’s eyes automatically scan this person for threats. They’re wearing a light spring jacket and jeans. Well, that’s the hidden weapon jackpot. All kinds of annoying stuff could be hidden in those pockets. Their sneakers are flashy and colorful, clearly designer. Easily a couple thousand dollars. Dick would know. Bruce bought him an identical pair for his last birthday. Dick’s so embarrassed by the price tag, he hasn’t even worn them out yet. Why would someone who clearly has a lot of money already rob a museum? Who is this kid?
A terrible thought occurs to Dick. Catwoman wouldn’t take on a kid protégé, would she?
Dick steps towards the strange kid.
Suddenly, there’s a hand on his forearm yanking him back.
“Robin, wait,” says Garth.
Dick looks up at Garth, completely taken aback. Garth isn’t one to initiate physical contact. He’s a lot like an old school Arthurian knight that way. Not just because he’s the only Titan that bows to his mentor, or because his king is literally a King Arthur. Garth just has a courtly air to him, a gentle regalness. The grip on Dick’s forearm is oddly firm.
Garth’s gaze is fixated on the stranger. His violet eyes have never been so stormy.
“There’s something…not right about him,” Garth tells Dick.
“Gee, what gave it away.” Roy remains as unhelpful as ever.
But Dick doesn’t have time to respond to either of them. It’s too late. He’s already committed the cardinal sin of letting Wally out of his sight for five seconds.
“Kid Flash, don’t!” says Donna.
Wally does. He speeds into the room, whirling a few circles around the kid, creating a small tornado himself. Dick resists the urge to smack himself in the face. Why does Wally always wait for the worst possible moment to let his competitive streak come out? Why can’t he ever get this competitive about useful things? Like who can be the quietest on a stakeout? Or who can clean up the Titans Lair’s kitchen the fastest?
“Hiya!” says Wally, stopping on a dime. He strikes a pose. “Name’s Kid Flash. You’ve probably heard of me.”
“Sure,” says the kid, amiable in a way that makes Dick distrusts them. “You’re like what, the 77th fastest person on this planet?”
Of course. The new kid is a wise guy. Because that’s just what this room needs right now, more adolescent snark.
The color drains out of Wally’s face, like a tomato that has just been bleached. All that color runs to his ears, which are red enough to match his hair and costume now.
Oh, crud. Dick knows exactly where this is going.
“KF, no!”
Wally charges towards him like a bull. It’s too fast for Dick to actually see his attack, but the streak of light he leaves behind is most definitely bull-like.
A gale of wind blows them all back.
Dick draws his cape up towards him, shielding his face as best as possible. His cape breaks the wind and stops him from being toppled over, but Garth and Roy are totally helpless as they are forced all the way back, nearly towards the entrance. Even Donna – practically a one girl tank – loses some ground.
Wally gets it worst of all. The gale sends him flying. His back hits the wall with a sickening thud. Dick tries to run towards him, but the wind is too strong.
Panic. That’s all there is. Bright and true and electric. Panic.
Dick has to stop this. He has to get to Wally. Where is this wind coming from?
It’s coming directly from the new kid’s palm. Dick can literally see the air bursting out of it, a spiral of wind and shimmering gold. With his magic hand pointed at the Titans, the villain keeps them all separated from Wally.
No way are the Titans just gonna stand there and let that happen. Roy and Garth both rise to their feet. Donna forces her way to the head of the pack, arms crossed, silver bracelets gleaming. Dick feels an explosion of affection for Wonder Girl in his chest as he watches her literally fight back against the storm itself.
“She’s a witch!” Donna shouts over the gale, the strain evident in her voice.
“Rude.” The kid closes their palm. The wind blips out of existence, like a fan being unplugged. The missing force sends Dick, Donna, Roy and Garth all stumbling to their knees.
The villain smiles, a crooked and mean slash.
“He’s a witch,” he corrects. “The name’s Colt. Pleasure to meet ya.” He winks, in a practiced, artificial way. “Gotta say, I was expecting a little more from the famous Teen Titans.”
“Oh, please,” says Wally, staggering to his feet. The panic in Dick’s chest loosens, an untied knot. Wally’s okay. He’s breathing, he’s talking, his eyes are focused, no sign of a concussion. Wally’s going to be okay.
That hit would have sent Dick out of commission for weeks. On Wally, it doesn’t even bruise.
They aren’t like you, the Batman who haunts Dick’s head reminds him.
“I’m not afraid of you. You’re just a meta with ego issues,” Wally continues. “Witches aren’t real.”
“Yes, they are,” say Donna and Garth together.
Dick and Roy exchange a look. Roy might be annoying before the action hits, but in the heat of battle? Roy’s the most reliable kid Dick knows. And Dick can tell, based on the press of Roy’s lips, that Roy is thinking the same thing he is. This isn’t good.
Colt’s grin only deepens. He cracks his fingers, makes a show of stretching his legs. “I can give you another demonstration, if you want.”
“No!” shouts Dick. But Wally shouts over him.
“Bring it, windbag! You’re not the only one here with superpowers. Let’s dance.”
No, no, no. This is bad. Normally, Wally’s lame one liners would be awful enough. But there’s so much more at stake. Dick’s trying to keep his head in the game, but this is seriously the worst-case scenario. They’re fighting an unknown enemy, with unknown power levels, with unknown motives, in a room filled with very valuable, one of a kind, objects.
Dick can see it all too clear. Wally and Colt fighting would be a catastrophe.
Dick has to act fast. He sends a signal to Roy, who is already drawing his bow. Dick reaches for a special birdarang, which will explode into ice once it hits its target.
So his aim better be true.
Roy’s arrow hits Wally harmlessly in the chest. Foam bursts out all around him. It instantly solidifies, grounding him. Dick doesn’t get as direct of a hit on Colt, hitting his shoulder more than his chest. But the birdarang does its job, forming a solid little ice prison around him. After what Dick has just seen, he isn’t naïve enough to think it will hold him long. But it’s a start.
“Cool!” says Colt. “Literally.” He laughs at his own dumb joke.
But, really. Who is this guy?
Wally is indignant. “Traitor!” He hisses at Roy, struggling against his foamy prison. “Whose side are you on?”
Dick rushes towards one of his best friends in the whole world. And also a reoccurring source of his migraines. Dick fishes out a traditional sharp-edged birdarang from his utility belt. He uses it to dig Wally out of the grave Wally dug and buried himself in.
