Robin's Fifteen Minutes

Tim always both liked and hated working alone. The work was so much harder without Bruce with him, it always felt so much more daunting. Bruce had years of experience, of training, and the very sight of him while in costume was enough to scare the wits out of any street punk. But it was also always a chance to prove himself to Bruce and the rest of Gotham, and gain a shred of independence that seemed to be in short supply since he joined Batman on his war against crime.
The night had already been busy. Batman and Robin had spent the evening already making headlines for the next morning's newspaper, going on a volatile hunt throughout Gotham City trying to capture Killer Croc, whom had been on a rampage over the last few days. The large man, reptillian in appearance, had murdered several innocent civilians over the last week and had evaded the police at every turn. It was up to Batman and Robin to track him down and bring him in. Their hunt had traced Croc to the sewers beneath The Narrows. However, a call came over the police scanner that Batman picked up just before entering the sewer.
“There's a situation at the museum,” Batman said to Robin, listening into the earpiece in his mask that relayed police information to him as it came, “sounds like Gordon has a group of thieves cornered in there, they have hostages. He's even called in a SWAT team it sounds like. He needs help.” That much was abundantly clear as the Bat-Signal was high in the sky over Gotham tonight.
Tim didn't always agree with Bruce, but he never argued with him. If Bruce said 'go help Gordon,' then Tim would go and help Gordon. Bruce, afterall, had been Batman for years before Tim became Robin. And on top of that, Bruce was like family to him, he didn't feel he had the right to argue. Besides, Bruce had worked with two Robins before him, whom he held in the highest regard. Dick and Jason. Dick, whom moved on and became his own man. Nightwing. He now patrols the streets without Batman. And Jason, who died in action against The Joker. Two Robins and Tim was just the third. Same uniform, same role. What made him any different?
He just didn't like the idea of leaving Bruce to face Killer Croc by himself. One-on-one. Most would say that's a fair fight, but in the case of Killer Croc, you almost always needed a handicap in your favour to even have a chance of survival. Croc had been known to tear people's limbs off just for getting in his way. But then, Batman had fought Croc before, many times. He knew what he was up against more than anyone.
The Redbird sped through the city streets, almost as if it were gliding through each intersection. Robin, covered in his trademark red, yellow and green attire, attracted the attention of pedestrians and on-lookers. Although there were a lot of his kind out there nowadays, it was still out of the ordinary to see one in person, even if it were just for a second as Robin rode his suped up motorcycle down the darkened city streets, weaving in and out of traffic. His kind, being heroes. Superheroes. Caped crusaders. Men of Tomorrow. Vigilantes. Mercenaries. People called them what they wanted to call them. Some of them looked onto them as role models, the kind of person that they were proud to have protecting them and their city. Others looked at them just as lowly as the criminals these “vigilantes” fought night after night. They stole work from the police. Made them look incompetent. They were forced down the throats of the public by the media. They were vigilantes, taking the law into their own hands. What gave them the right? That was the frame of mind a lot of people nowadays seemed to have, regardless of how much good Batman, Robin, Nightwing or the Justice League did for the world.
“Robin,” the low, gritty, fake voice of Batman crackled over the radio in his helmet.
“Yes Batman? I'm almost at the museum,” Robin replied.
“Good. I think I'm getting closer to Croc. From here on in I'll probably have to maintain radio silence as I go deeper into the sewers. I want to stay as quiet as possible,” his voice, it was something that Tim still had to get used to. When Bruce put his mask and cape on, he became Batman. Appearance, voice and all. “In the museum, remember, assess the situation first. If it's too dangerous, if there are too many hostages, don't engage. Just help Gordon and his men. If I can apprehend Croc before then, I'll come and help. Just becareful.”
“Got it,” Robin replied.
He quietly let out a sigh as he looked up into the sky and saw the Bat-Signal hanging overhead. He remembered a time when he was excited to see the Bat-Signal. It meant getting to work with his hero, his role model. Now it just meant: we're in trouble and we need Batman – not Robin. He often imagined what it would be like to have a Robin signal over the sky. But that would never happen. He was always a tag along to Batman, his sidekick, the kid that rode in the passenger seat of the Batmobile. He was less of a partner and more of a teenage apprentice that no one expected much from. An understudy. An intern at the Batcave. He didn't deserve the same respect or attention that Batman had earnt with years of protecting Gotham.

The museum building was dimly lit from the outside, with the only brightness coming from the spotlights that the police reinforcements had on the ground. Spotlights, police cars and SWAT vans formed a barricade around the museum entrance. The museum being a gigantic building, Gordon had used a lot of his men, almost his entire force, getting every exit covered.
In the middle of the commotion, the police officers, SWAT members covered in riot gear, detectives reading through their Hostage Negotiations Handbook while nervously holding a megaphone in their hands was Commissioner Jim Gordon. One of the few good men left in Gotham that was trying to make a difference without wearing a mask.
