CHAPTER 1

Hearing

…

After five years of heroism, Robin is no novice when it comes to being caught up in explosions. He knows that there are many people-Bruce, Alfred, and Leslie to name a few-who wish he doesn't have to know the proper actions to take in order to avoid serious injury when a bomb goes off, or a building starts collapsing. But Robin has the knowledge, and he relies on it frequently. Although there is only so much he can do when the bomb is one thin apartment wall away.

He had been trying to defuse it, but the alien tech proved to be too advanced. It doesn't help that the count down isn't made woith any recognizably human numbering system. Robin has no way of knowing there are only three seconds left when he finally gives up his task and chooses instead to flee.

The only warning he has are five quick beeps that sound almost like a single tone. He immediately throws himself to the ground, pulling his cape around his body, and wonders not for the first time if it would be useful to have a hood. He doesn't have time to plug his ears or open his mouth before the bomb goes off.

The force of the explosion sends him flying across the room and he slams into the wall. The loud blast, combined with his head bouncing against a concealed stud, leaves Robin reeling, disoriented, and with blood dripping down his neck. His ears ring, the room spins, and his grip on the cape loosens.

The Nomex and Kevlar weave that form it make for a durable material, but the added weight used to slow him down, so Robin's own cape is less dense than Batman's, and thus a less effective protector. The heat has already started to sear his skin, but now the flames are licking at his pale flesh as well. Robin barely manages to hold back a cry of pain, knowing that if he does the orange tongues could very well leap down his throat.

He had known a fire-eater, back in his Flying Grayson days, and knows for a fact that swallowing these flames would result in permanent damage.

It takes much too long for his body to shut down, turning off unnecessary functions and sending him into unconsciousness, where the pain can't touch him.

…

The burns are extensive, but nothing he can't recover from. It turns out that the bomb itself hadn't been overly powerful, but the fact that Robin was only a few feet away, and remained trapped with the flames, had been the biggest problem. Plus the smoke.

He awakes to the stiff feeling of bandages wrapped tightly around his limbs. Moving is only a little painful, and Robin supposes he's been given an impressive cocktail of painkillers. If he lies perfectly still, the only twinges of pain come with the rising and falling of his chest. His throat is sore and he can't hear anything when he tries to speak. He had either inhaled too much smoke, or the fire had danced in his throat. He assumes the former, since his attempt at speaking doesn't hurt. Though that could be the drugs.

Based on the pattern in the ceiling tiles, he's in the Watchtower infirmary.

Despite how challenging it is, Robin turns his head to look at the clipboard he knows will be by his bed. That's how it always is in the Watchtower. When you wake up, you can easily learn the extent of your injuries if no one is around to tell you. Someone, probably Batman, had propped up the clipboard so Robin can properly read it.

Burns on 31% of his body. Both arms, one of his legs, and along his throat and jaw. The most serious of the burns are the inside of his right arm, and his jaw. His throat, supposedly protected by the angle of his head when he collapsed, has received minimal damage. That's a relief.

His gaze briefly flickers to the machine standing in the corner of the room. The green dot travels across the screen, the same jagged pattern repeating over and over in the trail of light. Robin lets himself get lost in the rhythm.

He would be ashamed, later, at how long it takes for him to notice something is off. There was no beeping. Robin frowns and stares at the machine, following the cord with his eyes and making sure that, yes, it does end at his chest above his heart. He thinks the machine could be broken, malfunctioning, before he realizes the problem is him.

As a bat, he's used to silence. Hours spent lying in wait, doing surveillance. Sitting in the Batcave with nothing but the flutter of wings to remind him he isn't entirely alone.

But this isn't like that. Robin is surrounded by utter silence, besides his own thoughts. It doesn't take long before he starts panicking. Which makes his heart race. Which probably makes the monitors start beeping like crazy, but Robin can't exactly hear them to confirm it. Either way, less then a minute after his realization, the door to the room bursts open and Batman is running in, followed by Black Canary, and Leslie Thompkins of all people.

