SPOILER: Those of you that don’t know the movie, an aged Barbara Gordon tells Terry the story of the Joker’s last fight and why it was kept hushed up all these years. In the past, the Joker decided to have a last laugh by torturing Robin (Tim Drake) and turning him into a little Joker just to get Batman fuming. He also got Robin to spill out Batman’s alter ego in the process. Joker ordered Tim to kill Batman but somehow, the boy shot the Crime Clown instead. The incident left Tim branded for life and Batman forbade him to put on the costume again.

This is my version of what happened after that fatal night in ROTJ because for someone who watches a lot of cartoons, both American and Japanese, I’m going to say that that ten minute sequence was one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen animated. Unable to bear with Tim being tortured, I offer an alternate version of what happened.

(Hugs Tiny Tim) Now I’ve run out of tissues.

Prelude: Mockingbirds Don't Fly

Description: Based on the flashback from "Return of the Joker", a different take on what happened after the Joker had clipped Tim Drake's wings. Dying in despair, the Boy Wonder is greeted by Nightwing and one of his colleagues who helps Tim to stand up to the light.

Guest appearances by other DC members such as Teen Titans and future Young Justice.

A-A-A-A

Hush little baby, don’t say a word

Mama’s gonna to buy you a mockingbird

Tim was overly traumatized from the incident. He had been clawing at his clothes frantically until they had gotten ripped off his trembling body. That wretched purple suit that the Joker had dressed him in, it appalled Tim. It scared him. It tormented him. The mere touch of it was making his skin scorch like itching powder.

His cries had gotten into violent screams until he grabbed a knife and tried to slit his own wrists. Bruce had taken the weapon away just as Tim was shredding his clothes to ribbons. He wrapped Tim up in an extra blanket and dashed to the Batmobile with Barbara trailing behind him.

“Its ok,” Barbara whispered to him. She had joined the ride home and taken it upon herself the maternal role of trying to calm Tim down while Bruce directed them safely away from Arkahm. The long black car roared down the highway sending dead leaves scattering in the wind. Inside the Batmobile all was quiet except for the humming of the engine and the muffled sobs of the boy.

Tim was curled up into a little ball on Barbara’s lap with his head resting on her shoulder for support. His cheeks were stained with tears that dripped down his face. They left sad-streaked lines where the sickeningly thick white makeup was gradually dissolving off his face.

“I, I, k-k-killed him,” Tim cried, rubbing a fist with one hand. “He t-t-t-tried to d-d-do . c-c-control me.” The boy tried to speak but his voice was stuttering too much.

“He’s in shock,” Bruce said from the front of the car. “We’ll give him a sedative once we get back to the cave.” He kept his voice as emotionless as possible He had to keep the bile out of his throat and his voice as steady as possible. Someone had to stay calm in the middle of this thundering chaos.

Joker had just abducted Robin and brainwashed him. No, not just brainwashed him. Poisoned him. Tortured him. Abused him. That was how Batman and Batgirl found Robin after three hellish weeks of searching from his disappearance. The Boy Wonder had been reduced to another slave of the Crown Prince of Crime.

Joker had been delighted in his victory over his enemy. Killing Batman would be a triumph, oh yes, it certainly would. But what revenge could be sweeter than stealing away a certain red-breasted boy, the new ideal hero in town, and turning him into a criminal?

Inside of the Joker’s twisted mind he knew what made people tick. He knew how to get under their skin and turn his victims inside out with insanity. Batman’s weakness lay in his value of the Bird Boy. Take the boy, his protégée and son, and you take Batman’s hopes along with it.

“You’ve lost, Batman. Robin is mine,” he had said gleefully. “And the last thing you’re going to hear is our laughter over your death.”

“Robin is mine.”

It was those three words that made Bruce’s teeth clench so tightly, his jaws were going to shatter.

Not yours, his mind pounded back.

Not yours, Joker.

Not now.

Not ever.

Bruce’s hands had refused to stop balling into iron fists of anger. He could still taste the Joker’s blood that had flown onto his own skin, mingling with his blood from when he punched that gutless clown.

You monster.

The Batmobile’s engine roared like a mountain lion as it raced towards Wayne Manor. Tim’s weeping continued to fall on Bruce’s ears. He was still simmering in his anger like lava boiling up inside a volcano that threatened to explode at any second.

“People you like and Two Face and Penguin and Riddler and Poison Ivy can all go to hell,” he thought to himself bitterly.

But never hurt the children.

“Loot Gotham all you want. Blow up bridges, rob trains, have drug runs, and set up death traps for me when I break into your hideouts.”

But never hurt the children.

“Joe Chill, you got the Waynes.”

Stay out of their dreams. Don’t give them nightmares.

“Tony Zucco, you got the Graysons.”

Leave the children alone.

“Jack Napier, you will NOT take Tim Drake from me ever again.”

Never hurt the children.

Smudges of white paint stained Barbara’s cape but she kept her arms around Tim while he shook like an over wound toy. A shadowy cloud passed over the full moon cloaking Gotham City in darkness.

And if that mockingbird don’t sing

Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring

A-A-A-A

Bruce jumped out while the tires were still spinning when the Batmobile zoomed into the cave. He scooped the boy up out of Barbara’s arms and put him under the shower that was installed within a craggy corner of the hideout.

Bruce ripped the blanket off Tim, grabbed the nozzle, and aimed it at the boy’s head. A jet stream of icy cold water began to beat down on Tim’s shivering body. Bruce just looked at the saddest little boy standing naked in the shower, starring ahead with glassy eyes.

He was still crying and shaking but at least he had lost the insane laugh he had been using back in Arkahm. The white makeup was running off his skin and down the shiny metal ring where it gurgled into oblivion. His hair, formerly an appalling green, was showing spots of its original black color when the slimy green paint started to wash off.

“He-he-hurt me,” Tim stuttered. The boy wrapped wet arms around his body and hugged himself.

