The Batcave - The Gauntlet
The lights in the cave were killed. It was pitch black.
"The objective is simple," Batman's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "Retrieve the thermal detonator from my belt. You have ten minutes. If I catch you, you fail. If you make a sound, you fail."
I stood by the computer console, wearing night-vision goggles, eating a scone. This was better than cable television.
Bruce was stalking through the stalagmites, silent as a grave. He was using thermal imaging to hunt the boy.
But Dick Grayson had learned his lessons well.
He wasn't on the ground.
High above, wrapped in the shadows of the ceiling, Dick was moving. He had coated his skin in cold mud from the underground river to hide his heat signature (a trick I taught him). He wasn't using a grapple; he was free-climbing the damp stone.
Bruce stopped, scanning the area. "Seven minutes left."
Dick dropped.
He didn't drop on Bruce. He dropped behind him, utilizing the noise of the waterfall to mask his landing.
Bruce spun around, sensing the air displacement. He threw a punch.
Dick didn't block. He slid under the punch, doing a split on the wet stone, and kicked Bruce's knee—not to break it, but to force a micro-stumble.
As Bruce corrected his balance, Dick leaped onto Bruce's shoulders, flipped backward, and vanished back into the dark.
"Time!" Dick shouted from the top of the giant penny.
The lights slammed on.
Bruce stood in the center of the cave, looking annoyed. "You didn't get the detonator."
"Check your belt," Dick grinned, dangling his legs off the copper coin.
Bruce looked down. The thermal detonator was gone. In its place was a half-eaten granola bar.
I clapped politely. "Bravo. A classic switch. 'The Magician's Pocket.' Your father would be proud."
Bruce sighed, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He was proud too.
"You passed," Bruce grunted. "Get down here. It's time."
The Suit Reveal
We gathered by the display cases. The central case held Bruce's suit. The case next to it was covered by a tarp.
"You're ready for the field," Bruce said seriously. "But you can't go out there in a hoodie. You need protection. You need to be a symbol."
He pulled the tarp off.
Dick's face fell.
Inside the case was a suit identical to Batman's. It was all black, heavily armored, with a black cape and a small, pointed cowl.
It was... "Bat-Boy."
"Kevlar-titanium weave," Bruce explained, missing Dick's disappointment entirely. "Fireproof. Insulated. It blends perfectly with the shadows."
Dick walked up to the glass. He touched it.
"It's... dark," Dick whispered.
"We work in the dark," Bruce said.
"No," Dick shook his head. He turned to look at Bruce. "You work in the dark, Bruce. That's your thing. You want them to be scared of you. You want to be the monster in the closet."
Dick looked at his hands.
"But I'm not a monster. And I don't want to hide. I want to be able to move. This suit... it looks like I'm going to a funeral."
Bruce frowned. "It's tactical. If they see you, they shoot you."
"If they see me," Dick countered, "it's because I want them to see me. I want to draw their fire so you can take them out. I'm the distraction. I'm the performer."
Bruce looked at the mini-Batman suit. Then he looked at Dick. He realized the boy was right. He wasn't raising a clone. He was raising a partner.
"I anticipated this," I interrupted, stepping forward.
I pressed a button on a remote I had pulled from my pocket.
A third display case rotated out from the wall.
"Master Bruce designs for survival," I said, walking over to the new case. "I design for aesthetics. And, of course, aerodynamics."
Inside the case was something entirely different.
It was a tunic of reinforced Kevlar, dyed a vibrant, circus red. The sleeves and leggings were a deep forest green, scaled like dragon skin for flexibility. The cape was shorter, lighter, and yellow—bright as the sun. And over the eyes, a simple domino mask.
It was a tribute. It was the Flying Graysons' colors, weaponized.
Dick gasped. He walked up to the glass, his eyes shining.
"It's... it's my mom's colors."
"With significant upgrades," I noted. "The red vest is triple-weave. It can stop a knife or a small-caliber bullet. The yellow cape is weighted with lead dust for stunning opponents, but light enough to glide. And the boots are silent."
"It's bright," Bruce critiqued, crossing his arms. "He'll be a walking target."
"Precisely," Dick said, a grin spreading across his face. "Look at the colors, Bruce. Red. Green. Yellow. They'll look at me. They'll be confused. They'll underestimate me."
Dick looked at the suit, and then at me.
"Thank you, Sebastian."
"Do not thank me yet. I utilized a polymer blend for the stitching that is... notoriously difficult to clean. If you get grape juice on that tunic, you are cleaning it yourself."
One Hour Later
Dick stood on the Batcomputer platform, fully suited up. He looked transformed. He wasn't a sad orphan anymore. He was a hero.
He did a backflip, landing perfectly in front of the mirror.
"I need a name," Dick said. "Bat-Boy is out. Nightwing? No, too serious."
He looked at the red chest of the tunic.
"My mom," Dick whispered. "She used to call me her little Robin. Because I was born on the first day of spring."
He looked up at Bruce.
"Robin."
Bruce looked at the boy—bright, hopeful, dangerous. The total opposite of the Bat.
"Robin," Bruce nodded. "It fits."
"The Dark Knight and Robin," I mused. "It has a certain... ring to it."
The alarm on the computer blared.
Alert: Silent Alarm Tripped. Gotham Museum of Antiquities.
Bruce turned to the screen. "Someone is bypassing the Egyptian wing security."
"Riddler?" Dick asked, bouncing on his toes.
"Possibly. Or Catwoman."
Bruce put on his cowl. The Batman was back.
"Suit up," Batman commanded. "Stay close. Follow my lead. And for the love of God, don't try to catch bullets."
"I won't catch them," Robin smirked, grabbing a grapple gun. "I'll dodge them."
They ran to the Batmobile.
I watched them go. The shadow and the light.
"They grow up so fast," I sighed, picking up the rejected 'Bat-Boy' suit. "What a waste of titanium. Perhaps I can repurpose this into a litter box enclosure for Sir Pounce. He does enjoy his privacy."
I turned off the lights in the cave, leaving only the distant roar of the Batmobile engine echoing in the dark.
The Dynamic Duo was born. And Gotham was about to get a lot more colorful.
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