Young Justice 1. Chapter 1

It was the question that everyone wanted to know.

_Who were Batman and Robin?_

The two inseparable partners. The dynamic duo. The two constantly hunted down by CPS. Who were they _really?_

And why were they so guarded about their identities?

Sure, every superhero had their identities. Even regular civilians had multi-personalities. But while with other superheroes, it was relatively fair game in finding their associates and tracking down the trail. Batman and Robin, though? Every trail was a dead end. Why was it such a big deal, anyway? If Batman and Robin were found out, they had skills to protect themselves, didn't they?

What could be so terrible about revealing themselves?

Everyone wanted to know.

"We're standing here at the scene of the crime, a dozen or so armed men with guns holding up in the Gotham branch for Bank of America," spoke a freckle-faced red-haired woman, clutching the microphone and glancing behind her at the police guards lined up in front of said bank with near paranoia. It was clear that she was new at her job. "Uh, we don't know much about it yet, but we think there's at least… 7 hostages inside? There's definitely more men than hostages." She glanced back to the camera, frowning at the screen.

Before the angle could switch, she was suddenly jostled aside, and the cameraman cried out in alarm, the camera angle swiveling before righting again, as a frantic-eyed man appeared in the window. "They've got my daughter!" he screeched, attracting the attention of a police officer crouched behind her car. The woman in the badge ran over, attempting to soothe the father. "No, why aren't you doing anything?" he yelled as he was pushed off screen. "You can't just sit there! Help her! Help them! Do you even _try _to protect this city?"

The last line heard from the man as he was hurriedly shuffled away was a shouted: "The police are useless!"

The camera angle switched back to the red-headed woman, her eyes wide as she tried pushing her hair onto her shoulders again from having gotten it messed up when she was shoved.

"Things are _super _hectic down here," she added hurriedly.

On the actual scene of the event, rather than through the lenses of a camera, there was an entire crowd of people stuck behind the yellow tape of police regulation. It seemed most people were yelling, some were crying, and others were just trying to get to the front to see what was going on. A handful of police officers were waving their arms at the border, desperately trying to keep the crowd back.

But suddenly, the crowd practically _exploded. _Even the police paused in their regulating to see what the big deal was, looking behind their shoulders to spot the source of commotion. Some of the police officers near the cars had completely stopped what they were doing and were pointing to a place on the roof.

The crowd roared and some threw hats.

"It's Batman and Robin!" a person screeched, and the camera man began fumbling to turn his camera back on.

"I thought they only came out at night?" someone else yelled back.

"It's evening! Close enough!"

Indeed, it was. However, the details had been slightly off – there was only Robin. The Gothamites knew, though, that meant that the Bat was somewhere nearby, and didn't bother to correct themselves.

Robin hadn't planned on the crowd spotting him, as he was certain they were too busy with the situation on ground to bother with looking at the roof. Still, it wasn't the end of the world. He was careless simply because he didn't mind if the crowd spotted him or not. Actually, if Robin noted at the back of his mind, it helped a lot. Soon enough, the goons would catch wind of the bird on the roof, and be so focused on him that they would entirely neglect to look for Batman.

It was kind of funny, since it was no secret that they were almost always together. Oddly enough, though, that was just the way the human mind worked in tense situations. They went with the present problem first.

All Robin needed to do was secure a location for himself so that if something went wrong, he could get the hostages out safely. Such as, if a goon decided to grab one of them. Then Robin would jump in and take them by surprise.

Making sure that he had complete access of the window latch at the top of the skylight first, Robin jumped up. He put himself in a position where he could simply swirl around and easily slip into the bank and went to the highest leverage point of that area. High enough that everything but his boots were visible to the public down below.

The shouts rocketed in volume. Robin decided to entertain them. Posing unnecessarily like a block of wood was Superman's job.

He immediately began flexing comically, and when that earned a confused chorus of responses from the crowd, started miming. Robin couldn't stop himself from giggling insanely, though, when the shouts turned into, "God damned child!" and "This isn't a game!"

