For Summary and disclaimer please see Chapter 1.

Previously On Trapped...

"Bruce, he looked at you. He called you Batman," Dick pointed out.

"I know," Bruce said quietly looking back to Tim.

"That means he knows. Don't you, little brother?" Tim brought his gaze up to look at Dick as his elder brother tucked a strand of hair behind Tim's ear.

"You know Bruce, Tim. I know you can hear me. I know you're in there. You've just got to work at it. Okay, Timmy? Fight. You can come back. We're waiting for you. We know you can do it."

Tim watched his big brother as Dick held his chin in his hand.

"Come on, kiddo, let's get you up off the floor. Can you stand for me, Tim? You did it just a minute ago. You ran all the way here. You can do it again. Ready?" Dick coached while taking his brother under his arms, hauling him to his feet. Tim stood for a second on shaky legs before his knees gave out.

"I've got ya," Dick said tightening his hold around Tim's chest. "Come on, spaghetti legs," Dick grunted as he hoisted Tim into his arms. "Let's get you back to bed."

Once again, Tim rested his head on his brother's shoulder as Dick walked them back down the hall.

Chapter 6

"Bruce, I'd like you to meet Dr. Kellar." Leslie and the Neurologist stood as Bruce entered his study.

"Hello, thank you for coming out on such short notice, Dr. Kellar."

"It's not a problem, Mr. Wayne. Well, if everyone's ready, let's begin." Dr Kellar said as he opened Tim's file and his recorded outcome of his examination just moments ago.

"Is Alfred upstairs with Tim?" Bruce asked quietly as he took a seat next to Dick.

"Yeah, but I rerouted the audio feed to the phone in Tim's room so he could listen in," Dick replied.

Bruce raised his eyebrows and nodded his head as the doctor began to explain his findings.

"First of all. There two different method of evaluation to determine the level of coma an individual is at."

"So he is definitely in a coma then," Bruce interjected.

"Unfortunately, yes. Now, the first scale is called the Glasgow scale. This evaluation method is used more often with completely unresponsive, comatose patients. As we know, this is not the case with Tim."

"Thus, I based his evaluation upon the second scale, called the Rancho Los Amigos coma scale. This scale has eight different levels ranging from Level I, where the patient appears to be in a deep sleep and is unresponsive to stimuli all the way up to Level VIII, where the patient is alert and oriented, and is able to recall and combine past and recent events. He can learn new activities and living skills, though deficits in stress tolerance, judgment, abstract reasoning, social, emotional, and intellectual capacities may persist."

"It is my diagnosis that Tim is between Levels IV, Confused-Agitated and Level V, Confused-Inappropriate, Non-Agitated," Dr. Kellar paused as he flipped through a couple pages in his file.

Bruce took that opportunity to firmly grab Dick's knee, putting an immediate halt to its bobbing up and down in nervous tension. Dick looked at Bruce and gave him a sheepish grin before wiping his palms on his jeans and leaned forward resting his arms on his knees.

"Now, I know that sounds like just a bunch of medical lingo. Here's a rundown of Tim's awareness. He is at a heightened state of activity and is severely confused, disorientated and mainly unaware of events. He can experience frequent behavior which is bizarre and inappropriate to his immediate environment. When I say 'inappropriate' I simply mean for example, attempting to climb into bed while in the kitchen. There is no bed in the room thus, the action is bizarre and in appropriate."

"As far as physical activity, I have witnessed Tim's ability to sit both in a chair and on the floor. When he is sitting on the floor, I recommend two positions. One is cross-legged. With this position he will be more able to balance himself without the help from others, while at the same time will provide a light stretch to his leg and hip muscles. The other position will be to have his legs straight out. With this position, I am not confident he will display a consistent effort to use his arms to hold himself upright. Someone will sit behind him, to allow Tim to lean back against and be supported by the other person."

"A good time for these floor exercises would be while you watch television. Pick a program that you know he enjoys. Make comments about the episode as you normally would. Remember, just because he may not reply or respond in any way to your words, does not mean they are not being received. Continuing to keep the normality of his every day life present, will greatly affect the speed of recovery."