“Its over,” Bruce said coldly. He knew they’d all be licking at their wounds that night yet it was impossible for him to drop his own mask. He had to remain firm for Tim. “He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Jet-black locks of hair were plastered to Tim’s forehead now. He turned his head to face Bruce slightly. The man was startled at the tight stretch of a Joker smile that lingered on Tim’s mouth. This was going to be one hell of a night, Bruce told himself grimly.

“Batgirl, get an antidote from the laboratory,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Fourth beaker on the right.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered quickly.

“I kill a man,” Tim said numbly. Bruce reached out a gloved hand to touch him but the boy slapped it away and cowered into a corner of the shower. He sank to the tiled floor and buried his face into his chest.

“Its not funny—I shot him,” Tim’s voice began to rise with fear. He began to giggle softly to himself. “Isn’t that wild?”

Bruce stepped into the shower. “Tim, listen to me. It wasn’t your fault.”

“KILLED HIM! BRUCE! I KILLED HIM!” Tim began to scream over and over again. “ITS NOT FUNNY! I KILLED HIM!”

Barbara had grabbed the antidote and thrown it halfway across the cave. Batman caught the precious liquid in his outstretched palm. He grabbed the boy’s arm but Tim continued to squirm in frustration and yell out gibberish.

“Stop struggling,” Bruce hissed. He plunged the needle into Tim’s arm. The boy’s eyes rolled in the back of his head. His body went rigid for a moment. Then his eyelids drooped closed. He moaned softly before falling forward, into Batman’s arms.

They put him into a hospital bed and hooked him up to an IV. Scanners beeped softly monitoring Tim’s pulse while he lay nearly immobilized. For ten minutes the Dark Knight and his ally watched over his weary form.

“How long will he stay this way?” Barbara dared to ask.

Bruce took a seat at the computer and started clicking away on the keyboard. “I don’t know. The levels of venom in his blood are extremely high for somebody of his age. Three times of a stronger concentrated form than what Joker uses on most victims.” Bruce’s voice had a steel tone in it as he talked.

He couldn’t give in now. Don't surrender to madness when the Joker was just dead as a doorknob. Not when they had just gotten Tim back.

“Maybe we should give him a triple antidote,” Barbara suggested hopefully. Weakly, but hopefully.

“No. His body can’t take the stress anymore,” Bruce said.

“But we’ve got to get those toxins out,” Barbara began to insist.

Bruce sat back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Joker hurt more than his body. He destroyed Tim’s mind, his soul, and his conscience. It may require something more.”

“More! Bruce, what more can he do to us? Oh god, to think I could have saved him,” she began to fret. Barbara began to pace the cave with a hand pressed to her mouth. “I’ll never live with myself for letting Tim down, I swear that’s not . .”

She was frightened when Bruce grabbed her by the shoulder abruptly and yanked her close his own face. The white slits in his cowl narrowed sharply.

“Control yourself, Barbara,” he barked at her. “It’s not going to help Tim. If we don’t maintain sanity for his sake, he’s going to have a nervous breakdown.”

Barbara’s eyes brimmed with tears but she struggled to keep them from over spilling. Forcing the fear back down, she nodded weakly to him. Bruce exhaled long enough to loosen the tight grip on her arms. He crossed back to the computer screen and laid his hands on the desk, slightly bent over in deep thought.

“What we need is . . ”

“We need a friend,” said a familiar voice.

Batman and Batgirl looked up to see something, or rather, two people emerge from the sultry darkness of the cave.

A recognizable pair of boots stepped forward followed by the black skin-tight uniform of another vigilante. Batgirl’s eyes dried when she saw the logo of a blue bird spread across the man’s chest and the eye mask pressed against his handsome face.

“Nightwing?” she asked.

Barbara starred at the former Robin-and her one time lover-in the flesh. He nodded briefly in her direction, his face now solemn and serious as his mentor’s own.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked him.

Nightwing merely gestured to the person next to him. Her slim figure was wrapped in a long white cloak and her face had been concealed in a hood, hiding most of her features.

“She can help us,” Nightwing explained.

“Who is she?” Batman demanded.

“Someone we can trust.” Dick took another step forward. “I know everything that happened back there and we’re running out of time. She may be able to save him. You’ve got my word on this one.”

Nightwing motioned for the girl to do her duty but she had already come to the bed where the victim lay shuddering between the sheets. Her shadow fell over Tim’s small body like the wing of a black bird.

“Can you hear me?” she asked. To Barbara, her voice was like dove’s feathers brushing against a soft cheek. It was the first benevolent sound her ears had heard since this wretched chaos began.

Timothy shivered reluctantly. His eyelids fluttered helplessly before resting on the newcomer.

She was all in white, so beautiful and pure. Her leotard was white and her cloak was white as fresh clean snow. Her garments seemed to glow against the darkness of the cave. A gold belt dangled loosely from her slim hips. For a moment Tim lost all other focus save that of the mysterious young woman.

“Who . .who are you?” he asked weakly.

She removed the hood from her head revealing a young but solemn face and two glittering amethyst eyes. Silky violet hair fell in long locks down her back, framing her pale heart-shaped face and delicate complexion.

“My name is Raven.”

Her voice was low and grave but it carried the courage of an experienced healer, almost like Dr. Thompkins. She reached out and laid a slim hand on his forehead. Her skin was cool to the touch.

“Don’t be afraid, Timothy. I’m here to help you.”

“Its not funny .. It’s not funny . .” Tim was mumbling feverishly. Raven placed two fingers on each of his temples. She began to massage the area, her fingertips leaving tiny pads of warmth on his skin.

Tell me, Timothy. Tell me what he said to you. Her voice had softly entered his mind and was now caressing his troubled thoughts.

“No, I can’t,” Tim begged. “Its too much, you don’t know what he did to me.”

He didn’t just hurt your body, Timothy. He hurt your soul. I need you to tell me.

Trust me, Robin.

Something about her voice, the gentle but firmness in it, made Tim’s will began to strengthen itself. Reluctantly, Tim’s memory started to go back into the bottomless void that had wasted him starting with one night in Gotham City . .

