This series is dedicated to the memory of Kevin Conroy (1955-2022).

Season One: From Boys to Bats

In the far reaches of space, often deemed a quiet, empty place, was a surprisingly large commotion. Large enough to take up a whole planet, in fact. That's because one particular planet was on the brink of destruction. The futuristic civilization, populated by beings who could pass for humans, was crumbling fast, courtesy of the constant tremors that shook the world. With no resources or utilities left, civilians fled wherever they could, trying to track down their loved ones and make their last moments count, knowing the enemy had already destroyed all means of escape… well, almost all means.

Inside one of the towering, high-tech buildings, a couple made their way into one of the escape pod hangars with a baby in tow, frantically typing away at the keypad for the one remaining pod in hopes it could be used in time.

"Okay, all preparations are set. It is go time, my boy." the husband turned to his wife, holding their infant son tightly to her chest.

"Must we do this, Jor-El?" the woman asked with teary eyes. "Must we break up our family in its last moments?"

"I know it sounds painful, Lara, but we owe it all to society. To save the Kryptonian race from complete extinction, we must allow our son to survive. For he has endless potential."

Lara continued to sob as she cuddled her son, but this time Jor-El joined in on the group hug, even shedding a few tears himself. With some reluctance, he took the boy into his arms and settled him into the escape pod.

"Farewell, Kal-El. I know you will make us proud someday."

Before Kal-El could even react, the doors on the pod closed, barely providing him a glimpse of his departing parents before he was launched at high speed out of the Kryptonian atmosphere and to an unclear destination, his positioning preventing him from witnessing the complete annihilation of his birth planet.

While one family was broken apart, another one across the galaxy was growing. Located in the United States, Gotham was among the most crime-ridden cities on Earth, ruled by its criminal underworld with a government too corrupt to fight back. One exception was the wealthy Wayne family, whose mansion was isolated from the rest of the city. Within its halls, a formally dressed couple strutted about, flaunting their infant son like the hottest new toy on the market.

"Ah, little Brucie!" the mother cooed. "It's still so crazy that you're here after so many years of trying!"

"You've got that right, Martha," the father replied, kissing his wife's cheek. "I don't know about you, but I don't suppose later on, we could invest in another surrogate?"

"Now, now, Thomas, let's not rush things. We can take all the time we need preparing more heirs… and if we don't get around to that, then what's wrong with leaving our fortune to Alfred?"

Speaking of whom, a buff, tuxedo-clad butler in his late twenties with a black buzzcut, goatee, and mustache dashed into the hallway, hardly needing to catch his breath.

"Master Thomas, sir! Apologies for interrupting the jubilation, but something just crash-landed in the backyard!" he explained in a sophisticated Yorkshire accent. "It looks rather… otherworldly."

"Huh, surprised we didn't hear that," Martha replied.

"Eh, big house. Now show us!" Thomas ordered.

The trio made their way out back, finding a plume of smoke at the bottom of the back steps. The metallic capsule responsible had landed on the lawn nearby, charring some of the grass and stirring up some dirt, but miraculously not damaging anything else.

"What in the hell?!" the parents balked in unison, still holding their newborn.

"Wh-Where did this even come from? Is this another NASA experiment?" Thomas asked. "Why, I don't suppose we could sue."

Possessing more courage than the others, Alfred stepped over to the capsule, a tad startled upon seeing its cracked glass doors open on their own. A small cloud of steam escaped, revealing an infant boy who looked about as young as Bruce and just as healthy.

"It's a… baby," he remarked. "What are the odds?"

"You did just say you wanted more kids, right honey? Well, there you go," Martha said with slight trepidation in her voice.

"Amusing, but still, it's not wise to rule out my NASA theory. Perhaps they tried sending babies into space or something. Clearly, this one survived unharmed, but it most likely belongs to someone," Thomas reasoned. "All that said, I see no problem with taking him in until his parents arrive. In the meantime, Alfred, why not clean up this mess?"

