I realize the quality of my updates has been... lessening... and quite rapidly at that. I understand, and I apologize. I can't explain it either. It seems... as... my... attitude improves towards life in general, I progressively get worse with this. I'm honestly attempting to fix this as I go, but you never know. I've been getting a lot of requests for the rest of the Bat Fam to show face, and I promise you, you'll get your fill soon enough. And as for the requests for Daddy Bats to come through... fan service approaches soon enough. Four chapters, I think. Alright, my duckies, strap in.

Dick's POV:

I had thought I had felt guilty during the telecommunication, but that feeling didn't compare to half of what racked my insides once the silence really set in. That, combined with the mind-numbing agony burning in my lower stomach, was enough to leave me whining into Zitka's trunk, trying to curl in on myself without moving at all. Guilt and pain were the reasons places like this were made in the first place; I finally fit in. I didn't need PTSD or DID slapped into my file at this point. Just one look at me and they'd have me tucked safely into one of these rooms for the rest of my life, hostage or not.

Guiding my fist to my hair and pulling just enough for a distraction, I did my best to stay still and turned to my thoughts as I found there to be nothing else to turn to. Almost immediately, the self-blame was battering me from all sides again. I didn't fight it. Instead, I laid there and took it, waiting until I was throbbing all over to try and figure out where the blame was coming from.

My first thought was that it was because I had just ruined a hefty portion of our plan and that we were all going to be trapped here forever because of me. That thought seemed bolded against the rest of my thoughts and blocked out any other explanation for the longest time. It was only when I decided to question how I had screwed us over that I realized how flat the thought was. It was written into my memory as though I needed to remember it, but there wasn't anything else with it; almost as if I had only read it. When I realized this, I grinned ear-to-ear and relaxed against the pillow.

Yeah, I may have screwed us over a little, but we'd get through this. We could get word to the other wards this way, and hey, maybe I'd actually get some medical assistance down here. At least Clark didn't work this floor.

Despite the bright sides to shine through, the actual physical pain of my stomach was off-putting. It got to the point where I couldn't stand not knowing what something that hurt that bad looked like, so I scooted up in the slightest and raised my shirt up to my ribs. The bandages were yellowed, if that wasn't gross enough, and it only piqued my interest more. Being more ginger than Wally's genes knew how, I peeled back the bandage and let the skin take a breath before looking. I could've puked from the sight alone.

The skin was stripped away completely, pools of a dark scarlet having dried between stiffened bits of black skin that looked like burnt tree bark sticking up from my stomach. The dried blood between looked like lava pools held between the tree bark, broken only by thick white blisters that rose above a few of them. The sight didn't compare to the smell though. It was... it was sweet, almost, but so thick- almost like charcoal. It blocked off my throat with its strength and I could feel it in the farthest recesses of my nose. It was nauseating.

Horrible curiosity on my part revealed that the wound didn't actually hurt. The tree bark looking pieces of my skin were crisp and broke with a bit of encouragement, as gross as that sounds, but I couldn't feel it. Something told me that it had burnt clean through the nerves, which was good for me. It only hurt when I pulled the skin near it. If it wasn't third degree, I'd put it somewhere near fifth.

The longer it aired, the more I could taste it, so I pulled the bandages back on with as little gagging as I could manage. I'd have to get them changed soon if I didn't want them getting infected. What if I didn't get them changed though? Would they actually let me die here? I mean... they... if they wanted us dead, why hadn't they done it already? We're dependent on their food and drink. Just... slip some poison or something in it and kill us all. Close the book and shelf it. Easy enough. If they were keeping us alive, they obviously needed us for something. But... what would that be?

I didn't get much more time to think as a stiff knock to my door caught my attention. They knocked. That told me right away that it wasn't a nurse or an orderly coming to check on me. They would've opened the door right on the knock. Another patient, maybe. When the door didn't open, I moved Zitka beside me on the bed.

"Come in," I invited, wincing at the effort it took to project my voice that loud.

The hesitation echoed itself before the door stiffly pushed itself open. A timid blue eye peeked through the crack before a body slipped through and shut the door. When they turned, I couldn't grin much wider.

"Tim!" I greeted, wincing again at the force.

The grin stayed just as wide though, and he mirrored it as he ran over, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me. His eyes darted fast, as if to check that I hadn't lost anything, before he hovered a hand above my arm. I gave a little laugh and pulled him down for a hug, giving a soft sigh as he returned it. His fingers punched up in the back of my shirt and I could feel his relieved laugh against my shoulder.

"Dick! Thank... they said you got transferred, but I didn't think..." he pulled back, smoothing back the wrinkles in my shirt and gesturing absently to my stomach. "Artemis said..."

He trailed and I squeezed his arm with a little smile.

"Don't worry about it. I got burnt a little, but I'm alright. It's great to see you," I assured him, feeling any ounce of self-blame killing itself at the growth in Tim's grin.

He brought his hands down into his lap and stared at them, almost shyly with how his fingers curled around each other, before looking back my way. There was a certain nervousness in his gaze as he ducked his chin a bit.

"Y-you're not going to believe me, Dick, but please, just... hear me out. We're not really crazy people, okay? We're... we're super heroes! My name is Robin and you're Nightwing and Bruce- the therapist here- is Batman. Jason's down in BBB ward and he's Red Hood and we're all... we're all a team of heroes that work together! Barbara- sh.. she's... she's Batgirl and..." he somehow managed to speak faster than I'd known Wally to, but at that moment, I was okay with every skipped syllable.

I reached up and took his shoulders, squeezing them tighter and tighter until he stopped talking, the confusion bright in his eyes.