A-A-A-A

FLASHBACK

Tim’s brain whirled from the shock. Harley had just conked him on the head with a nasty sledgehammer making him black out. Now he was trying to regain conscience without getting a massive migraine. “Ugh,” he gagged. Man, I fell for that like an amateur.

Tim struggled to move but found himself immobilized and strapped to the metal bed. Thick heavy plates kept his wrists and arms in place too. He squirmed around but to no success. Even his utility belt had been removed.

“Well, if it isn’t Robbi-poo come to bring us good cheer!” drawled out an amused voice. Tim saw the Joker come out of the shadows and walk up to the captive Boy Wonder. He looked as garish as ever from his bleached white face to his loud purple three-piece suit to his acid green hair.

The Clown Prince of Crime looked at the captured bird and his sharp teeth parted into a wolfish smile. “Hope you enjoy your time in our humble abode, Robin. You don’t know how depressing this place feels now that it’s lost its days of glory.”

He gestured with a hand to the operational room of the now abandoned Arkham Asylum. The torn curtains hung in ragged folds while the chairs were covered in a layer of gray dust. A thin wind whistled through the broken glass windows.

Tim couldn’t put his finger on it but something was making the hairs on his neck prickle up nervously. He just put on a little smile and said, “Baiting me for Batman’s traps again, Joker? Sorry, that’s old hat.”

“Oh no, dear Boy Wonder. I’m above and beyond that,” Joker said casually. “I’m getting tired of the same humdrum routine and the burden that comes with it. Harley and I were thinking of moving on, having the bliss joy of a domestic life, and starting our own family. You might even say old Bats inspired us.”

The Joker’s henchwoman had just somersaulted out from behind a curtain and landed next to Joker. “We’re gonna have the coziest love nest ever,” she simpered happily, rubbing herself up against her lover’s shoulder. Tim nearly gagged when Joker took her hand and kissed her hand.

“You’re gonna have some butt ugly kids,” he retorted.

He expected a good slap across the face from Joker but the criminal just raised an eyebrow with amusement. “Kids? Oh dear me, we did seem to forget something in the picture, ha ha ha. You really are a clever boy . . .ha ha ha!”

He started to laugh again, a laugh that was sharp like daggers made of freezing crystals and ice. Tim never cared to hear Joker laugh but this time he was getting a really bad feeling about it. He bit his lip and flexed his skinny muscles anxiously. Damnit, where was Bruce?

Joker stopped laughing long enough to catch his breath and clear his throat. “But you see dear boy, Harley’s physical condition would be a slave at that sort of thing and adoption requires too much paperwork. Since you’ve become such a special addition to the Batsy family, I thought we’d do the same . . and welcome you into our merry clown company.”

“What? No way!” Tim yelled. He began to rattle the wrist-clamps madly. “I’d never work for you, never!” Harley just giggled with amusement at his futile movements. She shook a finger at him in disapproval.

“Naughty boy, Robin. We’re gonna give you a special education for that.”

Joker walked up to Robin and placed a hand on either side of his head. The pale face was up against his own and the beady eyes looked into his masked ones with malevolence.

“You’re crazy,” Tim said.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Joker retorted back. A fist suddenly whistled through the air and into Tim’s chest, knocking his breath out. He gasped bitterly from the blow.

“You want to know the truth kid? Why Bats can’t save you now?” his voice taunted slickly. Joker grabbed a handful of Robin’s hair and turned the boy’s head aside. Tim tried to shake the grip but Joker pulled hard enough to pull his hair out by the roots.

His long cold nose was right against Tim’s ear. His voice was a low whisper but frosty as ice as he said the horrible words:

“All fathers hate their sons.”

Tim sucked in a breath. It was like getting punched in the stomach again and again.

“He can’t stand you. He can’t understand you at all.”

“No! I’m Robin now, I’m part of the Dynamic Duo,” he hissed between his teeth. “And you know nothing about me.”

“I know you’re a fake Robin, a phony to make up for the other one that skipped town months ago. You just put on a costume and go play Happy Town with Gotham City while Batman just wishes he could get rid of you, a damned nuisance.”

“Shut up,” Tim whispered in a high voice.

Joker just released his aching scalp and walked over to a large table full of equipment. Tim’s stomach took a deep drop when he saw the assortment of knives, scissors, syringes, and clampers that lay scattered across it. Harley had already taped a few wires to Tim’s wrists and started adjusting a large machine that was hooked up to the electric metal bed.

“You might think that we’re doing Batman a favor, reforming you into something even better this time,” Joker said. “Now we won’t have to worry about all those dreadful other little Robins that might come flying into town, the poor kiddies.”

He removed two giant iron clampers and attached each one to the side of the metal bed. The machine started to crackle with energy, humming loudly in the background. The sound of it was making Tim’s heart race up Sweat was dripping off his forehead and running down the side of his mask.

“You know what they say about copycats, Robin,” Joker warned him.

“They’re never as good as the original.”

Harley grabbed the lever and pulled it down with glee. The electric sparks snapped and whizzed like lightning. They streaked through the wires and into Tim’s skin. His body arched and he screamed in pain. Liquid green fire was slithering through his body, his veins beginning to pump with fervor from the toxins.

He could feel his adrenaline beginning to rush from the pain. Blinding hot light was flooding his brain in a blizzard of emotions: fear, anger, doubt, frustration, and more. Above his own howls of pain he could still hear that high laughter from his captor.

“Its all a joke, its all a joke . .” the voice droned into his head. “You think Bats could ever have a sense of humor? Never! But by the time I’m done with you, he’ll really get a kick out it.”

“Puddin, he’s still conscious,” Harley informed him.

“Then take it up a notch, girl.”

Harley adjusted the lever on the machine to increase its power. The pain was now searing into Tim’s body with such a force that tears streamed down his face in agony.