"Right away, sir." Alfred handed the lightly fussing baby to his adoptive parents, but not before noticing the bizarre, foreign name across the front of his outfit. "Hmm, haven't the foggiest idea what those symbols mean…"

"Yes, I noticed those too. Maybe his parents know the answer, but so long as we're keeping him, we can name him what we like…" Martha examined the boy after Thomas took Bruce from her. "Eh, he sort of looks like a Clark to me."

"Well then, Clark it is." Thomas looked down at his son. "You hear that, Bruce? Looks like you've got yourself a brother, at least for now."

Ultimately, however, no one came for the mysterious boy, even after the Waynes took out an ad in a national newspaper. Of course, Thomas and Martha didn't mind this in the slightest, as they quickly grew to enjoy raising their two sons, even taking time out of their busy and extravagant schedules to be there for them. Through it all, Bruce and Clark weren't just the closest of brothers but the best of friends, having no memories of their first encounter and never once questioning whether they really were twins.

Sadly, their carefree lives were changed forever one fateful night, when Bruce and Clark were only eight years old. At the local theater downtown, the Wayne family had just wrapped up their umpteenth viewing of The Mark of Zorro and were about to make their exit.

"I swear, that movie never gets old, no matter how many times we see it!" Bruce chirped.

"No kidding! I don't suppose we could watch it again next Saturday, huh?" Clark asked, now sporting glasses.

"Now boys, it's nice to see you acquiring some good taste in cinema at such a young age, but I'm afraid we can't keep buying these private screenings every week," Thomas replied.

"Your father is right. It's not fair to the other people who want to see it," Martha added. "But there's nothing stopping us from watching it again once it goes to streaming."

"Aww man…" the boys groaned in unison.

Just before the family could leave the theater, Thomas brought out his arm to stop the others, seeing a crowd of people including several news vans gathered out front.

"Ugh, damn paparazzi. I'm in no mood to deal with them again," he grumbled.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. I'll open the side doors for you," said an attendant, beckoning them to follow him.

"Much obliged," Martha replied with a nod.

With that, the Waynes exited into a long, dimly-lit alleyway, avoiding detection by the masses, although they could still hear them at one end.

"Hmm, looks like we're taking a shortcut," Thomas said.

"But… our car's that way." Bruce pointed in the direction of the clamoring.

"Yes, but then we'd risk running into the press. I'll just have Alfred drive the car around to the other end, but we'd better move quickly. Once the crowd sees the car moving, they'll try to follow it."

Once the call was made, the family fast-walked down the alleyway, which remained quiet aside from their footsteps. A few bats briefly flew past the crew, prompting Bruce and Clark to yelp and cower for a bit, before everyone kept moving, a little on edge. And it didn't help that soon, two other pairs of footsteps joined theirs.

"Heh, well, well, well, if it ain't the prestigious Wayne family," one thug chuckled, sporting an average build and slicked-back hair beneath a flat cap. "Talk about scoring big time!"

"Now, what are a bunch of elites doing in a place like this?" the other guy asked, with a more muscular body and a short, low ponytail.

"Our business is none of your concern," Thomas replied as his wife and kids cowered a bit. "Now what do you ruffians want?"

"Oh, not much. Only… a little spending money." the skinny thug pulled out a handgun, pointing it right at Thomas. "Cost of living's pretty expensive around here. And people wonder why crime's so prevalent."

"Look, there is no need for such violence. I've got you covered-" Thomas pulled out his checkbook alongside a pen with the Wayne Industries logo on it.

"We don't want a check, wise-ass!" the ponytailed thug cracked his knuckles. "We want cash, you got that? If that doesn't work for you, then we could settle for some of the broad's jewelry."

"Or maybe some blood if you keep testing us. I'm sure ol' Falcone would pay us handsomely if he knew we killed the Waynes of all folks," his partner added. "He never called a hit job on you as far as we know, but still."

