Chapter Three

When Batman reentered the hospital room, he found the man—his enemy—struggling to stand at the side of the plastic-railed bed, one hand clutching at the scratchy sheets for some kind stability, the other out in front of him in an effort to balance. "You're being released into Justice League care after you've been deemed stable," the caped man scowled, making to move to help. Though he was capable of empathy, it was not his job to extent such a kindness to the villains he encountered on a daily basis. In the field, behavior like that could result in serious injury or, worse, fatalities. "A nurse should be in shortly to check your vitals."

"Yeah, okay," the injured man gasped through clenched teeth, glaring back at his companion despite knowing that he was in no position for such brash actions. With a curt nod, Batman left for the dim hallway once more, passing a small, brown-haired young woman dressed in the grey-blue uniform scrubs that seemed to be present at every turn of the medical building. She eyed the angry man warily, before turning to her patient with a smile.

"How are you feeling?" She asked cheerily, quickly stepping up to the man as someone to lean on while he regained his footing. After several moments, the world stopped tilting around him, and he was able to hold himself steady. "There you go," she beamed up at him, and the somber expression faded from his face; he simply couldn't bring himself to take out his frustrations on the young nurse.

"Despite feeling like I've just been used as the tackle dummy for a football practice? Excellent," he grinned, winking at her as she giggled and rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm glad to see you've still got your sense of humor," the woman briefly left his side to check up on his heart monitor, before easing him back to a sitting position. "At least Gotham's Protector hasn't taken that away from you... yet. Now, I know you want to be up and moving around, but I'm going to need to take your blood pressure and I can't be constantly watching to see if you're going to keel over on me." She laughed again, not even noticing the expression on her companion's face.

"What do you mean?"

"About what?"

"That Batman hasn't stopped me from telling jokes."

"Oh, that," she sighed and continued her work as she spoke, shooting an apologetic glance his way when he winced as she pulled the IV needle from his skin, "Don't get me wrong; that man has done some wonderful things for this city—and the world—both on his own and with that Justice League of his. Even so, he takes the definition of 'paranoid' to a whole new level. I swear, if he barges in this hospital one more time, demanding to see one of my patients without waiting for a doctor, I'm going to take one of those fancy toys of his and—oh, never mind," she huffed, furrowing her brow as she paused. "And the way he was demanding your blood be released for DNA testing? God, you'd think you were some kind of criminal or something," an eye roll accompanied her snort.

"And how do you know I'm not? I mean, if the Batman is after me, I'd have to be the bad guy, right?" He raised her eyebrows at her dismissive hand wave as she bent down to retrieve a roll of gauze from one of metal baskets above the bed's headboard.

"Well, that question right there leads me to believe that you're not the villain in this whole situation. I mean, how much of a lowlife would you really be if you could admit that you were one? Besides, you don't seem like you'd ever be the type of person to intentionally hurt someone," the man thought back to the infinite number of cases that would prove her wrong in that regard, "you're too sweet for that."

"You've only known me for, what, three days?" He nudged her as she reached for the seam of his arm bandages.

"I'm a good judge of character," she winked again. It took the man a moment to realize that she was flirting with him, but he decided to ignore her advances and play naive. He didn't need to unintentionally hurt another yet person in his life, and, with her strong faith in humanity as a whole, tainting her with his demons would seem almost sacrilegious. "When you got here, though, you were half dead for no apparent reason—physically, there's no way that you could have done anything nefarious, even days before you were brought in. Personally, I think you just freaked the Bat out because of that getup you were wearing. Do you want me to change your dressing?" the man shook his head absently, stuck on what she had said earlier. What state had he been in when he'd arrived at the hospital? Who had brought him there in the first place? He still did not remember much—but, then again, he had been comatose for the past few days. There might not have been much to remember in the first place.

"No, no; it's fine. I'll be sure to do it later. You can just give me everything I'll need, and I'll make sure it gets done." She nodded, removing her hands from his forearm. Despite having very little to eat in days, he had retained most of his muscle tone. He would have to get back in shape before he returned to the streets, though... if he ever made his way back. No, he scolded himself. He refused to think that way—he refused to give up. Because if he did, then Chronos had won. He found himself worrying for what felt like the two-hundredth time in the past half hour about the condition of his Robin. The last time he'd seem his partner... he shuddered, praying to whatever god was listening that he was alright.