“We’re here to protect the museum, not destroy it!” Dick scolds. Yes, scolds. It is embarrassing how much he sounds like a dad. He’s too young to be a dad! Wally’s older than him!
“Ugh, why?” says Colt. “Destroying a museum is a ton of fun. You guys should all try it. KF, back me up here. Wouldn’t we have a blast?” Colt waves his palm. It’s glowing gold. The sight quickly becomes the most ominous thing Dick’s seen all night.
“Don’t call me that!”
Wally lashes out, using Dick’s shoulder to push off. For a split-second Dick thinks they’re about to start this whole stupid mess over again, but praise to the Amazons, Donna swoops in just in time. Her super strength is enough to keep Wally in place. Wally had brushed Dick aside easily.
Dick clenches his fist. How is he supposed to lead if no one will listen to him?
“Aw, let him play!” Colt calls. “We were just starting to have fun!”
There’s something disturbingly genuine in his voice. Like he really is having fun. Like…this is all just an innocent game to him.
The gears start to turn in Dick’s head.
Witch or meta, maybe that doesn’t change the fact that Colt is just a kid. Dick’s seen it happen before. Kids who get way too much power way too young can turn out like this if there’s no one in their life to model using power responsibly.
The Teen Titans could do that for him.
Maybe they don’t have to fight a new enemy tonight.
Maybe they can make a new friend.
Batman’s voice cut through Dick’s thoughts, as sharp and as cold as a batarang. Be careful with that word, Robin.
Dick frowns, waging an internal war with the Batman in his head. Dick, predictably, loses. There’s just not enough information about Colt to say yet, one way or another.
Dick’s gotta get him monologuing. That’s what Batman would do. Keep the bad guy talking until they let their weakness slip. They always do. Criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot. Their fears are always close to the surface.
Donna still has a tight hold on Wally. Dick signals to Roy and Garth to stay back. It’s time to try some de-escalation.
“I can think of a lot better ways for us to have fun.” Dick keeps his voice level, with just a hint of playfulness to smooth things over. “Haven’t you ever tried paintball? Or hockey?”
Slowly, Dick approaches. No wind pushes him away. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?
“I’m Robin,” says Dick, emboldened. “Who are you? What brings you here tonight?”
“Oh, you know,” says Colt, gesturing vaguely with his long fingers. “I go wherever the wind takes me.” He smiles. When his gaze lands on Dick, it fixates there. The smile morphs into something more teasing. Sharper. Darker.
“You do know, don’t you, Robin?” says Colt. “You’re like me.”
Dick feels a warm breeze drift across his face.
He’s home. Mama has just rolled down the trailer’s windows, the summer air fresh and lilac-scented on Dick’s face. Papa’s up front in the driver’s seat, fighting with the map and losing. It makes Dick and Mama laugh, because there’s no need to navigate, not really, when they’re in the middle of the pack. Dick sticks his head out the window. An assortment of trucks and trailers surround him. Zitka is just a few cars behind them. He waves his arm like an elephant truck in solidarity, hoping she can hear him trumpet like her. He’s been practicing his elephant sounds. To the side, Sando the Strongman honks in rhythm with Dick’s trumpeting. Dick, Mama and Papa all laugh until their sides hurt. The laughter subsides into peace. Dick rests his chin out the window, watching the whole circus drive together in unison, one big flock of birds. All his family on the move.
The reverie startles him. The breeze blows past him, gone as quickly as it came. Dick rushes to regain his composure.
“Buddy, no offense, but if I had a dime for every time a criminal said that to me, I’d be richer than Lex Luthor.”
The flashback was a little weird, but Dick’s not gonna let that get under his skin. He’s been fighting crime for five years now. Colt may be new, but his tactics aren’t. Criminals hate being wrong. They need you to be as dirty as they are. Otherwise their own guilt is too much to bear.
Colt gives a good-natured laugh. “Criminal’s a strong word, don’t you think?”
His hands glow gold and shatter his ice prison. He dusts off the ice from his shoulders, shakes his head like his namesake. And then, without a care in the world, he walks towards the display case with the lotus-tipped scepter.
Dick follows suit. He stands adjacent to Colt, one eye on the kid, one eye on as Hera’s lotus-tipped scepter.
It’s the first chance Dick’s gotten to get a good look at the thing. Its long shaft, about the width of a bo-staff, is caked in dirt and ash. The lotus adornment on top looks like it was pretty a couple ice ages ago, but the gold has rusted and decayed. A few of the petals are gone, presumably broken off long ago. Not to be mean, but it honestly doesn’t look worth all this trouble. But Dick’s got enough experience under his belt to know that with these sorts of things, appearances are never what they seem.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Dick can see that Roy has broken off from the group, melted into the shadows. He’s probably intending to shoot Colt from behind. Alright, Dick can work with that. Playing the distraction is like 50% of being Robin.
“Well, what would you call breaking into a museum and stealing, then?”
Colt grins, like he’s totally delighted someone thought to ask.
“A favor.” He makes a show of putting his ear to the glass. “Don’t you guys hear it? This poor beauty is just begging to be used.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Dick says with a practiced smile. “I don’t know what you mean.” It’s easy to play dumb when Dick genuinely has no idea what’s going on.
Colt gives Dick a mocking pout. “I know, Robbie. Touched by magic isn’t the same thing as having it, is it?” Colt’s tone is the worst kind of condescending pity. It takes all of Dick’s acting abilities not to let his outrage shine on his face. He hasn’t given up hope that Colt can become their ally, but man, is this guy making Dick work for that hope.
Colt’s eyes flicker to Garth, for the first time. “But you should know better. Didn’t you tell them? All magic is alive.”
He taps the display glass with his left hand.
“And this babe? She’s screaming for someone to come and rescue her.”
“I hear her,” says Garth, more closed off than Dick’s ever seen him. “She dreads your touch.”
Colt hmphs. “We’ll see.”
With his right hand, he flicks his wrist. Gold sparkles follow his movement, and then the wind. The wind collects more and more in Colt’s hand, a ball of tornado. The back of Dick’s neck pricks with static electricity. Every instinct tells Dick to fight.
An arrow soars through the air. It approaches Colt from the back, at an angle that should be his blind spot. Colt has to drop his magic windball to catch it. But he does catch it. Without even looking.
