A/N: Well...this is overdue. So much for not having a two year time gap between chapters. ):' To be completely honest, I finished this chapter over two years ago...but wanted to finish the sixth chapter before I posted this one so y'all wouldn't have to wait again. But...I haven't written anything substantial on this fic or anything else in over a year, and well...I've run out of patience with myself. Honestly, I've lost interest in this fic. But I will complete it! Eventually...

Here's to posting old stuff to encourage myself to write again!

I was planning on rewriting this whole chapter since my old writing style is very much meh to me now, but in the interest of keeping the story's style consistent, I'm putting it up as is. I might rewrite this whole chapter (story) at a later date, but we'll see.

Anyway...here's the loooooooonnnggg overdue fifth chapter of Phobias. Hope to see y'all again soon.

P.S. I have a Tumblr now. I'm ThingR1, if anyone's interested. :)

5.

Barely three days later...

Gotham City
May 11, 01:01 EDT

"Dick!" she cried, fear spiking through her bright blue eyes as she began to fall.

"NO!"

Dick shot upright, gasping as he was jerked out of the dark realm of his nightmares. Panting heavily, he sat stiff, high-strung, sweat trickling down his neck. Images of his falling parents continued dancing tauntingly in front of his bleary vision, Tony Zucco's raucous laughter echoing in his ears.

Blinking hard, Dick scrubbed at his eyes, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He breathed a short sigh of relief to find himself still tucked safely in his enormous queen bed in his even larger room in Wayne Manor.

Everything was okay. Tony Zucco wasn't coming to get him, like he'd got his parents.

His parents...

Dick sniffled, using the hem of his blanket to swipe away the tears that had fallen while he was in the grip of his dream. Forlorn, he stared at the colorful blue and yellow poster pasted on the wall across from his bed, the caption proudly proclaiming: The Flying Graysons.

His heart ached within him as he took in the silhouetted images of himself and his parents, the shadowy blue figures appearing ready to fly off the poster and into the room at any moment. (He almost wished they would.)

Without warning, a low creak echoed somewhere down the hallway. Stiffening in fear, Dick fixed his eyes on the closed door of his bedroom.

And…silence permeated throughout the room. The seconds dragged on, no other sound accompanying the first.

That did nothing to comfort him.

Huddling further under his sheets, Dick drew them up over his nose, keeping his gaze locked on the wooden frame. He had left the light on in the hallway, so the yellow glow could seep under the heavy door and provide a makeshift night light without Dick actually having to ask Bruce for one (which would be beyond embarrassing). Since his guardian had yet to say anything about it, he assumed it was okay to continue the practice.

Two foot-sized black shadows interrupted the semicircle of light one after the other, successfully dragging Dick's thoughts back to the present.

Dick bit back a squeak of fear as the shadows remained still for a few seconds before his door, wondering if this was it; if Zucco had finally come to silence him for good. But then, the shadows continued on down the hall, silent as ghosts despite Dick's ears straining for the slightest sound.

The hall light flickered off.

Dick remained perfectly still for several minutes, the rapid beating of his heart slowing to a more normal pace as he slowly began to relax. He studied the hardwood of the door, mulling the most recent events over in his head.

The conclusion he came up with was so obvious, Dick could've kicked himself: It had probably been Bruce on one of his "nightly walks," as Alfred called them. That was the only logical reason for anyone to be up at this time of night.

Bruce had said the Manor's security system was 'state of the art,' whatever that meant. Which meant the chances of Zucco creeping in in the night was slim to nil. Which was hard to remember in the moment, but still…

It had just been Bruce. There was nothing to be worried about.

With that realization, curiosity quickly overcame his initial terror. Did his guardian have nightmares, too? Is that why he went walking every night? And if so, where exactly did he go? Did Alfred make him hot chocolate when he had bad dreams like Dick's mother had?

Hot chocolate sounded really good about now.

