"Can you drive?" Gordon asked.
Robin's eyes flashed as though he felt that he'd been insulted.
"You know I can," Robin spat, though his anger seemed to be without apparent direction.
Gordon had always believed that it might happen someday that Batman would need him. He had no illusions about Batman. He was certain Batman was just as human as he was, that he had his own limitations. He'd even seen Batman get hurt before. But somehow... he wasn't prepared for it.
"I meant, ah," Gordon gestured to the back of his neck.
Robin blinked, then reached up a hand to touch the back of his own neck. He flinched visibly. His black glove came back not only bloody, but with a chunk of glass that looked like it had come from a beer bottle. Robin looked at it without apparent feeling. He put the glass in one of the pockets of his utility belt. Not leaving any blood behind. Taking no chances.
"If I get you off this street, can you take care of yourself?" Gordon asked.
Robin didn't answer. He seemed to be weighing his options. He didn't like them. But he didn't take long. The hand he'd rested on Batman's shoulder trembled slightly. Setting his jaw, Robin leaned down and threw Batman's right arm around his neck. He heaved upward, staggering to his feet.
Gordon moved to help him.
"Back off," Robin snapped fiercely.
"What are we doing, Commish?" Bullock inquired.
"Clear a path," Gordon said, feeling an explanation was not required.
The crowd had closed in around them again, but parted at Bullock's shouting and bullying. If they didn't move as instructed, he'd push them. Bullock was not above a little roughing up of the general public if that was required to get their respect.
Robin staggered under Batman's dead weight. Batman did not move, gave no indication of consciousness, and only breathed shallowly to prove he was alive. Gordon picked up the dart as they passed it, and read the note quickly.
"Stay out of the Bernard Trial" it read simply, and there was a signature beneath that. "-The Black Wasp" with a little drawing of a black insect with a curved body and red wings next to it, presumably a wasp.
"Who's this Black Wasp?" Gordon asked, momentarily forgetting that Robin was currently struggling with his own problems and was in no position to give any answers, even if he had them.
Gordon was used to relying on Batman and Robin to not only take care of themselves, but to have more information about the various wackos in Gotham than he did.
"Can we talk about this later?" Robin gasped, then stumbled and would have gone down had Gordon not reached out and caught him, being careful not to touch Batman.
He'd taken Robin's threat to heart, and assumed it applied to him as well as the crowd. Robin shrank away from him, barely maintaining his balance and hold on Batman as he did so. In that moment, Gordon had felt the boy shaking, and realized it wasn't anger he was hearing. It was fear.
Gordon took in the scene anew. Robin was exposed, and Batman was helpless. They were illuminated by various headlights, closely surrounded by Gotham residents, and getting up close and personal with the police. Robin was afraid he or Batman would be recognized. Gordon had always suspected he knew Batman and possibly Robin without their masks, but he'd never tried to guess who they were.
It was better if he didn't know. He'd never wanted to know, and he certainly didn't now.
That's why Robin wanted hands off, why he was insisting on dragging Batman by himself. He didn't want Gordon to get too close and take in their facial features in the light, or get a good idea of how tall they were, or how heavy, or any scars they might have, any identifying marks.
Gordon hadn't even thought about it before. Batman had stood right next to him a hundred times. But the cape and cowl disguised height and weight, the shadows hid what little of his face could be seen. Batman might have trusted him implicitly, but he was always careful. Robin was just less subtle.
Gordon held open the back door of the police cruiser. Hesitantly, Robin heaved Batman across the back seat. The Dark Knight seemed to fill the entire back. Robin didn't get in himself, eying the protective grid between the front and back seats, and the absence of manual locks on the back doors. He was not going to allow himself to be locked in the back.
"Handle things here," Gordon instructed Bullock, then climbed into the driver's side of the car.
Robin looked like he would have preferred to confiscate the car by himself, but evidently he accepted the fact that it would have been dangerous for him to drive at present. He reluctantly climbed into the shotgun seat, crossed his arms and turned towards the window.
They pulled away from the curb, neither one speaking. Gordon glanced at Robin out of the corner of his eye. The crossed arms and clenched jaw could not hide the fear in the masked face, nor could it prevent Gordon from seeing that Robin was shaking, perhaps from the exertion, maybe from fear, possibly something even worse.
"Who is the Black Wasp?" He repeated.
"I don't know," Robin replied curtly, "I didn't get a good look. They were maybe five nine, five ten at the outside. A hundred and forty pounds, maybe less. Hard to tell. They were wearing a black jacket. It had that bug emblazoned on the back, in red," he indicated the note with a nod of his head.
