So when I was little I was big into DC. JLA Hawkgirl was my first crush and I recently picked up a couple comics for nostalgia sake, and one of them inspired this particular thought thread. A sort of…”what-if” drabble.
(Not to worry, for my normal followers. This is still a TF blog. I’m currently working on the next installment of my “Of Moments in Life AU.” If nothing big happens in my own life it should be out soon.)
But anyway, I hope y’all enjoy!
The Rogues of Gotham didn’t hurt kids. Oh, they were villains, to be sure. None of them ever denied that. They took great pleasure in sowing fear and chaos, in beating down the Bat, in creating their own little Empires. But, as a whole, the Rogues didn’t hurt kids. (Joker did, but he didn’t count. The criminal underworld of Gotham knew he wasn’t really a Rogue, even if the media and the heroes lumped him in with them. No, Joker was a solo act, a free agent, and he didn’t fall under the same codes the Rogues had long ago agreed to follow to keep the peace amongst themselves.)
The Rogues didn’t hurt kids. They were villains, but they were not monsters. They never attacked targets with children inside, never used kids as hostages, never launched an deadly attack in spaces where kids would be. They even did their absolute best to make sure their attacks never left any children as orphans. Mr.Freeze had, once, killed an only mother and left her child without anyone to care for him. The next day, the child had been dropped in Metropolis with a trust fund built using the money of the corporate scum that Freeze had killed in the same attack that had killed his mother. Gothams foster and childcare system was horrible, after all, and he’d wanted the boy to grow up in a place that wouldn’t chew him up and spit him out.
Gotham’s Rogue Gallery lived by a collective creed, though their own MOs different based on the individual. And the number one rule of that creed was that children were not to be hurt, were not to be involved in their plans and their battles.
And then, Batman brought along Robin.
The first few weeks after the tiny boy appeared, the Rogues were in disarray. They had never hurt children before, but now Batman was bringing a child into the fight. A child they might have to hurt. But they knew they couldn’t. Poison Ivy was the first to come up with a plan. She’d created a jungle out of the city park, and Batman and Robin had come to stop her. She’d dealt with Batman, but then Robin had confronted her, and she’d faltered. She’d made her decision, and allowed the child to back her into a tree and capture her. She’d gone willingly, not wanting to endanger the boy who smiled like the sun.
When the Dynamic Duo had next fought Scarecrow, he’d used a new gas, one he’d specially concocted just for this purpose, to knock Robin into a peaceful, restful sleep, one he’d wake from in a few hours. He’d squirreled them way in a safe alcove, then fought the Bat. He’d escaped that night, and Robin had been unharmed.
From then on, the rest of the Rogues followed those examples, either knocking Robin out peacefully, or, when they that wasn’t possible, letting the boy take them down. They knew the sidekick’s “easy” victories confused the Bat, especially since he was never able to have the same ease in taking them down. But he never figured out their little secret.
And then their first Robin grew up, and flew the nest, and though they knew they’d miss the bright young boy, now a young man, they were glad they no longer had to hold back against the Bat.
So, of course, imagine their surprise when a new Robin made his way to the scene.
No one knew quite what to do, but just as before, the Rogues came to a collective agreement to do no harm to the boy. (And Poison Ivy knew who he was. She’d had a soft spot for all of Gotham’s street rats, always tried to keep an eye out for them and keep them safe since no one else would. And when she recognized the bright fire in the new Robin from the boy who’d once tried to steal her prize petunias, well…it wasn’t like anyone needed to know.)
But then, Joker had done the unthinkable. He’d killed Robin. Their Robin. The Robin who the Rogues had done their upmost to protect.
Batman never got a chance to take down the clown.
Joker was delivered to the steps of Arkham, bound in thorny vines, and laughing with hysterical terror. His extremities were blue from frostbite and the bones in one of his legs were shattered as if someone with super strength had crushed him. His shoulder was torn, like a crocodile had tried to take a bite out of him. Taped to his forehead was a joker playing card with lipstick. (And after that night, Harley Quinn was never seen at Joker’s side again).
Arkham didn’t know what to do, or what to make of it, but they knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Batman was wrapped up in grief, and didn’t think to make a connection between Joker’s arrival at Arkham and how no Robin of his had ever been hurt fighting the Rogues.
Only one person noticed the pattern, and the Rogues were stunned when, a few months later, a new Robin appeared in the Iceberg Lounge and asked them for help. Told them Batman hadn’t made him Robin, he’d gone out himself, because Batman was killing himself and Gotham needed Batman.
And, when it came from the mouth of such a small child, who was so earnest and desperate…
Well, how could they say no?
And that was it. Hope y’all liked it. It was short, but I wanted to get this idea down. Let me know what you think, feedback fuels me.