That’s when the torture all began. Truth serums. Electric magnets. Hypnotic screens. Layer after layer of Robin was being peeled back in a long slow humiliating process to break him down into nothing. Every step of the way, Joker would prod, poke, and tease him. Tim never had a chance. Once his mind was hacked into he started to spill out the dark dark secrets of being a vigilante in Gotham.

“Oh lets see now. How delightful! Your name is Timothy Drake! Tiny Tim, how charming. Looks like Dent really wanted to put the nickel in your mouth, eh?’

Tim fought to resist as long as he could but in time it all came out. The smog filled streets of Gotham. A skinny boy in a torn sweater running through alleyways. A tall demon-like creature all in black rescuing him from a madman with a scarred face.

“Your old man skipped town and the Dark Knight flew in. Sounds like a classic opera story, isn’t it?”

“So Bruce Wayne really is Batman! How droll! Dr. Strange really wasn’t as crazy as I thought he was.”

“I’ve betrayed my father. I’ve betrayed my father,” Tim’s conscience turned over and over in his stomach like a bad apple. His head hung in defeat.

Three weeks of hell went on for him. For three weeks he tried to resist but the shock treatments zapped at his nerves and the laughing toxins were plunged into his skin. Over and over again the Joker’s laughter rung in his head until he could memorize every tone in that voice.

Robin was dying a very slow and painful death.

A gleeful thought flickered in his head. His mouth began to twitch. Tim’s face started to stretch itself out. Slowly, the grotesque smile spread across his young face. The toxins in his body were making him shake with glee. He started to chuckle. His eyes grew wider when he began to laugh.

Finally, a loud maniac laugh screamed with delight from his throat.

“How do you feel, son?” Joker asked him one day.

Tim’s electrified body answered with a totter back and forth. He snickered delightfully. If there was any sanity that still lingered inside of his tired body it was buried under a mess of confusion and misery that Joker and Harley had created. The boy got off the metal table and started to frolic around the room merrily.

“Hee hee hee,” he laughed uncontrollably. His eyes were frozen wide open and his mouth had been pulled back into a toxic smirk: a trademark Joker face.

Joker’s chest puffed it with pride and he clapped his hands together. “Oh, aren’t you the most adorable baby in the world. Harley!” he barked.

“Yes, Mr. J?” she sang cheerily.

“Our boy needs a little makeover,” he said, patting Tim on the head like a puppy.

“Coming up, Puddin’”, she said gleefully. Harley rummaged around inside of her duffel bag until she pulled out the makeup kit. She strapped Tim into a giant highchair but he didn’t protest in the least. Harley took out a large powder puff and started to smear white goo all over his cheeks.

“Tee hee, that tickles,” Tim giggled.

“See? I knew you’d like it,” she said happily. She continued to dab the makeup all over his face and when it was done, moved on to his arms and legs. Then Harley painted his lips a bright red and outlined his eyes with thick black eye liner.

“Puddin’, our baby’s aaaaall ready,” she announced.

“A Joker Junior, how charming,” he gloated. “Maybe we should call him Jay for short. Or J.J.? Hmm, Jason doesn’t do a thing for you, dear boy.”

The child began to kick his legs and laugh wildly while strapped in his seat. A very satisfied Joker began to run his bony fingers through the boy’s hair.

“Let see how the Dark Knight handles little Robin becoming my willing puppet,” Joker said under his breath.

“Did you say something, honey?” Harley piped up.

“Oh what the hell? Let everyone hear it! I said, lets see Batsy get a kick out of his own kid being our son.”

The insane laughter continued to ring out and fill Arkahm Asylum with horror, glee, despair, and chaos.

Joker picked up Robin’s old mask and started to glue it onto the dummy’s face. Once the Jack-in-the-box was complete he’d send the invitation for his archenemy to come.

“Come on, Sweetie,” Harly cooed to Tim. “Lets get you dressed for the party.” She jammed a pair of spats on his feet so tightly that they pinched his toes. Not that Tim could feel any pain at this point in the game, he just continued to grin with his eyeballs frozen wide open.

Harley began to lace his boots, all the while singing in a high honey sweet voice:

Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass”

Every time she laced the shoes, Harley pulled tighter and tighter on the strings:

“And if that looking glass gets broke

Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat.”

A-A-A

“So this is what he did to you. He hurt not just Timothy Drake, but Robin.” Raven concluded the mind-meld and looked back down at him. Her purple eyes began to water but only for a moment.

“Its all right, Tim Its all right.”

Raven bent over the boy until her face was up to his own. To the alarm of Barbara, she solemnly placed her mouth on top of Timothy’s own. The gesture would make a simple observer assume that Raven was only kissing the boy but Nightwing knew better.

Raven used her lips in an attempt to open the boy’s mouth. He moaned in protest but she only pushed forward with careful expertise. Raven wrapped her slim hands around his palms to insure that he was strong enough. Her tongue gently brushed against his lips. He moaned again and his hands closed around hers. She prodded his mouth to release itself to her.

Barbara began to panic. “What’s she doing?”

Bruce laid a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “I think I know.”

Timothy’s mouth released a soft sigh of relief. His mind and body gradually allowed to themselves to respond to Raven’s empathetic powers. With a calm breath, Raven inhaled through her mouth and began to absorb the toxins that plagued him. The vapors glowed with a white aura as they escaped from Tim’s mouth and into Raven’s own.

“But you’ll die,” his mind warned her.

The poisons can’t hurt me, she said back. It is your own inner demons that you are fighting.

A-A-A-A

FLASHBACK

The black and white documentary flickered sadly on the screen of the operations room. Bruce saw it all happening with his own eyes while Joker was enjoying himself up in the control room. Images of Robin being chained down, beaten, infused with chemicals, and more flashed before Bruce’s face.

The man was forced to watch his partner being made into a mockery while the Joker’s voice filled in as the narration, taunting his every move. He was filled with an anger unlike any other before. The blood was beating a death march in his ears.