"Fine, fine, I'll-" Thomas was cut off as the buff man yanked at Martha's pearl necklace, breaking it off as the beads were strewn about the ground.

"Took too long, Tommy. Now step aside so we can get our loot, and we promise you four'll be on your way."

"Over my dead body!"

"Fine, we're flexible."

With that, the armed thug fired off his pistol right as Thomas stepped in front of his gasping wife, only for the bullet to pass right through the both of them, sending them keeling over backward with screams as their last vocalizations.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the alley, a police car was making its rounds. Its driver was stocky, with chestnut hair, square glasses, and a mustache, and in the backseat was a girl about the same age as Bruce and Clark, with flaming red shoulder-length hair.

"And that, Babs, is how a police scanner works," the cop explained, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Wow Dad, your job sounds so cool, stopping bad guys like that!" Barbara grinned. "When I grow up, I'm gonna be on the force just like you! I just know it!"

"Eh, maybe you shouldn't, sweetie. I'd hate to see you get hurt. Maybe you should stick with gymnastics or computer science. I'm sure you can major in both once you get to college, right?"

Before Barbara could object, the two were cut off by the same gunshot, right as they passed by Crime Alley. The cop pulled over and climbed out, readying his gun.

"Stay here," he ordered, though it didn't stop his daughter from sneaking up to the alley's entrance and peeking in.

"Mom! Dad! Noooo!" the two brothers immediately teared up, dropping to their knees as they inspected their parents' hemorrhaging bodies.

Clark in particular took off his glasses so he could wipe his eyes, but amidst his sadness, a wave of anger rushed over him. Glaring back at the cackling thugs, he felt a surge of warmth building up inside him. As he let loose a fierce shout, his watery eyes started to glow crimson red before a sudden laser blast erupted from each of them, which in his shock, he struggled to aim. One beam grazed the muscular thug right through the side of his face, taking out one of his eyes in a splash of blood as he screamed in agony, falling onto his back. The other thug managed to dodge the second beam, though it slightly singed his cap.

"Y-Y'know what? Forget the money! I ain't dealing with a freak like that! Come on!" he dropped his gun and yanked his partner up by his arm as the two scurried off into the night, just before Officer Gordon could spot them.

"What the hell's going on in here? Oh no…" Speaking of whom, the cop put his gun away upon noticing the crime scene, abandoned aside from the two shaken-up little boys. He immediately took out his communicator. "Bullock, call in an ambulance. Stat."

"O-Officer, I… we…" Bruce managed to choke out, looking up at the burly man before him.

"It's nothing you did, boys. Now come with me."

As soon as she saw her father turning towards her end of the alley, Barbara dashed back into the cop car and strapped in like nothing happened. At the same time, Alfred finally arrived on the scene.

"Dear god, I didn't think the paparazzi would care enough to swarm the Waynes' butler of all people." he rolled his eyes, before widening them at the sight of Bruce and Clark exiting Crime Alley with no sign of their parents in sight. "Oh, good heavens!"

He didn't hesitate to park the car, rushing over to pull both boys into a hug as he let them sob into his shoulders. At the same time, Officer Gordon came over to the broken family.

"They had a run-in down that alley, and while I couldn't find a suspect, whoever it was shot their parents down," he explained as Alfred gasped.

"No…"

"I already called an ambulance, but is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No need, I… I can take it all from here."

Soon came the news that everyone dreaded: Thomas and Martha Wayne were pronounced dead at the scene of the crime, no thanks to losing too much blood, and it was an event that shook the entire city to its core, even giving the criminals some pause. The two represented the ideal lifestyle and served as an inspiration for the less fortunate in Gotham. If even they weren't safe in their own hometown, then who was?

In the aftermath, Bruce and Clark were raised inside Wayne Manor with Alfred as their surrogate father, and while the pain of losing their parents lingered over the years, they remained a team and kept appearances as they grew up, making plenty of friends and even progressing through college together. Bruce did a double major in forensics and computer science, earning a master's in both and even earning a black belt in multiple martial arts on the side. Clark didn't have as much interest in college, but attended anyway in solidarity with his brother, and even earned a bachelor's in journalism for the hell of it.