"Alright, then; you should be all set to go," she smiled once more—was she ever not happy?—and picked up the clipboard resting in a clear-plastic holder on the wall, "I'll have the doctor formally sign you out... Oh, we never did get your name, did we?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Tim." she did nothing in reply other than shoot a strange, almost pitying look his way, and did not press him. "Why don't you get changed," the nurse motioned toward the little bathroom that adjoined the room, but he only stared at her, confused. Didn't she know that he had no other clothes? And his suit had been taken... "There's an outfit hanging on the back of the door, probably from the same person who paid for your bill. It's probably from Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Moody, but I've learned not to question good things." With a dazed nod, he made his way inside and closed the door. Sure enough, there was a shopping bag looped on the towel hook that contained everything he would need: jeans, a white long-sleeved tee, a black short-sleeved over-shirt—it was autumn, after all. Toward the bottom, there were necessities like undergarments, socks, and even a new pair of sneakers. He smiled, knowing exactly who had given him these; not Batman, but Bruce. He must have been in really bad shape for the man to take that much pity on him. Maybe blanking out for a few days had been a good thing...

After a brief debate on whether or not to take a shower in the tiny stall—and deciding not to—he washed his face and quickly changed out of the drafty, uncomfortable hospital gown. The bandages on his head were removed, revealing nothing more than a closed gnash on his right side. His arm wrap remained, though, as he was quickly losing any desire to stay in the building much longer. When he exited back to the main room, the nurse was scribbling something on the tablet, but, when she heard the door open, she turned back, extending a hand. "Much better. It was lovely to meet you, Tim," the man reluctantly shook it, and noticed how she discreetly switched the hold from a handshake to a supporting arm as she led him toward the door. He was still in pain, despite the medication she had injected him with during the checkup. "We can't give you any proper prescriptions without your full name, so you'll be on your own for a while—come back as soon as you can. Until then, stock up on Advil and Tylenol—it's the best you can do at the moment." By then, the pair had slowly made their way into the sterilized lobby, where the receptionist barely spared him a glance as he was released. "Is everything in order, Martha? Room 407?"

"Yeah," the secretary replied, only perking her eyes up from the tabloid she was reading for a moment. "Dr. Miller checked him out and said he could go as long as your report was clear. He's awfully trusting of you, Anne..." She raised her eyebrows without looking up, a suggesting tone creeping into her voice. The nurse flushed, before turning to her charge.

He spoke before she could say anything, neither wanting to get involved nor stay in the hospital much longer. He had never liked being in one place too long... maybe that was simply the traveler in his blood. "Well, I'll be off, then." He smiled at the still-blushing woman, before turning toward the automatic glass doors and waving over his shoulder. The minute he managed to step into the breezy, dark night, however, he realized that he was completely, utterly helpless. Yes, Batman had claimed that he would be the one releasing him, but—aside from that—he had nowhere to go, no other clothes to wear, none of his equipment, and no real name.

And was not even sure where to begin in regards to finding his way home.

Without realizing it, he began wandering away from the hospital, eventually crossing into the dimness of the sidewalks between flickering, cracked streetlights. He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed someone approach him from the shadows, only reacting when he sensed a presence sidled up too close for comfort. Moving on instinct, he immediately shot back an elbow, catching his assailant off guard again with a follow-up blow to the head and a sweeping kick that knocked the feet from under the man, bringing him to the ground—or, well, it should have. Before he processed what was happening, Batman leaped back into his fighting stance and retaliated with a punch of his own. Tim, who was already panting and in excruciating pain from pulling his injuries, barely ducked out of the way in time before skipping back a few steps with his hands raised. "Whoa, whoa, I'm sorry—I didn't know it was you, sir," Crap, he'd said it again. Double crap: the Bat wasn't letting up. The man kept backing up, silently hoping that he didn't trip. He was in no condition to fight, let alone take on one of the most feared heroes of all time. "Look, it was an accident. This is Gotham—you could have been anyone! How was I supposed to know?" Though he had stopped letting his fists fly, the Dark Knight was still advancing, right up until he had backed up his prisoner against the crumbling stone wall of one of the many dilapidated buildings surrounding them. The trapped man cringed at his own display of weakness, but—despite not being extremely terrified by the man—he had no desire to become a pounded mound of pulp. And he knew Batman would not hesitate to take action if he felt threatened.