"Male or female?" Gordon asked.
Robin took the note, read it, shrugged.
"I'm not so good recognizing handwriting," Robin admitted, it sounded like it wounded his pride to do so, "But first guess is female. It also looks kind of like mine would. Young, inexperienced other than in school, nothing fancy or formal."
Gordon cast a sidelong glance at Robin. He wondered if Robin could really see all that in the handwriting. If it were Batman, there'd be no doubt. But Robin... how much did he actually know?
"Where are we going?" Robin asked, looking out the windshield.
"A few blocks away," Gordon replied, "From there, it's up to you."
"Good," Robin nodded, returning his attention to the note.
"So you know all that, but you don't know who it is? No suspects?" Gordon pressed.
"None I'd care to discuss," Robin spat, then sighed like he regretted the acidity of his remark.
Gordon was a parent, his daughter was probably around Robin's age. Sometimes he forgot how young the kid was. But he remembered now that Robin had been growing, getting taller, all the time he'd known him. Gordon could remember when Robin was just a little imp, scampering around on the rooftop, peering over the edge at the cars below, examining the bat signal curiously, never still, never at ease, yet always ready with a quip.
At first Gordon had wondered about Batman's judgment, bringing a kid into his dark and dangerous world. But he'd seen that Robin had a darker side, a dangerous side. Without Batman, Robin might well have become a very different person, possibly a formidable adversary.
Gordon had never questioned Batman about it, and was later glad he hadn't. Batman clearly knew what he was doing. He knew more than Gordon had ever suspected.
Through Robin, the legacy of Batman had gained a kind of immortality. Batman himself would eventually grow old and die, Gordon was almost certain of that. And Gotham would still need a dark hero. Robin might be that in the future.
But right now, he was just a scared kid, despite the getup and coldness in his voice.
"It's okay to be scared," Gordon said gently, using a tone he normally reserved for his own child.
Robin looked at him sharply, but then looked away, flinching as though he'd been struck. He evidently didn't like that Gordon had seen through his act and become aware of his private fear.
"For you, maybe," Robin said quietly, "Not for me."
Gordon pulled the car over and parked. He waited while Robin pulled Batman out of the back, dragging him off into the shadows. Gordon hesitated, but he'd done all he could. All Robin would allow. He had to get back to the scene of the crime.
Robin stepped away from Batman for a moment and Gordon rolled down the window.
"You wanted me as a witness," Robin said, "I'll be your surprise witness."
"The trial starts tomorrow," Gordon said, handing Robin the dart and note, knowing if he didn't Robin would take them on his own.
"I know. I'll be there," Robin stepped back from the car.
Gordon rolled up the window, shifted gears and turned the car around, then drove away.
Robin waited for him to be gone before using the remote device to get the batmobile out of hiding. Maybe it wasn't safe for him to drive, but it would be even less safe to call Alfred and bring him here, so close to where the crowds and police were. Alfred must not be connected with Batman. Ever.
The batmobile arrived quietly, its engine purring rather than roaring. Robin half-dragged, half-threw Batman into the passenger seat, then slid into the driver's side. He had to adjust the seat, the mirrors, everything. Batman was a lot bigger than he was.
Impulsively, Robin reached across and felt Batman's neck. There was still a pulse, slow but steady. He was barely breathing, but it sounded less like his airways were blocked and more like inhaling took more effort than he could manage. But he was still alive.
Robin breathed a shaky sigh of relief, noticing for the first time since he fell that his leg hurt like anything. The back of his neck burned, and he could feel that there was still glass in his skin, that he was still bleeding a bit. He felt slightly lightheaded, but figured that was from the adrenaline rushing in an unchecked flood through his system.
Taking a breath, he put the batmobile into gear. He was halfway home before he realized his mistake. He swung the batmobile around and headed towards Leslie Thompkins'. Batman had been poisoned, that much Robin knew. He knew that he and Alfred wouldn't be enough. Batman needed an actual doctor. Robin realized with some surprise that he'd never driven to Leslie's clinic before.
He'd been there, she'd been the one to care for him after Supay the jaguar tore his leg to shreds. But he'd never come here on his own. Not even once.
Never before had it fallen to him to get them out of a situation. Batman had always been able to handle it, even if he was poisoned or shot or stabbed or whatever. He could make it as far as was necessary. He had never really needed help before.
And that was part of what had Robin so shaken.
