Chapter 13:

Robin, although not dead, was wishing he could die. Then he wouldn't have to feel the screaming pain echoing throughout his body. He still couldn't move, or even open his eyes, but he was almost fully awake.

In the teenager's mind, twisted circles were spinning gray cotton candy around black clouds. It was dizzying and confusing and nauseating. Watching them swirl around each other was exhausting but there was nothing else he could do.

The Boy Wonder's eyelids fluttered and his heart rate increased. His breathing became ragged as his body attempted to regain control of itself. A finger twitched, then a hand and then came a full body shudder. Eyelashes strained to meet eyebrows as the boy's brain urged him into the realm of complete consciousness.

Robin sluggishly opened his eyes, only to find that his world was whirling around. Flashes of yellow lasers, bright beams from the afternoon sun, scampered from one end of the room to the other and back again. His current view was just as nauseating as the one in his mind and suddenly all the water he had inhaled was gurgling up his throat and over his lips.

But the violent coughing was silent; the nightstick had taken its toll on his vocal cords. The attack lasted a full minute before subsiding. It felt like a ten-ton truck full of cement was parked on his chest. Even shallow breaths were painful.

"ROBIN!"

The sound was annoyingly loud. His head already felt like it was being chopped in half and the thumping noise now ringing in his ears was making it worse. It was continuous and Robin was sleepily annoyed.

Batman was back in front of cell number 4 in Block N and pounding on the steel door as hard as he could.

"ROBIN!" he shouted as loud as he could.

He knew, knew, that his partner wasn't dead. It was impossible, Robin would never let it happen. The boy was too stubborn to die, especially at the hands of Joker. All Batman had to do was be loud enough to wake him up. Because, obviously, the Boy Wonder was merely unconscious.

"GOT IT!"

The triumphant yell from Lt. Muschamp uncharacteristically startled the Caped Crusader. He immediately stopped pounding and turned toward the other man.

"You got what?" Batman demanded, his voice outlined with hope.

"I found the last entry and was able to erase the extra time. He still has a few hours in there, though."

Batman looked at his Bat-watch: 1:03. Robin had more than just a few hours. If their timing was correct, the fifteen-year-old would be in the dark cell for around six more hours. If their timing was correct. What if Robin had been thrown in solitary only ten minutes before Batman and the lieutenants had arrived there? That would mean six and a half to seven hours, plenty of time for a battered, bloody and unconscious person to fade away.

"No," the hero declared.

"What?" Lt. Muschamp asked, confusion in his tone. "Yes, I did erase it and yes he does have a few more…"

"That's not what I meant," Batman interrupted softly. "No, he's not dead and he's not going to die."

The lieutenant stared at the hero in both concern and disbelief.

"Who told you…"

"I talked to Joker," the Caped Crusader growled. "He bragged about killing Robin…"

Batman's voice faded as the image of his young partner lying face-down in the toilet appeared in his head. Tied up, bloody, not breathing, without a pulse, lifeless.

"There's no way Joker would be able to open this door! He's got a guard," Muschamp snapped. "And I'm going to assume that person is fairly new. We have two guards that started this week, six that started last week and seven the week before that."

Batman stared at him in shock.

"Fifteen new guards in less than a month!" he exclaimed.

"We have a rather large turnover rate," the lieutenant replied. "Some men see the villains and resign right away while others stay until they can't take the craziness anymore. But I've been here almost seventeen years and know how to find the weak ones. I'll take care of this, Batman. You get through to your partner, I'll root out the idiot of a guard who dared to assume that he could get away with helping a villain without paying a price."

"You do that," the crime-fighter stated angrily. "And then you bring him to me."

"He'll probably be in a body cast before he gets to you," Muschamp replied. "But, of course, neither myself nor Lts. Jameson and Copple would do anything to a fellow guard."

The last sentence was outlined with sarcasm and Batman grinned slightly.

