Author's Note: Here is the beginning of the story I promised that will explore Gobblehead's origin. I know I initially said this would be a ten-chapter piece, but...well, those of you who have been reading my stuff for a while know how my muse has an extreme handicap when it comes to estimating. It won't go anywhere near the length of 'Firework,' but it may be more than ten chapters, so fair warning.

For those of you unfamiliar with Gobblehead, I highly recommend that you read my stories 'The Princely Pardon,' 'Of Friends and Foes,' and 'A Weekend in Bruges' before diving into this tale.

The plan is to post a new chapter daily, so stay tuned, and happy reading!

Bruce almost ran smack into Dick as they both tried to pass through the back door at the same time, the man going out, the boy coming in. "Whoa!" the billionaire stepped back quickly. "There you are, kiddo. I was just coming to look for you. I took off early since it's Friday, and I thought we could…Dick?" he trailed off, frowning as he heard a sniffle. A closer look at the bowed head in front of him brought him to his knees, and he reached out with two fingers to gently lever the child's chin upward. Don't cry, he pled silently as plump tears succumbed to gravity. Wide, pain-bright eyes stared at him, confusion evident in their cast. Please don't cry. What's got you so upset? "Dicky? What's wrong, chum?"

"G-g-gobblehead bit me!" was sobbed back.

"…What?!" He was torn, part of him railing that he should have never let their would-be dinner stay after Thanksgiving while the remainder of his brain protested that injuring Dick was the last thing that the turkey seemed likely to do. Gobblehead saved his life, he puzzled, and I'm the only one of the three of us he's ever pecked at before – the jerk didn't even peck at Clark, or so I've heard – so what's changed? "Did you move too fast, maybe, or…?" he asked, searching for answers.

"I didn't do anything, Bruce! I j-just went out to read to him…m-m-maybe he doesn't like the book, I guess, 'cause it's Animal Farm, but that's no reason for him to h-hurt me!"

"Let me see where he got you," he ordered, drawing the youth inside and gently prying his hand away from his right forearm. "Ow," he commiserated as a one inch gash came into view. "He hit you good, huh?" At least it isn't too deep, but…I don't understand why it happened to begin with. A tendril of blood seeped from the wound, but before it could take off towards the floor he pressed his son's fingers back against it. "Let's go get you cleaned up downstairs, okay? I don't know where Alfred keeps anything up here, and I don't want to bother him right now."

Neither spoke again until they were safely out of earshot of the busy butler in the kitchen. Once the clock had shut behind them, Dick broke the silence with a stuffy-nosed inquiry. "Did he seem distracted to you, too? Alfred?"

"Yeah. Has he been like that since he picked you up at school?"

"Uh-huh. I didn't want to bug him either, so I went outside to read to Gobbles, but…" His lip trembled anew. "Bruce, why'd he bite me? I didn't do anything…"

"I know, chum," the billionaire reached down to squeeze his shoulder. "Maybe he's just…having an off day." Yeah, genius, your three-years-ahead-of-his-class ten year old is totally going to believe that line of shit, he snarked at himself immediately. The turkey is having an off day, and tonight the Joker and Batman will skip merrily through the streets of Gotham, hand-in-hand. Jesus…

"…I don't think turkeys have off days," Dick opined sadly as he was lifted onto one of the exam tables in the medical section. "I think he's mad at me for something. But I don't know what I did…maybe I haven't been seeing him enough? I try to see him every day, though…wait! I've got it!" he exclaimed. "I'll bet he needs a girlfriend, Bruce!"

"A girlfriend?" God, no, not another turkey, he groaned as he swabbed at the gouge midway between his son's wrist and elbow. And a female on top of that…no. I can't deal with hearing about nothing but baby turkeys for weeks on end until they get big enough that you aren't obsessed with them anymore. And even then you'll still want to keep all of them, since they'll be Gobblehead's babies, and…just…no. No more animals. "What makes you think he needs a girlfriend?"

"Well, it's spring. Isn't that when you're supposed to want to get a girlfriend? That's what all the poetry and stuff we're reading in English class says, more or less."