Slowly, hesitantly, Dick climbed out of bed, tiptoeing to the door. Carefully, he reached for the handle, hesitating only a moment before pushing it down and pulling the door open. He peered around the doorframe into the dark, empty hallway, nerves stretched taut as a tightrope. Easing out into the passageway, he squeezed the door shut behind him before heading down where Bruce had apparently gone moments earlier. He reached the staircase without incident, reaching the top just in time to see a light go off in the left corridor several feet from the foot of the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, Dick slipped down the staircase, imagining himself to be as silent as his shadow—a trick he'd learned quickly in the JDC. As his feet brushed the polished marble of the entryway, Dick found himself being intensely grateful for the fact that rock didn't creak like wooden panels did as he tiptoed toward the entrance of the corridor in question.

Dick poked his head around the corner, in time to see a door click quietly shut behind a large figure—Bruce. He slowly counted to twenty, making sure Bruce wasn't coming out anytime soon before tiptoeing down the hall, taking extra care not to step on any creaking floorboards or brushing his clothes and hands alike against the wall.

He halted in front of the door in question. It seemed strangely insignificant for such an intense mystery. It looked like every other room door in the manor; oddly...normal.

A loud click echoed from the other side of the door, followed by a short grinding sound. Dick tensed, half expecting Bruce to come barreling out the door and yell at him for following him to...wherever this was. But the room beyond remained ominously silent.

He slowly counted to ten. Then, taking a deep breath, he carefully opened the door, peeking his head around to see inside. And he was greeted with...an empty room. He eased the door forward a few more inches, poking his entire head in.

"Bruce?" he whispered, hardly daring to raise his voice any higher. When there was no answer, he stepped completely into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He turned around and surveyed the area more carefully, confusion welling up inside him.

The center of the room was dominated with an enormous, expensive looking desk with a high, wing-backed chair on one side and two smaller chairs for visitors on the other. Bookshelves lined two sides of the room, the wooden border only broken by a large grandfather clock placed in the dead center of the left wall and a fireplace opposite. A large armchair stood before the fireplace, lined up with an enormous curtained window that took up nearly the entire back wall.

Only one thing was missing.

"Bruce?" he called a little louder.

No response.

He checked in the large armchair, under the enormous desk, even between the books in the bookshelves, but there was no sign of the billionaire. Perplexed, he sat back on his heels from where he'd been peeking under the shelves, sneezing from all the dust bunnies he'd found instead. He frowned, tilting his head back to look up at the small chandelier on the ceiling to see if by any chance Bruce was hanging up there. Nada.

He was sure he had seen the billionaire come in here. It wasn't like he'd just jumped out the window...

He turned to glare suspiciously at the curtains. He crawled over to the far wall, ducking his head under the heavy velvet to check the glass. As his head came up, he came face to face with a very dusty windowsill. Quickly reaching up and plugging his nose to avoid sneezing again, Dick took a quick look before ducking back under the thick material, coughing as the dust followed him out.

Eyes watering, he carefully pushed the curtains back into place. From the layer of grime on the window itself, it was clear that no one had opened those curtains in years. He frowned as yet another thing occurred to him: Alfred was always insistent about keeping everything neat and orderly. And very, very clean. So why would this window be the only dirty window in the entire mansion? Sure it was a big house, and Alfred was only one butler, but if Bruce came in here, that had to mean it was used often...right?

Dick carefully stood up, running quickly over to the desk in the middle of the room. He reached out one of his hands to open a drawer, then hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't be snooping around in Bruce's desk. After all, it was none of his business what the older man did in his spare time. But still...

He pulled open the drawer. It was empty. A quick search of the rest of the desk proved that there wasn't a single scrap of paper or a pen anywhere within the compartments.

He took a few steps back, taking in the room once more. If Bruce didn't take care of Wayne Tech business in here, then what was the purpose of this room? And, more importantly, where was Bruce?

His eyes fell on the giant grandfather clock. He'd already checked within the confines of the glass compartment, but it had been only a cursory glance. Maybe the back panel opened up into a secret tunnel like in the movies. And besides, it seemed to be the only thing in the room that had been properly cleaned.

Dick stepped hesitantly forward, somewhat intimidated by the enormous antique. It had to be even older than Alfred.

Shaking away the childish notion that it would suddenly swallow him whole, he pulled open the glass casing and climbed inside, pressing curiously at various places on the smooth wood for any hidden switches. Nothing.

He clambered out of the belly, taking a few steps back and studying it thoughtfully. There was something about the timepiece that drew him toward it...he was certain that it was the key to finding out where Bruce went. But it seemed he would need a key to find the key...