Robin rode by a wave of people to get to the scene. The people: local residents, passers-by, reporters, journalists, photographers and the uniformed police officers tasked with the job of holding them back behind the police lines. The photographers snapped shots of the Redbird pulling in next to a SWAT van, the journalists jotted down notes in their little notepads, the people cheered. It reminded Tim of why he still does this. Then the people started to look around, the streets, the skies, the rooftops. They were waiting – waiting for a Dark Knight to come swinging in heroically from the top of a skyscraper, to come gliding to the ground. Or the large, black, sleek, impressive armoured Batmobile to come roaring in next to the Redbird, making Robin's motorcycle look like a child's bicycle that's barely off its training wheels by comparison. The people were no longer excited to see him, they were just disappointed. Like they'd just watched their favourite band play through a set without playing their favourite song. Robin shrugged it off, walking carefree over to the Commissioner. He wasn't going to waste time with lieutenants or sargents or detectives. He was going to the top.
Gordon looked up, seeing a single lone hero walking towards him. Not the hero he was hoping for. Not his Dark Knight. Not his usual safety net when a job was too difficult to handle with the resources he had. Not Batman. It was just Robin.
“Batman on his way?” Gordon asked promptly.
“Maybe later, he's indisposed at the moment. He sent me for the time being,” Robin answered.
“Fair enough.”
Fair enough meaning – you'll have to do then. Meaning – you're better than nothing I guess. That's all Tim had ever thought he was. Better than nothing. They'd rather someone else, but Robin was still a little bit better than no one at all. He wouldn't make much difference. They'd much prefer Batman or Nightwing.
“What's the situation?” Robin asked.
“Well... there's seven of them in there. A silent alarm was tripped about an hour ago. Most of my men showed up promptly. They have hostages though,” Gordon sighed, rolling his eyes behind his glasses, “It's the only thing stopping me from sending in a squad to flush them out. They've yet to make any demands. We've only made contact once so far tonight.”
“I take it that didn't go too well then?”
“Not exactly, we managed to call into the museum and contact their leader. He said the odds are against us, then hung up. They haven't answered any more of our calls, so we're about to shut off power and send in a SWAT team. I wanted to wait for Batman, but I'm not sure what choice I've got,” Gordon explained, attempting to be sympathetic and sparing the boy's feelings.
“No need, I'll go in. Just make sure you get those hostages to safety as soon as they're out the front door,” Robin said, almost boasting.
“You're going to go in there? Robin, the man I spoke to on the phone, their ringleader. It's Two-Face. He's in there with six thugs armed with machine guns and God knows what else.”
Two-Face. That made him think of what Bruce said on the way over there. Assess the situation. If it's too dangerous, don't engage. Two-Face, Harvey Dent, he qualifies as being too dangerous. Too violent. Too merciless. Too unpredictable. All of his decisions are made with a flip of a coin. But Batman's miles away, underground in the Narrows looking for a seven-foot tall crocodile man. And Gordon's just moments away from relenting and letting a SWAT team go in there and cause all kinds of collateral damage.
“It doesn't matter. I can handle it,” Robin said, trying to fool both the Commissioner and himself into thinking that, “just hold the order on your men a little longer. If I don't make it, you can send them in and let them do their thing. I know you don't want them going in there and making a mess with those hostages still holed up in there just as much as I do.”
Gordon mulled it over, stroking his moustache, thinking of the outcomes. Robin might not be Batman, but he's been trained by Batman, and he's seen this kid work before. He could just pull it off with some luck. A lot of luck actually.
“Okay, look, I'll give you fifteen-minutes to get in there, neutralize the threat, and send the hostages out. After fifteen-minutes, I'm going to have to cut the power and send a SWAT team in. Fifteen-minutes.”
“I'll be out in ten,” Robin gave off a smirk before turning and running, leaving Gordon wondering, hoping, he made the right choice.
On the far side of the museum, Robin was out of sight. Out of sight of the police, the reporters, the audience. He looked down at his wrist, folding the end of his glove forward to show his digital watch. Pressing a few buttons, he had set a timer for fifteen minutes. When his watch beeped, then he'd know to expect SWAT teams, gunfire and probably casualties.
In front of him was a side of the museum that had no entrance. Just a few windows. He would go in via the roof. He fired his grappling hook towards the ledge of the rooftop, latching onto the side, getting a firm grip, tightening the slack. He held in the retract button on his grappling gun as it pulled him swiftly to the top. He wondered how Bruce was going with Croc. Part of him felt he should have stayed and helped. But knowing that Two-Face was present made Robin's assistance at the museum seem more justified.
