CHAPTER 10

BATMAN'S JOURNAL

"I'm sorry, Batman," Dr. Midnite told me seriously. "I was afraid something like this might happen." He went to a screen and called up a file showing a scan of Dick's skull. There was a large, dark blot inside my boy's brain.

"What is that?" I asked, forcibly tamping down my rage and fear.

"You can never tell how a patient with brain injury will react. One of the blows to Robin's head was at the occipital lobe. As you can see, it has caused some damage. What' you're seeing is the remainder of clotting from a brain bleed. It's reasonable to assume that the tissue there was damaged. The occipital lobe is the center for sight. He has what is commonly called 'cortical blindness'."

I was silent for the time it took to draw in a deep breath and let it out. This wasn't deadly, I still had my son with me. Modern science was close to miraculous, especially at the Hall. "What is the treatment?" I asked. "I assume it's an operation of some kind. Can you do it?"

Midnite smiled at me sympathetically, with that look all doctors get when they have to deliver bad news and would rather not. "I'm sorry, Batman. Robin can expect some improvement, perhaps he will be able to tell light from dark someday. Time itself is the treatment here. That and special training to allow him to live as a person who is blind." Midnite caught the look on my face and slowly began to back away. "I'm sorry, Batman, but this is the current state of medicine. In a few years I may be able to offer more hope, but for now you should be grateful that Robin is alive at all."

My mind was spinning. That last blow Dent gave him... I closed my eyes and saw it again: Robin sprawled on the floor, face down, blood seeping from his nose and chin. Dent had laughed and, raising the bat over his head, brought it down with a wet crunch on the back of Dick's head just as I got free. Too late. Too late. I owed my boy his sight; he would never have been there if I hadn't recruited him to my private war.

"...can recommend some if you'd like a second opinion," Midnite stopped. "Batman?"

"What?" I asked.

"If you want a second opinion, I can recommend several excellent ophthalmologists and neurosurgeons. I mostly treat trauma in my practice, so there might be some new treatment out there that could benefit Robin," Midnite said, walking to a cabinet. He rummaged for a second and returned with a flash drive. "Here is some software for Robin in the meantime. It contains a program that will read websites to him, let him back into the world again. There is also a braille tutorial as well. Run it through the 3-D printer and it will produce elementary texts for him to practice with."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that list, but he won't need the software," I said. "This is only temporary." Midnite flashed me a sad smile and printed out a short list of experts. He walked me to the door and offered the drive again. "Are you sure you don't want this? The world is a very dark place for him just now and I understand what it is to be blind in a lighted world."

Reluctantly, I took the flash drive and tucked it into my utility belt. I don't recall the rest of our conversation. I was in a hurry to get home and to call Lucius. I needed to find out what projects WE had funded dealing with eyesight and the brain. If we weren't already, Wayne Enterprises would be doing it soon.

ROBIN'S JOURNAL

It's hard to summarize the time that followed. When Bruce got home, he wasn't icy anymore. Instead, he was frantic. He came to my room and sat down in his chair by my bedside.

"How'd it go?" I asked, trying to sound hopeful. "When am I seeing again?"

"Dick, Dr. Midnite gave me a list of specialists who might help you. You know that Midnite's specialization is in trauma, so he's not really the type of doctor for you at this stage. An ophthalmologist or a neurosurgeon is more appropriate now. I've...ah...already made an appointment for you to see one."

"Neurosurgeon?" I asked and felt at my head with my good hand. "Why?"

"Your problem isn't your eyes, but in your brain. There's some damage there that's causing the blindness..."

Bruce must have continued talking but I didn't hear it, any more than those kids in the Peanuts comic strip hear anything but 'Waaa Waaa Waaa' noises from the grownups. My brain? Brain damage? This was bad. What else could I expect? Seizures? Hallucinations?

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. "I know it's a shock, youngster," Bruce said gently. "But we're going to fix this. Just be patient, okay?"

I couldn't see his face, but then I didn't need to. Too many dark stakeouts for me to miss the tone of his voice. He was scared, really scared. Time to be bright, hopeful Dick Grayson. Don't let him see how frantic I was feeling. "Okay, Bruce. When is our appointment?"

"That's my boy," Bruce murmured. "Tomorrow at two o'clock we're meeting Dr. Grey at Mercy Hospital."

Wally stopped by my room that night. I was sitting up in bed, staring into the darkness when he sat down next to me. "Hey, Rob, want a candy bar?" he asked and started munching without waiting for an answer.