“Yes, sad, isn’t it? But I don’t know what’s more pathetic. Your need to have all these kids frolicking around like rabbits or your own crying playboy act because your mom and dad got shot.”

Joker paused.

“To hell with it. I’ll laugh anyway!” More maniac sounds bounced all over the broken theatre. Bruce fixed his attention on a purple clad figure that was watching the show from above.

“And if that billy goat won’t pull

Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull.”

Batman fired his grappling hook and charged into the control room through the glass window. The white lights of the newsreel continued to flash against the Joker’s face when he toppled over. He was grabbed by his green scalp and hosted up.

“If you don’t like the movie, I’ve got slides,” he muttered in a daze.

With shouts of righteous fury, Batman shoved his skull into the rickety wall that dented like paper. He drove his fists into the man’s face, chest, jaws, and stomach, beating him up as if the Joker was nothing but a rag doll. He kicked, punched, and delivered every martial arts maneuver that flashed in his mind from cracking ribs to twisted arm sockets.

Never hurt the children. Never hurt the children.

“I’ll break you,” his voice growled like jagged glass scrapping out of his throat. The Joker just chuckled softly to himself.

“Bats, if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it years ago,” he said-as-a-matter of fact. “But I on the other hand . .”

Bruce had been burnt and blinded in his fury, unable to see the dagger that glinted in the Joker’s right hand. In a flash the blade had torn across his chest, ripping the symbol on his chest and piercing through to his skin. Bruce staggered back and nearly slipped on a pool of his own blood.

Then Joker plunged the knife into his knee, driving the weapon in as hard as he could. A painful gasp escaped Batman’s throat and he fell to the ground in defeat. Joker grabbed him by the lapels, only looking up once he saw the little purple clad clown coming towards him.

“Here ya go, sonny boy,” he said cheerily. Joker tossed a popgun to Tim who caught it in his hands. He gestured for the boy to make the Dark Knight his target. “Go on and make your old man proud.”

The boy smiled showing joyful white teeth and aimed the gun at Batman. This was gonna be fun, getting to blast the boring old guy’s head off. Then he’d have a good laugh when it was all over and they’d see his corpse at their feet. They were all crazy, all the people in the world. And that man in black was no different.

“Tim,” he begged weakly. A line of crimson blood was seeping out of his mouth and down his face.

“Hee hee hee . .” Tim continued to giggle hysterically when he put the gun to his face in the perfect aim.

“Go on, do it!” Joker ordered him. “Deliver the punchline. What are you waiting for?”

Something inside of Tim was saying that this wasn’t amusing at all. It was insignificant, tiny in size, yet it was still there. His arms were trembling not with joy, but with fear.

Your body wants to kill Batman. So does your mind.

Your heart?

“Tim,” the man groaned again. Words were faint but warm. They echoed in that last part of Tim that hadn’t gotten sucked into the Joker’s artificial rainbow world. They left his arms feeling weak and his chest feeling agonizingly tight with something odd.

Was it love?

“Hee hee hee . .” he snickered. The popgun went off allowing a harmless orange BANG flag to unfurl out of the barrel. Tim aimed it at the Batman’s heart. Blowing him to smithereens, wasn’t that the thrill he had anticipated?

“Tim . .” he begged sadly. “You are Robin . . a hero . .Robin . .”

A Robin, he called me a Robin.

NO!

Tim’s right eye closed and his face twisted. The little spark inside of him was screaming to do something, anything to keep from blowing his mentor’s head off. His neck cracked and burned but it managed to twist his focus slightly off balance, He forced that scrap of a conscience up and up out of the stupid laughing game and into the shaking hands.

Someone had to die: Batman or Joker.

The gun went off in a thundering explosion.

THUNK went the dart into Joker’s chest.

Batman gasped and released his adversary. The Joker hit a stack of crates, clutching his bleeding stomach. He lifted his head to see the flag pierced through his chest and a red stain slowly spreading through his jacket.

“That’s not funny,” he gasped for breath. Blood was filling his mouth and quickly spilling down his white face. He looked at Tim with horrified eyes. “That’s not . .”

In a chocked wheeze, he took his final breath and suddenly slumped backwards.

The Prince of Crime was dead.

“Hee hee hee . .” Tim continued to laugh.

I killed a man. Because it was kill him or my father.

Tim’s conscience was finally coming out. It was coming out of his mouth, his cheeks, and his eyes. Gasps of joy began to melt into gasps of worry, of fear, and of sadness.

I love my father

Tears of regret brimmed in Robin’s eyes. They started to spill over. The insane laughter was now coming out of his mouth in sobs of despair.

Batman is my father. I almost killed him.

Bruce staggered to his feet when Barbara had just ran in from the storm. She was breathing hard and her red hair was soaking wet from the rain.

“Harley’s bazooka exploded the rocks and she fell off the cliff. I tried to save her . .”

Her voice trailed off when she saw the Joker’s corpse draped over the boxes. Then she saw Tim shaking uncontrollably. The gun fell from his limp hand and clattered to the floor.

Barbara had run over to the boy and pulled him into her embrace. He looked like a horrible stiff wooden doll in his miniature purple suit. But under the white face paint and the green hair, she heard a familiar voice cracking and begging to get out. The sharp white teeth were pulled into a garish howl of fear. Bruce looked on when Robin sank to his knees.

“F-f-father,” he bawled aloud. “Father, h-h-help m-me.”

“And if that cart and bull turn over

Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover.”

A-A-A

Raven drew out this last memory from him yet kept her focus on his mind.

All fathers love their children, she told him.

“But he did something to me. Bruce told me NEVER to take a life, and I did.”

"You did it to protect him. You are afraid of becoming like your enemies, Timothy. Would they have resisted evil like you? Would they have wanted to become a hero like you?"

Tim drew in a breath. He remembered being rescued from the clutches of Two Face and brought to the Batcave. Seeing Nightwing’s last uniform in the cave made him feel sympathy. There was something wrong with seeing Robin’s costume so empty and lifeless in that crystal case.