Climbing onto the roof, Robin watched the area, there was no one on the roof. No hostages, no men with guns, no ex-district attorneys with half of their face melted off. He let out a sigh of relief as he snuck towards the entrance to the rooftop.

Outside the museum, about thirty-feet away from Gordon and the rest of the police, were several reporters and cameramen. One cameraman hoisted a TV camera onto his shoulder, pointing it at an attractive young woman, covered in makeup, wearing very professional clothing.
The cameraman signalled the woman, “Shelley, we're on in five, four, three,” he signalled two and one with the digits on his hand before pointing to her, letting her know that they were live.
“I'm Shelley Summers, standing outside the Gotham City Museum where tensions are high and it feels very much like the calm before a storm. Just over one hour ago, a group of seven men led by the notorious Harvey Dent, broke into the museum, presumably to steal many of the priceless artifacts currently on show there, but an alarm was tripped and now police are on the scene, led by Commissioner Jim Gordon. The burglars are believed to have a number of hostages captive, most of which are security guards and museum staff that have stayed back for the night. Very little contact has been made with Harvey Dent or any of his men. The Bat-Signal is still high in the sky here tonight, however there has been no sign of Batman. Instead, his sidekick, The Boy Wonder, showed up just a few minutes ago, and it is now believed that he is attempting to sneak into the building to resolve the issue and rescue the hostages.”
“It looks like we've got an easier night than we thought boys. No Bat. Only his boy wonder and some cops,” Harvey snickered, standing, watching Shelley Summers unknowingly report him reconaissance news over the television in the manager's office.
“You two,” Harvey pointed at two of his men standing on the opposite end of the room, “go upstairs. If any wannabe-heroes are getting in, it'll probably be through the roof. Bring him to me if you catch him.”
The two armed guards he addressed promptly lefted the room, making sure their machine guns were loaded.
Harvey Dent, Two-Face as he was now known, wandered from behind the manager's desk to the line of hostages seated against the wall. There were six hostages in all. Four security guards on their night shift. One janitor. And the museum manager. In Harvey's left hand was his bright silver desert eagle. His finger lightly moving up against the trigger, but not squeezing it. His right hand flipping his coin up and down, by habbit. Letting it flip over his fingers, almost as if it were walking over his knuckles. From one angle, Harvey looked like a normal guy. Any kind of civillian you'd see walking in the upperscale parts of Gotham City. Slightly tanned skin, dark brown hair. Nothing out of the ordinary. But if he were to turn, ever so slightly, you'd see his other side. His deformed side. His ugly side. Some see it as his evil side. Burnt, deformed. His skin torn and charred and his hair singed off on the right side of his head.
He was once an admirable man, a strong willed and ambitious man. He was once Gotham's District Attorney. He brought down gang leaders, mob bosses, drug lords. He even worked with both Commissioner Gordon and Batman on some cases. But it was a case against crime boss Sal Maroni that resulted in acid scarring his face. Burning half of it off. Instead of killing him, it just deformed him. Physically, and mentally. His coin, scarred on one side, now represents his two personalities. He was once an admirable man, but not any more. Now he's a violent, twisted, greedy man, driven by anger and his own warped sense of justice that he believes is based around chance.
“You, guard... Saunders is it?” Two-Face asked, pointing at a security guard seated against the wall, his hands bound together..
“Y-yes?” the guard stuttered, afraid of what his captor had in mind.
“Do you believe in luck?” Two-Face asked somewhat randomly, catching his hostage by surprise.
“I-I, uh, I... I don't know, maybe, sort of... Yeah, I-I guess I do.”
“Well then, maybe tonight is your lucky night,” Two-Face kneeled down in front of him, his scarred face getting closer to Guard Saunders, making him more nervous, “You see, I need to send a message to the police. Let them know I mean business. That the odds are against them. They're a little too close for my liking.”
“... Oh, ah, w-w-would you like me to, ah, go out and um, ask them to um, move back?”
Two-Face knelt in silence. Dead silence. Staring at him. Not smiling, not flinching. Deathly silent. Staring at Saunders, his hostage. One of six hostages. Then he broke the silence.
“Hahaha, that would be your lucky night now wouldn't it?” Two-Face laughed, “No... What I plan to do is to throw you out the window of the top floor of this place to send a message to the cops out there. What I'm just trying to decide is, do I shoot you first and send them a corpse with a bullet in it, or do I just throw you out there as you are?”
A look of shock and terror fell over the guard's face as Two-Face put his coin on the tip of his thumb.
“Tell you what, we flip a coin and that'll decide for us. Good side: I don't shoot you, I just have one of my guys here kindly walk you upstairs, open the window and let you jump out. Maybe you'll survive and just never walk again. But hey, you'll live... maybe. Bad side: I shoot you between the eyes and have your body dumped through the window.”
