My Birthday Story, a robin fanfic

Note: I wrote this story in 2004, for my 19th birthday. I finally decided to post it for the general public. Be afraid.

My Birthday Story

Hello, everyone. You know me by many different names. To some of you, I am Timothy Spencer. To others, I am merely robin43068. To others still, I am Mysterious Gentleman X.

Well, today is my 19th birthday, and, such being the case, I think I shall tell you all my real name. Ready?

I'm not going to tell you after all.

It isn't much of a shocker, I know. We all know I love my privacy. It's my name, and I'm fond of it.

And now, the part where I actually tell a story.

As this is my birthday, I feel that, for once, I shall break a personal rule and incorporate myself into this tale. And what is the best way to do this, I ask myself?

I can see that some of you who are more familiar with my work are cringing already. With reason, I don't deny.

As for those of you to who it isn't glaringly obvious, the answer, of course is: I shall, for today only, become Robin.

And now, on with the show.

Title: Not Another Robin!!!

Rating: BB-19 (Birthday Boy is 19)

Summary: The Author becomes the Boy Wonder. What will happen when the switch is discovered?

Disclaimer: All DC characters are owned by and copyrighted to DC Comics. This includes the name "Robin" in conjunction with the hero. However, I own myself.

Warning: For all those who have an aversion to writers dropping themselves into their stories, I can only say one thing: Turtle.

Thank you.

Tim Drake groaned as he raised himself up on one arm. The guy had clocked him. Hard. He hadn't even seen it coming.

He groaned again. Batman was going to kill him. He'd ripped his costume, and the man was obsessed with the costumes. He ironed his cape, for crying out loud!

Tim stumbled as he tried to walk back to his waiting motorcycle. The Teen Wonder had turned 19 the previous day, and the effects of the party were wearing thin. The drinking. Oh, the drinking.

No, not alcohol. Mountain Dew. The stuff was vicious, especially when you weren't expecting the caffeine rush that made you think, I'll try one more. And then you tried one more, and then one more, and then bad guys were hitting you from behind and your head was pounding and you could barely focus and...

Tim almost fell over. He engaged his bo staff, and used it for support. There was no way he was gonna drive a motorcycle. At this point, he would probably wreck a tricycle. Assuming he could even stay on one, that is...

There was nothing to it. He would have to call for someone to come get him.

He reached for his communicator. It wasn't there. He began searching frantically. Finally, he located it. Or part of it, anyway. It must have smashed when he took his dive. That was him.

Tim Drake. The Teen Pratfall.

He tried to move back toward the bike, but for some reason his legs weren't obeying his brain. He sternly commanded them to move. They told him, yeah, right. He threatened them. They replied by folding up.

Then his head decided to join them in their rebellion, and everything faded to black.

(Late that night, after two cans of Mountain Dew, three M&M cookies, and "Kung Pow: Enter the Fist", the Author continued the story.)

The Author was wandering through the alleys of Gotham. He was alone, unarmed, and meek-looking. As such, he was left well alone, as everyone knows that people wandering through dark alleys alone, unarmed, and meek-looking are extraordinarily dangerous.

He saw Robin crumple ahead of him.

Now, most people would have run over to check on the Teen Wonder, and maybe rifle through his pockets while he was unconscious, but The Author liked to take things slow and easy.

So, he kind of... meandered over to the hero, and slowly reached down feeling for the pulse.

He had no idea where a pulse could be found, but he had a vague idea it was somewhere near the wrist.

Finding nothing, he reached for Robin's throat... and checked the pulse there. This one he knew how to find. He checked his own pulse this way. Not even medical professionals could find a pulse in his arm (true).

He knew there was only one thing to do. After all, he had read ahead.

Robin's bike's tires squealed a little as it was negotiated along the twists and turns leading to the Batcave.

A helmeted figure dressed in bright red, green, and yellow clothing guided the machine. Another figure, dressed in street clothes, was strapped across the back.

Tim Drake wore boxers. There was one nagging little mystery solved.

And he hadn't actually switched the underwear or socks. That would have been... gross. Not to mention extremely awkward. But mostly... gross.