Robin can recognize the curve of Batman's lip as his guardian says his name, but that's about all he catches. He's too busy panicking over the fact that he can't hear it to pay attention to the rest.

Black Canary is at the foot of the bed, Batman on his left, and Leslie on his right. Leslie's hands are fluttering over his bandages, feeling his forehead, and checking his IV. Batman is probably whispering reassuring words, maybe even using Robin's real name. None of it helps.

Robin says Batman's name, trying to gain his attention. He doesn't like the way he can't hear his own voice. It echoes in his head, but it doesn't reach his ears. It's unnerving, but he can't use his hands to sign.

'Batman!' Robin repeats, louder. At least he thinks it should be louder. He waits a moment, makes sure their mouths have stopped moving, then speaks again.

'I can't here you.' He doesn't break eye contact, looks straight into the lenses of Batman's cowl. 'I can't hear anything.'

Batman freezes, says something. Robin just shakes his head. He can't believe how calm he seems right now, but inside he's still freaking out.

There's a light touch in his foot, and Robin looks to Black Canary. He doesn't like her pitying expression. It looks like she is going to say something, then she hesitates. Canary knows a little sign language, but she isn't proficient at it. While she struggles with a method of communication, Robin focuses on Leslie. The doctor isn't rushing around anymore. She's speaking to Batman in a solemn tone, Batman says something back, and then she's yelling. Robin doesn't have to hear to know what she's screaming about.

Leslie always disapproved of the idea of Robin. She would frown and tut and lecture Bruce every time she was called in to provide medical assistance. Robin always tells Leslie that it was his fault, not Bruce's. That it is his choice to keep fighting. He never regrets his injuries. The mistakes that lead to them, yes. But the injuries themselves are proof that he is fighting. This time, though, it's a little different. He doesn't regret it. He wishes he could have stopped the bomb, but at least he'd been able to buy everyone else a little more time.

But this time he won't make a full recovery. He can already tell, because Leslie looks almost resigned. Robin realizes that she must have known, must have done scans to check for brain injuries, and discovered he couldn't hear. She probably just didn't want to believe it, not until Robin himself could confirm it. Which he just did.

He tries to get a word in, stop them from fighting like he usually does. But they are either ignoring him, or he isn't talking loud enough. Unnerved by his inability to hear his own voice, Robin gives up and turns away as best as he can, and closes his eyes.

…

Robin remains in the Watchtower until his burns are sufficiently healed, which takes a couple weeks. It took him a while to adjust to seeing the different colours on his skin. Red where the burns were light enough not to need grafts, but damaging enough to scar. Pale white on the couple severe areas where his skin had to be replaced. And the faded tan of his normal skin, which was losing its colour after lack of sunlight.

One of the first things he does when the bandages are removed and he can move freely is stand in front of the full length mirror, taking in his new, patchwork skin. It reminds him of the Flying Grayson uniforms, when they would wear out, and his mother couldn't afford the material to make an entirely new suit. She made due with whatever she could get her hands on, which meant that sometimes the shades of green didn't match up quite right. But this time he can't remove the suit, or make a new one, because he is the suit. He's gotten used to it, though, and most of the burns can be covered by long sleeves and jeans. He is just a little self-conscious of the red skin crawling along his throat, and the pale white kissing his jaw. He can't hide that.

Batman hasn't told him what Dick Grayson's cover is, but Robin figures it has to be pretty close to the truth. His burns are still sensitive and can't be covered with make-up or synthetic skin, which would risk infection. And it will be impossible to hide his newfound deafness.

Over the weeks, Robin notices a few changes when it comes to his senses. They are extremely subtle, but will probably become more noticeable over time, as the portion of his brain once dedicated to hearing will be used for other functioning skills. His sense of smell has gotten better. Not by much, not yet. But he doesn't have to be as close to someone to make out their personal aroma. The second thing he notices is an increase in air motion sensitivity. Again, not by much, but it's there. If someone is close to him, he can feel a slight shift in the air if they moved their arm or lean forwards. It hardly makes up for lack of hearing, since they have to be close, and the movements have to be larger. But he can still tell. Pairing that with what Wally always calls his 'bat senses' can be a useful skill.