All the other hostages looked down, the other guards, Saunders' work mates. They didn't want to watch any of it. They didn't want to witness this. They didn't want to be there tonight. They all closed their eyes and pretended they were at home, sitting on the couch, watching TV with their wives. That was the perfect place they wanted to be at that point in time. With their loved ones, safely at home. Not in a museum with a deformed mad man about to decide whether their friend lives or dies. They just shut their eyes and pretended they were miles away. But they still heard it, despite how in-depth their imaginations let them escape the museum. They still heard the coin bounce off his thumb. Spin through the air, the drop back into his hand. They still heard Two-Face take a few steps back and pull the hammer back on his gun. And of course, they heard bullet leave the chamber and enter their workmate's skull. Saunders' skull. And later, they heard the glass window smash and people scream outside.

An echo carrying the sound of a gunshot had put Robin on high alert. He didn't know what had happened. Maybe there was a struggle with the hostages and they had to fire a warning shot. Maybe Two-Face had just been his crazy self and shot a hostage for the fun of it. He didn't think Gordon had sent his men in yet, it hadn't been fifteen minutes yet, and besides, he would've heard a lot more than one gunshot if a SWAT team broke into the museum.
The Boy Wonder snuck down corridors, creeping past artifacts, ancient relics on show at the museum. Things that people come in to gawk at during the day. Things that normally go forgotten at night. He walked through some shattered glass and some empty display cases. Two-Face's men were definitely hear to rob the place. They probably already had duffel bags full of artifacts, gems and other priceless items with them. One of his men must've just been sloppy and tripped the alarm. Robin had three tasks ahead of him – find the stolen goods, rescue the hostages and neutralize Two-Face and his men. Hopefully they would all be in the one place.
“Man I'm not sure Face is paying us enough for this. I mean this place is surrounded by cops, I can't help but feel like I'm about to be sent back to the slammer again,” a voice in the distance interrupted Robin's train of thought. Two of Two-Face's henchmen headed in Robin's direction. Robin quickly jumped into the next exhibit – the dinosaur exhibit. The room was a large hall, covered in old dionsaur fossils and bones. At the centre of it was a giant reconstructed tyrannosaurus rex skeleton, looming over the rest of the room in such a position that made it seem like it was still alive, ready to strike unknowing prey. The perfect place to hide. Robin quickly scaled the bones, and knelt on top of the skull of the dinosaur. It reminded him of the giant tyrannosaurs back in the Batcave. The Batcave reminded him of Bruce, probably in the middle of some fist fight with Killer Croc, half submerged in sewage right about now.
“Ah quit your winin' man, Face is paying us good. Twenty thousand bucks for one night's work. An' he always has an escape plan. It's not like we have to deal with Batman or anything. We just got his brat runnin' around here.”
Tim could overhear the two henchmen conversing as they slowly made their way into the dinosaur exhibit. He was never really taken seriously as a superhero, not by criminals at least. That always bothered him. Timothy Drake, he wore a bright red costume with green sleeves and a yellow cape. If it weren't for his utility belt, eye mask and arsenal of weapons, he could be mistaken for one of the elves that work for twelve dollars an hour with Santa Claus at a shopping mall. Most people's first reaction to seeing him is to laugh. In fact, on more than one occasion at Halloween, he had the elderly offering him candy thinking he was a trick-or-treater. Robin was a joke.
But Batman, a common street thug would take one glimpse of him and he'd have nightmares for the next fortnight. Bruce Wayne, he's what some people would call a perfect physical specimen. He worked out everyday, cardio, weights, acrobatics, anything that would help him at night. He was always pushing his limits. When a man built as well as him puts a pitch black costume on, dresses like a bat, stands at over six-feet tall and virtually flies over the Gotham city skyline, well, lets just say the elderly are locking their doors and watching him from behind their windows as opposed to offering him candy.
The two men entering the dinosaur exhibit, they weren't there with candy either. They had machine guns, and they were ready to use them. They slowly walked passed displays of dinosaur pictures, model velociraptors, slowly walking passed the gigantic tyrannosaurus skeleton in the centre of the hall. Robin knelt, perched on the top of the skull, just out of sight. The room was completely silent. Not a sound except for the light steps of Two-Face's henchmen. Then of course, of all the times.
“Robin, are you there? Come in, Croc's still on the loose. What's your situation?”
Batman's voice crackling over Robin's communicator breaking the silence. Breaking Robin's cover.
“Up there!” one of the henchmen shouted, pointing his machine gun at the skull of the tyrannosaurus and opening fire. Round upon round of bullets headed towards Robin's position. He managed to avoid death then and there, using his agility to scale around the other side of the skull.
He reached into his utility belt, quickly pulling out a small handful of plain looking pellets. Just as he let go of the dinosaur skull, he threw the pellets at the ground hard. They exploded on impact in a flash, followed by a cloud of smoke that quickly filled the room, impairing the two gunmen's vision.