Robin knew more than almost anyone that it wasn't a game. But pretending it was, well, that was the only way he could survive. One could die of unhappiness just as much as they could die from a bullet, simply slower.

It kept him from thinking about it all.

Most of all, though, it felt incredibly good to _finally _be able to stick his tongue out at the woman in the CPS jacket who tried to coax him with, "Come down, Robin! We can help you, get you away from all this stress and danger!"

Hah, nope. A life without the familiar feel of adrenaline coursing through his body, the swell of pride every time he saved someone? What was life without that?

Robin skipped into a ballerina pose, gracefully turning, before slipping into a fluid bow, tipping an imaginary hat. Then, before anyone could stop him, he was gone, beckoned by a crackly voice in his ear.

/

Batman barely glanced at Robin before disappearing after a last goon who had been spotted by the tail end, attempting to vanish. And Robin barely glanced back.

Robin was too busy dealing with a man with a knife. It was Robin's own fault, really. He had underestimated the back-up plans of the men, based on the impression of shaky hands with guns that they gave. Apparently, they were quite a bit more comfortable with knives than with guns, and Robin barely managed to roll away as a knife slashed at the side of his head, no doubt having cut hair.

Fortunately, the goon was down and unconscious within seconds, and his knife was kicked away from him. Skilled with a knife, not too skilled with his feet. But as Robin was about to whirl away to track down Batman, he was distracted by the sight of a girl, sitting against the wall and crying. She was clutching her shoulder, and blood was seeping through her fingers.

"Were you shot or stabbed?" Robin demanded, though not unkindly, while rushing up to her. Her lip trembled, and Robin acknowledged the fact that though she was small, she had to be only slightly younger than Robin himself. She was crying too hard to talk, but her eyes flickered to the knife on the ground, and Robin was relieved to know the answer. She probably wasn't stabbed, either. Just slashed.

Without hesitating, Robin moved to lift the girl up. He let out a small groan, but she was too petite and thin to be a hefty challenge, and he soon had her on his shoulder. She cried out softly.

"Just hold on, I'll get you out," Robin said. The blinds of the bank were down. The police probably didn't even know that the goons were out.

He kicked open the doors to the bank, and his ears were immediately assaulted with the cries and screeches of what could only be frantic loved ones. The cries turned into actual sounds of crying, one voice prominent above all as Robin spotted a man running forward. Behind him was a woman, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, likely a hostage that had been one of the first that Robin had practically threw out. Tears were streaming down the man's face as he blatantly ignored Robin and held out his arms for his daughter. Robin was fine with the neglect, though. He was only happy to give the daughter over, arms out and ready to deposit her in the man's arms.

The man had secured her in his grip, but the girl's fingers remained stubbornly clasped to the sides of Robin's face. Confused, Robin could only stare at her awkwardly, but as he felt the familiar sensation of fabric moving across his nose, he gasped. Fortunately, quick thinking caused his reflexes to kick into action, and he dropped down as if he had suddenly gained fifty pounds of gravity on his shoulders. His palms went to his eyes and his face went to the concrete as he knelt, but it was too late.

The mask was off.

It occurred to Robin then that the knife from earlier must have slashed it, and it had already begun to fray and shift off when the girl had grabbed it. But through his fingers, Robin could see the mask lying at the man's feet, and it was with a growing dread and sense of horror that he froze. He could feel his gut drop. His mind went blank. Robin felt as if he could see right then his very life crumbling before his eyes.

There was no way that Robin could escape without showing who he was.

The man backed away. The front lines of the crowds went silent, and though the back remained obnoxious and unaware, the change was drastic enough to make Robin want to screech in frustration. He was stuck. Completely and utterly stuck.

_Where was Batman?_

Finishing up the goon, that was where. Meaning he had no idea what was going on with Robin right at that second.

But wait, Robin had his comm.

-Except, he couldn't take a single hand away from his face to turn it on. It was too risky. Even a peek could give an idea as to who he was to anyone close enough to see – and it was all being caught on camera. The stress was suffocating. He was so close, yet so far.

