Blackbird

CUSTODY

"Look for topside views overlooking the parade," Bruce said, ready to leave the Batcave. Just then, Bryce came down in the elevator, looking puzzled.

"Please tell me you're not going to this alone," he said, concern evident in his tone.

Bruce turned, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"We don't have school because of the parade," Bryce explained, dropping his bag to the floor. "And I want to help, whatever it is you're doing."

Bruce sighed. "Relax, I'm not going as Batman, so just stay put."

He pulled a bright red motorcycle out from storage, prepping it.

Just then, Alfred called out from the Batcomputer, "I got a lead—Melvin White, 1502 Randolph Apartments. Aggravated assault, sent to Arkham twice."

Bruce nodded, stepping into the elevator. As he disappeared into the ceiling, Bryce turned to Alfred, looking exasperated.

"So... what am I supposed to do now?" he asked.

Alfred gave him a knowing look. "Hang out with that friend of yours, perhaps?"

Bryce shook his head, plopping down into a swivel chair. "Can't. He's busy at the parade—his foster dad's marching. He's a cop or something."

He started spinning in the chair, looking bored.

"Do you have any homework to do?" Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bryce smirked. "I'm in kindergarten. Homework is spelling words and 1+1. And just so we're clear, I can spell in multiple languages and do advanced calculus, so... not exactly worried."

Alfred chuckled, giving him an approving nod. "Good point, Master Bryce. Good point."

—-------------------

That night, Batman and Robin perched silently on the edge of a rooftop overlooking Jim Gordon's house. Through the dim glow from the windows, they could see officers gathered around Mrs. Gordon, gently breaking the news that her husband had died. Her anguished cry cut through the stillness, heavy and raw.

In the shadows, Robin cast his eyes downward, his face tense with sorrow. Jim Gordon's young son stood in the doorway, his gaze drifting upward until it found the two figures in the dark. Their eyes met, and Robin, feeling the weight of the moment, gave a small, respectful bow of his head—a silent apology to the boy, a gesture of sorrow shared in quiet acknowledgment.

Beside him, Batman's jaw tightened, his silhouette as unmoving as stone, watching over the family he couldn't save, the weight of loss pressing heavier than the night itself.

—--------------------

Five of Gotham's officers stood on the rooftop, shifting uneasily as they stared at the Bat-Signal piercing the cloudy night sky. The minutes stretched, heavy with anticipation.

Finally, one of the officers grumbled, "Switch it off—they ain't coming."

Another shook his head, frustration lining his face. "They don't want to talk to us."

Reluctantly, one officer reached out and flipped the signal off, the light fading as the symbol disappeared into the dark sky.

"God help whoever they do want to talk to," the first officer muttered, casting a wary glance over the city, as if Gotham itself was holding its breath.

—----------------------

Batman left Robin perched on the club's rooftop, knowing he had to handle this interrogation alone. Robin watched as Batman stepped out of the club, a man struggling in his grip. Batman hauled him to the fire escape of the adjacent building, dangling him precariously over the edge. Robin, perched on a nearby railing, folded his arms, ready to back Batman up if needed.