"I know," I said slowly, letting go when his hands went up to cover his face in excitement. "All of B ward's been working on trying to understand what we remember. But... we have Megan... and a speedster with a metabolism too fast for whatever they're giving us. How did you guys figure it out?"

Tim lowered his hands just enough to peek at me from above his fingers. I'm not sure whether it was just his fingers that were shaking or if it was his whole body.

"We've got a speedster, too," he admitted, fingers curling at his chin to show the sheepish little grin, "Bart; and Jaime's scarab won't let anything take effect. The second Jaime got the glamor off and caught sight of the scarab, he got back most of his memories. He got everything down in writing and once he reminded Karen what she could do, she was passing the notes back-and-forth between our whole ward."

The pride that hit me was overwhelming, with the over still tagged along. I could almost cry, even if I didn't have third degree burns in my pelvic area.

"You guys?" he asked, ears taken on a darker tint apparently at my expression.

His bashfulness was the cutest thing I'd seen in my stay here.

"I ah... well, Wally remembered first. I don't know how he first figured it out, but he mentioned it to me kind of like how Jaime told you guys, and then I found my utility belt in the locker room. Megan hooked us all up after that and it just kind of..." I shrugged, giving a little grin.

Tim raised a hand and rubbed his ear feebly, smiling down at his knees. "That's... amazing. I was... I was getting really worked up about how I was going to explain all of this to you. What about... Bruce? Does he...?"

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. "Not exactly. I've... he knows that this isn't really an asylum, but... he doesn't know who we are to him entirely. He's still figuring things out."

The ebony's shoulders slumped and his hand drifted back to his neck. I guess it didn't sound as encouraging as it had in my head. There was something I had in my collection that could change his expression though, and I drew it up as soon as I could. My fraternal instincts seemed to be kicking in again, and they were really going at it; iron cleats or something, Christ.

"But we've got things figured out pretty well. Psimon's the one who knocked out our memories and Zatanna is hooked up in Solitary- er, that gray room they take you to if you seem to remember anything. She has a charm cast over the entire building, so the rest of the world can't see us. Everybody who hates us is here, and has taken over a section of the planet out there. There's chaos... but the ah, the death toll's still pretty low in considering. Oh, and we've been out for about a year," I filled him in quickly, moving even faster to the good news, "but we have a plan to escape. If we can get Megan up to Solitary and have her take out Psimon, we can unhook Zatanna and make a break for it. If we all revolt at the same time... they can't stop us all."

Tim was quiet for the longest time, brow setting tight as I remembered it having done in debriefings, and then he gave a curt nod of the same manner. Seeing him shift from an excited teen to a veteran was almost beautiful.

"Bring it on," he cracked a little grin, holding up a fist.

I pressed mine to it and we both grinned at each other.

"Well, until that happens, let's show you around your new home. What'd they do with your wheelchair?"

I tried not to sit up, looking around the room. He found it before I did, going over and unfolding it fairly quickly for me.

"Don't worry, I'm a safe driver," he teased me, locking the wheels as he came to lift me from the bed.

I shooed his hands away, moving myself into the chair, doing my best to swallow back the groan of pain.

"I'm burnt, not dying," I made clear, hands in fists as I waited on the pain to subside.

He tapped the nearest one with a smirk and I gave a sigh, letting a groan slip out.

"Not dying," I repeated more firmly, forcing a smile.

He shook his head, smile softening, and he unhooked the wheels to roll me out of the room. As we went, I noticed how good he was at pushing the wheelchair. He knew just how to angle so he could shut the door or move me to the opposite side of the hall without jerking me or stopping his pace. It was almost like he had practice. The thought sent a chill down my spine.

"Tim?" I leaned my head back to look at him, meeting his eyes for a flicker of a second. "Is... Is Babs in a wheelchair, too?"

The ebony's brow tightened a moment before it relaxed and he drew in his lip, giving a stiff nod.

"Yeah, but... she says she was shot, and none of us remember it. We think that... well.. Psimon, I guess... put that thought in her head. And none of us can find a wound. She's determined though. Her legs aren't moving any time soon."

My fists relaxed a little. No wound was good. She was okay.

"And you called me a worry-wart," he grumbled, the slightest of a smile holding his lips.

When we showed up to their own little HQ, I was amazed to find that it wasn't so little. The area was a lot bigger than the one in B Ward. The couches were arranged in a large V around a TV that was a lot bigger. A large table was dedicated to crafts in the back- probably where they got the paper for the notes. Games were stacked high in the corner where I was used to seeing a fish tank. It didn't look all that more fun, but it was certainly larger. My real happiness came at all of the faces I recognized.

"Hey guys, meet Dick," Tim hollered and they all turned to look at me.

Almost immediately, I was swarmed with the grinning group. Their size and volume allowed them all to figure out that I was up to speed in terms of memory without rousing attention. Returning the grin, I looked over them all. Gar, Karen, Jaime, Bart, Mal, La'gaan, Raquel, Cassie, [1]... and... I craned my neck, relaxing with a sigh. Babs.

The Team was here... and they were okay. I couldn't have felt any better.

"Dick?"

I looked up, meeting a familiar set of golden eyes and giving a little smile. "Hey, Bart. Long time no see."

He flashed his teeth.

"That's no kidding. Can you take a message to Megan for me?"

"I... Yeah, I guess."

"Tell her... Tell her BB Ward wants in on the escape plan... and we're in it to win it."

I chuckled happily, nodding.

"I'll pass it on."

I tilted my head back and looked up at Tim, finding his eyes already on me.

"What do you say, Timmy? Got some Battleship in that game corner?"

[1] This is before 'The Runaways', if that helps set the time frame.

-F.J. III