But it wasn't just the dual deaths that got to the brothers. Clark's mysterious superpower was also something they continued to talk about amongst themselves, and over the years, it turned out he didn't just possess heat vision. As he grew up, he discovered that he also had superhuman speed, strength, and immense durability, which gave him quite a leg up whenever he played sports. On top of this, he had ice breath, x-ray vision, and could jump unusually high, which soon evolved into flight. Not wanting to send his surrogate son away for science, Alfred insisted that he keep these strange powers a secret from everyone but the family and avoid using them as much as possible. As if the poor young man didn't have enough to deal with.

One evening, the two brothers were in the sprawling dining room, feasting on a meal that Alfred had prepared as a complement to the intense workout they'd just finished: seared albacore tuna, a hearty mixed-green salad packed with berries and nuts, and turmeric linguine tossed in olive oil and parmesan.

"Honestly, Clark, I don't think I'll ever not be amused seeing you lift the treadmill for reps," Bruce remarked, taking a swig of water.

"Yeah, it's a pretty good way to blow off steam." Clark twirled some pasta on his fork. "Especially since I apparently can't do anything else with these powers."

"So Alfred's being paranoid again, what else is new? Look, to this day, I'm convinced that part of the reason we survived that shootout way back when is because of those laser eyes."

"Or those thugs just didn't have it in them to shoot kids."

"Okay, but you mean to tell me you've never once considered making use of them? Are you that ashamed that you have those unexplained gifts?" Bruce put some hot sauce on his fish.

"Of course not, I actually think they're kind of cool. And I'm sure I could moonlight as a superhero no problem, but-"

"You're scared of what Alfred would say? Heh, you're such a boy scout."

"Nope, just a man with a sense of morality."

"Well if you're so moral, then you should be all for trying to save this city. You're easily the only one around who stands a chance against the criminal underworld."

"Maybe I am…" Clark mused, chewing on his bite of salad.

"Just think about it, alright? You can put on a costume, I can help with the skills I've developed over the years, we can fund the entire operation, and you can protect Gotham with those powers of yours," Bruce explained. "Since our parents were killed, numerous other families have been broken apart by murderous thugs. I don't know about you, but if I could, I'd do anything within my capabilities to make sure no innocent little kid has to suffer like we did."

"Hmm, point taken. So where do we start?"

"The same way all rich guy endeavors start. With some phone calls…"

Several months later, a group of suit-clad thugs, many of whom armed, held a meeting inside a dockside warehouse, lit up mostly by the full moon above. Their boss, a taller, burlier man and the only one whose suit was pinstriped turned around to scan the room as he took a drag from his cigar. Everyone else was silent as they awaited his speech.

"Alright, pretty boy. We secured the venue and promised you the goods," he spoke in a coarse Brooklyn accent. "Now you better hold up your end of the bargain."

"Sure thing, Mr. Falcone," one thug replied, tossing a briefcase for the mob boss to catch in his hand.

Right after he did that, a large shadow briefly swept over the skylight, cueing a few men to frantically look up, only to not see anything. Carmine cracked the case open, revealing many stacks of cash bound by rubber bands. He didn't crack a smile but stoically nodded his approval. A snap of his fingers cued one of his sidekicks, a tall, lanky African-American with a hi-top fade, to step over with a briefcase of his own, tossing it back at the visitor.

"And here are your weapons, my good man," he said with an eerie grin, cackling a little. "Talk about a steal, right? Ah hahahaha!"

"Ah, cork it, Joe." Carmine elbowed his assistant. "Now, is there any more business I can interest you in?"

Before anything more could be said, a glowing red circular outline was etched into one end of the warehouse before the portion of the wall within it was destroyed, sending a slew of unconscious bodies flying inside and clouding the room in dust as several of the men coughed for a spell.