“I can't see! Where the fuck is that little shit?”
One of them began firing blindly around the room, panicking, hoping to hit Robin, not even thinking about his partner. The smoke began to clear, showing bullet holes all across the walls. Only one henchman was now standing. The other one lay on the ground, bleeding from the bullet wounds his own colleague had inflicted blindly. Robin hung off an air duct on the ceiling, watching the one remaining henchman nervously try to reload his weapon. Robin striked, gliding down from above and drop kicking his enemy in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious instantly.
Robin knocked the machine gun away from him, in case he regained consciousness, before running over to the wounded henchman who was now laying in a pool of his own blood. He was unconscious now too, but not dead. A number of bullets had pierced him. There wasn't much that could be done, Robin tried to patch up his wounds as best he could using the few first-aid supplies that he kept with him, but he really needed a hospital.
“Robin, come in, are you there?” Batman's voice appeared over the communicator again.
“Yeah, I hear you, sorry, I got a little caught up dealing with Two-Face's goons,” Robin replied as he handcuffed the unconscious henchman at the base of the tyrannosaurus.
“Two-Face? I thought I told you not to act if it was too dangerous,” Batman reminded him sternly.
“I know, sorry... I didn't have much of a choice. He has hostages, and brought a few thugs with him. There were six, now there's just four, and Two-Face.”
“Okay, fine. Listen up, Killer Croc managed to get away again. He knows the tunnel system too well in The Narrows. I'll have to deal with him later, you sit tight until I get there, I'm on my way,” Batman ordered.
“No,” Robin replied bluntly, while looking down at the timer on his watch, “I have this under control here. I've got about seven minutes left before Gordon sends in the SWAT teams to start a blood bath. I can do this. You need to catch Croc or else that lunatic will just keep on killing.”
Silence overcame the communicator for a few moments as Bruce processed this. Tim never questioned him. Never told him what to do. But he had a point. By the time he'd get there, Gordon would have already sent a team in to get the hostages out. And Killer Croc had been on a rampage all week and needed to be stopped before he could do any more damage.
“Okay. But the second I get Croc, I'm coming to help. And try to get the hostages out without taking Two-Face head on if you can. Over and out,” Batman replied.
Tim left the dinosaur exhibit feeling proud and scared. Proud of himself, for the first time in his superhero career, he felt like he was his own person. Not a sidekick, not a yes-man to Bruce Wayne, not just better than nothing. But an actual hero that had a job to do. For once, he felt almost like the city might even benefit from a Robin signal sitting next to the Bat-Signal. But he also felt scared. He'd fought Two-Face before. But never alone. And there was a lot at stake with very little time left before Gordon cut the power and sent a team of heavily armed and armoured men in to finish off his job.

“Two-Face? Umm,” another nameless thug entered the manager's office to get Two-Face's attention.
“What is it? What was that gunfire all about?” asked Two-Face impatiently.
“Umm, it uh, it looks like Robin is still on the loose. Davis and Phillips are both upstairs unconscious in the dinosaur exhibit. Davis has been shot up pretty bad too,” Two-Face's employee answered.
Two-Face let out a groan before turning on the monitor on the desk in front of him, the monitor showed a closed circuit view from all the security cameras in the museum. He looked carefully over all the little windows on the screen, then finally saw him. Robin, moving down in the stairwell cautiously.
“He's coming downstairs. All of you, head to the staircase and take him out,” Two-Face ordered, as his four remaining henchmen left the room, with Two-Face left in the manager's office with his five hostages left, each of them tied up on the floor, and Two-Face with the only guns in the room.

Robin moved down the small closed in staircase, step by step, trying to reach the bottom. He moved swiftly, not long before he expected the power to go out, then all hell to break loose. He kept stepping down each staircase, thinking of how much easier this would be if Batman were with him. Or even Nightwing. He'd even take Huntress's help if she were there. But no, it was just Timothy Drake, all alone in the museum against four armed criminals and a violent deformed mad man.
He was at the bottom of the stairs, finally. He opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell, unknowingly, and came face to face with two armed henchmen, they'd been waiting for him. One of them laughed, expecting an easy surrender. What he didn't expect was that Robin would have a batarang in his hand that he, without hesitation, flung towards him, knocking on his back, his machine gun sliding across the ground. The other standing henchman raised his weapon, only to have it knocked out of his hands as Robin lept up and used the top of the doorway for leverage to swing and kick him in the jaw, knocking him down too. He jumped back into the stairwell and shut the door, thinking himself safe, only to turn around and be pistol-whipped to the floor by two more henchmen that had snuck down the staircase behind him. They picked him off the ground, blood coming from his mouth and all, before dragging him at gunpoint out of the stairwell.