Then, the front row began to shout again.

"Stand up!" one person screamed. "Stand up and show your face!"

And then there was a woman in front of him. He could tell from the shadow, and her knees jutted awkwardly into his field of vision when she knelt. She flashed her CPS batch under his nose and bent down to speak in his ear. He immediately tensed and pressed in closer to himself, his fingers squeezing at his face. "Robin, no one has to know who you are. If you'll just come with me, then we can figure out what to—"

"Move it!" a man's voice bellowed nearby, interrupting the woman's monologue. She straightened up.

"Excuse me, Detective Bullock," she said, sounding as if she were fighting to hold back a snarl. "My name is Miranda Grove, I'm with Child Protective Services—"

"I know who y'are," Detective Bullock growled, and Robin felt a rough, calloused hand grasp tightly at his shoulder. She cried indignantly at him for his treatment.

"Do not manhandle that child!" she demanded.

"I'm not manhandling him," Detective Bullock retorted. "Especially not anywhere near how much this freak has manhandled others." He directed his attention to Robin. "Who are you?" he boomed. "Who are you and how did the Bat freak convince you to get into _this?" _Robin would have made a snarky comment if he had any ounce of self-confidence left about him. It was all yanked away by the fact that his life would be destroyed if anyone managed to lift up his head. "Was it blackmail? Is he your father? Did—"

"Batman did not blackmail me!" Robin screeched, outraged at the accusation.

"So he's your father, then?" Bullock continued.

"No—"Robin tried to protest, until he felt calloused fingers grip his chin. He promptly curled his head and bit the fingers.

"Ouch!" Bullock yelped, drawing back his hand.

"Bullock!" yelled a second, booming voice. Robin was relieved to finally recognise someone, and he felt that if his heart wasn't racing a million miles an hour, he might have relaxed at the sound of it.

"Gordon," Bullock muttered, exasperated. Commissioner Jim Gordon drew to a huffing stop beside Bullock.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded in a voice that screamed authority.

"Catching a criminal," Bullock spat back.

"Robin?" Gordon responded incredulously. "You're saying that Robin is a criminal?"

"A vigilante who isn't afraid to go against the law to do what he wants. Trespassing, property damage, public disturbance, dressing in tights and running around at night like a clown, beating up whoever he feels needs to get beat up. That isn't a criminal?" Bullock ranted.

Gordon looked like he wanted to say something, Robin could tell from the way he stepped forward as if preparing for a fight, but he must have thought better of it. Instead, he stepped back and composed himself. "He's just a child, Bullock," he said lowly.

"Yeah? So he can go to juvie," spat Bullock, yanking at Robin's arm. Robin fought with every muscle in his body so that he wouldn't budge. "How old are y'anyway, kid?" Bullock asked. Robin didn't answer. "Come on, we're going to find out who you are soon enough. What does it matter?" When Robin still refused to speak, Bullock muttered curses to himself and tried physically prying Robin's fingers off of his face. Robin knew that he could use a lot more force, but with every camera trained on him, it was wise for Bullock to not do anything that could pass off as mistreatment – no matter what his views on vigilantes of any age were.

"Bullock," Gordon said again, commanding for Bullock's attention. Bullock gave it with a few more curses said under his breath. "Not here."

When Bullock tried to ignore him, Gordon placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed warningly. "Let's find out who he is at the station," he said calmly. "It'll be safer. Don't forget that this is _Robin, _Detective. There are people out there who want to _kill him."_

Bullock froze, and then Robin felt the pressure on his fingers release as the man stood back up and unnecessarily brushed off his jacket. He cleared his throat. "Very well then," he rumbled, though Robin could still feel his glare. "Give him something to cover his face with and put him in the car."

When Gordon began to move, Bullock continued. "The _police c_ar." Then, without another word, he stormed away, though Robin had no doubt that he was paying attention to Robin's every move.