"Now, all these things that I have witnessed so far belong under the category of Level IV. The last item to discuss in regard to this level is the occurrences of heightened physical activity. I have been informed that Tim had a great deal of this earlier in the day. This activity was performed under an agitated state was it not?"

"Very agitated," Dick answered.

"That is to be expected under Level IV. This show of heightened physical activity is not necessarily a purposeful act, rather a reaction to whatever is causing the agitation."

"That wraps up Level IV. Does anyone have any questions?"

"Uh, yeah," Dick cleared his throat. "This afternoon, when Tim bolted through the house, he was very aware and was not inappropriate for what he was going through. Was he having a flashback? A dream? Is sleepwalking possible, and if so, is it normal for a person to display normal actions and range of motion?"

Dr. Kellar smiled, "Let's see if I can answer your questions without missing one. Flashbacks. As with all medical conditions there is never one guide of behavior and/or symptoms, complications, etc, that is written in stone. That being said, In my 24 years of experience as a Neurologist, I have only come across 7 such cases out of hundreds where claims of flashbacks have been reported. I am not dismissing the possibility. I am merely stating that there is not enough material on my accord, nor in reference publications to support such a claim."

"As far as dreaming goes, at Tim's current awareness state, tests and research has been shown that, yes, dreams most definitely are a normal and regular occurrence. As far as sleepwalking, allow me to first explain this activity. There are different stages of a persons sleep pattern:

Stage 1- drowsiness,

Stage 2- light sleep,

Stage 3- deep delta,

Stage 4- a more intense stage 3 and

Stage 5- REM or Rapid Eye Movement; dreaming or paradoxical sleep.

Sleepwalking occurs during Stage 4.

"The sleep walking activity may include simply sitting up and appearing awake while actually asleep, getting up and walking around, or complex activities such as moving furniture, going to the bathroom, dressing and undressing, and similar activities. The episode can be very brief, say a few seconds or minutes, or can last for 30 minutes or longer."

"One common misconception is that a sleepwalker should not be awakened. It is not dangerous to awaken a sleepwalker, although it is common for the person to be confused or disoriented for a short time upon awakening. Another misconception is that a person cannot be injured when sleepwalking. Actually, injuries caused by such things as tripping and loss of balance are common for sleepwalkers. I recommend blocking off the top of the stairs when Tim is sleeping and even installing a bolt lock at the top of doors either leading to the outdoors, or to potentially hazardous rooms."

"As far as normal range of motion and actions, as Tim clearly exhibited earlier today, that is possible. Actually, today's excitement is proof that he is extremely likely to make a complete recovery. He has not lost the ability to perform such tasks, only is unable to easily access them. While he was in a deep sleep, his mind tapped into his memory and thus living through that memory, was able to perform naturally. Think of it as using the 'system restore' feature in your operating system. During his dream he was able to travel to the past before his accident and access those resources. When he wakes up, though, he will revert back to his current state."

"Phew," Dr. Kellar smiled and took a drink from his water. "Did I get them all?"

Dick smiled and nodded.

"Well, lastly, there is one goal that Tim met withing Level V. He responded purposely to external stimuli."

"By responded purposely you mean he became agitated?"

"Yes. But in direct response to an uncomfortable sensation, exhibiting clear displeasure."

Bruce nodded in understanding.

"Are there any other questions?"

"What proactive actions will we be taking to accelerate Tim's recovery? I don't care which country they come from or how much it costs. Only the most elite will do." Bruce stated.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne," Dr. Kellar nodded. "I'm sure you've heard of the medical group, NeuroHealth. They have the top specialists in both Neurology and Neuropsychology. They have a few branches based across the globe and we're lucky enough that one is as near as Metropolis. They will contact you in the morning and send a representative out to discuss the best form of rehabilitation, called Coma Arousal Therapy."

