Autobiography

Chapter 1

I guess that probably no one will ever see this. I’d call it a long shot, anyway and that is why it’s being placed in Bruce’s personal safe in a plain manila envelope and hidden under some other stuff. I figure the odds of anyone actually bothering to look at it while I’m still breathing are somewhere around a snowball’s chance in hell. That’s my hope, anyway.

This is my autobiography, or as close to one as I ever expect to get and I want to say right up front that it wasn’t my idea: it was Kal’s. Kal. Superman. We were talking one night after a bust and he mentioned that he thought that I had a story to tell and he pushed and pushed and pushed the idea. He kept pushing in that quiet, you don’t even realize that he’s pushing way that he has until I found myself agreeing to let Clark Kent interview me for as long and over as many sessions as it would take to get everything out.

It took weeks, seemed like years and these are the transcripts. Y’know, I never thought I could talk about myself for that long or have that much to say about myself but Clark has this way of making you talk…I guess that’s one reason he’s so good at his job.

The ground rules were simple; this was never to see daylight without my express written and verbal permission (and leaving instructions in my will count, too). No names were to ever be published, whether the person is dead or alive. No exceptions.

Why would I tell any of this to a reporter? No, it’s not because I think I’m so special, not really, anyway. But—I do understand that my life hasn’t been what anyone could call normal. I do, and have done stuff no one else has. I know that sounds like ego run amuck, but it’s a fact.

Will anyone care?

I’ve no idea.

Will anyone, anywhere at any time ever see this?

You got me.

What’s in this for me?

I guess everyone wants to be understood and yes, I know how adolescent that sounds but after all the crap and garbage and flat out lies that have been written about me some part of me wants to tell my side of things.

So—this is my take. We usually met in Clark’s apartment and sometimes in a secluded park if the weather was nice, he used a recorder so this is what went down, pretty much verbatim.

Note: One more thing; after we were finished I read through the transcript and made notes, comments and corrections. In some cases I explained what I’d said—just to clarify things. Some of the notes were Clark’s, the others, the ones that are in bold, are mine.

 

* * *
 

Clark Kent: So, Nightwing, ready?

Nightwing: I guess.

CK: All right, let’s start at the beginning; where and when were you born? Who are your parents, your family?

NW: I’m twenty now and I was born in Gotham but I didn’t stay there, not then. My parents were John and Mary Grayson; they were both trapeze artists—fliers in a circus and just happened to be playing Gotham when my mother went into labor. When I was old enough—when I was three—I joined the act and we toured with a show until I was almost nine.

CK: You seem uncomfortable—would you rather not go into this?

NW: Well—I’ve never, it’s just that—I’ve never talked about this to anyone who wasn’t, you know—who wasn’t ‘in the business’. It’s weird… Well, yeah, Clark. I really enjoy talking about the most traumatic thing that ever happened to me.

CK: Would you like to move on to something else?

NW: No. I guess it’s okay. I’m okay.

CK: All right, what happened then, when you were eight years old?

NW: The circus we worked for was targeted by a protection scheme—organized crime. The owner refused to pay; my parents were the first ‘accidents’.

CK: And?

NW: They were killed. The ropes were weakened, broke and they fell. I was finished with my part of the act, had climbed down and saw it from the ground.

CK: What happened then?

NW: They were murdered; I was orphaned. It’s pretty straightforward.

CK: But that had to have been severely traumatic, what happened to you after the ‘accident’?

Note: At this point Nightwing became flustered and upset, whether from remembered shock and grief or by the simple fact the question was asked. CK apologized for bringing a previously unknown episode in his life without advance warning. After a full two minutes NW continued. They were killed. I saw the ropes snap. I heard the twanging noise as they broke; sort of like a guitar string breaking. I saw the looks on my parents faces as they fell, heard my mother’s cut off scream and I heard the thuds when they hit the sawdust. I walked over, though I don’t remember doing so and saw my father’s neck and back were broken—he looked like a doll some kid had thrown against a rock or something. He had blood coming out of his mouth and his eyes were opened, but he was dead. I remember seeing some sawdust stuck to his eye and that bothered me more than anything else did at that second. I thought that had to hurt, to have that crap in his eye—stupid, huh? Then I turned to where my mom was lying a couple of feet away and knelt down but I didn’t touch her. I was afraid to. She was still alive and was trying to say something to me but couldn’t. Her fingers twitched a little, like she was trying to reach me but that only lasted a few seconds. I knew she was dead when her eyes went dead. I know that sounds odd but it was like she had doll eyes, dead, glass and I knew she couldn’t see me anymore.