Batman needed a partner as much as Gotham needed a Batman. Tim wanted to do something about it. So what if he wasn’t like Dick Grayson? Bruce let him put on the costume even if he wasn’t a trapeze artist or a super great detective.

Wasn’t that enough?

“And if that dog named Rover won’t bark

Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart.”

Tim’s body was still being sucked into the void like a bottomless vacuum. He felt too weak to fight any longer. Raven finally retracted her power from his thoughts out of the mind meld. She looked at Nightwing and only now was her face deep with worry and concern.

“The darkness is overwhelming. Little Robin’s wings have been clipped,” she said quietly.

“You’ve got to do something, do anything to save him!” Batgirl begged her.

“How much longer does he have?” Batman asked Raven.

“That depends on his will,” she said while starring at the floor.

That was enough for Dick Grayson to hear. Nightwing rushed to Tim’s body and fell to his knees. He grabbed Tim’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“Tim, I wanted you to squeeze my hand,” he ordered him. “One means no, two means yes. Can you hear me?”

Squeeze. Squeeze.

“Do you want to go on living?”

Squeeze.

“You still think you’re as bad the Joker, right?”

Squeeze. Squeeze.

“Its not true, Tim. You put on the Robin costume. You put on the mask,” Nightwing defended him. “And you saved Batman.”

Silence.

Then Nightwing whispered something faintly into Tim’s ear. Something so soft that not even Raven could hear it. But she knew the message was like a beacon of light that might be able to pierce down into Robin’s broken blackened heart.

“Robin, do you remember when I told you that story about . . the Tower?”

Squeeze. Squeeze.

“Well, guess what: its true. There really is a tower of kid superheroes. Kids like you and me that fight crime. Do you hear me, Robin? Its true!” His voice went up the slightest bit. “And I know because I’m their leader.”

“Tim, I want you to live. Bruce wants you to live.”

Silence.

Squeeze.

“Do you want to see that Tower?”

Squeeze. Squeeze.

“Tim, I swear to god that if you beat this, I’ll show you the Tower and my friends,” Nightwing promise him. “One day, you may even live in that Tower as well. And you’ll always be a hero. But you’ve got to be strong.”

“Please, Tim. Please be strong.”

The red stats bobbed up and down on the black screen. A tiny beeping sound continued to chirp in a calm routine. Tim’s mouth managed to move itself up into an actual small smile. Slowly, his tired blue eyes opened and looked at Dick. A tear glimmered on the edge of his eye.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Then Nightwing’s dark blue eyes pierced angrily at Robin’s neck where something nasty was intruding. His fingernail scraped at a tiny chip embedded in the boy’s skin until it came off.

He handed it to Bruce who turned the chip over in his fingers.

“A bug?” Barbara asked.

“Suggested brainwashing to finish up the job. He could implant his DNA into Tim’s body.” Bruce pushed the cowl back from his head revealing two blazing blue eyes and a head of black hair. “Looks like Joker wanted to pull off one last trick.”

He flung the chip the ground where it bounced twice. With that effort, the legendary Dark Knight lifted up his foot and crushed the chip under the heel of his boot, destroying the last of his adversary’s existence until it was ground into powder.

Barbara threw herself into Nightwing’s arms, buried her face in his shoulder, and cried to her heart’s content. Raven looked on quietly but satisfied.

“And if that horse and cart fall down

You’ll still be the sweetest baby in town.”

A-A-A-A

Tim woke up after two days. He was still very weak but he was certainly alive. That’s all he needed for now. They had moved him from the cave back into his room in Wayne Manor. He knew because he heard the soft chirping of birds outside the window instead of the shrill call from bats. A few rays of sunshine beamed down through the curtains and onto the bed.

Tim pulled the giant feather filled blanket up to his chin, suddenly feeling so tiny in the enormous bed. He felt something under his pillow and pulled it out. Tim found a bit of paper wrapped around a small round object. Upon unfolding it, a large gold band fell out and landed in his lap. His eyes scanned the long elegantly written words:

Let your courage guide you, for broken wings will heal in time.

May the light of Azar guide you and protect you, Timothy.

He didn’t have to ask who it was from.

Dick said he was only going to stay for a few days but it was already two weeks since he had come to Wayne Manor. The young man had taken it upon himself to be Tim’s closest supervisor through the gradual days of recovery. He even set up a cot so he could sleep in Tim’s room to keep an eye on him.

Dr. Leslie Thompkins, while always the busy doctor to Gotham’s neediest, was the only one they could trust with the deadly secret. She understood the situation and was willing to give Tim the three hours of extensive therapy that he needed every day. He was taking constant medication to keep his blood pressure under control and help him sleep at night.

Twice already Dick had to shake Tim up from nightmares when he’d wake up screaming and sobbing “Mockingbird” over and over again. He prodded the boy to eat more but Tim wouldn’t take more than a sparrow’s mouthful at a time. He had to rest every hour. His hands trembled a lot. Bruce got him a wheelchair when Tim realized he couldn’t stand on his feet without his knees knocking against each other.

And yet, life went on.

Dick broke the news to him one day when they had breakfast on the patio.

“Bruce wants you to give up the mask,” he said. “Forever.”

Tim dropped his spoon at once. He opened his mouth to protest but Dick waved a hand to usher him quiet.

“Joker did more harm to you in three weeks than what he could do to Batman in three years. After what happened, Bruce told me that he swore never to endanger another kid’s life again.”

“And what’d you say?” Tim asked.

Dick took a sip of his coffee. “I said even without Batman, we’d put on costumes and fight our enemies anyhow. I know I would’ve gone after my parents’ killer myself,” he said grimly. “But Bruce doesn’t buy it.”

“He hates the idea of Robin that much?” Tim said reluctantly.

“Just the opposite. He cares for Robin too much. It was tough enough for Bruce to lose his parents. I don’t think he could stand losing a son as well. He’d rather we never do this in the first place.”