"It's astounding success rates lie in the frequency, intensity and duration of environmental stimuli that Tim will receive. As you will be shown, the coma arousal programs are very labor intensive and it has been suggested that the best reactions happen when family members perform the various five-sensory activities. Those being, vision, hearing, touch, taste and smell. It has been proven that relatives have received a higher degree of awareness than detected by outside therapists."

"Uh, yeah, about that.." Dick began and leaned forward on his knees again, "Tim seems to be unaware of everyone," he paused to clear his throat, "but me. Why, I mean. We all love and support him. I'm elated because he dose see me and seem to respond to me as best he can," Dick paused again, this time to give Bruce a quick glance. Knowing exactly what his son was struggling with, he offered a nod of encouragement that spoke volumes. Dick turned back to the doctor, "I feel bad that I'm the only one he seems to be aware of."

Dr. Kellar offered both Bruce and Dick a warm, comforting smile, "First let me assure you, that this occurrence is very common, and happens practically every time. One or two family members are singled out and are communicated to and through. This most likely is someone that the patient is most close to and secure with. I don't have to assume to come to a conclusion that you and Tim are very close. Correct?"

Dick swallowed hard, "Yeah, that's right," he answered with a thick voice.

Once again, the doctor's smile seemed to envelope the occupants of the room with understanding and genuine compassion, "That is why he is able to connect with you. Without having to consciously think about it, your bond remains strong and has become an anchor for him. In time, others loved ones will be brought into realization and response. I know it's a difficult dynamic in emotions to experience, unparalleled joy and relief for you yet guilt for the others. But take solace in knowing, this is both common and expected and is a very positive occurrence."

"All of you must remain positive, I cannot convey enough, the importance in that. Actions and body language speak volumes. Tim will draw from your strengths and pick up on your hopes and expectations. Always keep those a step above what reality might be trying to tell you. Like I stated at the beginning, there is no guarantee or a written-in-stone outcome. Anything is possible."

Dr. Kellar paused to both drink and to allow time for other questions or concerns to arise. When he was certain everyone was satisfied with the information and answers he had provided, he straightened out the stack of exam papers and closed Tim's file.

Bruce nodded, "Thank you very much for all you help and for seeing Tim after hours."

"Not at all, I know I just threw a wealth of information at you all at once. Please, if you have any questions anytime, day or night. Or, if you need me for anything. Please call me." Dr. Kellar said and handed Bruce his business card.

"We will, thank you again."

Dr. Kellar stood and placed Tim's folder in his briefcase just as Alfred appeared with his trench coat. "Master Dick, I believe you'd like to know that the Tivo in Master Tim's room, automatically changed the television channel to a movie involving seven-foot tall tomatoes, severely lacking in special effects."

"Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?" Dick asked then quickly glanced at his watch, "Oh man! Nice to meet you Dr. Kellar, and thanks. I've gotta run."

"Thanks, Al," Dick yelled over his shoulder as he rushed out of the room.

It was 9:45 pm when Bruce slipped into Tim's room to find Dick slouched back against the headboard with a goofy grin spread across his face as he watch the cheesy black and white horror flick. He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his slumbering partner.

"How long's he been asleep?" Bruce asked, just above a whisper.

"About forty minutes or so." Dick answered taking his focus from the large television in the room to his little brother who had curled up tight against his side.

"Did he seek out that position or did you help him?" Bruce asked observing how Tim's head rested on his brother's chest and how Dick's arm wrapped protectively around him.

"No, he decided himself. We were just sitting here watching the movie when I noticed his head kept nodding. I asked him if he were tired, if he wanted to finish the movie later and he looked at me for a couple seconds then slowly scooted down and rested his head against my arm. I raised my arm and he quickly moved in and curled up."

Bruce lightly brushed Tim's hair from his eyes, "I'll be going out soon, I wanted to know if you wanted to come."

"I'd like to, Bruce, but I was planning on stopping by the precinct giving my captain an idea of how much time I need off."

"He's going to be there this time of night?" Bruce asked.

"When's he not there, would be a more appropriate question. I'll catch up with you when I get back though," Dick said.

"All right," Bruce nodded and watched Tim sleep peacefully in the safety of his brother's embrace. "I'll see you then."