"No thanks," I said. I was still on so many pain-killers and other drugs that nothing tasted good and most food made me puke. "Bruce wants to take me to a neurosurgeon tomorrow."

"I heard about that. He wants the team to do back to Mount Justice for a while. Sounds like you're going to be seeing a lot of doctors," Wally crumpled the wrapper and fished another out of his pocket. "You don't look very excited, Rob."

"I'm not," I admitted. "I have a feeling that it's all just a waste of time. Dr. Midnite would have cured me if it were possible. All these doctors...it's Bruce flailing. And what if I really am blind for life, KF?" I remember unraveling the corner of the blanket that covered me. Normally when I felt stressed or mad, I'd take it out on a punching bag or do some gymnastics or something active. I was stuck in bed with a bunch of tubes attached to me. Heck, I couldn't even see the door, if I wanted to run away through it.

Wally was quiet for a second, then said, "You know you're part of the team, always, Rob. We can work around blindness somehow. We'll find a way to keep you involved."

I snorted. "And do what? Sit on the sidelines and be the boy hostage? Thanks, no. I had enough of that when I was ten."

"Well, keep in touch, willya? You still have your comm-unit and we both know you can operate it blind-folded with your hands tied behind your back!"

"I'll let you know how it goes," I replied.

He'd made a dozen or more doctor's appointments for me all over the planet. I wasn't even healed up yet but I saw two specialists in Gotham, another one in Metropolis, four in Germany, one in London on Harley Street and another one in Central City. Bruce carried me to the wheelchair and pushed it himself. The next day began a long series of trips. Alfred came along to take care of me, but I know that Bruce helped too. That was kind of different. Usually when one of us gets injured, Alfred does all the nursing, but this time Bruce seemed to want to be near me. I liked being around him and getting more time with him, but the reason for it creeped me out. Was I dying or something that he didn't dare leave my side.

Bruce never said anything, but he didn't have to. My adopted father's sheer determination to fix me somehow, as well as his silence, cast a pall on our relationship.

In the meantime, I was living in the dark. I couldn't read, watch t.v. with any meaning, use my computer, write...or be Robin.

After the last fruitless medical exam, I sat in the car while Alfred drove us back from the airport. "It's not my eyes, is it? It's my brain. I'm blind and it's forever, isn't it Bruce?" I said. "Give me the truth. All those doctors said there's no hope, didn't they? My brain is damaged and that's the cause of my blindness, so even a set of artificial eyes won't do me any good."

Bruce said nothing. I couldn't see him, but I've sat on enough dark stakeouts to know how he thinks. Bruce never gives up. The only opponent who has ever beaten him and made it stick was death, when it claimed his parents. Anything less than that and Bruce, no, Batman will not accept failure. Trouble is, he never counts the cost of the battle, either to himself or those caught up in it with him.

"Bruce?" My voice had started to tremble. "Tell me the truth! You owe it to me."

The answer, when it came, was in an undertone. "I'm sorry, Dick. I'm truly sorry. If I hadn't made you Robin..."

Suddenly, I got mad. "Bruce, I made me Robin and nobody else! So, if this is forever, I'd better start learning how to live with it."

"You can't be Robin, ever again," Bruce said softly.

"So I'll be something different! I'll still be your partner but we'll do something else. Maybe I can't see, but I can still think and you're the one that taught me that. C'mon Bruce, I'm not giving up. Don't you give up now! I need you," I said it all in a single breath, afraid, afraid, so afraid that he would decide that now, since I couldn't be Robin anymore, he'd send me away. Off to an orphanage or something. "You aren't gonna...send me away or anything are you?" I finished in a tiny voice.

"Send you...Oh, Dick, of course not! Never. I'd never send you away!" An arm settled around my shoulders and I was pulled close to a solid body. "You're my son and that hasn't changed. And yes, you can be of help to me just the same. You know all the computer systems, my routines, basic criminology and, most of all, you're sharp. The partnership isn't over, son. Never."

After our arrival at the manor, Bruce wheeled me down into the batcave and handed me a flash drive. "I should have given this to you earlier, Dick. I'm sorry...I just couldn't face that...that this might be more than a temporary handicap for you."

I closed my hand over it. "What is it?"

"The first program will read computer screens for you. You'll also be able to dictate documents. The second program is a tutorial in braille with textbooks that we can produce here. We'll also start your physical therapy. Maybe you aren't Robin anymore, but you're not benched by a long shot."