Done for the 'Nursery Rhymes Challenge' over at the YJ Challenges forum, my nursery rhyme was: "Good King Wenceslas". Thought I don't really talk about the poem directly, this story is heavily based on it.

- x -

FOOTSTEPS

- x -

Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen,

When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.

Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel,

When a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.

- x -

Alone, save for the company of Alfred, Bruce dined without an appetite. Alfred's constant nagging was the only thing that brought him even remotely close to any food. It wasn't that he lacked nutrition, pills saved him the trouble of eating, but Alfred still insisted on it- after all, it would be the talk of the century if Batman died from an empty stomach. Even with all the nagging and insisting, Bruce found himself nudging at the meal with his fork like a child playing with his food.

"Master Wayne, in an hour you have to go to a funeral- the Grayson family, I believe." Alfred came into the room, a disapproving look covering his face when he realized Bruce hadn't even so much as touched his food. Bruce nodded and dismissed Alfred quickly.

The Graysons... old friends and it was funeral he was paying for.

Normally, he didn't pay for a funeral for every dead person he saw. He's seen plenty, as Batman and even as Bruce Wayne- death seemed to follow him.

Or maybe it was just him that pursued a path filled with death.

Whatever it was, there was something about two parents dying and leaving their child behind that begged him not to turn away. He only wished someone could go back in time and save him from his tragic fate. But what's done is done, the best he could do is spare others the misfortune he went through. He promised himself he would.

And Bruce Wayne was a man of his words.

- x -

"Hither, page, and stand by me, if you know it, telling,

Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?"

"Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain,

Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain."

- x -

The child stood above the grave, staring at the monument blankly as if some miracle would happen. Throughout the funeral, he simply stood there, not even bothering to turn around to greet Bruce when he arrived or even talk to anyone.

No one wanted to disturb him from his quiet mourning either.

"Who is that?" Bruce whispered to Alfred. The butler raised an eyebrow as if the answer was obvious: "He is Dick Grayson, the child of the recently departed."

Then he remembered.

That day, Bruce was sitting in the audience of the carnival. Watching as that child stare wide-eyed as his parents fell to their death in front of him. It all seemed so familiar, the mother reaching out for her child just as the line snapped, mouthing his name. Then the boy was reaching out for her as she fell. The way his small hands curling up into fists before he jumped off stage and ran for nowhere.

They were killed by Zucco.

Bruce remembered it all.

There's a reason why he couldn't bear to just to leave the boy alone.

Because he saw himself in the boy.

How long has it been? Bruce stopped counting years ago in a vain attempt to move on. He still remembered his own parents' deaths vividly. The emotions he felt at that time were unforgettable- the anger that made him swear he'd get revenge. The feeling that drove him out on a quest for perfection- to become Batman.

All the time he spent to keep this city safe and despite the many lives he saved, he felt regret.

What would have happened if he never sought revenge? Would the city be in shambles? Would he have lived his life as a normal man?

He didn't want the child to walk in his footsteps.

"Alfred, we're taking Dick Grayson home."

"I believe it's wrong to kidnap children regardless of whether or not you're Batman, Master Bruce."

- x -

"Bring me food and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither,

You and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither."

Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together,

Through the cold wind's wild lament and the bitter weather.

- x -

Just a day after his parent's death, Dick was granted the fortune of being adopted by a multimillionaire. He wasn't exactly sure how to react, sure he knew Mr. Wayne- or dad- was good friends with his parents.

But this was all going way to fast.

"Should I call you dad or Mr. Wayne?" Dick wanted to say. He opened his mouth, glancing at Bruce, before shutting it again. Bruce had a frown plastered to his face right now, thinking about something. Robin turned back to face out of his window. 'He's just adopting me out of pity, after all.'

Bruce should have been concerned by the fact that the child he just adopted wasn't saying anything. He should have tried to say something, look over and say 'hi'- anything was better than the awkward silence between them. He had more important stuff in mind though.

All Bruce could think about was how he was going to bring Zucco to justice.

So Dick would never walk the same road he did alone.

- x -

"Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger,

Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer."

"Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread now in them boldly,

You shall find the winter's rage freeze your blood less coldly."

- x -

"Son- can I... call you that?"

Dick had frozen for a second, then smiled warmly: "Yes, dad."

Bruce smiled, sitting down the living room, basking the the warmth from the fireplace.

"Why'd you adopt me?" Dick asked, leaning back in his chair as he spoke. Bruce closed his eyes: "My parents were killed when I was younger."

"Oh? What'd you do?"

"Stared the Wayne enterprise, became a multi-millionaire." Bruce smiled slightly and Robin smiled back.

"Nice story."

- x -

Knowing the circumstances, Bruce wasn't surprised Dick found out about his secret identity. He just never expected the kid to find it so fast- or to catch on to the fact he was going after Zucco.

"So is this what really happened when your parents died?" Dick questioned excitedly. "You became Batman and began fighting crime?"

Batman didn't answer as Dick had pretty much sewn up the story of his life in a matter of minutes.

"Take me with you."

Batman frowned. Dick was already stepping into his shoes willingly.

"No, it's late, go to sleep."

With that, Batman dismissed Dick.

But Dick refused to be sent away.

To him, Batman was challenging him, and there was no way he was going to turn back now.

- x -

- x -

"You know why I stopped being a knife-thrower?" Zucco sharpened the blade, eyes narrowed at he glared at Batman. "Because I missed."

Without a second thought, the knife was thrown at Batman's head- only to be swatted away by a sandbag that 'miraculously' came out of the sky.

Then Dick came along, sending a sharp kick to Zucco's face.

"Oh, so the Bat has family."

Bruce froze at that word. Family.

But he snapped out of it quickly when he saw Robin get kicked away, Zucco leaning over him menacingly, a baseball bat in hand. Cutting off his ropes, Batman swooped to his son's rescue.

- x -

It was when Dick saved Zucco from certain death that Bruce knew:

Dick was willingly following his footsteps.

And it was okay to let him, because though their pasts were alike- 'Robin' was different.

- x -

In his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted;

Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed.

Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,

You who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing.