xt1me

Generic title is generic.

Another batfam fic bit focusing on the Robins, 'cause why not.

Bruce Wayne didn't believe in magic.

He didn't have to.

As Batman, he had fought alongside such figures as Zatanna, Doctor Fate, John Constantine and Jason Blood.
He had fought against beings that called themselves demons or gods. People who could summon firestorms or transform people. He had seen all manner of monsters and miracles.
But Batman himself wasn't magic.
He learned what he could, noted the weaknesses various supernatural creatures and created contingencies. But he had no innate power, no talent for magic and it wasn't in him to rely on fickle outside sources to grant him such. To him, magic was like a meta gene. For those who prayed on others what powers they had or how they got them mattered little compared to how to fight them. A criminal with a bomb was just as dangerous as one that threw lightning. They both could be fought. And if he needed an expert, he knew who to call.

But not all magic in the world is as flashy as causing earthquakes or raising the dead.
There were smaller things, vague wishes and insubstantial dreams, that, to an outside observer, did not seem like much, but still had a power of their own.
Sometimes all you need is a little extra luck, a quiet nudge in the right place. Something unnoticed and unlooked for, easy to brush aside.

This was not a magic that Bruce Wayne knew.

No, Batman wasn't magic.

The Robins however…

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Dick Grayson grew up in a traveling circus.

Surrounded by people from all different countries he grew up with the magic of performance.

From the nervous superstitions of showmen to the quiet traditions of traveling folk.
Harmless things like crossing knifes at the dinner table being bad luck to things that were just good practice like tugging the rope three times scare away gremlins (and make sure things were secure).
There are many superstitions in the circus but some of them had a little power.
Just something small to draw the eye, give a little extra glitter, to ward off bad luck to keep a performer healthy and safe.

But unfortunately, little powers like that were not enough defence against deliberate active malice.
So, when the acid burnt away ropes, gentle wishes and dreams were not enough to stop a pair of trapeze artists from falling to their death.

(Maybe it was just enough to save their son, on the ropes a mere moment before. Maybe.)

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Jason Todd grew up on the streets of crime alley.

Long known as the worst place in Gotham it's not the place where you’d think magic would reside.
But the lonely and the desperate will cling to anything to help them live one extra day.
Oh there was no signing of souls to the devil or anything. Anyone gullible enough to fall for something like that would have been taken for all their worth long before any supernatural creatures would have gotten involved.
But living on the streets you learned what you could.
How to keep a little extra heat in and water out, how to push yourself a little faster or those chasing you a little slower, how to make eyes slide away as you huddled in a corner.

Maybe it wasn't enough to let you live, but it might just be enough to let you survive.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Timothy Drake's parents were archaeologists.

They travelled all around the world finding items from cultures long gone.
Being collectors they brought many of their pieces home. And many of these pieces included old charms and spells. Rituals to long dead gods, utterly worthless and without power.
But they made for interesting stories.
And for a lonely boy with parents that knew nothing of children it was something to connect them. To share.

And so, when his parents left (again), in order to feel less alone, he found what things worked and what didn't.

The things he found he really had no need of.
He didn’t need to help crops grow or keep snakes away from them. How to keep copper shiny or stone smooth.
But that was never the point.
Every now and then he did find something useful.

A sharp eye helped with aim through a camera lens just as well as it would with an arrow (and later on, with a batarang).

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Stephanie Brown used to be babysat by a Witch.

Oh not your stereotypical witch, cackling with warts and likely to turn you into a toad.
People with real power tried to avoid Gotham and all the madness that lay within.

No this was one of those witches that arose from new wave feminism, that preferred the term wiccan and did their spells from books written by hippies or magazines from the supermarket.
Who spent money on tarot cards, shiny crystals, essential oils and coloured candles.
But the divine, even stripped down, pre-packaged and sold to the masses, still held a spark of the divine.

And sometimes, in a place like Gotham, clearing away negative energy did more good than all the fireballs in the world.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Damian al Ghul Wayne was born the heir of the League of Assassins.

His grandfather, Ra’s al Ghul, may be it’s head but the mystic power of the Lazarus pit was it's heart.

The Pit itself was closely guarded with few given leave to avail of its powers.
The many rituals to keep its presence potent and uncorrupted was handled only by the highest members of the League.
But power that great was not only contained in one spot, and many availed of it’s tangential befits.

Young though he was, as heir he knew many of these rituals.
None of which were useful away from the Lazarus Pit.

In Gotham he had only a handful of small things left.
A little extra bit of endurance for when all seemed lost. Ways to keep his blade sharp as he needed and aimed where he wanted. Minuscule compared to what could be achieved.

But that did not matter. He was his father’s son. He did not need outside powers to take his rightful place.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Batman didn’t need magic but there was always something a little extra about Robin.

Robin flew.
Robin endured.
Robin saw.
Robin healed.
Robin struck true.

Robin was magic.

Like the chapter brake ASCII art I found?