"I thought I was his superior?" Robin heard Gordon snort to himself as he turned around to speak to someone else, probably an officer, and then Robin felt a white rag being nudged under his nose. Robin instantly latched onto it and pressed it against his face. Gordon bent down lower, however, in order to speak into Robin's ear. "Where's Batman?"

Robin was eternally grateful that Gordon was on his side. It seemed that Batman really did know where to make friends. Gordon was the only one there that Robin was sure he could trust to stick with him. Gordon didn't push for Robin's identity, and Robin knew that he wasn't allowed to give it to the man – no matter how loyal Gordon may be, he was loyal to his family and job first. Since Robin really had nothing to do with his family, it fell to his job. If Gordon knew Robin's identity and there came a time that his job required him to find Robin, there would be nothing that either of them would be able to do about it.

Which was probably why Gordon didn't _want _to know who Robin was – and was most likely the only person who felt that way.

"He ran after the baddies," Robin jested, though his heart really wasn't into the faux good mood. Gordon sighed.

"Alright," he said, putting a hand on Robin's back. "Get up, son."

Slowly, Robin began to straighten up, putting more and more pressure on the rag that was the only thing keeping his two lives together. Everything was dependent on that single rag, and it made Robin feel weak and defenceless.

People were still screaming at him.

"Robin! Robin!" yelled reporters.

"Robin, how old are you?"

"Why do you do what you do?"

"Do you know who Batman is?"

"Is Batman your father?"

"Where do you get all of your gadgets?"

"Did Batman train you?"

"When are you going to tell us who you are?"

And as Robin was slowly guided into the police car, Gordon's voice telling him to watch his head, his ears swarming with questions and noise and sound and _dread, _a nervous, redheaded woman turned to her camera. Her microphone was gripped tightly with both hands.

"It seems like our biggest question might be answered soon, folks," she declared. "_Who are Batman and Robin?"_

* * *

**This might be a two-shot, might not. Probably will.**

**I was wondering why I couldn't find a single fic where the public finds out Robin's identity?**

**I mean, they didn't in here because I didn't feel like making this a huge multi-chapter fic. But I might one day.**

**Please give me your thoughts and reviews! It will spur me on to write the next chapter (or else I'll just kind of sulk and think, "Ah, well, I have this other fic that more people are on board for, so I might as well write that one-" and then completely forget about this).**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Chapter 2

Robin was thrust into an office. He could tell because the harsh lighting made his rag translucent, and the sound of papers being shuffled and a chair being swivelled was clear as day to his ears.

Surely, an office was the last place that Robin thought he would be taken to. An interrogation room would have been more fitting. In fact, they had even allowed him the freedom to keep the rag on his face by handcuffing his hands in such a position. Detective Bullock had been quick to voice his unsavoury opinion on the matter, but Commissioner Gordon easily shot him down with simple authority.

"Alright, spill it," Detective Bullocks demanded gruffly as he marched into the room. The police officers who had guided Robin suddenly let go and began to walk away. "Stay," Bullock added to the officers. "I need guards."

"No, you don't," spoke another voice. Commissioner Gordon. There was the sound of a door softly closing. "What is he going to do while he has to keep that rag on his face? He can't even see the room to map an escape route."

"And what's going to stop him from having a go at me so that I can't reveal his identity? Huh?" Bullock challenged.

"His morals and purpose," Gordon spat back.

There was a contemplating silence. "You're with the men in tights, aren't you?" spoke Bullock suddenly, voice piercing through the air.

"What?" responded the Commissioner in a nearly appalled tone.

"You keep defending him over me," challenged the Detective.

There was a long sigh, one that Robin assumed was from the Commissioner. "I'm on the side of the law, Detective, and the law doesn't require two armed guards for a pre-teen boy. Weren't you the one who wanted him in your personal office to begin with?"

"Teenager," Robin piped in before he could stop even himself, his voice muffled by the rag.

"What?" Bullock snapped suddenly, peering uncomfortably close at Robin. "What did you say?"