Then it hit him: The clock wasn't moving. The minute and hour hands seemed frozen in place, the golden pendulum in the clock's belly ominously still.

He scampered up the front of the bookshelf to the left of the clock, peering closely at the seemingly broken clock face. A sudden idea occurred to him, and almost without thinking, he reached a hand up, turning the knobs and setting the clock to a certain time.

Gears ground somewhere in the wall behind him, small vibrations running through the floor and up the shelf Dick was currently perched on. Then the clock began to move. Not the hands; the entire clock.

Dick yelped in surprise as the timekeeper slid upwards, knocking him off his improvised ladder and onto the soft carpet below. He watched open-mouthed as the clock stopped its upward journey, revealing a black stone staircase leading down into darkness.

He edged carefully toward this new opening, peeking over the edge. His view of whatever lay beyond was obscured by a curve in the staircase.

He hesitated at the top, shivering as cold, dank air puffed out of the opening. It smelled like…a cave?

Dick flinched as a loud click echoed through the silence, followed by the sound of grinding gears. The clock began to rapidly descend back into its original position.

With a yelp, Dick flung himself through the opening, tumbling partway down the stairs before managing to catch himself against the rough rock walls around him.

The opening behind him shut with a quiet click, blocking all light from the room beyond.

Crouched tensely in the darkness, Dick tried to fight back a surge of panic. Where was he? What if he couldn't get out? What if Bruce and Alfred couldn't find him and he'd be stuck down here forever?

He gripped his hair with his hands, blinking hard as he tried to examine his surroundings. He realized with a start that he could actually see the steps in front of him. But if the door was closed, where was the light coming from? He glanced around, searching for the source of the light.

There. A faint blue glow emanated from the bottom of the staircase, almost ghostly in the otherwise pitch black stairwell.

Dick clambered to his feet, resting a hand on the wall to keep his balance. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Bruce had to be down there; there was no other place he could have gone. Sucking in one more breath, Dick started downwards, running his hand along the wall beside him as a guide through the semi-dark.

The light grew brighter and brighter as he continued, creating an almost eerie twilight within the confines of the stairwell. Then he reached the bottom, and his breath hitched.

Before him was an enormous...well...cave. But it was clear that this wasn't an ordinary cave. Twenty feet to his right was a large bank of computers, one giant screen in the center surrounded by at least half a dozen others, all showing various criminal reports and security footage from seemingly random areas of Gotham. These were the source of light in the room, their faint blue glow casting dark shadows even to the farther corners. To his left, the floor dropped off into what seemed like a canyon below, though Dick couldn't see much from where he was standing. For whatever a reason, a dinosaur and giant penny stood among various other memorabilia in an alcove to the side. Souvenirs…?

But what stood directly across from him was what caught his eye.

A tall glass cylinder stood in a small alcove, LED lights shining up from the bottom to illuminate the costume inside. More specifically: The Batman's costume.

In awe, Dick crept across the room, halting a respectful distance before the black armor. He shuddered as he stared into the white lenses that would cover the Batman's eyes; two white holes in a sea of blackness that seemed ready to consume him at any moment.

A loud rumbling sound filled the cavern, echoing repeatedly off the walls. Dick leapt backwards in fright, scurrying over to the nearest hiding place—the computer chair—and tumbling into a ball in the seat. He peeked around the backrest, just in time to watch a midnight black car streak through a tunnel in the side of the cave a couple levels below.

Dick began to relax as he realized that the strange sound had only been the start of an engine. Batman must have just left for patrol.

Wait a second. Batman.

This was the Batcave.

Underneath Wayne Manor.

Large, disbelieving eyes turned toward the costume in the glass case.

The pieces began to fall into place: The midnight walks, the noises, the secrecy, the vigilante knowing Dick's name…

Bruce Wayne was Batman.

It all made so much sense, Dick couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before.

He briefly considered exploring—that rack of utility belts and gun-shaped objects certainly looked interesting—when his eyes fell on the computer screens. His heart stuttered in his chest. Staring back at him from the cold blue glow of the screens was the smirking face of Tony Zucco.

The momentary shock and grief at the sight of his parents' killer hardened into something else: Anger.

That man had taken his family from him. That man had ruined his whole life.