NW: I remember sitting in the audience—the crowd had all left the arena by then—and I guess I was in shock. There was a man, an audience member who’d stayed behind and I remember that he was kind to me, put his arm around me and let me cry for a while against him. I can still remember exactly how he felt holding me and the smell of his after-shave. He didn’t say anything, but he helped. I hid my face against him so I wouldn’t see the ambulance guys loading my parent’s bodies onto the stretchers and wheeling them away. I could hear everything that was happening, could hear the police sirens, the crowd’s screams and then them leaving. I could, finally, when the audience was gone and it was just the cops and the circus people, I could hear his heartbeat because I was holding and hiding against this stranger so tightly.

CK: Did you ever find out who the man was?

NW: Yeah, later, a few weeks later I did but I didn’t know who he was then.

CK: What happened next—are you all right?

NW: Yeah, I’m okay; I’ve had over ten years to deal with this. Like anyone ever really gets over that. C’mon, Clark… Anyway, I was immediately put under the protection of CPS (Child Protective Services) but it was late at night and they said I’d have to be placed with a temporary foster family the next day. I wanted to stay with circus friends but the cops insisted that I go into protective custody because I was a material witness to murder so I was forcibly loaded into a squad car. I remember screaming and fighting at that point, but no one seemed to care other than the circus people who tried to.... The cops held them back. I spent the night in Juvie, in a cell. The next day I was taken to a temporary foster home, but I ran away two days later. The ‘father’ had a liking for little boys so I went out the window. I was assigned to another family but the mother was an alcoholic—I went out the window again. After that I was marked as an incorrigible runaway and put back in Juvie…that was bad.

CK: Juvie?

NW: Yeah. They decided to call it ‘protective custody’ because I was a material witness to the murders. I was the youngest kid there and so I was sort of a target until one older kid—Jamie—sort of took me under his wing. He said I reminded him of his younger brother and after that the others pretty much left me alone. I still see Jamie once in a while; he’s a good guy. I still hang with him sometimes and have gotten him a job with CPS in Bludhaven. He’s knocking it out of the park and I think it’s because he’s seen just how crappy it can be.

CK: You seem pretty calm about all this—it must have been terrible…

NW: …Yeah, well, like I said, it was a long time ago. ‘Not much choice, really—deal with it or let it eat you up. I dealt. And think about it when I see a family in the park or deal with the nightmares every year when the anniversary comes around…good times.

CK: Sink or swim?

NW: ‘Pretty much, yeah.

CK: And being Robin, how did that happen? That was a direct result, wasn’t it? How did you end up with Batman; did you know him before?

NW: He was at the show, just by coincidence—I didn’t know him, hadn’t ever met him. It was a fluke he was there. He was the one who sat with me in the audience, comforted me as much as he could. I didn’t know who he was then, he wasn’t in costume; I was in shock and I didn’t really care at that point, anyway. He followed what was happening to me—not every day or anything but after a few weeks he made a call to see what happened to me and found out I was in a cell. He got me out that day and…

CK: And?

NW: And he got me out, arranged the legalities when he found out no one in my real family gave a rat’s ass about what happened to me. He made me his legal ward—which is just this side of a legal adoption. He used to claim that he had it set up as a guardianship because he didn’t want me to think that he was trying to replace my father. I found out years later, from finding and reading a file of memos and legal back and forth, that it was to ensure that I wouldn’t have his name and, in case things didn’t work out, it would be slightly easier to sever connections. I’m reasonably sure he doesn’t know I know about that.

CK: Batman ‘adopted’ you?

NW: No. Bruce Wayne adopted me, sort of. Like I said, it wasn’t a full adoption.

CK: Did you just admit that Bruce Wayne is Batman?

NW: Things like that are why this thing is supposed to stay sealed, right, Clark? And yes, Bruce Wayne finally adopted me but that didn’t happen until years later, after I was a legal adult. I’m still not completely sure why he changed the legal set up since his will was binding, no matter what my status as a member of his family was. And it wasn’t like our relationship was going to appreciably change—it was pretty much set in stone by then. He told me it was ‘time and long past due’ but…I don’t know, whatever. So, anyway, my name was technically changed to Grayson-Wayne, but I only use that for major legal stuff. I’m still Grayson, as far as I’m concerned.