"Teenager," Gordon replied.

Bullock growled at his boss. "I wasn't asking you," he said, turning back to Robin. "Teenager, eh? You look awfully young. How old are you, then? 13? 14?"

"15," Robin bit back. That was a lie, and he couldn't even remotely pass as 15, but it would be stupid to give the man his real age. It was stupid to begin with to tell him he was a teenager. Robin could have easily passed off as a pre-teen! Stupid pride.

"15," Bullock said musingly. "Well, I'll just have to see if you're telling the truth when I search you up in the system, eh?" Robin heard the footsteps grow closer.

"Wait," Gordon said suddenly, halting the footsteps. There was a loud, exasperated groan from the Detective.

"What is it now?" he practically yelled at his superior, before meekly getting quieter in his actions. Robin assumed that Gordon had given him some sort of expressive warning.

"Cameras," Gordon replied.

"Yeah?" snapped Bullock. "What of them?"

"Robin has dangerous enemies," Gordon elaborated. "They must be trying to get a front row seat at the revealing of his identity. Believe it or not, Detective, it isn't that hard for professional hackers to get into a camera system."

"You've got to be kidding me," Bullock deadpanned incredulously. "I have to sit here with this kid staying unmasked or un-ragged or whatever you want to call it while you go deactivate the cameras? Does there have to be a damn procedure for me to yank a piece of fabric away?"

"Welcome to the job," Gordon answered, and Robin listened as his footsteps began to pad away again. The door creaked open. "If you so much as touch Robin and I know of it in the time that it takes for me to come back, consider yourself unemployed."

"You don't have that kind of power!" Bullock yelled after him, but the Commissioner had already left the room.

Instead of chasing after Gordon and raising hell, Bullock seemed to consider his situation for a moment. Finally, he decided to stay put, opting to sit on the edge of his desk instead. He looked at Robin. "You're a piece of shit, you know that?" he commented rudely.

"So I've been told," Robin replied monotonously. He decided to centre all of his divided attention on conversation with the bane of his identities. Perhaps he could possibly act like none of it bothered him at all. Act like he had nothing to hide.

Who was he kidding? Robin had everything to hide.

The young hero was only stared at, until finally: "Why do you always have to interfere with our jobs?" It sounded more as if Bullock was ranting instead of asking, though. "Can't you just leave the police work to the police and go focus on your damn Algebra homework or something?"

Robin didn't have any Algebra homework. He had Algebra 2 homework, but he finished that in class. It was kind of mandatory if he was going to be spending his evenings out on the streets. Except, the Detective didn't need to know that. "We would," Robin opted for saying instead. "If the police would do said job."

"We do!" Bullock protested loudly. "We do the best we can!"

"And it isn't good enough," Robin replied back smoothly. "Do you want to know why?" Bullock didn't ask why. Robin continued anyway. "Because if you need information, you have to follow a million step set of rules following a court date following a court order following who-knows-what and how many permissions from the third, then second, then first chain of command. And if you get it any way else? Well, apparently, that doesn't make it information. It doesn't count," Robin elaborated. "You know why we get the job done before you get started? Because we can show up in our fancy dancy little masks and do a little dance and they pee their pants, cry tears of info, and run away."

It was so silent that Robin swore he would be able to hear a pin drop.

On carpet.

"That's not—"Bullock started, sounding slightly flustered. "That's not justice at all!"

"Huh," Robin muttered. "So fear is supposed to be unfair? We usually don't even have to touch them. They scare themselves."

"You're monsters," Bullock practically chanted, convinced. "Both of you. You may have been influenced or forced or tricked, but no matter, it's you now."

"I save lives," Robin defended. "No guns, no-kill policy. I save lives and have morals. Do monsters have morals? No, they don't even have brains. In fact, they usually eat brains and are featured on popular TV shows."

There was a frustrated huff of air and Bullock shuffled in place. "You have such a child's view of monster."

"And you have such a childish view of justice and injustice," Robin retorted. "It's not just black and white."