"Wha.. Who are you?" Cluemaster stammered when the black nylon sack had been removed from his head, staring at the ominous figure which was one with the shadows.

The figure remained motionless and the Cluemaster began to wonder if anyone was actually there when the shadow exploded forward, taking the criminal by the neck and slamming him into the opposite wall. Cluemaster's pupils dilated wide with fright.

"I ask. You answer. That's the way this game works." came the menacing growl.

Recognition flashed in Cluemaster's eyes not from the voice, but from the sliver of moonlight which entered through a crack in the sealed off section of Blackgate prison.

"You're not the Bat. But you are one of his brats aren't you. I was expecting to run into you in Blüdhaven the other night. It was a real treat to find tweetie bird instead."

Nightwing saw red at the enjoyment Cluemaster found in the condescending nickname for his little brother, the brother still unresponsive in a coma. With his grip still tight around Cluemaster's throat, he yanked him from the wall with a scowl, landing a powerful punch to the face of the villain. Taking pleasure in the distinct crunch of a nose breaking, he watched as Cluemaster sailed backwards in the air, landing firmly on his back with a thud that echoed throughout the room, blood spattering around his body.

The unfortunate criminal didn't have a chance to compute what had happened before he was hauled roughly from the basement floor and suffered a quick knee to the gut, forcing the air from his lungs seconds before an uppercut to his jaw caused a blinding pain to explode throughout his head. Cluemaster waited for the jarring impact with the concrete floor and was horrified to find that Nightwing still had a death hold on his orange prison-issue jumpsuit. He could tell that the seething vigilante was taking enjoyment in the brutal attack and the thought of not being able to survive this beating burned into his mind.

He found his expected union with the floor after being flung several feet into the air seconds before a round house kick connected with his back. Landing face first into the concrete littered with dead rodents and stagnant rainwater, Cluemaster silently prayed that either the beating would end or he would die. Which ever came soonest. Paralyzing fear gripped his soul as he felt the vigilante, seemingly insane with furry, harshly toss him onto his back and grind a heavy knee into his chest.

"Like I said," Nightwing began with eerie calmness, "I ask. You answer. That's the way this game works."

In a last ditch effort to save face, the beaten and broken criminal tried his luck with another question, "What if I don't want to play your game?"

"Then you won't like my rules," Nightwing stated then pressed an escrima stick down on Cluemaster's larynx with just enough pressure to reduce his air intake by fifty percent.

"You... you can't do that," Cluemaster rasped. "I'm a prisoner, I've got rights."

"Those rules don't apply to me. I'm a vigilante, remember? I work outside the law." Nightwing stated in a cool and collective voice, applying slightly more pressure.

"Ok, ok!" Cluemaster yelped, "Sayin' I tell you what you want to know, what do I get out of it? What's in it for me?"

Nightwing flashed his victim a grin that made his skin crawl, "You get to wipe your own ass for the rest of your life, Arthur."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, that either you tell me exactly what I want to know, the first time I ask, or I inject you with a near lethal dose of pancuronium bromide." Nightwing explained as he pulled a syringe from his glove.

"What's that?" Cluemaster asked with a profound quiver to his voice. "You're a cape... capes don't kill."

Nightwing nodded, "Very true, Arthur. And that's is quite the unfortunate fact for you, my friend, Death is much too good for your sorry hide."

"Then..then what are you gonna do?" Cluemaster stammered.

"Arthur," Nightwing began with awe in his voice. "Have you ever heard of a condition called Locked In Syndrome?"

"N..no"

"Locked-in syndrome is very tragic, and rare neurological disorder where an individual is completely paralyzed of their voluntary muscles in all parts of the body except for those that control eye movement. Some of the causes for such a condition range from traumatic brain injury, diseases of the circulatory system, or in your case, a medication overdose." Nightwing paused to allow that last part sink in.

"Those with locked-in syndrome are completely conscious and can think and reason, but are unable to speak or move. The disorder leaves you completely mute and paralyzed. Communication may be possible with blinking eye movements, but even that is not a guarantee."