If Roy is as terrified as Dick is by that display, he doesn’t show it on his face. He simply nocks three arrows this time and aims at Colt.
“Step away from the ancient artifact,” Roy says. “You won’t be able to catch these arrows. That I guarantee.”
“Re-lax. Man, you guys take this stuff way too seriously. I’m just borrowing it from the old hag. She’s not even using it right now.”
Donna gasps, so affronted she lets go of Wally, just to put her hands on her hips. “Hera is not an old hag!”
And then something dawns in her eyes. Dick can literally see the gears of thought turning on her face.
“I know you!” she says. “I know your kind.”
Colt gives her another look, recognition settling into something calculating in his amber eyes.
“Amazon,” says Colt. The air around them suddenly feels more frigid than the Arctic.
That’s new. And alarming. Dick swallows. Such a dramatic shift. Could Colt’s childlike impishness just be an act? Has he just been biding his time, playing with them all?
“You’re far from home,” Colt says to Donna.
“Not as far as you.”
“Do you two know each other?” Wally hisses, scandalized.
Donna shakes her head. “No, not like that. I just…I know his kind.”
Dick’s starting to understand why Batman dangles people off of roofs to get answers. What does that mean? Donna and Garth both need to start sharing with the class now.
“And I know yours.” The almost austere coldness evaporates from Colt. He’s back to just being a smug kid. “Don’t tell me the Amazons want the scepter. You lot wouldn’t know the first thing to do with it! Don’t have the imagination. You’re all just a bunch of dumb sticks in the mud.”
All four boys immediately tense up. No one insults Donna.
“Check the name, ponyboy,” snarls Wally. “Wonder Girl is the most wonderful girl in the world. She is gonna take that scepter, right after we are done kicking your butt.”
Dick really wants to punch Colt in the face for saying those mean things about Donna and the Amazons. But he’s also really, really, trying to avoid a superpowered battle in the middle of Bruce’s mom’s delicate museum exhibit.
“The scepter isn’t a toy, Colt,” says Dick sternly. He remembers how he reacted to the birdarang. If it’s toys he’s looking for… Dick fishes out a light bomb birdarang from his utility belt. With a showman’s flourish, Dick flicks it open, revealing its gleaming center. “Believe me, I know toys.”
“Whoa!” says Colt, positively captivated. “Humans have all the coolest things. Soon as I nab this scepter, you and I have got to hang out, Robin. I want you to show me everything you can do.”
His words are playful. If any of his classmates at Bristol Middle School said that to him, Dick wouldn’t even blink. But the air around them still feels too cold and his words scratch against Dick like nails on a chalkboard. Dick shakes the dread off.
“Why wait? We could hang out right now. I know a really good pizza place right down the block.” Dick’s disarming smile fades into something more serious. “Just step away from the scepter.”
“Oh, Robin,” says Colt, in a ‘I’m not angry, I’m disappointed’ voice. “You don’t even know what it is you’re protecting, do you? If you knew what this thing was capable of, you wouldn’t stop me. You’d join me.”
Dick, once again, swallows the discomfort of being talked to so familiarly. This is the closest Colt’s come yet to spilling the beans. Dick can’t let this opportunity pass him by.
Dick makes a sweeping gesture with his cape. “You’ve got the stage, Colt. Make your pitch.”
Colt’s eyes narrow.
“I know you’re just baiting me,” he says.
Dick doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m only half baiting you,” Dick replies, grinning. If it’s a little feral, that’s okay. Robin’s allowed to be a little feral. “The other half really does want to know.”
Colt stares at him for a while, with that same dark calculation he looked at Donna with earlier. Then, he grins back, eager and wild.
“I like you,” Colt says, and Dick can tell he means it. That knowledge makes the hairs on the back of Dick’s neck stand straight up.
Colt turns away from the display case and faces the Titans that surround him. “I think I like all of you, actually. Even you, Amazon.” The winds around them all begin to pick up. The air is charged with power. It feels like being trapped in a cloud during a thunderstorm.
He offers Dick a glowing gold hand.
“Follow me, Robin, and we can feast on eternity.”
Well. Okay. That is now the most ominous thing Dick’s ever heard in his life. On the list of villains, Colt just shot up from overpowered dumb teen to diabolical mystic cult leader.
Negotiation failed. They’re gonna have to fight their way out.
Dick grabs Colt by the hand and flips him over.
“Titans, go!”
Wally doesn’t need to be told twice. He rams into Colt like a missile. Unfortunately, all that does is free Colt from Dick’s expert pin. Wally at least gets a couple good punches in before Colt is summoning his wind and exploding it, like a bomb blast. This time Donna is there to catch Wally in midair before he slams into the wall.
Meanwhile, Dick’s strategy brain is finally starting to get a read on Colt. It’s clear he prefers fighting at a distance, which means they need to get in as close as possible. There’s a weakness he’s covering up. They just need to find it.
“Keep the fight close to him!” he shouts. “Force him away from the scepter!”
Garth takes a superhuman leap and attacks Colt from above. It jars him just enough for Roy to rain arrows at him. Roy keeps shooting ice arrows, which is a good call. They know that ice slows him down, and any water they can add to the field only makes Garth stronger. Soon Garth is attacking Colt with ice fists, which is both freaking cool and pretty effective.
Dick joins in the fight, bobbing in while Garth weaves. Colt’s trying to throw punches, but his form is atrocious, and all his moves are telegraphed. Dick smirks. Classic Superman problem. All that strength, and no one has bothered to ever teach him how to make a fist. Hand to hand combat with Colt is about as dangerous as a pillow fight.
Dick’s jabs are relentless. He may not be able to move as fast as Wally, but when it comes to martial arts, being as fast as humanly possible is good enough. Colt’s wind powers seem to come from his hands, and he needs time to charge them up. If Dick can keep them busy, he can keep them neutralized. Little by little, they push Colt away from the scepter.
With Dick taking the lead on the hand to hand, Garth uses his ice to form manacles around Colt’s legs, imprisoning him. Dick’s this close to being able to handcuff the kid, he just needs an opening.
“Wonder Girl, now!” Dick calls.
Donna descends from the air and punches Colt square in the jaw. It gives Dick the opportunity to snap his strongest, Solomon Grundy grade handcuffs on. Garth adds another chain of ice around Colt’s neck.