CK: Right. So when did you find out who he was? And—wait—how did you deal with all of this? I mean, you were violently orphaned, locked up, forgotten or lost by the system and then moved in with one of the richest men on the planet. That’s a lot for anyone to cope with and you were, what—eight? How did you manage that?

There was a pause while NW formulated his answer. The pause lasts almost a full minute on the tape.

NW: My main reaction at that point—the first month or two after I moved in to Wayne Manor— was anger; all day, every day. At night it was mostly nightmares and tears. I knew that my parents were dead and I knew they hadn’t done anything wrong, nothing to deserve what happened to them. I was angry and couldn’t understand why I couldn’t stay with friends and was in a cell, I couldn’t understand why no one came to visit me in Juvie or why I was still there after a few weeks went by.

Then when Bruce got me out and took me to his home I was angry that—still—no one was listening to me and what I wanted.

CK: Which was?

NW: To be with my friends, back with the circus. If that couldn’t happen I wanted to go with relatives. I had grandparents I could have lived with but I didn’t hear anything from them and sure as hell didn’t see them. So I was angry. I think it was a few years before the anger mostly went away. Once in awhile—not often—I still have moments but finding and arresting the man who arranged their murders went a long way to healing me. And, even I have to admit, my personality is basically optimistic and that’s helped a lot, too.

CK: Why couldn’t you go with your blood family? Were you kept from them for some reason?

NW shrugged in response then, after another lengthy pause, answered.

NW: I called them years later and asked them that. They said that they were too upset to deal with me at that stage since they’d just lost their daughter. When I was about fourteen I met with them but it turned out to be a one-off. My grandmother started crying when she saw me and left the room then my grandfather explained that because I look a lot like my mother she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me. Then he got up and left the room. I haven’t had any contact with them since, don’t see any point. I still don’t really understand that—who abandons a kid who’s just been orphaned and has no place to go? Especially a grandchild—that’s one of the areas of anger I still have some work to do, I guess. I’m to the point of thinking it was their loss, but whether or not they’d agree—hell if I know or care.

CK: So, going back a little, how did you become Robin and how did you find out that your new guardian was Batman?

NW: That’s two questions.

CK: Sorry.

NW: It’s okay. I first figured out that Bruce was Batman about two months after I moved I with him. I knew there was something going on but at first I just figured that he was out either working or getting laid.

CK: You figured those were the choices when you were eight?

NW: Circus kid, remember? I sort of grew up fast, saw a lot of stuff—you know how it is.

CK: Not really…

NW: Anyway, I was hanging out in a room that was supposed to be off limits and noticed that a piece of furniture was out of place which was something that never happened there so it caught my eye. I watched it for a few days and noticed that it was slightly moved almost every day. I started playing around with it and found out it was a secret door down to the cave. That’s when I found out. I went down and looked around and found the car, his costumes and the trophies…it was pretty obvious what I’d found. It was a no brainer. I was surprised but it made sense and so I remember sort of nodding to myself and thinking, ‘well, yeah’.

CK: And that’s when you became Robin?

NW: No. First he had to find out I knew so a few days later I just blurted it out. He was ‘leaving for the evening’ and I said something like ‘You’re going on patrol; you’re Batman, aren’t you?’ He got this semi-stunned look on his face for about a millisecond, didn’t say anything and left. I was right though and the next day he ‘fessed up and took me downstairs and gave me the tour. That’s when he asked me if I’d like to help him and, naturally, I jumped at the offer but then I had to train for a long time before he’d let me go out with him. God, it seemed like years but he kept dangling the carrot of catching my parent’s killers. Any time I was too tired or not in the mood or started complaining he’d say it again and that would bring me to heel pretty fast.

CK: About the costume…

NW: (laughing) Lay off the costume, Clark. When I was eight I thought it was pretty fashion forward. So, lay off.

CK: Why ‘Robin’?

NW: Bruce thought it was because of the whole Robin Hood idea…

CK: It wasn’t?

NW: Robin was my mother’s nickname for me when I was little; I was born on the first day of spring so that’s what she called me.

CK: It’s not your real name?

NW: C’mon, you know it isn’t. It was a connection back to my parents and I liked the idea, that’s all. Finally I simply out grew the character, though, so I changed the costume and the name. Some of my friends thought I should have made the change a lot sooner, but there you go.

CK: Tell me about being Robin.

NW: Next time, okay? It was late and I was tired of talking about myself without opening that whole can of worms…

TBC
 

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