"Now that we know and understand the rules, let's play. I know you still work with members from the Suicide Squad. Who were you working with the night you attempted to rob Bludhaven First National Bank? I hear it was the Electrocutioner and that big dumb dufface, Czonk. Is that correct?"

"Yea..yeah."

"Good boy, now, where are they?"

"I don...donno."

Nightwing sighed and shook his head sadly, "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. I explained the rules, didn't I? I was very careful to be precise and exact with the details."

Cluemaster didn't answer, frozen with anticipation.

"In all fairness, if you break the rules, you don't get to play the game." Nightwing said as he jammed the syringe into Cluemaster's shoulder and began to inject the serum.

Cluemaster screamed in horror as the contents of the syringe burned through his veins.

"You know, I'm a fair guy. I'd like to think that I'm even nice, so I'm going to give you one more chance to play by the rules. Answer my question truthfully and I'll forego the rest of the injection. You'll only lose control over various muscle groups, instead of them all. Where. Are. They?"

Cluemaster battled against the panic that overtook his mind as he could feel a numbing sensation travel throughout his body. "They...they... uh... we, were supposed to meet up at the Motor Lodge motel on Route 42."

"Not good enough, Arthur. You've been incarcerated. They won't stay there. Think hard, my friend. Last chance."

"Uh... the um..loading docks. Ther..there's an old run down shack. Used to be the night watch man's...but it's all overgrown with scrub and forgotten about. Tha..that's where we were going to meet up if something bad went down." Cluemaster finished his statement on the verge of tears.

"See, now that wasn't so hard, now was it? Playing the game fair makes it more fun for all participants. However..." Nightwing paused as a darkness overshadowed his face. "There is a very good friend of mine, whom I consider my brother, that isn't able to play this or any other game. I think it would be only fair to return the favor. Just to even up the stakes."

Cluemaster screamed in horror as Nightwing forced the rest of the serum through the syringe and into his body. "Nooo...you..you said, if I..plaa byyy ruuzzzz..." Cluemaster's protest of terror was ended by the sudden onslaught of complete paralysis.

Nightwing leaned forward and whispered into Cluemaster's ear, "I forgot to tell you, I don't always play by the rules either." he said then calmly raised to his feet and jumped up to catch one of the many pipes that snaked their way throughout the ceiling, then flung himself to the ledge of a broken window. "Don't worry Arthur. They'll be an anonymous tip to your location. Hopefully the message will be conveyed before the rats pick up the stink from your blood. But look on the bright side. It's not like you'll feel them as they gnaw into your flesh." Nightwing vanished through the window.

Nightwing waited until he easily made it past the prison wall and into the surrounding woods before he allowed himself to release a snort of laughter.

"Find what you were looking for?" a deep voice asked, from just behind Nightwing.

"Yeah. Wanna go finish this?" Nightwing asked in a serious tone.

Batman looked at his protégé for a moment, "Let's go."

As they approached the Batmobile, Batman glanced at Nightwing, "How much did you give him?"

Nightwing shrugged, "About 5cc."

Batman raised an eyebrow behind his cowl, "Bit much don't you think?"

"No." Came the dark reply, "But give him about a week. It'll wear off and he'll be fine."

"Fine physically..." Batman countered.

"Ask me if I give a damn about his mental state," Nightwing challenged, then took a cleansing breath, "Besides, that's what tax payers' dollars are for. Let the prison shrinks earn their pay. He'll get over it and more likely than not have an enlightened perspective in the criminal career."

Batman looked at Nightwing from over the roof of the Batmobile as the canopy retracted, "Do you have a clear head now? Are you focused?"

"No worries, big guy, I'm not taking a chance on botching up this bust. I'm cool. Let's go."

Without another word, they jumped into their seats each silently looking forward to retribution as the Batmobile roared to life and rocketed off toward Blüdhaven.

Literature credits:

NINDS Locked-In Syndrome Information courtesy of the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke National Institutes of Health Bethesda, MD.