"Impressive," he growled, eyes narrowing behind the cowl. "You have, of course, just made things extremely difficult for yourself, though." With that, he roughly turned the man so that his back was no longer facing toward the bricks and roughly secured his hands behind him with what he knew to be oh-so-cleverly bat-shaped handcuff mimics. Great. The device was, of course, no trouble to escape—he was a master escape artist, after all, and it wouldn't do to taint his reputation—but he knew that things were only going to go downhill from there on out. There was no point in fueling the fiery situation with yet another reason for his idol to distrust him.

"Fair enough," he shrugged, allowing himself to be led onward as a prisoner. "So where are we headed?" He was met only with silence. "Well... can you at least tell me how we're getting wherever we're going?" Nothing. "What about what we're going to do when we get there?" Again, there was no reply. So he started to whistle, knowing it would annoy the stoic man leading him further into the familiar-yet-different city. He wasn't sure what was driving to provoke Batman—the need for some kind of reaction? He never really liked quiet, after all—but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was a bad idea. But, of course, the concussion won out over his common sense, and he kept on butchering the tune to a song of which he could no longer remember the name.

It lasted thirty seconds before he was effectively shut down by a harsh, "Shut up." ...for a moment, before starting up again. After less than a moment longer, Batman turned on him, and the man was half expecting to be hit. All he received, however, was a gloved finger waving in his face. "Legally, I cannot do anything to you, because you haven't done anything against the law... yet, to my knowledge. That, however, has not stopped me before. There are no police involved, so right now I am the only authority you have—until, of course, you screw up. So I'd suggest you do what you're told; I'm not a very patient man, and you have begun to grate on my nerves." Even for the Dark Knight that seemed a bit harsh, but, then again, he had no idea what that call from the Justice League had been about earlier in the evening. Something catastrophic could have been happening, and the Bat was stick babysitting him... again. He did not have any memory of some huge event taking place around that time, but, then again, he had already changed so much in the few short days he had been here—and unconscious, no less! There was no telling what kind of damage he could do now that he was up and moving around the world, and the thought of how much he could alter made him shiver. Even the smallest things could have major effects—he would have to be more careful from then on. No matter how many times he told himself to watch out, though, he knew that—now in the custody of the Batman—little remained in his control.

Deciding, for once, to take the hint, the man allowed their journey through the familiar, mazing alleys of Gotham to continue in relative silence. If something was amiss, he knew from experience that making the situation worse, whether intentionally or unintentionally, could lead to major disaster—heavy on the dis. He had no idea to where he was being led, but he had learned to trust Batman's judgment long ago; if he had said that he was not legally being convicted of anything, he had little to worry about by way of incarceration. There were, however, numerous off-the-record places that he knew of where suspected criminals were taken, none of which were particularly appealing. He only hoped that he was being paranoid, and that the Dark Knight's view of him as an extremely dangerous threat—even though, technically, he was—was merely exaggerated due to some other event happening. ...He highly doubted that, though.

Suddenly, he was being grabbed by the scruff of his collar, and he looked up at the black-clad man just in time to hear a gruff, "Hold on," before they were shooting through the air. By the time he realized what was happening, his feet had already touched ground on the roof of the building they had just scaled with Batman's grapple hook, and he did a double take.

"We're heading out in the Batwing?" he asked, barely containing his excitement. It had been a while since he'd ridden in the sleek black jet—well, this version. But, of course, originals were always better than replacements.

"Batwing?" The Dark Knight paused momentarily to shoot him a look—right... it wasn't called the Batwing here.