“Heh, you did quite a number on Phillips and Davis didn't you boy? Almost had us worried you might actually stop us for a second,” one of his captors joked as they walked with him at gun point through the main lobby of the museum, heading slowly towards the manager's office.
“You might've even had us scared if your pal Batman was here with you. Too bad it's just you hey?” another one laughed.
Robin knew he couldn't let himself be captured. The hostages were counting on him. Depending on him. He probably had two minutes left before a SWAT team would come crashing through the windows. Bruce had taught him a lot of things over the years. He'd taught him how to do little things that require patience like picking a lock or hacking a computer. And he'd taught him how to do bigger things that require more athleticism. Like, for example, pulling his extendable staff out of his cape and using it to sweep the legs of four armed henchmen at close proximity. And Bruce was a good teacher.
The four men laid unconscious at Robin's feet, as he knocked their weapons away, then proceeded to handcuff each of them.
“Yeah... too bad it is just me,” Robin laughed back.
“Don't forget about me, Boy Wonder,” a voice came from behind Robin. He spun around, batarang in hand, ready to strike. But in front of him was the ex-district attorney. Harvey Dent. Two-Face. Whatever you want to call him, he wasn't serving Gotham any more. Now, he had the manager of the Gotham City Museum at gunpoint, facing off against Robin. There was no Batman. Just Robin.
“I think you've caused me enough trouble over the last fifteen minutes or so.”
“Let go of the hostages Two-Face,” Robin demanded.
“Hmm, no. Something like that I don't think I'm even going to flip for. And if you hadn't noticed, I'm the one with the gun here,” Two-Face pulled the hammer back on his desert eagle, pointed at the temple of the manager.
“How about a trade?” Robin asked, “Me for the hostages.”
Two-Face laughed, “You think you're worth all of the hostage? I have you anyway boy.”
He threw the manager down onto the ground, then ignored him as if he wasn't even there, and pointed the gun at Robin.
“I think the real question is, what am I going to do with you? You've almost ruined my plans tonight, now I have to do everything myself.”
Two-Face pulled out his coin with his free hand, “Good side: I let you live. Bad side: well... I'm sure you know.”
He flipped the coin in the air, Robin now had a fifty-fifty chance of survival. The coin landed back in the palm of his hand. He looked down at it and grunted, “Your lucky night then kid.”
He lowered his gun, ever so slightly so it wasn't at chest level any more. Two-Face squeezed the trigger, firing a bullet into Robin's left leg. Robin screamed in agony as he dropped to the foor, clutching his thigh. He'd live. Two-Face wouldn't go back on what his coin decided. But he didn't want him running around ruining anything else for him either. Robin just laid there on the floor, clutching his leg, trying to stop the bleeding, hoping he wouldn't go into shock. If Batman were there with him, he would have stopped Two-Face ages ago, and Robin wouldn't be on the ground with a puddle of blood amassing around his leg. He began to panic in his head. He was accepting his fate. He shouldn't have come into the museum, he should've just let the SWAT team come in, guns blazing, shooting up the place. He shouldn't have even left Batman in The Narrows. Hell, he shouldn't have even left the house. If he didn't, he'd be at home, relaxing, studying, watching TV. Anything. Not on the floor of a museum with a bullet in his leg, in front of a deranged half faced gun-wielding lunatic. He couldn't fight him in his current condition. His only chance would be to stall for time. Until the SWAT teams come in.
“Two-Face... Harvey... Listen,” he held back a groan as he tried to sit up more to speak with him, “in three, maybe two minutes, a SWAT team is coming in here armed to the teeth. They don't care about you, your men or even the hostages. They're job is to just make sure you don't escape with any of the artifacts you're trying to steal. They will kill you and everyone else if they have to. I was sent in as a last ditch effort to try and negotiate the release of the hostages.”
“Ha, negotiate?” Two-Face laughed, “you call what you've done to all my men negotiating?”
Robin rolled his eyes, “I didn't have much choice. But I don't care about the artifacts, I just don't want anyone to die. Not the hostages, not even you.”
Two-Face stood there, still aiming his gun at Robin, “And what would you have me do? Do the right thing? Surrender? Open up the front door and send all the hostages out then throw my guns out and put my hands behind my head?”
“No, I know you can't do that,” Robin tried to pick himself up off the ground, but found it too painful, and stayed seated, “as you can tell, I'm here alone. But Batman's on his way, he's coming in the Batplane. He plans to land it on the roof. We can fly you out of here, the SWAT team comes in, sees no hostiles and they don't kill any hostages in some crossfire with you and your goons. Meanwhile, you're flying to safety with your big bag of loot. What do you say Two-Face? Do any more people really have to die here?”
Two-Face grunted at the proposition, unsure what to do. Whether to trust Robin or not. So he did what he would always do. He flipped for it. Flipping his coin in the air again and letting it drop back into his palm.
