This story contains the Tesseract Child Robin. To understand the exact nature of his character, I encourage you to read the story Tesseract Child. It is in the Young Justice/Avengers crossover section.

If you'd rather just jump right in, the following exposition contains enough spoilers from the Tesseract Child story to help things make sense. Robin is Dick Grayson however he was missing for eight years and de-aged seven years while retaining many, but not all of his memories. His memories up to age five are completely his own, clear, crisp and fresh. The Martians, Megan and J'onn did their best to allow him keep his memories from age five on.

He is five now (twenty years after his birth). Bruce created a new identity for him as Damian Grayson Wayne his four year old biological son. Tim is currently Red Robin. Jason is Red Hood. The traditional Damian was never born because the Tesseract incident created waves of changes. That he still exists in name has to do with the universe's attempt to follow it's preferred path.

Changes include, this Justice League is considerably more vigilant towards Boomtubes, Batman hasn't been active in the Justice League since Robin's disappearance. The Young Justice Team remains more or less intact. Wally West the original Kid Flash is engaged to be married to Artemis this summer. Robin had been invited to be ring bearer.

This story begins days after Robin's return. Everyone is still adjusting. Dick is not entirely ready to think of himself as Damian yet. He is currently deaf and has a broken arm. He picked green for the cast.

Dick woke suddenly his face wet with tears and memories of his parents fading from conscious thought. He couldn't remember the dream exactly, mostly just vague feelings, all of them unsettled. He slipped out of bed and padded softly to the bathroom to wash his face. He glared at the stool by the bathroom sink. Most five year olds were tall enough to reach the sink without a stool weren't they? Dick got a wash cloth and used the tap attached to the bath tub instead. When it came to certain things Dick still thought of himself as, well he'd have been thirteen now. Independence was hard to loose once you'd had a taste for it. Unless Bruce or Alfred were there, he'd brush his teeth over the toilet or wash his hands using the tub and avoid the fact that he couldn't reach the sink without the stool. It was a nice stool. It had a squirrel carved into it. He liked the stool. He just didn't want to use it.

Dick put his slippers on tightening the velcro. Dick didn't like flip flop slippers. He thought of them as boobie-traps for sleepy feet. His house slippers were fuzzy and warm but they stayed on like proper shoes. Papa Alfie insisted on slippers or indoor shoes in the house. Dick's were fire engine red.

Dick went to stare at his clock. It was five o'clock. He had a kitty-kat clock. The eyes looked left and right with each little ticky-tock and it had ears and whiskers. He couldn't hear the ticky-tock but he could feel it if he rested his fingers against the clock. He carefully picked up the clock and put it right against his ear to check to see if he could hear it yet. Doctor Leslie said he would be able to hear again but that it would just take time. He listened ...no ticky-tock, not yet, he put the clock down disappointed.

All yesterday had been spent shopping with Grandpa for little boy things. The stool was new, the clock was new, the slippers were new. His new bed hadn't been delivered yet. It had a ladder and a slide and a batcave underneath with a curtain you could hide behind. Dick hadn't explained to anyone yet how play area under the twin loft bed was his very own batcave but he had plans for it.

He was going to set up his computer at the desk under the bed and the bookshelf could store all sorts of useful supplies that were just ordinary enough that no one would suspect that they were back up emergency equipment: a first aid kit, a microscope, a flashlight, marbles, an invisible ink wipe board for secret messages, escrima sticks disguised as juggling devil sticks.

Not even Batman would know he was practising if his escrima sticks looked like juggling sticks, thought Dick still staring at his clock and making plans. Dick sighed. He wasn't at all sleepy but with all of the late nights shared by the Wayne household, the rest of the family were late risers. It would be at least two hours before anyone was awake. He took Bear and silently slipped down to the kitchen to get a little something to tide him over until breakfast.

Stupid fancy glass juice jug was too heavy. Dick spilled juice all over the floor trying to get some in his cup. With the new long arm cast he couldn't get the dumb juice jug back in the fridge, the counters were too high so he left it on the floor. The mop wasn't in the walk-in pantry where it used to be but there was a jar of peanut butter and a Tupperware container of breakfast biscuits left over from yesterday. Dick smiled and grabbed the peanut butter and the biscuits. He had a picnic on the floor of the kitchen next to his mess looking at it and wondering where the mop was. Bear was sitting on the kitchen counter high and dry looking down on him. Dick waved up at his stuffed friend with a smile the finished off his peanut butter breakfast biscuit. Maybe the mop had been moved to the front hall closet?

Abandoning: the peanut butter, open container of biscuits, juice jug and spill on the floor, Dick wandered over to the front hall closet to look for the mop and noticed looking through the glass side panels next to the front door, that his new dump truck had been left outside. The front door had all sorts of fancy locks on it that Dick couldn't reach but Wayne Manor was a heritage house. It was old. Right near the front door was a milk/mail delivery box. Dick unlatched the inner door then pushed open the outer door. He could see his truck but he couldn't reach it. An adult would never fit but an undersized five year old contortionist acrobat had no trouble squeezing himself through the small space. The long arm cast was a little bit of trouble. He was stuck for a few minutes before he jimmied himself loose and fell back grinning, free last.