Colt should look utterly defeated by now. He doesn’t. Colt only looks disheveled and pissed, in a wet cat way, not a busted foe way. Dick’s starting to believe that Colt is way more witch than human meta. Even metas would have a hard time shaking off a direct hit from Wonder Girl.
Dick knows they won’t be able to restrain Colt for long. Maybe their priority should be getting the scepter out first and then bringing Colt to the Justice League.
“KF,” Dick orders, his mind made up. “Get the scepter and get it out of here. Alert the JL on your way back.”
Colt reacts as if electrocuted. He thrashes about in his chains, vicious and furious.
“Don’t you dare!” he snarls, as wild as his horse namesake. “If you touch that, you’ll die. It only sings for me!”
Wally freezes in his tracks. “Uh.”
And then, quicker than a blink, Colt’s chains are empty and Wally’s been backhanded across the face.
Colt can teleport.
Oh. Well, that’s just awesome. At least it explains how he made it passed their stakeout. Dick tries to take a little comfort in that. It wasn’t the Titans’ petty squabbling that had made them miss him. The guy can just teleport.
Any comfort Dick has is quickly decaying into stress.
Dick doesn’t have time to freak out. Colt is making that same summoning pose as before, right hand shimmering and dangerous, poised to break the case. Dick, Garth and Donna all take off running, but Donna gets there first. She flies her whole body into Colt, sending him flying to the other side of the room.
“Speedy, cover the case. Don’t let him get anywhere near it,” Dick says. They have to focus on defensive strategies.
Dick has no idea if Colt is telling the truth about the whole ‘touch the scepter and you die’ thing or not, but there’s no way he’s gonna risk it. They’re just gonna have to devise a way to keep Colt away from the scepter without touching it. And they also have to devise a way to take Colt into custody without him teleporting away. What Dick wouldn’t give to have some sort of collar that just turned off magical powers right about now.
Donna and Garth continue to do what worked before: they keep the fight close to Colt. When Colt does have the opportunity to summon some wind, he can never hold the charge long enough to really blast them away. Dick sticks to the shadows for now. He’s calculating the most effective way to join in the fight. A dozen more potential strategies buzz around in his brain. The Titans haven’t lost yet. There are still so many things they can do. They just need a plan.
Think, Robin, think.
Maybe they can try just tiring him out? Just because Colt can take more damage than a regular human doesn’t mean his endurance is all powerful. And, teleporting aside, there’s still five of them and only one of him. Dick can’t give into despair yet. The Teen Titans can do anything.
Dick’s just about ready to throw himself back into the fray when the hairs on Dick’s arms and neck stand up. That can only mean one thing.
Oh, crud.
Batman’s here. Dick can’t see him, but he doesn’t need to see him. He can feel Batman, like an extension of his own shadow.
Dick searches the room for him – to throw him the signal that things are fine, the Titans have this – but there’s too much chaos. Batman’s right here, but Dick can’t see him at all.
Then, the lights go out.
The room is plunged into darkness. The only illumination comes from the windows overhead, letting in the wrath of the full moon’s light.
Two bat wings shadow the sky.
Batman lands crouched in front of the scepter’s case, his cape a mass of curling black shadows. He is drenched in moonlight, spotlighted by it. His white eyes put the moon to shame: a primordial force of judgment. No one performs like him. Batman could teach the folks back at Haly’s circus a thing or two about making an entrance.
The impact Batman’s presence has on all of them is instantaneous. It’s like the very sight of him is a spell. Everyone freezes. Wally’s hand stills mid-punch. Literally.
“Leave this place.” Batman's voice resonates across the gallery, in that timbre that – even after all these years – makes Dick wonder if Batman really isn’t just a touch supernatural.
Colt’s voice breaks the spell first.
“Boo! You losers ratted me out to Batman? I thought we were having fun!”
Batman’s gaze, just for a millisecond, shifts to Dick. Dick’s body straightens under the heavy weight of his glare. All of Dick’s attempts at getting Batman’s attention were ignored. But the second that some random bad guy even just barely implies that Dick has done something wrong, then oh, suddenly he’s the only thing on Batman’s radar. Dick feels convicted and sentenced for a crime Batman won’t articulate, but he’s certain he didn’t commit. Dick’s own sense of outrage at the injustice of it all is the only thing stopping him from melting away like a popsicle hit by heat vision right there, in front of everyone.
Dick feels another hot glare on him. Roy looks at Dick accusingly, but Dick’s cauldron of emotions must read on his face. Roy’s gaze, at least, finds Dick innocent.
“Nobody invited Batman,” Roy says, spitting the last word out like certain other b-words that would have Alfred washing out his mouth with soap.
“And we’re not losers!” Wally shouts, indignant. And also totally missing the point.
“This isn’t a game,” says Donna, rushing to Batman’s side to guard the case. “Hera’s scepter belongs to the righteous and pure of heart. We won’t let you touch it!”
But wait, if Donna’s by Batman, where’s –
Oh, no.
In the chaos of Batman’s arrival, the Titans made a fatal mistake.
They gave Colt room.
The wind scatters everyone. Wally hits the wall again. Garth leaps in front of Roy to shield him, but they both end up being thrown like rag-dolls. Batman and Donna get the absolute worst of it. The force of the gale sends them both to their knees.
Only Dick manages to dodge the blast. His body moves faster than his mind, sending his grappling hook up into the ceiling, dodging Colt’s attack by height.
From above, Dick finally gets some perspective on things. Colt is focused on – (shooting? windblowing? windblasting) – windblasting all his rage at Batman. Which means he’s distracted.
Perfect.
Dick descends down on Colt like a bat. He takes great pleasure in knocking the kid flat on his face. The wind stops immediately. After that, Dick has only one goal in mind. Keep Colt from using his hands.
Colt tries to get on his feet, dazed and wild, but another kick sends him back to the ground. When Colt lashes out with a punch, Dick grabs his hand tightly, palm to palm. Colt repeats the same move with his left hand and so does Dick. If their costumes were a little different, to the world they would just look like school kids in a wrestling match. And not, you know, a superhero trying to stop a supervillain witch from stealing an ancient Goddess’s scepter.
They stay locked together. Colt may have wind powers, but he definitely doesn’t have superstrength. If anything, Dick has the upper hand. His body is slowly, slowly pushing Colt away from the exhibit.