"Uh... Batplane, then?" he played stupid, trying to cover his slipup. Damn, he really hated this concussion. Hopefully the symptoms would fade soon, but, thanks to the lack of proper food in his system for days, he doubted that he would be feeling healthier anytime soon. There was, however, no response as his companion roughly ushered him forward before shoving him into the back passenger seat and securing his wrists behind him so that he could not access any controls. The man, however, did not seem to mind, and attempted not to act as any young child at Christmas would, taking in all of the things he had missed about the vehicle. Years ago, the jet had always been one of Batman's favorite toys... because, with it, he could fly. As the familiar G-force pull pressed him back into the plush seats, he stared out the windows, ignoring the way his position was causing his arms to lose their circulation. Soon, though—or was had it been hours? He had lost track of time—he began to recognize the well-known overhead view of Washington, DC, and realized where they were headed. He opted to stay quiet, though, and hoped that he was wrong. Even as the thought crossed his mind, though, the jet began descending, and, within moments, was landing on the emerald lawn that surrounded the ever-regal Hall of Justice. "You can't take me in there." He stated flatly.

"And why is that? It doesn't seem to me as though you have much of a choice." As Batman said this, he released the transparent hood and leapt out, unhooking the 'bat-cuffs' from their tether to the seat and allowing his prisoner a moment to gather his bearings. The minute his feet touched the ground, though, he captured man took a few steps back.

"No, you don't understand—if you take me in there, some really... bad things... could happen." Wow, excellent work coming up with a detailed and believable explanation. He knew where they were really headed, though. The only bit of the Hall that was not a front for the League's adoring public around this time was the Zeta Transporter, and, the minute he stepped into the DNA-analyzing, azure rays what little, shabby cover he had left would be obliterated, fully exposing him to every consequence this world had to offer. Despite his vehement protests—which, eventually, became violent attempts to flee—however, Batman forced him inside. He had no backup plan, and, as a last resort, dove for the monitor controls just as the Batman was entering in coordinates. His idol managed to clip him on the side of his head in an attempt to subdue the panicking man, reopening the nasty wound that would, undoubtedly, need stitches this time around. Taking advantage of the momentary daze, Batman yanked him into the Zeta Tube, preparing to radio the Team that their suspect had become violent. Just as he was questioning how wise it really was to bring this man near the teenagers, the computerized voice announced the travelers' names, but, before he could take any further action, he was blinded by the transportation beam.

Recognized: Batman, 02

Recognized: Robin, B-01

Wally, as usual, was the first one on the scene, though what he saw sent him skidding to a halt, barely able to slow his momentum enough in time to catch himself. The rest of the Team sprinted up moments behind him, all mirroring his reaction—though without the near-falls. Batman, a menacing, furious expression stretched across his mouth, had a bloody, black-haired young man in his early twenties back up against the stone walls of the cave, right forearm pressed against his throat in a subduing chokehold. "Who are you?" he snarled, causing all of the younger heroes except one to shiver involuntarily.

The man, however, only glared defiantly back through slightly glazed, half-lidded eyes, neither noticing their audience. "Ceea ce, eşti surd?" he slurred, the previous head injury he had sustained only exacerbated by the second knocking. While four of the teens only stared on with a mixture of confusion and wariness, though, Robin visibly paled at the man's words, taking an involuntary step back as though he had been slapped. It had been year—too many years—since he had heard that language, but his sharp mind still recognized the dialect on which he had been raised. Batman, too, loosened his grip ever so slightly, surprised—an emotion he experienced so infrequently that he faltered for a moment, unsure of how to react; his hesitation, however, went unnoticed by the others in the room.

"Batman, what is going on?" Kaldur asked, stepping forward, out of his stupor. "Is this the man?" The Dark Knight blinked, before regaining his composure in less than a moment, and dropped his arm, allowing the man to slump forward, gasping for breath.

"Yes, this is him. We seem to have run into a minor... complication, however," he informed the leader curtly, before turning his attention to his partner just as Kid Flash did the same.

"Dude, are you okay?" the redheaded speedster asked, at his best friend's side in an instant. The Boy Wonder still wore an expression of utter disbelief on his features, but quickly shook himself back to reality.

"Yeah; yeah, I'm fine," he waved Wally off, before addressing his mentor, "He's...?"

"Apparently," Batman affirmed just as his captive began to sway on his feet, blinking, slowly. Despite the situation, he reached forward to catch the man before he fell, now assure that he no longer posed any sort of threat to his son's Team.