"Wh-What the hell?!"

As the dust began to clear, everyone could make out a large, bat-like silhouette slowly hovering through the gaping hole in the wall, trembling and readying their guns as it approached. Soon enough, the creature swept his scalloped cape to the side, revealing a much more benevolent humanoid form, complete with a grin straight off a cereal box. Its whole body was covered in light gray spandex from the neck down, save for the cerulean cape, boots, and briefs, the latter held up with a yellow belt. Covering its head was a hood-like cerulean mask with pointed ears on top, colored black around the eyes, and with only the lower half of his face exposed. Notably, a black symbol resembling a bat mid-flight adorned its chest, framed by a yellow oval.

"Sorry, gentlemen, but I'm afraid this business isn't up to code," the figure taunted.

"Tch, says you, ya man-child. Halloween ain't for another few months, y'know that, right Bat Man?" Carmine spat, ignoring Joseph cackling again beside him.

"Well hey, it's a free country, but even a free country has laws about crime."

"Heh, you don't look like the law to me. Now unless you wanna get hurt, you might wanna beat it. I'm on a schedule here." Carmine rolled his eyes.

The figure just floated in place, adopting a smirk before cracking his knuckles. That movement was all the thugs needed to start shooting him down, though the bullets just harmlessly bounced off his chest.

"That almost tickled. Now it's my turn," Batman replied, taking flight at blinding speed around the interior of the warehouse.

Dodging some more bullets, he used his ice breath to jam all the weapons, before fighting back with powerful jabs that sent the gunmen flying against the walls. Everyone else was corralled by shots from Batman's heat vision, carefully aimed so as to not harm them. Following that gruesome evening, it was decided that he would never kill his targets, feeling that it would make him no better than them. Some of the resulting rubble was then effortlessly lifted and piled around them to prevent escape, though no one seemed to notice Joseph managing to slip out, scurrying away to parts unknown with his boss' money bag in tow as he continued to laugh.

"Aww, crap! What kinda freak is this?!" Carmine jumped at the sight of the ravaged room before him. "What even are- n-nevermind. You may've taken out my men, but I always come prepared!"

He snapped his fingers again, prompting one last thug to leap out of the shadowy corner. He was a very tall, chiseled, Ghanaian man with long box braids, clad in a tiger-skin vest and pants with a bone necklace. Staring down Batman and baring his gold teeth, he put up his fists, adorned with brass knuckles.

"Bronze Tiger, you know what to do. Enjoy your little catfight, boys," Carmine chuckled, proceeding to flee through the hole in the wall.

Batman slowly landed on his feet on the ground, preparing to face off against the animalistic bodyguard. They traded jabs and kicks for a while, landing and whiffing several hits and appearing evenly matched. That is, until Bronze Tiger managed to brush Batman's cheek, stunning him long enough to sweep at his ankles and send him onto his back. He pounced onto him, nailing his gut with an elbow drop before preparing to punch his face. However, Batman countered this by melting his brass knuckles with his heat vision, burning his hands. He followed up by curling up and knocking Bronze Tiger away by thrusting both of his feet into his torso, sending him crashing through the skylight.

Meanwhile, outside the warehouse, Carmine was on the move, jogging as briskly as he could to escape the masked vigilante. However, he wasn't prepared for another one to land in his path. This one looked a lot more human and appeared to lack any unusual abilities, sporting red and yellow armor resembling a baseball tee, a silver R adorning his chest. A black utility belt adorned his waist, holding up his armored green pants and boots. Flowing down his back was a yellow cape that was black on the inside, and the only thing covering his stoic face was a black domino mask, matching his gel-swooped hair.

"Damn it, not another one," Carmine grumbled, backing up a little.

Before he could make another move, the stranger tossed a shuriken right at him, knocking him onto his back as blood spurted out of his nose. He then leaped on top, decking his face and torso with countless one and two-handed punches until he started to gasp and whimper.