"And I take it that you're the grey?" Bullock spat.

"All 50 shades," Robin sung back.

"Stop joking!" the Detective suddenly roared, finally standing back up and beginning to pace. "You're getting on my nerves."

Exactly. Getting on people's nerves was exactly what Robin did best, and hearing those words spoken gave him the boost of confidence that he had been missing. "Aw, I'm flattered," he cackled.

"And stop cackling!" Bullock demanded again. "It's creepy!"

"It's my signature," snickered Robin. "I'll write it down for you in pen if you'd like. HE-HE-HE-HE-HE, kind of like my gender nobody gets right over phone calls. Add a few HA's for bonus points. HO's if it's Christmas, or you're single and traded all of your checks for one dollar bills."

Bullock snarled, frustrated to the extent that he didn't know what exactly to do.

"Oo, he unleashed Snarl! Level Up! Fight!"

"Shut up!"

"That's disrespectful, mister."

"_I'm _the disrespectful one?"

"Yes, now go to your room."

"I _am _in my room! My office! With you, _handcuffed."_

"TMI, I didn't know you played that way."

"Play-? I'm not playing anything. This isn't a damn game!"

"Never said it was, but it's still pretty fun."

"It's not fun for me."

"Aw, okay, then it's just plain funny."

Bullock stopped stiffly beside Robin's shoulder, looming towards the uncomfortable range again. But that time was different. That time, Robin had his witty, smartass-ness about him again. He smirked into his rag, pressing it closer to himself as he could feel the Detective's proximity.

Footsteps approached the door.

The door opened again.

"Detective—"Gordon's voice spoke again, before halting in alarm.

Robin had perked up naturally when he had heard Gordon's voice, and as temperamental as Detective Bullock was, he wasn't entirely stupid.

He yanked the cloth from Robin's grip.

Robin didn't even register the door immediately being slammed shut. All he could do was stare in horror at his empty hands, and was too slow to react when Bullock thrust at the back of the swivel chair he was on so that Robin turned and Bullock roughly grabbed Robin's hair.

Mouth agape, Robin's blue eyes stared back at Bullock's anticipating, excited face.

Excited, and then absolutely mortified face. It took him a moment, but then he stumbled back in horror.

Robin's heart beat a mile a minute. He felt like he couldn't breathe right, and his ears were ringing. His eyes were sharp but his mind was unfocused and his stomach was somewhere at his toes.

It took Bullock a while to collect his words. "Ri-ichard-"he stuttered, before clearing his throat. "Richard…Grayson. Grayson. Richard Grayson…?" said the Detective, absolutely bewildered.

Richard couldn't blame him. He was, too.

Then, Bullock's eyes widened as something registered to him. Something must have clicked. His eyes darted all over Richard's face. "If you're—"he started. "Bruce Wayne is—"

The lights flickered, then burnt out. There was a split second of complete stillness, and then the curtains were waving like flags as the glass holding the wind back shattered. Bullock yelped and fell onto the ground.

Before Richard knew it, he was on a roof.

He watched in the chill night air, feeling utterly bare without his mask or his utility belt and useless with his hands locked in front of him, as the lights flickered back on. Then started the outraged screeching. From the angle he was at, when Richard peered just hard enough, he was able to see the flaps of Jim Gordon's coat as he was practically assaulted by a frantic Detective Bullock. He had just entered – meaning he had not seen at all what had happened in the room.

"Robin—Richard!' Bullock screeched. "Richard and Robin! Batman!" he rambled. He grabbed Gordon's coat. _"Bruce Wayne is Batman!"_

Gordon slowly pried Bullock's fingers off of his coat. "You need to calm down, Detective."

"Why aren't you excited?" Bullock screamed. "I know who Batman is now! Bruce Wayne! Bruce Wayne is Batman!"

"That's a very loud accusation to make against the city's biggest funder. A very dangerous one for the city, too—"

"No, I'm certain!" Bullock insisted. "I'm 101% completely sure! I saw Robin with my own eyes – he's the Grayson kid! Richard Grayson!"