He nearly laughed, but held it back out of respect for the seriousness of the situation. "Stereotypically, yes, this is the time of year for romance. Speaking scientifically, however, I have no idea if sex hormone production goes up in the spring. To be honest, I kind of doubt that it does, considering that the majority of large mammals' mating seasons are in the late summer and fall. As for birds, they do mate in the spring, but I think that part of the year is already past."

"…Oh. Well, crud," the boy sighed. "I guess that isn't the problem, then."

"It doesn't look that way," Bruce agreed, taping a square of gauze into place. "Let me get something to wrap around this so it doesn't fall off if. Does it hurt?" he asked as the child's face pinched. "Do you want an aspirin?"

Dick ducked his head. "…It doesn't hurt," he said quietly. "What hurts is that Gobbles bit me. I just want to know why, but he can't tell me because he's a turkey. How am I supposed to make up for whatever I did wrong if he can't talk about it and he won't let me come close enough to pet him?"

"…I don't know, chum," the billionaire sighed. "But I'll be right back." Damn it, Gobblehead, he cursed as he fetched one of the rolls of clean cotton that were kept well-stocked in the cave's infirmary. What the hell were you thinking, attacking him? Maybe I should have Alfred call out a veterinarian…it could be something physical, I suppose. If the stupid bird's sick, that might have made him lash out. I'm hardly at my politest when I don't feel well, so why shouldn't it be the same for a turkey? Shaking his head, he began to encircle the youth's outstretched arm with cloth. Now I'm starting to sound like Dick, assigning emotions and thoughts to an animal…shit. Still, I'll see if there's anyone who will come out over the weekend. Even if I didn't owe Gobblehead a favor for what he did last winter, his behavior – and whatever's causing it – are giving kiddo grief, and that's not okay. If a vet can make him feel better, we'll get a vet.

"There," he clipped the loose end of fabric down. "It will probably be healed enough that we can just put a regular Band-Aid over it by the time you have to go back to school, but I want you to keep this on over the weekend, got it? Alfred or I will help you change it tomorrow."

"But…I can't patrol like this, can I?" Dick asked, looking between his arm and his guardian. "You always say I'm not allowed to when I'm hurt. Besides, it might show between my sleeve and my glove."

"Yeeeah…I think you're going to have to skip going out this weekend," Bruce told him, a sincere expression of commiseration on his face. "But," he added quickly, "you can stay up down here until your weekend bedtime, okay? You won't be able to practice moves or anything, but you can work on files. Robin would be a big help on the radio Sunday night, too. You can stay up past your normal bedtime for that; I'll deal with Alfred's wrath." Don't cry again. Please. I know you're going to be upset that you can't go out, but we do not need villains seeing us in bandages. Besides, he tried not to think lest his eyes give him away, the positioning of the wound beneath one of the very few gaps that the boy's costume allowed was a convenient excuse to keep him safely away from the field of battle against what was likely to be a nasty adversary.

"…I never feel like a help on the radio," he complained. "You're doing the cool stuff, and I'm stuck just watching."

"You'll be helpful day after tomorrow. I got some new intel about Timmy Flaherty off of a narc who wanted to keep his nose from being flattened last night."

The child perked up. "Flaherty? Is his big exchange finally happening?" They'd been doggedly pursuing the man who called himself an 'importer/exporter of specialty items' for two months, having been set off by a tip from one of Batman's regular informers shortly after their return from Bruges. Flaherty considered himself a businessman; Batman and Robin knew he was nothing more than a high stakes crook. Either way, both vigilantes wanted to see him in cuffs.

"Weapons for drugs," Bruce nodded. "That's the exchange. He's playing in the big leagues now; his contact is a trafficker for the FARC. Do you remember who they are?"

"Sure. They're the big left-wing revolutionary group in Columbia, right?"

"Right. Well, the word is that a small plane will land at a privately owned airstrip outside of town that Flaherty's leased for 'recreational purposes,'" he drew air quotes with his fingers. "On that plane will be a ton of FARC-produced cocaine."

"Wait…like literally a ton, or…?"

"Literally. Two thousand pounds."

"…That's a lot of cocaine."

"Yes, it is. Flaherty's men will unload it into trucks and fill the space back up with guns, rocket launchers, grenades…everything a militant revolutionary group could want in terms of equipment."