Triumphant, Dick went to collect his new dump truck then turned to climb back through the milk door. Uh, oh... He hadn't heard the slap click as the spring on inner door automatically latched behind him. Dick drummed his fingers on the inner door worriedly. He sighed. There's a good chance I'm in trouble now, he thought.

Resigned to it as the house was well and thoroughly locked down but determined to let his family finish their peaceful night's sleep, Dick took the dump truck and wandered down to the pond. He spend a little while filling the truck with gravel then dumping it out and plowing through the gravel pile. He went back to the main drive and pushed the truck all the way down to the main gates. A lot of it was down hill and the truck could be encouraged to zoom far ahead.

Looking out the main gates, Dick thought back to the dream that had woken him in the first place. Light was just starting to brighten the horizon. He knew his parents were dead but at the same time he had avoided thinking about it or believing it with a determination that was fiercely stubborn. Dick looked back at the manor thinking of Bruce and the decision to call him Daddy. It was still a long time before anyone woke up. He wanted to do this on his own; to face this on his own. Dick slipped himself through the front gates. ...well maybe not completely on his own; he reached back and pulled his truck through with him and then started heading towards the St. Augustus Cemetery.

It was a long, lonely walk. Dick hugged his truck, his mind focused on memories older than he was; Dad and Mama, an embrace, a shared laugh, a bedtime story, his mother and father dancing under the stars, eating peanuts in the shell with his dad while Eleanore Elephant snuffled through his hair with her trunk. He was a little cold in only his slippers and pyjamas. His thousand mile stare was interrupted from time to time with shivers. His expression was solemn but determined.

The sun had risen by the time he got there which was just as well, visiting his parents grave for the first time in his natural memory was hard enough without adding the uneasy feelings of dim predawn shadows. The two simple white granite headstones shone a little in the early morning sun. The grass was dewy and cold.

Giovanni Grayson - Mary Grayson,

Richard Grayson – Karla Grayson and son John Grayson

Uncle Rick had eventually died too noted Dick touching the headstone silently and tracing the name Richard Grayson. He'd been named for his uncle. I know I'm not really Richard anymore but in my heart I always will be thought Dick, whose name was now officially Damian.

Dick knelt in front of his parent's grave stone. He leaned forward and quietly kissed it. The stone was cool and smooth. He touched his face which was wet with errant tears. This happened thirteen years ago. It was old news to everyone but him. Time had rewound around him and for him it was new. He had the martian memories of the times when he'd been eight, nine, ten, eleven then twelve and almost thirteen but this was not a memory. It was real and cold and hard. Suddenly Dick was crying not poetic silent gentle tears but loud ugly sloppy I'm five and I want my dad, I want my momma and they won't ever, ever be here again tears. He felt empty, head-achy, exhausted and dirty by the time he'd cried himself out. Dick pushed his dump truck through the grave yard over to the back fence where wild flowers were growing. His slippers and pyjamas were soaked with the morning dew. He filled the dump truck with flowers and pushed it back to his parent's grave. He laid out the wild flowers in the shape of a heart then picked up his dump truck to go home.

The rail trail lead back, part of the way towards the manor. He took that home not wanting the prying eyes of passing cars to intrude on him right then. All thoughts of the passage of time had long since fled. He trudged slowly in the direction of home stopping at a bench to rest for a while. He was exhausted. Though he'd not intended to, he fell asleep for a little while. A large German Shepard's wet nose sniffing at him woke him up. Dick grinned and pat it's head. He gave him a few scritches under the collar. He was rewarded with a big wet doggy lick right on the face. Dick pulled back a little nervous when he saw the dog begin to bark. It looked a little alarming.

The dog raced back along the trail the way he'd come, jumping excitedly. Dick saw a hefty looking police man with canine unit written on his vest in large letters come jogging down the path. The man looked to be yelling? Honestly, it had been a long morning. Dick was not at his best. In his head, the friendly dog turned to that attack dog you see on police shows who bit at the arm of the bad guy with the gun. There was a lot of corruption in the Gotham police department. Dick had been kidnapped countless times. He just freaked out and bolted. No one can run quite like a Robin but Dick had no equipment, a broken arm with a heavy cast, he was wearing slippers and he was tired. Dogs are fast.

Up at tree, a couple hundred yards into the forest Dick had run out of places to run. The dog was sat at the base of the tree his tongue hanging out playfully, his head tilted to one side. Dick could see he was occasionally barking. He could see the policeman coming jogging through the woods, although once the policeman had him in sight, he stopped and appeared to be watching him considering. He pulled out his radio apparently talking on it. He seemed to call and signal to the dog and it lay down but he was too far away for Dick to read lips.

The stalemate continued for a good half hour then coming through the woods Dick saw Bruce running towards him looking frantically worried and there was Papa Jim, the police commissioner. Dick climbed down into Bruce's waiting arms and hid his head against Bruce's shoulder starting to cry again. He could feel from the vibrations in Bruce's chest that he was probably being yelled at or fussed at worriedly but Bruce gave up shortly just rubbing his back, trying to sooth him and carrying him through the woods.