"Would someone like to explain to me what just happened?" Artemis spoke up after a tense pause. "I have to believe that I'm not the only one confused by this whole thing. Weren't we supposed to be interrogating this guy?" Her snappish words brought everyone back down to some level of normalcy, and soon the heroes were moving into action.

"There will be time for explanations later," Batman replied, scooping the barely-conscious man into his arms, "for now, let's get him to the infirmary. Once he's stable again, we'll talk." With that, he strode down the hall, the Young Justice team trailing behind, struggling to keep up with the Dark Knight's pressured pace. Robin, eyes filled with unanswered questions and mind flooded with a wave of unwarranted memories, quickly caught up with this mentor, hoping for a quiet word before things spiraled out of hand. Instead, however, there was only time for a brief, reassuring glance from Bruce, and the silent promise that they would talk later. Of anyone, the elder man knew the pain of an unexpected reminder of loved ones once lost. When they reached the medical room, he carefully laid the man—who had, once again, fallen unconscious—on one of the cots and took his pulse. Finding that it was steady, though a bit weak, he sidled up a heart monitor as a precaution, as well as beginning a light fluid drip. He had not eaten in days, and that was likely aiding in his body's inability to right itself for an extended amount of time. Silently, he hoped that he would not slip into the comatose state that he had days prior, and would wake soon.

He looked up to find the five Team members huddled directly outside the room's threshold, all having formed a protective half-circle around his partner without realizing it. Though he was the farthest from helpless and possessed the most experience, Robin's young age brought out the older-sibling sides of his friends. With secretive, sad half smile at how close his little bird had become with the others, Batman began cleaning the newly-opened wound on the man's head, turning his mind back to the more urgent task at hand: figuring out just who, really, their mysterious intruder was. It was fairly easy for the World's Greatest Detective to line up the facts into several speculative theories, but the one answer that every bit of data seemed to point toward was far too far-fetched for the logical man's liking. Yes, it was plausible—possible—but it remained highly unlikely. As he worked, he was hyper-aware of the multitude of eyes watching him, unsure of what to do and waiting for him to give them something—anything—to work with. He had, after all, called them for a mission, and this was not the way he had intended for things to play out.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Martian glance around to the members of her team, some of whom were now watching, and receive an encouraging nod from Aqualad. "Batman," she said, clearing her throat in an attempt to lessen the ever-present timidity in her voice, "would it be helpful if I looked into his thoughts?" She seemed so shrink away under the dark gaze of Robin's mentor, and the Atlantean stepped forward to intervene.

"Given the circumstances, it could be beneficial in determining both his identity and whether or not he poses a continued threat to the League and our Team," he added logically, placing a hand on M'gann's shoulder for encouragement.

"Yeah, we don't know what this guy is capable of, and, personally, I don't want him growing a second head and murdering us all in our sleep... or something," Kid Flash added, trailing off after a swift elbow from Artemis.

"What he means," she corrected, glaring at the wincing redhead, "is that we don't even know if he's human or not, or what kind of hidden abilities he might have. Any information you might have and are not telling us would be helpful at the moment; we have a right to know who's being held in our base." Superboy grunted in agreement, arms crossed over his chest, but he was focused on the distraught Martian rather than Batman.

Gotham's protector considered their offer, looking toward the one member of the Team who had not offered input. His gaze was trained on the comatose man, brow furrowed as he considered the options. There were risks involved with both, the most dangerous of which for M'gann being the man's already damaged brain thanks to his numerous injuries. But, Hadn't Martian Manhunter said that their friend had the strongest telepathic mind he had ever encountered? In all likelihood, she would be fine, and they would gain the answers they needed to put the mission—and their curiosity—at rest. He turned back to his father, and silently communicated his assent in the secret, understood language that only the two shared, not needing his words to convey his inner turmoil to the man. We don't have much of a choice; might as well go ahead and let her do it. Batman nodded, their conversation going unnoticed by all members of the Team excepting Wally, who had known the two long enough to recognize the signs, and during the pause the others had begun to grow restless. Eventually, he nodded addressing Kaldur, "If that is your decision as leader of this Team, proceed as you see fit." While he, technically, had authority over the children, the evening had been intended as a training exercise, and he had every intention of letting them make their own way. That being said, however, he could not help but recognize that, if Robin had disagreed, he would have shut the idea down immediately.