He knew, better than anyone, that Batman was mortal, subject to the same weaknesses as any man. But, in spite of that knowledge, some part of him had come to believe in Batman's immortality.
That illusion had just been brutally shattered.
Robin glanced at Batman, his heart constricting in fear each time his friend's chest fell, terrified each and every breath would be the very last.
The batmobile swung recklessly around a curb, roaring onto an empty street. Robin knew not to park in the open, in front of Leslie's clinic. There was a covered garage in back, and a door. Robin swung around to the back, and almost drove right through the back wall, hitting the brakes too late and too hard.
"There goes my driver's license," Robin muttered, more to calm himself than anything.
He yanked at his seat belt, fumbling with the clasp. And then he was out of the batmobile and into the building. Once inside, he hung back, in the shadows, seeking Leslie. He spotted her, stood in her line of vision, just outside the room until she nodded, acknowledging that she'd seen him.
He then retreated to one of the empty rooms and waited, fidgeting nervously. He wanted to get back to Batman, but it would do no good to stand over him, and there was no subtle way to move him in here until Leslie's current patient had gone.
Leslie dismissed her patient, who was suffering nothing more than hay fever. Then she went to one of the rooms in the back, a room she never sent patients to. It was where Batman came. She entered the room, surprised to see Robin alone.
He looked nervous, deathly pale. Sweat ran across his skin, there was blood on the back of his neck. His eyes and hair were wild, and he was standing almost exclusively on one foot.
"What have you done to yourself this time?" Leslie asked, crossing her arms and trying to hide her sympathy for the wounded, "My goodness, you're as bad as he is. That leg isn't ready to be pounded on yet. I hope you'll start listening to me someday."
"Please," Robin's voice was weak, barely a whisper, "Not right now. Not tonight."
Leslie uncrossed her arms, suddenly alarmed. Normally Robin would just grin at her tirade, sometimes even giggle, like he found the whole idea of being concerned about his welfare terribly funny.
She stepped towards him and put a hand on his forehead. He drew back at once, as though stung.
"No. Not me. It's Batman," he shook his head miserably, "Bruce. I think he's dying."
"He's not dying," Leslie said.
Robin was so relieved he almost fell down. He was still lightheaded, so deeply and inexplicably afraid that Batman would die that he could hardly breathe. He put his hands on the edge of the hospital bed and leaned heavily, letting out a shuddering breath.
"What then?" Robin asked, "Sedated?"
"No. Paralyzed," Leslie replied.
Robin looked up sharply, trying to read the implications in her time weathered face.
"I haven't discovered what toxin was used yet," Leslie told him, "But I expect to find out soon, once I've run a few tests. In the meantime, he can hear us and it's likely his mind is sharp as ever, but he couldn't lift a finger if his life depended on it."
"I know," Robin said, "And it did. So how long will he be..." he gestured to the bed.
"Paralyzed. The word doesn't bite, Dick." Leslie said, "It's hard to say without knowing what did it, or what the concentration was. Having the dart will be a help. It had a few untainted drops inside it. My guess, you should be able to take him home in forty-eight hours."
"Forty-eight hours? Why not now?" Robin asked.
"Right at the moment, his breathing is assisted. Until he can breathe normally on his own, I want to keep a close eye on him. But I have a clinic to run, so I need to be here, not traipsing through the countryside at all hours, looking in on Bruce Wayne of all people. Especially with the coming media frenzy," Leslie's words took a moment to sink in.
"Media frenzy?" Robin blinked, "There weren't any news people there."
"No, but there were people. How much proof do you think they'll need to run with a 'is this the end of Batman' headline? None, that's how much. When it goes public that Batman was injured, people will be looking in hospitals, watching doctors, trying to find out who he is through his physician."
"Oh," Robin said weakly, "I hadn't thought of that."
"You don't think of a lot of things," Leslie said in a scolding tone, "In spite of what you believe."
Robin looked at the floor and just nodded meekly. He was shaken by events, more than he wanted to let on. He'd been scared to death that he was going to lose Bruce, that Gotham would lose Batman. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, or to take on the responsibility of being Gotham's guardian angel. He was no Batman, not yet anyway.
"In the meantime," Leslie said, then broke off for a moment, her faced lined with concern, "Are you listening? Dick... you look positively ill. Come here, sit down, let me examine you."
"I'm okay," Robin said, but his tone lacked conviction.
"Come. Sit," Leslie repeated in a tone even the most willful jackass couldn't disobey.