“Good side... I guess no one else needs to die. But still, I'm taking one more hostage,” he stated.
“Who?” Robin asked.
“You.”
Two-Face walked over with his gun, picking Robin up to his feet. Robin screamed out in pain, feeling pressure on his leg. Two-Face, of course, didn't care. He just grabbed him around the shoulder, and dragged him away with a gun to his head. Robin wasn't making any defensive manoeuvres in his current situation as Two-Face pulled him towards an elevator.

Meanwhile, outside, Gordon had been pacing around. Declining requests from the SWAT team to enter and flush them out. But time was running short as he looked at his watch. Almost fifteen-minutes since Robin had disappeared into the museum. The Bat-Signal was still shining high in the sky. Batman was off doing God knows what. 'Indisposed' is the word Robin used. Could be another word for 'taking a holiday,' or 'has given up crime fighting and you're on your own.' Still, Robin was better than nothing. He didn't know where Batman was, but it was too late to try and track him down anyway, he had to make a decision.
Looking at his watch, Gordon called over the captain of the SWAT team, “Brandon, get your team prepared. They can go in on your command. Try to shoot as few hostages as possible this time.”

Inside the elevator, Robin's watch began beeping, as the lift slowly pulled him and Two-Face to the top floor.
“What the hell is that noise?” Two-Face asked, waving his gun in Robin's face.
“Uh... Batman... It's him signalling me that he's close. He should have his plane on the roof by the time we get there,” Robin lied. The alarm really just meant that his fifteen minutes were up and that any second now, the SWAT team would be busting down the windows with their shotguns, throwing teargas into the museum and shooting anything that moved.
As Robin turned off his watch alarm, he discretely pulled a small and sharp batarang from his belt, concealing it in his hand.
They exited the lift, and headed for the staircase that led to the roof. Each step up the stairs brought on immense pain to Robin. All he could think of was how unfortunate this would be for Batman. One Robin killed by The Joker and the other one killed by Two-Face.
Two-Face swung the door to the roof open, dragging Robin with him by his cape, almost choking him. Out on the roof, it was cold, dark and empty. Nothing on the roof except pipes, air ducts and antennas. Things you would expect to find. No Batman. No Batplane.
Two-Face dropped Robin, looking around the roof, looking at the sky. No plane engines. No plane in the sky. All he could see when he looked up were clouds and the Bat-Signal.
“Where is it?! Where's Batman? Where's the plane?” Two-Face demanded, shouting.
All Robin could think of was the stories he had heard about Jason Todd's final moments. Helpless in a warehouse, being clubbed senseless with a crowbar by The Joker, and then left to die with a bomb. He thought of how Batman might find him. On the top of a museum, perforated with bullet holes at the hands of Two-Face.
“He's not coming Two-Face. I lied. But I didn't lie about the SWAT team, they should be breaking into the building as we speak,” Robin replied.
Two-Face cursed his name, drawing his gun again.
No, Timothy Drake was not going to die the same way that Jason Todd did. If he was going to die, he was at least going to put up a fight first. He threw the batarang he had hidden in his hand at his captor. The batarang span fast, cut through the air, just like Bruce had taught him to throw it. It connected perfectly, digging into Two-Face's wrist, getting lodged there, causing him to drop his gun to the floor as he let out a cry of agony. Enraged, he charged Robin, the batarang still stuck in his wrist. He ran at him, blinded with anger, not bothering to flip a coin to decide whether he'd attack him or not this time. Two-Face threw himself on The Boy Wonder, taking a swing, punching him in the jaw.
“You know you're a joke, boy. You follow around that self righteous prick in tights, always getting caught, being his damsel in distress, like you are now, and never doing anything but providing comedic entertainment for people like me. Hell, half of my face is burnt off with acid, I look like a freak and I still think you are a joke!” Two-Face screamed into Robin's face. He dragged him over the ledge of the building.
“Lets see if you can really fly, Robin.”
He lifted Robin, shot leg, bruised face and all, and leant him over the edge, only holding onto him by his cape.
“You know, losing everything I stole and probably going back to Arkham. I think it will all be worth it for this moment. At least in Arkham I'll be able to brag about killing Batman's sidekick,” Two-Faced joked, before finally letting go of his cape, letting Robin fall off the edge of the building to the street below. The street filled with cops, reporters and civilians.
But Robin still had some life left in him. Turning around as he fell, he managed to grab onto a protruding ledge next to a concrete gargoyle, and hung there, thinking it lucky that Two-Face shot his leg and not his arm.
Two-Face let out a sigh, “You have to make this difficult don't you?” He yelled out to him as he went back and picked up his gun, this time with his other hand, not able to move much with his now crippled hand.