Tim stirred his breakfast with a spoon. It was hot fresh oatmeal with warm milk and sprinkled with brown sugar, just the way Alfred knew he liked it. Now it tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

“Come on, just a few more bites,” Dick encouraged him.

Tim weakly nibbled at his oatmeal to please his friend. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked Dick.

The young man put his coffee cup back in his saucer and leaned forward on his elbows.

“I wanted to know what your choice was. Do you or don’t you want to go on being Robin?”

Tim hesitated before speaking. “Dr. Thompkins says it might take a year until I can even think about being restored . .”

“I’m not asking Leslie,” Dick interrupted him. “I’m asking you.”’

Tim swallowed hard and looked into Dick’s deep blue eyes.

“Part of me doesn’t want to put the mask on again because I’m scared,” his voice trembled.

“And what does the other part of you want?”

“To put the mask on . .because I’m scared.”

“So you think it’ll hide your fears?”

“No. I think it’s only right if I face my fears and fight back.”

“Unacceptable,” a deep voice broke in from behind them.

Dick got to his feet and Tim turned his head around. Bruce was standing in the doorway with his arms across his chest in disapproval.

“Tim, I forbid you to go on being Robin. That’s an order.”

“But, but,” he started to protest.

“You’ve lost 11 percent of your body weight. You’re in no condition to go on crime fighting.” Bruce shook his head. “And I don’t blame you for trying, Tim. You’ve done well, but I can’t ask any more from you.”

“Yes you can,” the boy insisted. “Gotham City needs Batman. And Batman needs Robin.”

“Where is that written in stone?” Bruce asked him.

Tim looked defeated for a moment. Then he started to frown.

“What happens if someone in the Gotham P.D. gets hurt? Does Commissioner Gordon put everyone else behind a desk or does he do something about it?” he asked fiercely.

“He fights back! Everyone puts on a uniform and fights back!” Tim’s voice was wavering but he kept talking.

“Tim, calm down. You’ll have hysterics if you don’t calm down,” Dick warned him. The boy ignored him and started to beat his small fists on the metal arms of his chair.

“Dick didn’t want to be Robin anymore but someone’s got to be the Boy Wonder. You guys saved my skin from Two Face, why? Because you felt sorry for me? Can’t I do any more?”

“I’ll do my therapy with Leslie and I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll monitor from the cave. I’ll do research with Barbara, I’ll even fix your batterangs while you’re on duty. Anything to keep me on the team, but I’m not going to stop!”

Tim slumped back in the wheelchair panting for breath. His pale face was marked with a bright red spot on each cheek. He saw Dick glance at Bruce cautiously.

“You’ve got to admit, Bruce, he’s got spunk,” Dick said.

“You’re the one who said no one can be a Boy Wonder forever,” Bruce reminded him.

“That’s just me being bigheaded,” Dick explained. “I work better with my team.”

The son of Thomas and Martha Wayne gazed at the teenagers that were searching for a trace of approval on his stern face. Bruce exhaled and his shoulders slumped.

“I can’t fight the both of you,” he said at last in defeat.

Tim’s eyes began to shine with liveliness for the first in a long time. “Does that mean you’ll let me go back to being Robin?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Bruce picked up his briefcase that was lying near the door. “It’s going to take a long hard time, Tim. I’ll have to think about it.” He closed the door behind him and left for work.

Dick put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “He’ll come around. I know.”

Tim smiled a little. “Raven saved me.” He handed the gold piece to Dick who turned it over on his palm.

“It’s a talisman from her belt. Pure Azarian gold,” Dick whistled in astonishment. He handed it back to Tim who slid the band into the deepest pocket of his jeans.

“Dick, what is she?”

“Who, Raven? She’s a not-so-wicked witch, though she used to believe it. And she didn’t save you, Tim. You saved yourself.”

His words left an unexpected good feeling inside of Tim. He looked down at the tiled floor in thought.

“Raven doesn’t like to play the guardian angel. She’d rather just help people along their own paths,” Dick added.

“How do you know?”

“Because she saved me from myself, once. Which reminds me . .”

Dick turned his back from the boy for a minute. He lightly touched a transmitter attached to his wrist. Dick bent over the device and started talking in a low voice.

“Ask Victor if you two can hold down the fort for a few more days. I’ve got some business in Gotham City. Notify me if the HIVE agents are back and I’ll be there.” Dick paused and added, “Yeah. Tell Kory I miss her.” Then he turned off the transmitter and turned back to Tim.

“I wanted to tell you that some things changed around here,” Tim admitted. “Like I heard you and Barbara used to be . .”

Dick nodded. “Right. Now she’s with Bruce. Was that it?”

Tim looked up with surprise.

Dick just shrugged. “Barbara and I had a long talk yesterday. The night that I threw off the mask of Robin, I said some wrong things. Nasty things. It’s been a while but we’re finally going to try and heal those wounds.”

“Do you still love her?”

Dick’s blue eyes flickered at the question. He hesitated before speaking. “I’d be lying if I said Babs didn’t matter to me. Even if we’re not in the same relationship now.”

“Who’s Kory?”

Dick flushed at once. Tim couldn’t resist thinking how weird it was to see his surrogate brother tug at his collar like a shy schoolboy from the question.

“What is this, a confession booth?”

“Yes.”

“She’s an alien.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“ . . . . .”

“Who’s Victor?”

“A Cyborg.”

“Cybernetic Organism?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Pull the other one,” Tim retorted.

Dick smiled inwardly. It was good to see Tim acting like his old self again.

“What’s the Tower like?” he piped up.

“Shaped like a giant T. Not enough bathrooms,” Dick said. “But at least everyone participates in combat training, I’ve made sure of that.”

“How?”

“Losers have to buy everyone ice cream.”

Tim thought the Tower sounded like a cool place to be.

Dick checked his watch. “I have to run a few errands. Will you be all right here for an hour?”

“I think so,” Tim said.

Dick handed him a wrist monitor. “Call me if you need me.” He rose from his seat and left the patio.