Colt’s amber eyes flash dangerously.
“Get out of my way,” he snarls, cold and low. “That scepter is mine.” When he sees that his fear tactic has no impact on Dick, his eyes get calculating again. And then, paradoxically, a little more open. Honest. “I don’t want to hurt you, Robin.”
Dick’s jaw clenches. That phrasing. It makes his chest tight. The way Colt said that is loaded with implications. Maybe Colt doesn’t want to hurt him, but it definitely sounds like he wants to hurt Batman.
Steely resolve takes over his body. There’s no way Robin is going to let that happen.
“I don’t want you to hurt anyone,” says Dick, determined but not antagonistic. “Can’t we talk it out? Tell us what you need it for and then maybe we can figure out a different solution. A better one.” Dick cracks a small smile. “One that feels a little less world-end-y.”
Dick’s light doesn’t shine on Colt. All Dick’s words get him is an ugly sneer.
“So much begging on behalf of your captor.”
Colt pushes back with all his might.
Dick’s green boot digs into the floor. Robin stays firm.
“You’d choose him over your own kind?” Colt sneers.
What. Own kind? Seriously. What on Earth is this kid talking about?
Dick gives the only answer there is. “Batman is my kind.”
Dick’s hands are starting to feel like he’s touching a hot kettle. He knows that it’s Colt’s doing. He’s sure the witch is heating up the air between their linked hands. His Robin gloves are pretty resistant to most things, but even they have a heat limit, and Dick can feel them approaching it fast. Dick doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to hold on.
He doesn’t have to find out. Wally speeds into Colt, an angry freight train of red.
Before Dick can even say thank you, there’s a strong arm around his waist, pulling him up to the heavens. Dick tries to squirm free, but Batman’s arm is an iron band, imprisoning him. Dick feels like a puny mortal plucked from earth by a god. They ride up into the darkness, away from the fight. Away from Dick’s team, who need him.
As soon as Batman puts him down on the second floor, Dick’s already taking a running leap to jump back into the fray.
Batman yanks him back by his cape. Hard. So hard Dick falls flat on his butt.
He glares up at Batman, betrayed and furious. His face burns from humiliation. Batman towers before him, celestial in his demeanor, blocking the sight of the fight below from Dick’s view like an eclipse. Frustration and anger curl in his gut, bubbling into the ugliest thought. Maybe Colt’s right. Maybe captor is the right word.
Batman pronounces each word like a punch. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Dick scrambles up off the ground.
“I’m helping!” Batman might think Robin is an incompetent waste of space, but the Teen Titans don’t. “My team needs me!”
Dick tries to dive off of the balcony again, but Batman stops him. His whole body crowds Dick, suffocating him back towards the wall. His white eyes narrow into cruel, unforgiving slits. Dick’s met cobras with a less venomous gaze. Given the choice, Dick would prefer a snakebite over dealing with Batman when he’s like this. For one horrible second, Dick really thinks Batman is going to lash out at him. Knock him away, like a common enemy.
He doesn’t.
Batman draws back. He stands at his full height, as untouchable and eternal as the moon itself.
“I’m calling in the League,” Batman says, cold and even. “You’re done, Robin.”
You’d think there would be some passion there, in Batman’s face, after stabbing Dick through the heart. Dick shrinks back, wounded, broken. Embarrassment bleeds from the knife wound in his chest. And shame, so much shame. It wells up in his throat. He chokes on it.
Dick’s long simmering panic boils over. Batman doesn’t tolerate failure. If the Titans don’t succeed at this, they’ll never get another chance. Dick can’t let Batman take that away from him without a fight.
“You don’t need to do that! My team was handling it!” says Dick, half a shout, half a plea. “Just give us a chance.”
Dick believes in what he’s saying with every fiber of his being. The Titans can do this. Dick remembers all the training exams he took, all the gauntlets he ran, in order to get Batman to accept him as Robin. Batman didn’t always believe in him. More times than not, he was on the sidelines, waiting for Dick to fail. But Dick proved him wrong. He did it as a kid and he can do it again. Dick just needs the chance.
His thoughts are frenzied. Please, I just need one chance. I can prove to you I’m worth it. Please, just one chance.
Batman looks at Dick with disgust. “It’s already done. Return to base. We’ll discuss your punishment after I’ve cleaned up your team’s mess.”
Batman sneers the word team like it’s something filthy. Worse than the dirt on his boots. The word mess hits like a right hook in a bruise. Dick has been trying so hard to keep the Titans from making a mess. He knows what this museum means to Bruce. And even though the Titans are fighting a really powerful, really messy, villain, they’ve done a good job at not totally wrecking the place!
But of course Batman doesn’t notice things like that. He never sees how hard Dick tries. Batman only cares about being right. He’s never wanted to trust the Titans, never. Not once. It’s not fair. How can Batman judge them as failures before the test is even over?
Dick’s own feelings rush from his heart to his mouth, by passing his brain entirely. “Why can’t you just give us a chance?”
Dick hates how pathetic he sounds. Like some little kid begging for a later bedtime. But Dick doesn’t know how to talk to Bruce when he gets like this. There’s nothing left to do but beg.
“Why won’t you trust me?”
Batman’s snarl is as quick as lightning. Dick can read what Batman means to say on his face before he says it.
It doesn’t make his words hurt any less when they’re finally voiced.
“You dare ask for my trust?” Batman grabs Dick by the forearm. His grip is a molten brand. “After you lied to me? You told me this would be a routine stakeout.”
Dick didn’t lie! He told Batman everything that he was supposed to. Sure, he might not have given Batman all the details but that’s only because Dick knew he would act like this!
Dick doesn’t have a chance to see a word in his defense. A wind rushes over and through them, as cold as the first breath of winter.
There’s a sound of rustling leaves and then Colt is there. Right behind Batman. His long, rectangular face is pulled into a stormy glower.
Dick yanks free of Batman’s grasp, rushing to put himself between Batman and Colt. He hasn’t forgotten that Colt has it out for Batman. The villain’s hands are charged with that golden gleam, but he hasn’t made any move to attack yet.
“Are you really going to let him talk to you like that?” Colt asks him.
Dick’s so taken aback, he doesn’t have a response. He just stands there in silence, gaping like a dumb fish.
“No, we’re not,” says a familiar, grumpy voice. Roy?