That man was going to pay.

Dick scowled. Why would Batman have a picture of Tony Zucco? What could Batman possibly want with Tony Zucco?

Unless…Batman was investigating him.

Curiosity piqued, Dick whirled forward on the computer chair, turning to examine the computer screens in front of him.

Having been raised in a traveling circus, Dick had minimal experience with the technological wonders called computers. He had no idea how to use one, having only had brief contact with one (much smaller) desktop at a public library in Miami, let alone a high-tech, multi-screened Batcomputer.

He chewed his lip thoughtfully, electing to read what was already on the screens instead of trying to figure out what all those buttons did—even though they were so tempting. But he didn't want to risk changing the screens when what he wanted was right here in front of him.

Dick had no idea how long he sat there—he only knew that every police report, every gang profile, every paragraph brought him closer to his family's murderer. His blood boiled at all the other sick things this man had done, how many other families he had destroyed just because they didn't do what he wanted them to do.

Dick made a silent vow to never ever let Zucco do it again. He was going to catch him, with or without Batman's help.

Batman's help...

An enormous surge of fright shot through him: What if Bruce was mad that Dick had discovered his secret? What if Batman didn't like him going through his files? What if Bruce kicked him out and he would be stuck in Juvie and never find Zucco and avenge his parents' deaths? What if...

His head jerked toward the floor's end as the sound of an engine once again echoed through the cold black cavern.

Suddenly terrified at the consequences of being caught, Dick dashed toward the first hiding place in sight: The T-Rex. He scrambled up the scaly limbs, using the indents of its skin as handholds, scooting up the spine and sucking into the open mouth just as the engine sounds dwindled into silence.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep as still and quiet as possible to avoid discovery. A black shadow flickered across the floor in front of the computer screens, and suddenly, the Batman was there.

Dick gave a short gasp, wiggling farther back into his hiding place—and jumped as his hand bumped into something warm and furry.

A pair of yellow eyes opened in the shadows, followed by another, and another, and another.

Dick shrieked in terror, scrambling away as a flock of bats erupted from the dinosaur's throat, tiny leather wings batting all around him as high pitched squeaks echoed in his ears, driving him over the T-Rex's teeth. He gasped as his flailing hands met with nothing, his teetering body pausing for the space of a second before tipping over completely.

Here he went again... Time slowing, arms windmilling, and cold, hard fear encompassing his entire being. Why was it so hard to just stay on the ground?

An enormous shadow swept into his vision from the left. An arm reached out of the blackness and plucked him from the air, pulling him close against an armored chest painted with a striking black bat.

The pair swept toward the ground, his savior landing lightly on his feet before the computer bank, setting Dick lightly onto the ground.

Dick promptly fell on his rear, his vision swimming with fear and vertigo.

The Bat crouched next to him and Dick resisted the instinctive urge to flinch away as the white eye slits glared at him in the darkness.

"Um...hi?" Dick tried nervously after seconds had ticked by in silence.

Batman did not reply.

Abruptly, the man stood up, and Dick scrambled to his feet in front of him, wincing at the suddenly obvious height difference between the two.

The silence stretched on unbearably long, and Dick was beginning to fidget under the intense gaze when Bru—Batman finally spoke: "How did you get down here?"

Gathering what nerve he had left, Dick stared challengingly up at his guardian. "Followed you. Bruce."

Another silence.

"You're Batman," Dick stated finally, unable to bear it any longer. "All this time you've been down here searching for Zucco and you didn't tell me." Anger bubbled in his chest, hands balling into fists at his sides. "You wouldn't let me help."

Bruce still didn't reply, and Dick's anger spiked at the man's aloofness. "They're my parents," he snapped. "I have every right to—"

"No." One word, spoken in a low tone that still managed to dominate the entire cave.

"What?" Dick spluttered. "Why not?"

"You're too young," Batman began, voice thundering off the rocky walls. "You're raw and inexperienced. You act on emotion and operate based on pure dumb luck and instinct rather than knowledge and experience. You're driven by anger and revenge, which are bound to lead to stupid mistakes in the very near future if you continue as you are."

Dick opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

The Bat glared. Turned, dismissive, gliding towards the computer.