"Until Batman swoops in and shuts them down," Dick smiled beneath still-red eyes.

"Exactly. So…do you think you might want to help with that?"

"…I'm your Robin. Of course I want to help you. I want to help with everything Batman does," the boy stated in a tone that suggested his answer should have been obvious. "…But Bruce?"

"Yeah, chum?"

"These are dangerous men, right? Flaherty's guys and whoever the FARC sends?"

"Yes. They are. It won't be an easy job; that's why I need you on the radio. On the video, actually; I'm going to need you to monitor the edges of the field for one of two things. If we're lucky, Flaherty's rivals will catch wind of the exchange and try to come in and take what they can to sell themselves. Regardless of whether or not that happens, he'll have re-enforcements waiting in the woods around the airstrip, and it's a large enough plot of trees that there won't be time to locate and take out his back-up before the plane arrives. Even if there was time, there's too much risk of exposing the fact that someone uninvited is waiting around if I go for his extra men before the plane lands. This is a very big deal, Dick, and Flaherty's got a hair trigger for trouble; that's why it's taken me this long to get my hands on him. This isn't the first time I've chased him, but hopefully it will be the last. I don't want to risk screwing it up before it even starts. So you'll be watching the trees for trouble while I'm dealing with the guards and the loading crew. You'll be able to tell me about re-enforcements long before I'll be able to see them in the dark and at a distance."

"…But how? I mean, it's going to be just as dark for me, isn't it?" he wrinkled his nose.

"That's a secret," the billionaire winked. "I'm saving that for Sunday night." You're going to love it, chum. Hell, I think it's pretty neat, and I built it.

"…Bruce?" came again.

"Hmm?"

"You weren't going to take me with you even if Gobbles…if Gobbles hadn't bitten me, were you?"

Bruce started. Uh-oh. Not this. Not now. "Dicky…I need someone to watch the trees. That's an important job."

"But…you've been doing the good missions without me ever since I met the Joker," the child point out as he stared down at his bandaged arm. "And I thought…I mean, we did a couple of dangerous ones after I was all healed from Sawyer, so…why did that stop? I thought…I thought I was doing good, but you've only been letting me do file work on the stuff that's happened since March. Every time you've taken me out, it's just been for a regular patrol. I love that, I really do, but…I feel like you cut me out of the bigger cases. Wouldn't it make more sense to take me with you for Flaherty?" he begged suddenly. "We could figure out where his back-up is waiting, then when you start attacking the plane I could take out the ones in the trees. No one would get warned, and you wouldn't have to worry about people coming to help the bad guys. Plus, Alfred could watch the video feed, you know he'd do it. That's a smart idea, isn't it? So…so how come that wasn't what you wanted to do, Bruce? Am…am I not good enough to help you with the big stuff? Did I do something wrong to you, too?"

…Oh, baby, no, the man moaned silently. It's not that you aren't good enough. You are, it's just… It was just that the incident with the Joker had scared the living daylights out of him. Seeing what the psychopath would do to his son without knowing that he had any attachment to Batman had hammered home what would happen if he got his hands on Robin. Despite the fact that his arch-nemesis was still in Arkham, there were plenty of other villains still loose in Gotham who would do equally as terrible of things to the boy if given the chance. Look at Sawyer, he told himself as Dick waited with newly-damp cheeks. Look at what he did to you, what he would have done to you if Kid Flash hadn't managed to get into the room, and he didn't even really have a grudge against Batman. The Joker, or Scarecrow, or any of the others…no. I can't…can't think about that, not even with you sitting right here.

It's like I told you before Christmas; they all have reasons to want to get back at me. If they don't know Robin exists, then they can't make you the method by which they enact their revenge. Sawyer and the Joker…those things weren't supposed to happen, but they did. Sawyer's in no position to talk to anyone in Gotham, not from a federal cell somewhere under Washington, and the Joker saw Dick, not Robin. For now only the good guys, excepting Sawyer, know about Batman's little bird, and that's the way I'm going to keep it for as long as possible. The best way to do that is to keep men like Flaherty, men with more connections to the local criminal underground than I have pairs of cashmere socks, from finding about you.