An arrow whizzes out of the darkness, knocking into Colt’s left shoulder. It explodes into a net around him.
Dick looks up. What he sees is a wonderful sight. Donna is flying high and proud. Roy dangles from her grip, bow still pulled taut.
Despite everything, Dick feels himself smiling. Huh. A net. They should have tried that sooner.
Colt lets out a positively childish cry. He releases all his windblasts, but they just pass harmlessly through the net.
Donna drops Roy down onto the second floor. He rushes to Dick’s side, shoulder to shoulder, like a brother in arms.
Roy throws a contemptuous look behind them at their brooding shadow.
“This isn’t your fight, Batman. Get out of here.” Roy turns to Dick and grins, half-crooked but all confidence. “The Teen Titans have this handled.”
Dick can’t help but smile back. He instantly regrets the moment Roy’s words really start to sink in. Oh, crud. Roy’s behavior is not going to win them any favors with Batman. Dick needs the Titans to help him earn Batman’s trust, not scorn it. Batman needs to be appeased, not outright challenged.
(Dick shoves the knowledge that both his teammate and his foe just heard Batman scold him like a baby into the back of his mind. That’s something for after the fight, between him and his journal, in a private place where no one can see him break.)
Batman reacts to Roy’s words with a predictable amount of social grace.
He pushes between and through Roy and Dick, sparing just a moment to glare down at Roy.
“This is my city. You’re the one out of your league here, boy.”
Batman continues his stride forward, stopping at the foot of Colt’s struggle form.
“All of you are.”
Dick flushes with shame. Bruce’s words are spoken at Colt but Dick knows he’s included in that everyone, too.
Colt stops his struggling just to scoff.
“Pfft. Like I’m scared of you,” says Colt, sprawling out, relaxing on his palms. He looks more like a rich kid sunbathing, not a captured criminal. “You’re not even a real Batgod.”
Dick blinks, his head feels like it’s just been unscrewed. There are real Batgods? But no, don’t get distracted, Robin. Now is definitely not the time.
Dick can read the fight gearing up on both Colt and Batman’s bodies.
Colt hooks a well-manicured nail into the net and slices it off. He rises, shaking off the remains of the net like a king shedding his royal mantle.
Dick signals for Donna and Roy to stay back. Batman’s here now, and Garth and Wally are still downstairs guarding the scepter. They’re not in any immediate danger. There’s still a chance this can all be resolved bloodlessly.
“It doesn’t have to be like this!” says Dick. “We don’t have to fight.” Dick searches for a language Colt will understand. “There are better ways to have fun than this.”
Colt flicks an accusatory finger at Batman. “With him around?”
Dick can hear the click of Batman’s jaw. He won’t restrain himself for much longer.
“Yes,” Dick says. He pours all of his hope, all of his belief, all of his self into that one word.
“Oh, Robin,” says Colt. “You’re really…naïve.”
Colt charges. Not towards Batman – as they all assumed he would – but towards Dick. There’s no time for Batman to intervene. Roy made a mistake of getting in so close, even if he could have nocked an arrow in time, it wouldn’t have done any good. All Dick has time to do is brace himself.
Dick expects to be blasted away. Instead, Colt grabs onto him. And suddenly, Dick isn’t being pushed away. He’s falling. Dropping from the very top of the ceiling.
Oh, double crud.
Colt teleported them. It wasn’t a regular attack; it was a feint.
Dick has just enough time to scream, “Wonder Girl!”
She needs to stop him. Colt is clearly trying to attack the display case from above. But Donna misunderstands. She must think he’s calling for help. Before Dick can clarify, she sweeps him up and away from Colt’s grasp, damsel style, and carries him back towards the second floor. They can do nothing but watch as Colt executes his plan.
Colt falls with a maniacal look of glee on his face, his own wind blowing his long hair back like, ponytail dancing in the wind like a blade. His right hand, burning a bright gold, leads the impact. All that energy, of Colt’s powers and the fall, comes down hard on the display glass. It shatters.
The roar is tremendous. A canon going off right next to Dick’s face would have been quieter. The noise has all of them except Batman covering their ears.
Garth and Wally rush forward. Garth shoots out water whips but they’re useless. They can only swirl around Colt’s tornado. Wally races as best he can against the storm, but it’s too late. They’re all too late.
Once the dust clears, Colt emerges with the scepter held high in his hand.
Donna’s words are but a whisper. “No.”
Colt grins. It’s a vicious thing, all teeth and malice. “Time to take this baby for a test ride, don’t you think?”
The golden glow travels up from his hand and through the shaft of the scepter. It gathers energy and brightness with each breath. Suddenly, the caked dirt explodes off the scepter, one giant firework. The rusted lotus bursts into life. It blazes the brightest magenta Dick’s ever seen. The glow eventually settles into something supernaturally beautiful. A delicate pink lotus tops a scepter that is so gold, it gleams like a living ray of sun.
Dick can feel the change in the air. It crackles with electricity that hadn’t been there before. What the Gotham Museum of Antiquities had been displaying wasn’t Hera’s lotus-tipped scepter at all.
This is.
Colt slams the scepter to the ground and the whole world shakes.
Dick’s experienced hurricanes before. They have nothing on this. Everything happens all at once. The glass in every display case shatters, one long sustained scream. Batman reaches one arm out for Dick and one for Roy, pulling them both tightly to his side. His grip speaks of more desperation that Dick has ever felt from him. The second floor where Dick, Donna, Roy and Batman stand breaks – literally breaks – off. It falls down to the main lobby like a mudslide.
Finally, the shaking stops. Wally, with Garth in tow, dashes to their side. Wally gets Roy up on his feet. Garth attempts to do the same for Dick, but Dick doesn’t need him. Like Batman, he can stand tall on his own.
Then the winds come.
Batman strides in front of the Titans, taking the brunt of the blast. His cape flares out behind, the all-encompassing night sky. Truly a pair of bat wings. Now and forever the most trusted shield Dick has ever seen.
“Retreat,” Batman says. “All of you. Now.”
The Titans look to Dick. He nods in agreement. Everything is different now, the very air itself tastes weird, all electricity and ozone and something so fragrant it’s sickening. Test failed.
The Titans aren’t going to take it well. Adrenaline is the only thing stopping Dick’s thoughts from falling into his inner black hole.