With a deep, calming, breath, Miss Martian stepped forward to place her fingers on the man's temples, abolishing the mind link established between the teenagers over which they had been communicating only moments before. Within moments, she was swept into the churning waves of the man's subconscious mind, lost to the physical world around her.

Her Martian eyes adjust after the bright flash of light, signaling she has entered his thoughts. As she looks around, she notices that her surroundings have changed; it's not surprising, but she can't help but feel confused as to where she's landed. The wall in front of her—if it could be called such—is simply a brightly colored, striped drape of fabric, and below her feet is a rocky dirt floor. From behind the fabric, the sound of applause catches her attention, startling her, and she involuntarily camouflages herself, making her body invisible to any passerby. Curious, and not sure where she had landed, she crouches down and lifts up the curtain, nearly blinded once again by the bright light that accosts her from inside, permeating the darkness that surrounds her. She realizes, now, that she is outside, peeking into what appears to be some kind of enormous tent. Wooden bleachers line the interior, forming a half-circle around the exposed middle ground. Spotlights are trained on a short, somewhat round man in a coat-tailed suit and top hat is speaking, urging the crowd brimming from the seats to quiet themselves. "You all have been a wonderful audience tonight, and we have one more special treat. Please welcome—"

"What are you doing here?" a low voice hisses just as M'gann is grabbed from behind and roughly pulled away from the tent. She whips around, coming face-to-face with a man, and notices belatedly that she is no longer invisible. How...? It takes her a moment to recognize him, but she soon realizes that the man before her is the same one lying incapacitated back at the Cave. When she does not answer him, he continues. "You shouldn't be here; it's dangerous. Leave now." He glares at her, fists and teeth clenched, but she musters up the side of her usually reserved for missions—this is a mission, isn't it?—and stares defiantly back.

"Who are you?" she asks, ignoring his dramatic warnings and slipping into a fighting stance. While he looked dangerous, he was exuding more worry and fear than any actual desire to harm her. Still, there was no harm in being careful—she was only a telepathic projection, after all, and it was he who had almost complete control of her environment. "Where are we?"

"Trust me; the less you know, the safer you are. Now get out of my head, or I will force you out," his glare intensified, darkness swirling in its depths, and suddenly she was falling. Scenes flashed before her mind's eye, and she struggled to process them all as a sinister, echoing laughter reverberated all around her. A grieving group of eccentrically dressed people; an enormous, expensive house with a grey-haired, somber man holding the door open; a dark bedroom filled with the sounds of a crying child just as a frantic man bursts through the door; members of the Justice League staring down toward something; the faces of her own team; a young man screaming at someone who appears to be his father, yelling right back; a new group of teenagers, also in costume, staring out at a small, empty island; a dark city, rampant with criminals prowling its alleyways, so different yet somehow familiar; a teenaged boy and a young child arguing with another young man; a brutal, bloody fight between two men; a boy dressed as Robin taunting the new Batman; a portly man in a pig mask being beaten. The image of a building exploding plays itself over and over, until she can feel the earth beneath her feet quaking and she becomes weak with the extreme heat that waves through the air, falling to her knees, gasping.

"This is it. Batman and Robin. Together again for the first time."

And, suddenly, she knows.

AN: PLEASE DON'T EAT ME. a) I know I said I would have this up by Friday, but... it's still Thursday in China? Actually, I don't think it is... crap... I'M SORRY. b) Yes, I understand if this chapter is confusing, but that's because it's actually only, like, half of a chapter. (I never bothered to look at my word count, and freaked out when I saw that I was somewhere past 10,000 words...) I had to split it up somehow, and this was the best possible place to do it. So I'll keep saying it, and hopefully I'll be telling the truth this time: ALL SHALL BE REVEALED NEXT CHAPTER. :D

Thank you guys so much for all your wonderful reviews/favorites/alerts! It's y'all who keep me writing. (: Feel free to hand off any comments (good and bad) by hitting that little button down there. Much love to you all!

~Darian

P.S. Tim... heehee, SEE WHAT I DID THERE? ...No? ...That's cool, too... XP

(double) P.S. Glimare asked me to translate what "Tim" said: What, are you deaf? :D