"We talked about this," he ventured finally. "I don't want our enemies to know about you until they absolutely have to." It was an old argument now, and he knew it wouldn't hold out for much longer, but he didn't have a better excuse that wouldn't be immediately torn to shreds. "As for Alfred watching for us, he has other things to do."

"Things that he'd drop in a second if he knew we needed his help," Dick countered. "Besides, you took me on missions against Scarecrow and Poison Ivy, and you said that there were already some rumors and that word would get out sooner or later, especially after Sawyer, so…so what…" He shook his head, confused. "So what happened? How come you let me fight against them before, but not now?"

"…Things changed, chum. This is a dangerous time, and the rumor didn't spread as fast as I thought it would." That's not really a lie, he thought defensively. The Robin talk did die down around mid-February, and…well, I wanted to keep it that way, especially after March.

"Bruce…I was thinking…well, I never actually saw Scarecrow or Poison Ivy on those jobs," the boy said, swallowing hard. "In fact…none of the guys we busted said anything about them. No one did. And you left me behind to tie up the low-level people while you chased them, then told me both times that you got whichever one we were after that night and left them somewhere else for the police. But…there wasn't anything on the news the next day, either time. They talked about all the other arrests, but…not Scarecrow, and not Poison Ivy. I…I don't want to call you a liar, but…they didn't really have anything to do with those cases, did they? You just…you just said that they did."

"Dick…" God damn it. "Of course they-"

"Don't lie to me, daddy."

That word…fuck. "…I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, but I know it made you feel good to help on those 'big' missions, and…and to be honest, I was afraid that if I didn't start letting you tackle more challenging adversaries you would do what you did with Zucco and sneak out. I couldn't risk that, not after what happened when I was right there with Sawyer. You did so well with that whole mess that I knew you would start to chafe if I went back to only letting you do relatively safe patrols, so…yes. I lied to you, and I'm sorry, Dicky. Those were still important takedowns, though, chum," he insisted desperately, laying his hands on the boy's trembling shoulders. "They were still big, and they still made a difference. But…no. You're right. Neither Scarecrow nor Poison Ivy was involved in the cases I said that they were. But you're still getting to go on bigger and bigger cases, I just…I just needed to keep you secret a little while longer, okay? As for lately…there hasn't been much really big lately other than Flaherty, and that's the truth. Everyone's been fairly quiet, which is scary in and of itself, but…I haven't lied to you about that. I really haven't."

"Bruce…" the youth warbled miserably at his guardian's admission of dishonesty, clutching his injured arm against his stomach. "…'Scuse me," he murmured after a short pause, then slipped out from beneath the billionaire's hands and bolted for the stairs.

"Dick! Fuck," the man cursed as the boy vanished. …I'm sorry, kiddo. I truly am. I wish you'd never found out, of course, but…today was the worst possible day for it. First Gobblehead hurt you, and then I did. He ached to take off after him and smooth things over – at least I can be fairly confident that he won't sneak out without a mask, and I know he doesn't keep one outside of the cave – but for the moment he sensed that the boy needed time to calm down and collect himself. Sighing, he busied himself with cleaning up the supplies he'd used to bind his son's turkey wound. Just as the garbage can's lid closed over the lightly bloodied antiseptic wipes he'd wiped the gash clean with, the Zeta tube spoke up. "Clark," he half-groaned, half-griped as footsteps approached from his rear. Go away. But…tell me why I'm so stupid when it comes to my own child first, would you?

"Bruce."

His tone bordered on sorrowful, and the billionaire frowned hard as he turned to face him. "What?" he asked. "…What's happened?" Who's dead? he wondered with a slight mental wince. You wouldn't sound like that unless something very…permanent…had happened. It better not have been Wally, because the last thing I could even remotely stand to do right now would be to tell Dick that the one friend he has who isn't two or three times his age has been killed. Don't you dare be bringing me news that's going to make his day even worse. "…Why are you carrying the file for a completed mission?" his eyes narrowed as he spotted the bundle of documents in the other man's hand. "…Clark, what is this about?"

"Bruce," the Kryptonian sighed heavily, "I'm afraid we need to talk turkey."