Focus. There’s a new mission now. Dick needs to make sure they all live to see tomorrow.
“We need reinforcements,” Dick tells his team, trying to spare them his feelings of failure by giving them a task to do. They aren’t equipped to take on Colt themselves, not anymore. But that doesn’t mean they’re totally useless. They can at least go get the people who can fight.
“My sister,” says Donna, catching on immediately.
“Everyone,” Dick replies. “Anyone. Wonder Girl, you take Aqualad and fly out of here.” Donna and Garth both nod dutifully. “KF, you take Speedy out, and run to the Hall of Justice.”
Roy glares at Dick. But it’s Wally who speaks.
“What about you?” His words betray his fear. There’s no humor on his face anymore.
“When you bring back reinforcements, you can take me out then,” Dick says, but he’s lying. If Batman is staying, Robin is staying. “It’s quicker that way.”
“No!” shouts Colt.
The sound of his voice rattles painfully in Dick’s ears. It’s like a concert speaker system going haywire. He’s gonna go deaf, if he manages to survive tonight.
“I’m not done playing yet!”
The walls surrounding the broken windows close, like a mouth clamping down. No more windows. No more moonlight. The doors slam shut.
A second later, they blow back open.
Where there were once two white doors, now there is but one open wound of smoldering fire.
It’s a familiar shape. Dick knows those explosions. Who else explodes walls in the shape of a bat? His eyes flicker up towards Batman, and, just as Dick suspected, there’s a detonator in his hand. Dick can’t fight the huge smile that takes over his face. That guy is always prepared. He must have rigged the doors before he even entered the fight. Even now, even when things are literally at their worst, Batman always amazes him.
“Go,” Batman orders. “Now.”
And this time there is no pushback, not from anyone. Donna heaves Garth up by the armpits and is out the door. Wally and Roy are already a trail of light ahead of her.
Colt laughs, disbelieving and mean. “Man, you are just determined to ruin my fun.” He raises the scepter. Like a radiator, it hums with power. “Don’t worry. I can fix that.”
The specter is held high in Colt’s left hand. With his right, he beckons forward. The shimmering gold winds follow the pull of his hand. Dick can only watch in horror as Colt creates a vacuum that sucks everyone back in. Even Wally.
Oh, this is bad. This is really bad.
Dick forces his gaze away from the destruction. Instead, he looks up to Batman.
“Batman," he says. It’s both a question and plea for orders. Batman always has a plan. Batman will save them.
Colt looks at Batman with nothing less than pure hatred. His amber eyes have never been so dark.
“I’m sure you’ve already got another oh so clever trick up your sleeve, don’t you? All you adults are the same. You’ll do anything to spoil our fun!”
Batman bears Colt’s words with a face Dick recognizes. Eyes narrowed into cruel crescent moons. A stern tightening of his jaw, like someone has a wrench to the joint there and is tightening it. It means he doesn’t even think Colt is worth the breath to lecture. Batman clearly isn’t rattled by Colt’s tantrum. The familiarity of it comforts Dick, right when he really needed it. Robin isn’t ever scared, but Dick’s getting dangerously close to it.
He shouldn’t have been. Batman and Robin can do anything together.
“Stay behind me, Robin.”
That’s not what Dick wants to hear. He wants to know how to stand beside Batman.
“Well, I’m through with having to obey adults like you,” spits Colt, with a gravitas that has Dick knowing that whatever this kid is going through, it really has nothing to do with Batman. Everything about Colt’s tantrum screams ‘projection’. “I have the power now. And I’m never going to let your adult world stand in my way again!”
The air begins to crackle again, the premonition of lightning. It fills Dick with an animal dread. How can it not, after all of this?
The lotus on top of the scepter starts to glow. Even that word feels too gentle. It’s fire, all over. The lotus’ petals burst into hot pink flames, the hue so bright it’s eerie. It looks more like a nebula or supernova. All things that don’t belong on Earth. The petals start to spin fast, like a demented merry-go-round, folding into themselves. Closing, Dick realizes. The lotus flower closes into a bud. The fire burns out. Before Dick’s very eyes, the lotus bud hardens into a sharp metal gold. A lotus-tipped spear.
Colt’s grin devours his whole face. His amber eyes burn like the scepter had.
Oh, no. Nonononono. Dick has to move. Why won’t his feet move?
“Robin, go!”
Dick’s feet don’t obey him or Batman.
Batman gets into a defensive position, ready to fend off the attack.
Colt doesn’t play fair. The air shimmers and rustles.
Just like that, Colt’s gone.
He reappears.
The spear is already inside of Batman’s gut.
Dick’s whole world rips open. “Batman!”
All his training goes right out the window. He doesn’t have a plan. He’s making zero calculations. His body is run by his heart now. The only thing that matters is getting to Batman’s side.
“Robin, don’t – ”
Batman’s words are a spear in Dick’s gut, too. Even now, even facing certain death, Batman still wants Dick to leave.
There are sounds everywhere. Colt’s mocking lilt, the alarmed gasps of his friends. It’s all just noise. Dick can only hear his blood pumping. Thump, thump. The sound of two bodies hitting the ground.
You can’t leave me, Dick thinks. You can’t die. I won’t let you.
He acts on pure instinct, mindless terror. His hands grab at the shaft of the scepter, the part sticking out from Batman’s stomach. He pulls and pulls and pulls.
A stupid decision, he’ll think in retrospect, for a million different reasons. But right now, Dick doesn’t have sense. All his mind sees is that there’s something in Batman that needs to get out.
Please, Dick begs. Please, you have to live.
A million thoughts consume him. Memories.
Batman teaching Dick how to make a proper fist for the first time. Dick teaching Batman how to swing the grabbling hook with just the right momentum to really fly across the sky. But it’s not just his memories that are in danger. It’s the future they could have together. Bruce finally taking Dick out to see a Gotham Knight’s game. Dick’s celebrating his fourteenth birthday with Bruce and Alfred and the Titans. Bruce finally trusts them with their identities. All of that life is fading away.
Tears sting Dick’s eyes, fall wet and gross on his face. He retreats into his most cherished memory. After a long night of patrol, Alfred makes them hot cocoa. Dick sits at the foot of Bruce’s armchair, resting his head against Bruce’s leg as Ace snoozes on Dick’s lap. The fireplace makes everything feel so warm. Bruce places his hand on top of Dick’s head. He smiles. It’s good to be home, isn’t Dick? And Dick thinks he’ll explode from happiness right there, on the spot. Because it does. It does feel good to have a home.