Robin is still far from used to being deaf, though. He jumps whenever someone approaches him from behind, and announces themselves via a touch to the shoulder. He wants to hear the gravelly tone of Batman's voice, or the low cadence of Bruce's. He wants to hear his own voice, and the cackle that frightens even Harley Quinn. Not the Joker, because nothing scares him. The insane clown had actually said he likes Robin's laugh. They had a contest once.

Most of all, Robin wants to see the Team again. At first he thought they were injured in the blast as well, and couldn't come and see him. Canary told him later that Batman wasn't letting any visitors in besides Leslie, and a select few League members. This not only explained the absence of the Team, but also Barry, Oliver, and Diana, who he considers his uncles and aunt. Clark has stopped by a couple times, but there is some strange business going on in Metropolis that keeps him occupied.

Despite all this, Dick hasn't just been sitting around while he is confined to bed rest, which really contradicts the whole point of bed rest. He's taken the time to brush up on his sign language, and practice lip reading. Batman brought him his holographic computer when he regained mobility of his arms. He used his technological skills to hack into the Watchtower's systems right away. He reviewed security feeds and transcribed records to practice lip reading. Dick considers himself sufficient at it, but knows that he needs to be better.

Leslie cleared him to leave several days ago, and Batman promised to take him home today. Dick is standing in front of his door in a loose fitting hoodie and a pair of sweats, both of them boasting the Gotham Knights logo, when Batman enters. His mentor is in full uniform, as expected, and Dick holds out an expectant hand. At some point during the explosion, or afterwards due to sweat, his mask had fallen off and burned up. Surprisingly, Batman didn't bring another one, or a pair of sunglasses, when he brought the more comfortable clothes. Dick has suspicions about the reason why, but hopes he is wrong. When Batman just turns away and starts walking down the hall, Dick's shoulders fall.

If Batman had provided him with some kind of eye covering, it meant there was a chance he could go see the Team. Since he didn't, that opportunity was crushed. There probably aren't even any other leaguers in the tower right now.

Dick hurries after his mentor and settles at a pace three steps behind. They zeta beam to the Batcave, and Dick winces at the strain on his injuries. It isn't exactly harmful to travel through zeta beams while injured, but it is definitely unpleasant. It's like his burns have been stuck with pins and needles, and the feeling lingers for several seconds. When said burns cover 31% of his body, that's an extremely unasterous feeling. Dick says as much as he tenderly brushes the burn on his jaw.

Batman stops and turns around, facing Dick square on, and starts to sign.

'What do you want to do?'

Dick frowns. A person outside the bat family would take that question at it's face value, and state what they wanted in that moment. But Dick wants to see the Team, which Batman isn't allowing for some reason, and he knows there's more to the question.

Batman could have asked this question at any time, but he chose to do it now, when Dick almost has his full range of mobility back, and he's been practicing new methods of communication. They're still in the Batcave, and Bruce is still Batman while he, at the moment, is Dick Grayson. He eealizes that Batman is giving him a choice. He can retire to the life of a civilian and learn to cope with his new disability at a normally functioning level. Or he can push himself harder, test his limits, and be Robin again.

Dick's eyes roam up to the tangle of ropes and bars on the ceiling of the cave. Three trapeze swings descend from the mess. Batman added them two years ago, as a birthday present, since the gym in the manor isn't suitable for such equipment, nor is the ceiling high enough to fulfill Dick's aerialist desires. He would flip and twist high above the rocky floor, the bats flying around him as he disturbed them from their perches. He loves that feeling more than anything.

So what does he want to do?

Dick straightens up, meeting Batman's eyes and sets his face in a stony, determined expression. His hands move swiftly and fluidly as he signs his answer.

'Robin will fly again.'

…

'See' you next time!