"You're going to need some sort of evidence—"

"You!' Bullock interrupted. He latched onto Gordon and began pulling him towards the door in order to leave the office. "You're my evidence. You're my eye-witness!"

"No," Gordon corrected, yanking his jacket back. "I'm not. I wasn't there."

That took a moment to sit in. "You weren't—"

"No. I told you to follow me and left, but you must not have heard," Gordon said smoothly.

Bullock took a deep breath. "That's alright, the cameras—"

They paused and stared at each other.

Richard cackled. He was still cackling, even while he had to get slung over Bruce Wayne's shoulder and put his dignity to the test as the billionaire swung from roof top to roof top, sporting a black mask with peculiarly pointed ears.

Richard couldn't wait to laugh about it over a nice cup of a certain Mr. Pennyworth's famous hot chocolate. It was just that funny because, in the end, after all the stress was said and done, there was no proof to be had anyway.

* * *

**Oh my GOD.**

**The response to the first chapter was INSANE. I literally did not expect 11 reviews for a 3,000 word first chapter (including the three spam ones, but those were just amusing to read, and that's still freaking 9 reviews). I've never gotten that much before for that amount of writing.**

**I logged on and did a little happy dance because of it and it made my entire day. Thank you so much everyone, I am SO happy you liked it!**

**Hopefully the ending was satisfactory. A bit short, but it was super late and I didn't have enough patience to wait for it to be betaed. **

**I might post a teensy tinsy little epilogue.**

**Read and review, please! What did you think? Until next time, you wonderful folks!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Commissioner!" a light hearted voice called, a smile gracing the owner's face. They came to a stop in front of Jim Gordon, slightly panting, laughing, and handed the papers in their hand to him. Gordon couldn't help but laugh himself at the state the man had left himself in, hair ruffled and tie swung over his shoulder.

"Bruce," Jim greeted warmly. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, you wouldn't _believe!" _Bruce Wayne exclaimed. "So, I was just going up to my office, right? And-"

"And he got lost. In his own building," another voice chirped, and Bruce's shoulders shook good naturedly as he reached over and ruffled the hair of his shorter companion.

"Well, that's one way to cut my story off short," Bruce said with a pout.

Jim smiled, rolling his eyes, and looked down to greet the other member of the duo. "It's good to see you again, Dick. You haven't been around lately."

"He's too busy stuck in his room playing video games," Bruce groaned. "I can't do anything fun with this kid. And then when he does actually do something, I can't join. Pranking high members of Gothamite society? Come on, I want to do that, too! But noo, I just have to stand there and take all the blame."

"I'm living it up while I can," Dick piped in, and Jim chuckled, ruffling Dick's hair as well.

"Well, as far as I can tell he's rather well mannered," Jim replied.

"That's just it!" Bruce said, raising his arms exasperatedly. "As far as _you can tell! _The brat just gets away with everything."

"You're welcome," Dick purred, winking at the commissioner.

Jim smiled and nodded. "At least he seems to keep things interesting." He finally glanced down at the papers in his hands, flipping the pages slowly as his eyes scanned over the small text. "Another charity gala?"

"You know Bruce, can't keep money in his pockets," Dick said, earning a playful shove on the shoulder.

"It's not like I need all of it as much as these events. I was wondering if I could up the security a bit? Able to spare anymore officers?" Bruce asked anxiously.

Gordon's eyebrow rose. "Are you expecting company?" From Bruce's side, Dick waved at someone Gordon couldn't see. With his friend looking at him so imploringly, though, Gordon found that he couldn't break eye contact enough to have his sights wander to Dick. He hummed thoughtfully, thinking about the chances that he could offer more security for the event. "The GCPD isn't in charge of personal security, you know that, Bruce," Gordon warned.

"Completely. But you already know I'm not yanking people off your team. I was just wondering if you could tell some of your guys to keep an eye on the street? We're moving it to a building in the city this time and I'm kinda nervous," Bruce elaborated.