"Your days of polluting this city are over, Falcone," the vigilante said in a gruff, deadpan tone.

"Heh heh, we'll see about that. I've got a good chunk of the GCPD on my payroll, and soon that chunk's gonna keep growing." Carmine forced a weak grin. "I'll be back out running these streets in no time."

"Nice confession." Cuffing the mob boss to a telephone pole, the vigilante kicked him in the groin once more, before uploading a sample of the words he'd just heard into a bat-shaped tablet, tapping the screen a few times before putting it away. "With any luck, the cops will weed out the traitors and start doing their jobs again."

All Carmine could do was grunt, only to scream again as Bronze Tiger's unconscious body crashed through the warehouse wall, flying toward him at high speed. His captor leaped high into the air and backflipped over him, landing on top of the human heap. Carmine struggled to escape, before giving in to his exhaustion and passing out. Not long until Batman flew through the new hole in the wall and approached the scene.

"First job well done, huh?" he asked. "I'm really digging the getup, but what's the R stand for?"

"Robin," his partner coldly answered. "They're creatures that don't look like much but are very versatile and hardy. Their sheer commonness in all sorts of environments is proof of how resilient they are. Plus, it matches the flying theme."

"Hmm, I like it."

However, his jubilation was short-lived when a few police cars pulled up, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Every cop climbed out and pointed their guns at the heroes, including Commissioner Gordon.

"Freeze!" he ordered.

"Now officers, let's not get too hasty. We're the good guys here-" Batman stepped ahead of Robin, attempting to reason with the cops only to get shot at. The bullets did no harm, but they did shut him up.

"Yeah, right. If you were on our side, you'd train for the force," a female cop replied in a Dominican accent.

"And you'd lose the lousy costumes too," a portly male cop added in a Queens dialect.

It didn't seem like there was an easy way out of this, until Robin suddenly tossed a smoke pellet at the ground, clouding the area as the cops all opened fire. He managed to find safety behind the bulletproof Batman, who took him onto his back and flew off into the night. The police managed to see the dynamic duo escaping, too flabbergasted at the sight to even bother shooting or chasing them down.

"Flying men dressed like bats? I think by now, I've seen it all in this damn city," Gordon grumbled, lowering his weapon. "Alright men, let's take in these crooks in the meantime. And check the warehouse for more bodies. Bullock, Montoya, I want you two on the bat case. Learn as much as you can about those two vigilantes and bring 'em in."

"You got it, boss." the New Yorker holstered his gun.

"Of course." the Dominican woman nodded.

Back to the dynamic duo, they continued their high-speed retreat, oblivious to anyone who might have spotted them. With Robin riding on his back in silence, Batman tapped a few buttons on one of his cerulean gauntlets, activating a voice call.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne. Good to know the communicator is working well." a suave, baritone voice could be heard on the other end.

"That it is, Lucius. And so is everything else. I can't thank you enough," Batman replied into his wrist. "Now to see if the Batcave entrance works going back in."

Right on cue, the two flew outside of the downtown district and along the winding road leading out of the city. Using his x-ray vision, Batman was able to locate a hidden, automatic door disguised among the rock face.

"Open," he said, prompting the entrance to reveal itself. He flew along the tucked-away tunnel, checking behind him to make sure the door shut, before passing through a waterfall and finally landing inside an expansive, multi-leveled cave. "Welp, there we have it. Take care, Lucius."

After hanging up, the two looked around, surveying the Batcave they had built in secret. Mechanical platforms were built into the stone walls, overlooking some water, while plenty of space existed off to the side, containing a lab, a medic table, and a workbench. Most notably, a massive computer that looked more advanced than most rested on a higher level. Unfortunately, the two men couldn't gawk for long when they were startled by a clearing of the throat. Looking up towards the elevator leading above ground, they could see Alfred, now fully gray-haired, scowling down at them with folded arms.

To Be Continued…