He returned to the edge of the roof to see Robin still clinging onto the ledge by one hand. Literally holding on for his life. He saw his enemy. His wannabe killer a floor above him on the roof, aiming down at him with his gun. Not bothering with a coin any more. Robin had one shot at surviving this. If he was just a little bit off, if he missed, if he wasn't quick enough, he would be taking another bullet, and this time it wouldn't just injure him.
With his one free hand, he aimed right back up at Two-Face, not with a desert eagle like Two-Face, but with a grappling gun. He pulled the trigger, firing a hook and cable up to the ex-district attorney. The rope wrapped around Two-Face's good hand, coiling around his wrist. The hook from the rope dug into his wrist, making him drop his gun again, this time over the edge of the building. Robin hit the retract button on his grappling gun, dragging Two-Face over the edge of the building. He let out a scream as he plummetted past Robin. But Robin grasped his grappling gun, and before his arms became too weak, tied it around the concrete gargoyle next to him, leaving Two-Face to hang from the gargoyle by his wrist as Robin pulled himself up onto the ledge.
He should let him fall. Let him die. How many people had Two-Face killed over the years because his coin landed on the “bad side?” How many more people could he kill if he wasn't killed now? At this moment, Tim was sorely tempted to cut the line and let Harvey Dent fall to his death. He would be no doubt preveting the deaths of so many more people. And for once in his superhero career, he would be taken seriously. He wouldn't be better than nothing. He wouldn't be Robin – Batman's sidekick. He wouldn't be second best. He would Robin – the man that killed Two-Face. But Robin was no killer. Jason Todd didn't make Robin into a killer. Dick Grayson didn't make Robin into a killer. And Timothy Drake sure wasn't going to let Robin become a killer.
He crawled his way back up onto the roof, and lay there for a second, letting everything sink in, not bothering to lift Two-Face back up just yet. But honestly, he didn't think he even had the strength left in him to stand back up right, let alone pull Two-Face back up to the roof.
It was then that door to the roof swung open again, and the SWAT team was here. They spread out around the rooftop, not one of them had discharged a single bullet. There wasn't any reason to. All the museum thieves were incapacitated downstairs and Two-Face was hanging by wrist on the side of the building.
Following the SWAT team closely was Commissioner Gordon, who couldn't do anything but smile when he saw Robin on the ground, still alive. Robin, who had appeared a little over fifteen minutes ago, without Batman, pleading for the commissioner to let him go in and stop the bad guys by himself. Now, a little over fifteen minutes later. He had done exactly what he said. The hostages were safe. All the artifacts were still on the museum premises, and Two-Face had been captured. Without Batman's help. Tonight belonged to Robin.

Fifteen minutes later, Robin was in the Batmobile, with Batman, being driven back to the Batcave. His leg was bandaged, he was feeling less pain. Despite Commissioner Gordon's offers to have him taken to the hospital and treated, both Batman and Robin insisted on helping him themselves. Alfred would be his doctor. He'd removed enough bullets and stitched Bruce up enough times to be able to do it in his sleep.
The Batmobile sped through Gotham, the Redbird attached to the back of it, headed back to Wayne Manor.
“So, did you catch Croc?” Robin asked.
Batman remained silent for a second, then smirked ever so slightly, “No, he got away from me. I know where he's been hiding out now, but I still didn't catch him. You're the only one that caught one of Gotham's Most Wanted tonight Tim.”
Tim smiled, “Oh it was nothing. Besides, I don't think it matters. The way things are, Arkham Asylum seems to have revolving doors nowadays. Two-Face will probably be back on the street in a week.”
"Tim," Bruce started, "I realise now that you're not just my partner, and you don't need any more training. You don't even need me any more. You saved the lives of the museum staff and took down Two-Face, one of the most dangerous men in Gotham City, all in fifteen minutes. All without my help or help from the police. Tim, this city needs you just as much as it needs me, and tonight you proved that to me."
Batman, still accelerating through the Gotham streets, heading towards the exit from the town, reached forward and pushed a button on the dashboard. One of many buttons, all of which have a different function. A button to the left could've fired a rocket from the front of the car. A button to the right could've turned the car into a submarine. But the button he pressed just popped the glove compartment open in front of Robin. A large A3 piece of paper fell out, folded several times. Tim picked it up and unfolded it.
“That's something I designed a while ago. Now I think it's finally time to build it and start using it," Bruce said.
"What is it?" Tim asked curiously, looking over the piece of paper.
"The plans for a Robin signal. Tonight you had your fifteen minutes in the spotlight, and you're ready for a whole lot more once that's been put in place," Bruce explained with a grin as he approached the Batcave.
Tonight, Tim had a bullet in his leg and bruises on his face, but he still had the best night's sleep he'd had since he became Robin. Tonight, Tim proved to Batman and Gotham City that he was indeed much better than nothing.

The End