"Gordon!"

"Oh dear God," Gordon muttered under his breath. Bruce shot him a bewildered expression as Detective Bullocks thundered over. The man straightened to a stop in front of Bruce, shooting him the nastiest expression he seemed to be able to muster. Bruce blinked at him blankly.

"_What," _Bullocks hissed, "is _he _doing here?"

"You know perfectly well that Mr. Wayne is welcome in the building of the _police department, _Detective," Gordon stated calmly.

"Yeah? What's he doin', reportin' someone? He's never reported someone before, despite being such a _popular target. _I don'know, maybe it's because he jumps outta his window every night to go take care of them _himself," _Bullocks spat.

"Jim? What's he implying?" Bruce spoke up, bemused.

"And why else does, every time somethin' goes wrong at one of his pretty little parties, Batman shows up not long after and Bruce just happens to dis'pear?" Bullocks continued.

"Detective," Gordon barked warningly.

"Are you trying to say that _I'm _a vigilante?" Bruce asked, aghast. "How in the world did you come up with _that_ idea?"

Peculiarly enough, Bullocks turned his attention to the small figure of Dick Grayson instead of immediately answering. He glared daggers at the boy, but the boy seemed unphased. Instead, Dick turned to his guardian. "Bruce?" he asked sweetly.

"Hmm?" Bruce hummed, glancing at his ward.

"Are you Batman?"

Bruce snorted. "If I was Batman, my lady friends would get a pretty interesting surprise at night, if you know what I mean," he winked at Gordon. "So no, definitely not."

"Aw man," Dick whined. "I wish you were Batman, that would be so _cool. _Though Alfred would probably throw a tantrum if you brought home a lot of explosive gadgets."

Bullocks was still glaring at Dick.

Bruce laughed.

"Yeah? If you're not Batman, then how come y'never ask for personal protection? You've only got a few guards and nobody else, not enough at all for any high status event!" Bullocks accused.

Gordon finally turned to Bullocks, his posture stiff and imposing. "Then explain to me, Detective, why Bruce Wayne was just asking for extra protection from _our _police force, even though we aren't for _hire?"_

Bullocks gaped. There was an awkward silence, until Bruce suddenly laughed and shrugged.

"Well, this was entertaining. I can't say spandex is much my style, though. Sorry to disappoint," he gave Bullocks an apologetic smile. "Anyway, Jim, you think you could call me back later? I promised Dick we'd go out for ice cream and I've got to be at a meeting in a bit."

"Of course," Gordon agreed with a friendly nod.

"Bye!" Bruce called with a wave. Dick stood there for a moment longer.

"It was nice seeing you again, Commissioner," Dick said kindly. "And it's cool to meet you, too, Detective!" Gordon turned to shoot Bullock a hard glare, preventing him from saying anything, but while he was distracted, Dick promptly stuck out his tongue at Bullock and ran to catch up with Bruce.

"I-I-but-" Bullock stammered incredulously.

"Do you realise that you just accused our cities biggest funder of being a night-time vigilante?" Gordon said unhappily.

"You just-" Bullock continued with wide eyes. "You just let him get away! Batman, he walked out the doors! Right here, he was right here!"

Gordon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he turned to walk down the hall, where he could put the files Bruce had given him on his desk. He didn't even bother with telling Bullock that he was leaving.

"Right here! What the _hell, _Gordon, we had him _right in our hands!" _Bullocks ranted and swore and cursed loudly. "How-" he turned to regard the commissioner, only for it to suddenly register that the man was no longer standing beside him. He swivelled on his heel in order to race down the hall. "Gordon!" he called, garnering odd looks from his coworkers. "I swear to God, Gordon! _Gordon!_"

The commissioner casually locked his office door behind him.

* * *

**A/N: And thus, the official end of this fic. This was way too much fun, oh god. **

**Thank you so much for all the reviews (you people are fantastic, I love you) and for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy my other stories!**

**Until then!**

**-J. Whelmed**


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Young Justice, Drama, Humor