Robin, or at least the figure dressed like Robin, sent the bike through the cave's camouflage covering, and parked it in its accustomed spot. Again, he had read ahead a little, so he knew it was the accustomed spot.

Alfred Pennyworth almost dropped his tray as he saw the masked figure unloading the still-unconscious Tim Drake from the motorcycle.

"Oh, dear," he muttered to himself. "Not another one!"

The Author felt Alfred come in, but didn't look around as he finished unstrapping Tim from the bike. He nodded to the aging butler when the man came over to help him move the teen over to a bed placed in the cave for purposes like these.

After they had adjusted Tim, he finally broke the silence. "You must be Alfred."

"You've been reading the part above, haven't you?" accused the older man.

"Well, I had to know if I was going to get help," defended the masked Author.

"Pity I can't read the story, too," muttered Alfred. "I would really like to know your name right now."

"Life's just full of little disappointments," replied The Author. "I know all about you all, of course. After all, I can read not only this story, but many other stories, as well."

Silently, he added, Which is how I know you're about to say, "I don't know what Master Bruce is going to think about this."

"I don't know what Master Bruce is going to think about this," said Alfred, right on cue.

"He's going to let me take Tim's place tonight, until he's recovered," The Author answered, somewhat smugly. After all, he may have been omniscient, but he was still human.

Alfred sighed. "I suppose I'm going to have to believe you on this one," he said.

"No, no, and no," said Batman. "Absolutely not."

"You're going to sooner or later," said Alfred. "The lad's been right about everything else, and I don't think this is going to be any different."

Batman sighed. "All right," he said. "But only for today!"

"I know, sir," said The Author, still in his mask.

Batman sighed again. "Of course you do," he muttered.

"I suppose you're trained well enough to handle this?"

The Author checked the next sentence. Apparently, he was. Plus, in addition to being omniscient, he was also omnipotent. Such characters usually are, whether they

admit it or not. He was one of those rare original characters that would admit it to himself, let alone others.

Following this line of reasoning, he decided to say, "Well, I am omnipotent."

"Of course you are," Batman said wearily. "Well, let's get this story over with, so you can be sent on your merry way, and I can get Tim back."

To make a long story short, they did.

To make a short story long, they spent the night capturing crook after crook. The Author -as-Robin was determined to rid the city of half its villains by the time he was done, and, thanks to his omnipotence, he accomplished this easily.

He simulated Robin's abilities, because he knew he could. After all, it said so in the previous sentence.

And the pair did more work in one night than Batman had been able to do alone since beginning his career.

This was because The Author said so, and it is His birthday, after all. He can do pretty much whatever He wants.

Having read the above, The Author decided to date Steph once before he left. So, he went to her house, knocked on her window, explained what was going on, and asked her out.

She agreed.

It was a wonderful time, and she was sad to see him go. This was mostly because he made that be the case.

Mostly.

He had finally unmasked, and they had spent four hours wandering around Gotham, finding new and interesting things to do.

Now, everybody, including the revitalized and re-masked Tim, stood around him in the alley where he had first appeared.

"Um... see you around," said Tim, because it seemed like the thing to say.

"No, you won't," said The Author, matter-of-factly. "You'll go to bed tonight, and wake up tomorrow, and this will all have been just a dream. None of you will talk about it, none of you will know that the others shared it with you."

And they knew he was right. He was omniscient, after all.

He faded slowly away, and left them standing awkwardly, not quite looking each other in the eye. Steph was the first to walk away, followed soon after by Batman. But Robin remained, staring at the spot where The Author had stood, thinking. Finally, he turned and left.

When Tim got back to his apartment, he did exactly what the stranger had said he'd do. He went to sleep, and woke up the next morning, feeling that it had all been a dream.

He went into the little kitchenette, and saw a package lying on the counter, a note on top of that.

He opened the note.

--Dear Tim,

--These will work better with your costume.

--From one Birthday Boy to another, The Author

Bemused, Tim opened the oddly shaped package, and laughed out loud at what was inside.

A package of "tighty-whiteys" lay among the wrapping paper, one last joke from the omnipotent Author.

The End

From the Author: I thought about leaving it there, but I've decided to add this postscript.

Turtle.

Thank you. And remember, when you wake up tomorrow morning, it'll all have been a dream...