Bruce is his home. Dick can’t lose that.
You’re the only family I have left.
In Dick’s grip, the scepter rattles uncontrollably.
“Let go!” Colt screams from behind him, trying to yank the scepter back. “You’re ruining everything!”
The scepter scalds his hands. Dick only squeezes tighter.
I have to protect my home, he thinks, I have to protect my home.
Gold light from the scepter blasts them all away. Colt, Dick, and Batman go off flying in separate directions.
Just like before, Donna’s there to catch him. Soon all the Titans are by his side, worrying over him like a bunch of grandparents.
No one’s caught Colt.
He’s curled up in a ball, coughing his lungs out. The lotus-tipped scepter lies dull and rusted on the ground. It looks just like it did in the exhibit, only the lotus is still in its closed bud form. Even so, it looks too worn down to any damage as a weapon. It’s just a relic now.
Colt hunches up. Whatever happened to the scepter happened to Colt, too. He looks like he just went three rounds with pneumonia and lost. Even his hair has lost its shine, looking more and more straw-like by the second.
Colt’s gaze spears Dick, but Dick isn’t afraid anymore. The scepter’s powers are gone.
“What have you done?” Colt growls. His voice sounds strange. Deeper. Like he’s been gurgling rocks. Or someone’s crushed his throat.
Dick feels a burst of vindictive violence.
Maybe he’s wounded. Good. Dick hopes he chokes.
Before Dick can voice all that hate, the winds rush up all around them. They blow the doors open and carry Colt away.
“Should we go after him?” Garth asks, but Dick barely hears him. There’s only one thought on his mind. The Titans follow his gaze.
Batman. No one caught Batman. He’s a puddle of cape on the floor, still clutching his stomach.
BatmanBatmanBatmanBatmanBatman –
“Oh my god, he’s dead,” says Wally. “We got Batman killed. We killed Batman.”
“Shut up!” Roy smacks him. “You panicking is not helping.”
Dick blocks them all out, rushing over to where Batman lies. He moves Batman’s heavy gauntlet hand away, preparing for the worst. Disembowelment. Organ damage, at the very least. Any second now, the air will flood with the thick scent of blood. That’s what happened the last time his father –
Dick’s hands are on Bruce’s stomach in an instant. Green gloves search the vast blackness of his torso for the entry wound. But there’s nothing. Not even a dent in the Kevlar.
It’s not possible. Dick saw the spear go through him. He’s still seeing it now, again and again, the ghost of his failure standing over Bruce’s prone body.
Dick sticks two fingers on Bruce’s carotid artery. His pulse is strong and true.
“He’s not dead!” Dick shouts, the relief unnamable. “He’s just…skinny?”
Now that Dick can be certain that the worst hasn’t come to pass, all the small changes start to scream at him, an emergency alarm. Something is wrong with the Batsuit. It sits on Bruce all weird…loose and baggy. It looks almost stretched out. No. Deflated. Like Bruce just lost six inches of height and one hundred pounds.
More than anything, Dick wants to rip the cowl off his face and check Bruce’s eyes. But he can’t. Not here. Not in front of the Titans. Dick runs his hand across Bruce’s chin. It’s not the touch he wants but it’s all he can do. Under his fingers, there’s not a hint of stubble. In all his years of poking Bruce in the face, trying to get him to smile, his skin has never felt so smooth there.
All warmth drains from his body. Bruce is alive. But something is wrong here. Something is really, really wrong.
He needs to go home. That’s the only thought he can manage right now.
Dick doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, so devoid of emotion, when he speaks.
“I need to go home.”
Bruce wouldn’t have come here on foot. The Batmobile’s around here somewhere. Dick taps his belt communicator and sure enough, he can hear the Batmobile’s distinctive honk.
Dick hooks one of Bruce’s arms over his shoulders and pulls the man to his feet. Dick, for as much as he’s been working on his squats, knows that that was way easier than it should have been. Once again, fear aches poison into his stomach. Roy rushes to slip Bruce’s other arm over his shoulder, but Dick shoos him away. Well, in the same way that you can call a feral dog snarling at an intruder ‘shooing’.
“Robin, let us help,” Donna says. “We’ll take you home.”
You don’t know where my home is, Dick wants to say, you’re not allowed to know.
Batman doesn’t trust the Titans. Bruce is weak against Dick’s shoulder, weaker than Dick has ever seen. Bruce would never forgive Dick if he allowed anyone else to get close to him in this state.
“No. I have to do this on my own.”
He sounds just like Batman.
Dick cringes. He knows how much those words hurt. But it needs to be done. He has to keep moving.
He pauses at the still burning hole in Bruce’s mom’s museum’s wall. His head turns just slightly, but he doesn’t look back.
“I’ll talk to you guys later.”
And then he’s gone.
Dick leaves it all, everything he was trying to protect, everything he was trying to prove, behind. All that matters is getting Bruce back to safety. The Batmobile, ever the noble stead, pulls up to the front of the museum. Dick all but drags Bruce into the passenger seat. He buckles Bruce in, uncharacteristically clumsy, his shaking hands keep missing the buckle cover. Finally it clicks shut. He feels like the world’s worst babysitter right about now.
Not a babysitter, the dark part of his mind hisses, just the worst Robin.
Dick swallows. Forces air down his throat and takes his place in the front seat. The inches he gained this summer let him see over the top of the wheel without adjusting, but just barely. The petals are still hopelessly far away without adjusting the seat. All of it reaffirms what Dick has always known: he’ll never be good enough to fight at Batman’s side.
No. No, he can’t think about those things right now. He needs to get Bruce home. That’s all that matters. Getting Bruce home and getting him healed.
Dick turns to look at Bruce, slumped over in a seat, black cape swallowing him up in darkness.
“You’re okay,” Dick tells him. Saying the words out loud gives them power. He says them once more for extra luck. “You’re okay.”
Dick kicks the Batmobile into gear. His left-hand clings to the steering wheel like an anchor clings to the sea floor. Something has to keep him rooted here, in this moment. Dick’s right hand finds Bruce’s limp one. He clings to that touch just as tightly.
Home has never seemed so far away.
But Dick’s determined to get them there.