Tim was left starring at his nearly full bowl for about five minutes when he heard a sound. The door slammed and new two voices echoed from the long corridor inside the hallway.

“Outta the way, Conner.”

“You’re the one shoving me!”

Then came Alfred’s slightly disapproving tone. “May I ask what this intrusion is about, gentlemen?”

“Sorry, Jeeves. We’re here to see R-I mean, Tim. Heard he might need some company.”

“I don’t believe Master Timothy is up to having excitement right now. And that’s ‘Mr. Pennyworth’ to you.”

“Oops, Pennyworth. Man, Wayne sure packs a house! No wonder the Daily Planet wants the inside scoop.”

Tim started to turn his wheelchair around to investigate but he knocked against the table clumsily. The bowl of oatmeal rocked twice before falling off the table.

“I got it!”

Whippet quick, an arm had appeared out of nowhere and snatched the bowl before it landed on the ground.

“How’d you . .” Tim started to say. He saw the newcomer who had grabbed the bowl was right in front of him.

“Call me Lucky,” the teenager smiled at Tim. He was gangly with a lot of shaggy chocolate brown hair that fell into his face. His eyes were a dusky dark brown and flecked with gold that twinkled like an elf.

“Is that your name?” Tim asked.

“No. I’m Imp-I mean, my name’s Bart. Bart Allen.” He pointed a thumb to his chest proudly.

“You eating this?” he asked Tim, still holding the bowl in his cupped hands.

“Not anymore.”

“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” Bart plunked himself down comfortably into another chair. He grabbed a spare spoon and started shoveling oatmeal into his mouth.

“Finally, slowpoke Conner showed up,” he said.

“That’s Kent to you,” he warned from the doorway. The second teen was taller and stockier than Tim. Dressed in blue jeans and a leather jacket with his black hair slicked back, he looked like he was attempting to get a “punk” attitude across. But his face was still cute and perky like a Boy Scout and his china blue eyes peered out at the world with great interest.

“Your name is Kent?” Tim asked.

“You got a problem with that?” Conner Kent demanded.

“Not really, I was just wondering if you’re relate to Clark Kent.”

“He’s my cousin,” Conner said quickly. The gears in Tim’s mind began to turn over quickly. That really wasn’t possible. He knew who Clark Kent was.

Conner got the look in Tim’s sky blue eyes. He glanced at Bart who was blissfully enjoying Tim’s breakfast.

“I told you he was smart,” Bart insisted. He licked the back of the spoon with glee.

Just then, Alfred walked in with a rather flustered look on his face. “Mr. Allen, Mr. Kent, I must ask you to leave. Master Timothy is extremely ill and not in the least bit ready for excitement.”

Tim found himself breaking out into a smile. “Its ok, Alfred. I could use some company,” he said.

“Are you certain, young man?” He eyed Bart cautiously. “Since it seems that Mr. Allen is enjoying himself perhaps I should prepare some more breakfast.”

“Chocolate chip pancakes sound good,” Tim said. “Sounds good Conner?”

“Sure.”

Alfred raised both eyebrows in bewilderment. “Master Bruce would be pleased to know if this turns out to be your first agreeable meal in ten days.”

Nevertheless, he left the balcony and the boys in silence. Tim made sure that Alfred wasn’t in hearing range to scoot his chair in closer to the table.

“What are you guys doing here?” he asked.

Conner kicked another chair towards him and sat on it backwards with his arms resting on the head of the chair.

“You’re not dumb, Drake. I think you’ve been keeping tabs on guys like us for a while.” He rocked back and forth on the chair carelessly.

Tim blinked. “Well, sort of.”

Bart poured himself some milk to drink. “How much do you know?”

Tim thought for a minute before speaking. “You’d think we’re a bit outdated, Lightspeed,” he said at last to the pint sized kid. Bart coughed on his drink and put the glass back down.

“And you’re probably checking through all the walls here,” Tim said to Conner. The boy nearly fell off his chair in shock. He slapped a hand to his forehead.

“We’ve been drained, Bart,” he said in disbelief. “Lets face it, Tim—can I call you Tim?”

He nodded.

“Bart’s got the speed in his blood. And Kent’s just a code to keep me from flying off the handle. Then there’s you and the Bat.” Conner pointed to Tim with his index finger.

“We were thinking about something and thought you might want in,” Bart said eagerly.

“I, I’m not sure,” Tim said slowly. His fingers smoothed over the blanket on his lap.

“Lets face it. We’re superheroes. What good are we for if we’re not out there kicking ass?” Bart said while he waved a spoon around.

“Like the Three Musketeers.”

“Or a team.”

“Nightwing’s already got his own team,” Tim pointed out.

“Bingo. So who says we can’t do the same?” Bart asked.

The boys starred hard at Tim. He swallowed uneasily. “I’ve just gotten over something really hard. It’s going to take me a long time to get my strength back.”

Bart shrugged. “We got time, plenty of it. I just use it up way too fast,” he said cheerily.

“Besides, who on this freaking planet hasn’t got a wacked up past?” Connor said.

He leaned forward and for once now was looking very seriously at Tim, his cerulean eyes shining with animation.

“Are you in?” he asked.

Tim was still trembling inside. A part of him had died that night when he shot the Joker. Something haunting still lingered in the shadows of his mind after his demise in the asylum. He wondered if he could ever find the courage to go on doing what he wanted to do. He wasn’t a fully-grown man like Bruce or a team leader like Dick and not even a police specialist like Barbara.

But he was good at one thing, that was for sure. Tim knew how to hold out as long as he could and maybe put a little of his own self-power into other people. If he racked his brains long enough, Tim could think up of something right.

You have to face your own demons, Timothy.

Tim slid a hand into the pocket of his jeans where it closed over the gold band. He released a breath allowing a warm calmness to spread over him. He found himself wanting to grasp onto life and hold it in his hands, never to let go again.

He wasn’t Batman, Nightwing, or Batgirl.

He was Robin.

“I’m in,” he said bravely.

END OF PRELUDE