"Daddy this has not been a very good day at all," sobbed Dick into Bruce's shoulder. "I don't know where Grandpa Alfred put the mop. I don't want anymore nightmares and I shouldn't have come alone and I don't know where I put Grandpa Jim's truck. I want Bear."

Bruce answered him, Dick could feel the vibrations of his deep voice from where he was held in his Daddy's arms but he had no idea what he'd said. That would have required lifting his head from where he was hiding pressed against Bruce's shoulder. Hiding against Bruce felt more important then lipreading at the moment.

Dick rode back to the Manor in the backseat of a cruiser sandwiched between Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon his dad and his grandpa. Dick looked blearily at the time. It was after one. He'd been gone for over eight hours.

"Sorry for worrying you. I didn't mean for this to happen," Damian/Dick whispered a flustered gesture encompassing the police canine unit, the cruisers, Bruce and Jim.

Bruce gently turned Damian's head so the child was making eye contact with him. "What happened? Why are you out here in pj's, with your truck, all alone?"

Dick silently mouthed the answer with tears in his eyes because the answer didn't belong to anyone but Bruce.

"Because I'm not thirteen anymore but they really are dead and I can't pretend and I'm not always going to make good choices."

Dick looked up to Papa Jim in time to see him say, "I hope they can fix his hearing soon. It was terrifying not even being able to call for him and hope he'd hear and answer." Dick looked to Bruce to see his response.

"Doctor Tompkins wants to give it another three or four months before jumping to surgical options. The decongestants don't seem to be helping though and his balance is still wonky." Bruce looked exhausted like he'd just crashed after some crazy adrenaline cocktail.

Mommy Babs, Tim and Alfred were waiting at the mansion. Bruce wasn't ready to put him down but Damian saw everyone asking worried questions. "What happened?" seemed to be the clearest most often repeated question.

"He just went for a walk. Down through the St. Augustus Cemetery then up the rail trail. The canine unit found him on one of the benches fast asleep. He liked the police dog well enough but the police officer scared him so he ran. He didn't get far. Treed himself." Bruce explained. Bruce wanted better answers but Damian had been very quiet and his little boy's silently mouthed explanation was enough to know that the full answer contained identity secrets. Barbara, Tim and Alfred knew what was at the St. Augustus Cemetery.

"How did you get out of the house?" asked Bruce.

"The milk door. I was just going to get my truck then come back inside but the door's spring loaded and I got locked out. I didn't want to wake everyone up early so I was just playing outside waiting and then one thing led to another."

...^ŏ^...

Jason read the police report. He had his computer set up to alert him when anything concerning Bruce Wayne came through. Jason checked the media but somehow the incident had been kept off the media radar. It concerned him that Robin had been back less then a week and already the police had been involved. He wondered how Richard or Dick felt about the new name Damian.

Jason checked his revolver and grabbed packet of C4. He was busy with one of the gang lords involved in human trafficking at the moment but he kept scanning through the police report in curiosity. Damian, hearing impaired, four years old, (I thought he was five puzzled Jason) snuck out of the house, black hair, blue eyes, 33 lbs, 40 inches (crude he's like three year old tiny maybe he is four?) broken arm result of a fall out of a tree? (that has to be crap) Canine unit employed.

Jason smirked. Apparently it had been the first bust or rescue, for a new dog on the canine unit, a German Sheppard called Ace. A puppy to rescue a baby bird thought Jason chuckling.

What was this crap? Mother Barbara Gordon? That would make the Commissioner his grandfather? What was Bruce up to? Was Gotham really going to believe this nonsense? Bruce had been sitting on any press release regarding Damian Wayne his new son. How did dear old dad plan on swinging this?

Jason's computer beeped again with a media release from everybody's favourite Metropolis reporter all around good guy Clark Kent. Okay there's what I've been waiting for, thought Jason.

Bruce Wayne announcement, ... Jason scanned quickly through: Damian Wayne, four years old, biological son of Bruce Wayne, frozen eggs of deceased ward's mother Mary Grayson, surrogate mother Barbara Gordan daughter of Gotham Police Commissioner James Gordon aka Jim Gordon...

Oooh there's a picture. Son of a Joker fart! That is the cutest little baby bird on the entire freaking planet. That kid is too cute to be real! Jason had no problem picturing him in pixie boots and a sunshine yellow cape with that mile wide grin and mischievous eyes. Tim was in the background looking fondly amused, Bruce... holy Two Face's tears... That was an honest to goodness real smile on his face.

Jason expanded the picture on his computer staring at Bruce dumbfounded. That wasn't Brucie, that wasn't a grimace, it wasn't vapid or empty, it was a happy, relaxed smile. He was letting that photo out on the front page of a paper? Did I ever really know the man wondered Jason. Bruce didn't do relaxed. He believed happy belonged to the ignorant.

My rugrats were arguing over how much trouble Damian/Dick would have got in over his whole little adventure. How do you think Daddy Bruce would handle things?

Naughty little monkey...