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He'd known they were young from the get go. He had known.
Bringing back the light to Gotham, a beacon for morning, a call for the restless, the uncertain, the scared.
If Batman hid in the dark and struck from the shadows, these Robins shine like fireworks and lighthouses, bright colors stretching far in every direction for everyone to see and follow.
He'd figured they were young, maybe his age, younger probably. And to him—6 foot 9—truly everyone looks small. But outside of their suits the group of five looks laughably minuscule and horrifyingly young. Some of them can't even have finished out high school yet. Yet here they are, fighting Gotham's backwater and fighting Bruce.
Under their helmets, they look like any other kids. Any other Gotham dregs, Crime Alley brats; throwing matches in alleyways and sleeping in piles on the living room floor.
But they are not any other Gotham kids, are they?
What fills his battered body isn't guilt. He can not afford to feel guilty about fighting them, not when they do it for someone so sinister. They are young. But so was he. So is he, if he thinks about it. The older ones barely look younger than Bruce. If he can't afford the guilt he won't bother with it. So what if they're young? His bruised ribs can't tell the difference between a teenager or an adult smashing them against the ground. It hurts to bruise them either way.
They have him somewhat cornered. Not enough that he can't get away, which they would know, having already fought Batman more than once. It's a one way alley. Bats fly though. But he's willing to hear them out if they are willing to talk.
As colorfully clad kid after kid after not quite kids climb out the suits, Bruce figures that they are.
The alley they are in is just a block or two from the ones Bruce ran around in as a kid himself. Where he threw his first punch, broke his nose the first time. Where he had his face smushed into the ground until he tasted gravel. Brick looms around them as each of the Robins shuffles themselves into a lopsided half circle in front of him.
"…So, Batman," one of the older boys drawls. This one is tall, almost the tallest of them, with dark short hair and a small mouth perpetually tugged into a frown when he isn't speaking. He's broad-chested, looks like he has muscle, just not in the way Bruce has muscle. His arms are crossed, scrunching up a yellow number two on the right side of his chest. His chin is tilted up like a challenge. Everything about the boy looks like a challenge. Bruce is almost willing to take him up on it. To remind the quintet of how irrationally idiotic they are being, climbing out of their million dollar suits to muck about in the mud on the ground with the likes of him. Where they will get trampled all over. Bruce takes a step forward and watches as the boy tenses up in preparation.
Another one of the Robins clears his throat to shift the attention away from the surly, brawny one.
Bruce looks over to where he stands, arms crossed. He's very clearly very unimpressed with Batman's whole deal, eyes skipping across Bruce like he's taking inventory and finding it lacking. This one is taller than the rest of the crew. The tallest one is the leader, he knows. He's still shorter than Bruce, but so is almost everyone so that does not matter much. Even if he didn't already know he was the leader, he could tell by the way the rest of them defer to him. To they way their gazes hold him in a different regard than they do each other. The giant number one on his chest is also a bit of a give-away.
Boy number one, leader of this nuisance group has longer hair that falls into his eyes. Black hair again, all of them black haired but the girl, and blue eyes. He looks a lot like Bruce, if Bruce was someone entirely different.
"You've been causing problems," this one says. "I don't think you're stupid-"
"I do." Bruce's head swivels again. This boy stands a bit further from the first two, closer to the shorter one with sunglasses. "I think you're stupid."
The boy meets Bruce's eyes when he says it. Not like a challenge, but like irrefutable truth. Bruce is stupid, that's the fact. Just as true as the fact that Gotham's going under, like all Bruce's friend hate him and they should, like he could have done better but he didn't.
This boy is the one Bruce had earlier categorized as "friendly" or at the very least the safer option. If any of the Robins were a bright light for the city it was this one. He'd been more focused on corralling civilians out of the way than punching in Batman's face. He's not sure anymore that was the correct assumption. The boy holds himself very still, yet relaxed. If a fight is coming his way he's ready, but not hankering for it. Unlike all the other boys, this one has no number on his uniform. Bruce wonders why. He stays still.
"I think you're egotistical." The leader goes on to say again, ignoring the stray comment. "And a hypocrite."
"You're really causing a lot of trouble for what, exactly?" The surly boy with the two on his chest speaks again.
Bruce feels the way his body shifts after the fact, how he stretches tall and looming before even realizing he's doing it. "I'm protecting this city."
Several of the Robins react at that. A raised eyebrow, a scrunched up nose. Reactions of varied disbelief, yet disbelief all the same.
"Are you?" Bruce isn't looking to see who says it. He drags himself forward another step, realizing that it hurts to move his left foot. He must have injured it earlier, probably against one of these people.
"You don't know who it is you're working for," Bruce grits out. Because there's no way, no way they actually know all of it. If they knew what Pennyworth insisted on was the truth — Bruce didn't believe they did.
"I think we know well enough," the numberless boy quips.
"Don't you want to save this city?" Bruce growls.
Number two scoffs. "What do you think we're doing?"
"Being led astray."
"Oh wow. Really?" The tallest one had been cold before, but now he sounded entirely devoid of anything but contempt. "We'll be fine. Will you?"
The shortest boy, wearing a suit with the number three, pushes past the one who had called Bruce stupid, ducking away from the leader's suddenly outstretched hand and comes to a stop much closer to Bruce than any of the others have so far. He tilts his neck back really far, until Bruce thinks he might fall backwards. Then he grins.
"Are you going to give up?"
The tint on his sunglasses is a deep violet, almost dark enough that Bruce can't see his eyes behind them. If it were any darker out, he wouldn't be able to at all. But as is, he sees the boy bore his sights onto Batman. Into Batman. Hooking onto something only he sees. He puffs out a breath.
"You really should consider it," the boy suggests, boisterous grin already gone, replaced by something different.
"I'm not." Behind the sunglasses his eyes flick away before Bruce gets any hold of them again, but Bruce swears that he almost looks intrigued. "This city needs me and I'm not giving up on all the people in it."
The girl, she's the only one of them who is one, is leaning back against the brick-wall with a steadfast look of judgment that he can't figure out if it's leveled at him or at sunglasses boy who's still standing just an arms-reach away from Bruce. Maybe both of them are caught up in it, both deemed judge-worthy by her unflinching gaze. No, it's just him, he ultimately decides, as she pushes out a short bark of a laugh. "Of course the guy dressed as a bat is delusional."
"I'm not."
"Not what? Dressed as a bat?"
Bruce doesn't answer.
She inclines her head towards sunglasses boy and shrugs, "Not giving up, T." She doesn't spare Bruce another look at all. "He's too stupid to," she says. "Can't lay down, roll over and die. Can't let us save this city in peace."
"You are not saving this city." Bruce voice is low and angry, edging into a territory he himself recognizes as dangerous. Now to see if these Robins will recognize it too.
Almost as quickly as he had walked up to Bruce, sunglasses boy swivels and walks back to where he was standing before. He doesn't look scared, per say. He looks just as unperturbed as before.
With a sigh the numberless boy declares: "We might surprise you. I guess we will have to wait and see."
The tallest of them clenches his jaw until Bruce hears something give a pop. To Bruce he says: "Guess so."
Then he turns and walks back towards the street where their suits have been left behind. He does not look behind him to see if the rest of his coterie follows. They of course do, giving Bruce a last look before leaving him alone in the entrance to the alley.
He watches them leave, their clunky metal bodies whirring as they all make their way back out into the city.
Above him the bright lights of Gotham city cut across the dark skyline. It's a city worth saving.
He just has to figure out what to do about this misguided little crew before getting back to business.