Dick's blood boiled. "If I can't go with you, I'll keep going out myself," he threatened at the man's retreating back.

"No, you won't," the Bat rumbled, not even deigning to glance Dick's way as he reached out to type on the built-in keyboard. "It's too dangerous. Go back to your room. Stay there. This discussion is over."

"I need to do this," Dick insisted, closing the distance between them to a few feet. "I need to bring him to justice."

No response.

"I thought you, of all people, would know how I feel," Dick said soft, angry. "That you would understand why I have to do this. No one else."

Batman's typing paused.

There was an extended moment of silence, broken only by the faint sounds of the bats in the ceiling.

Dick made a mental note to start talking more often. Because if Bruce wasn't going to fill this constant, oppressive, all encompassing silence, someone had to start easing the tension around here.

The Bat swiveled on his heel, catching Dick off guard as the blank white lenses of the cowl suddenly focused in on him once more.

He pulled back his cowl, revealing familiar, but hardened blue eyes; Bruce in Batman's costume. Dick was suddenly struck by the enormity of the fact that his guardian was Batman. It was yet to be determined whether that was really cool, or really scary…

The Bat spoke, breaking Dick from his thoughts: "Richard"—Dick winced at the use of his full name—"I'm going to ask you a question. And I need you to answer it truthfully."

Dick swallowed, managing a small nod.

"If you had the chance, would you kill Zucco?"

Dick blinked. "What?"

"Would you kill Zucco?" Batman ground out.

Dick hesitated. If he had the chance...would he do it? Could he do it? Zucco had taken so much from him… It would be so easy to destroy the man who'd murdered his family. But...would it really matter in the end? Would it really heal the gaping hole that had torn through his heart the moment his family hit the hard packed earth?

Bruce's eyes held Dick's gaze, hard and emotionless. Yet Dick could imagine the calculating look hiding just beneath the surface, studying him, gauging his response.

And Dick knew his answer.

"No," he whispered. Then, louder: "No, I wouldn't kill Zucco if I had the chance. I mean…maybe I wanted to at first, a little, and… I want him to get what he deserves, but...what's the point in killing him? It won't bring my parents back. I just...I just want to make sure he can never hurt anyone ever again. And...and so..." He swallowed thickly, fighting back the pressure building behind his eyes. "And so maybe my parents can rest in peace."

A flash of something flickered in Bruce's otherwise stoic eyes: Relief? Pride?

Yet another silence dragged through the cave. Yeah, Dick definitely needed to start talking more.

"Was…was that a test?" he managed, unable to bear the scrutiny any longer.

Batman whirled back to face the computer. "You're going to need training," Bruce rumbled. "Your acrobatics are good, but you need to learn how to fight. You will do everything I say, and you will not be going out until I say you are ready. Is that clear?"

Dick blinked in shock. "Uh. Yes. Yes, sir."

"It's going to be difficult," Bruce continued. "And very, very dangerous. If you even want a prayer of surviving longer than a minute in a real fight, you're going to need to work harder than you ever have in your life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." (Dick had a lot of practice with rigorous training regimes. He was an acrobat in a traveling circus, after all. How hard could this be?)

But the Bat's next statement caught him off guard (again): "You'll need a name."

It took a moment for Dick to process that. A name. A name? A name for…what?

And then it hit him.

He was going to be a superhero. A real live superhero. And superheroes had names.

…Did Bruce really expect him to come up with something this important on the spot? Dick needed to think this through, come up with something perfect if this was going to be what he was known for…for…

"Robin," he murmured, realization sharp.

"What?" Bruce said.

Dick cleared his throat, ignoring the stab of grief and longing in his chest along with the reminder of the clear pride that had once echoed in the voice that had last called him by this name. Swallowed, tried louder: "How about Robin?"

A couple moments passed. Bruce inclined his head; grunted. "Fine. Go back to bed."

Stunned, it took Dick a minute to force his feet to move toward the stairs, floating as if in a dream. He gave himself a quick pinch on the arm to be sure. Nope. Definitely awake.

Then, almost an afterthought: "Good night, Dick."

"Night," Dick managed.

And then, as Dick reached the top of the stairs, he heard: "Good work."

A smile quirked the corners of Dick's lips. "Thanks, Bruce," he whispered. For everything.