"Of course not," he responded. "I would never think that about any of you."

"I'll be back when the password reverts. Wake him up, Batman."

The last sentence was a command, but the Caped Crusader didn't mind the tone. At least there were three people who cared about what happened to inmates in this place.

Turning back to the door, Batman began pounding again. Lt. Muschamp strode down the hall, ready to let the new guard know what happened when one teamed up with a villain.

A dark corner between Cell Blocks A and B:

"Joker got the crap beat out of him," the shorter man whispered.

"Pretty sure Batman knows something happened," the second man replied.

"The man's been searchin' but he ain't gonna find nothing," the last guard stated. "Joker ain't gonna squeal and, even if he do, he would brag about doin' it himself."

"So…the kid's really dead?"

"Yep. Had ta cuff him twice before Joker could take care a him, though. Think I broke his voice, kid could barely whisper after I used my nightstick on his throat."

"Did you hit him with it?" the shortest man giggled softly.

"Nope, choked him," the other man replied.

The three guards grinned at each other. Revenge was sweet and letting a villain do the dirty work was even better. Batman would go after Joker and wouldn't suspect a guard of helping an inmate.

"Copple, I found the hint and was able to erase the extra time."

Lt. Muschamp was striding down the hall, speaking into his radio while unobtrusively searching every dark corner. The three guards shrank back against the wall, attempting to become invisible. The lieutenant, however, was not fooled.

"I'll update you later. I have another matter to attend to right now in Block M."

The lieutenant abruptly cut off the communication. He clipped his radio on his belt and stopped right in front of the three men. Folding his muscular arms across his equally muscular chest, Muschamp glared at the guards.

"Why are you huddled in the dark instead of patrolling?" he demanded.

The men stared at him nervously. It was a valid question. But it was not an answer they had because they had assumed that nobody would notice their short chatting sessions.

"Well?!" Muschamp demanded again.

"We, uh, my wife has, um, this new recipe…"

"You were sharing a recipe with fellow guards in a dark corner in the murder block of the State Pen?!" the lieutenant asked incredulously. "Do you really expect me to believe that?! Get out here in the light and give me your names. NOW!" he commanded.

The three men stepped forward but didn't have a chance to say their names. Lt. Muschamp somehow found a way to shove all three bodies against the nearest wall and was now snarling at them.

"Which one of you is working with or for Joker?" he asked darkly. "Or two of you, or is it all three? You've got about five seconds to answer because my patience is very thin right now. I've been working on a computer all morning and at least one of you knows why."

"Jo…Joker?" one of the men managed to say, his voice outlined with fear. "Why would we, uh, I be working with a villain?"

"I'm not asking for the reason."

Lt. Muschamp's voice was threatening now, although he was speaking quietly.

"Ain't no reason for me ta be on Joker's side," the biggest man growled. "And there's three of us so maybe you should back up."

"I think two of us can handle you."

Lt. Copple suddenly appeared around the corner. His face was dark with anger; he was sure they had found the right men.

"What do you want from us?" the shortest man shouted. "We haven't done anything!"

"How long have you been here?" Copple demanded.

"Four days," he replied.

"And you two, how long?"

"Six weeks, not that it's any a yur bidnez."

"Eight days."

"And what did Joker give you? Or what is he holding over your head?" Muschamp growled.

"I have…had…a little girl," the short man admitted quietly. "And a certain someone in this prison didn't save her. He just let her fall. He could have stopped fighting long enough to grab her out of the air. He was trained by another certain someone; he should have been able to get around the four men he was fighting. But he just let her fall."

Without a word, Lt. Copple grabbed the man's shoulders. He quickly twisted the guard around, pulled his wrists together and cuffed them. Then he shoved the man down and waited for the other two to confess.

"Just tell us," Copple commanded. "Man up, like this guy," he tilted his head toward the cuffed guard. "Everyone makes mistakes. Yours just happened to be idiotic. If Robin is dead, you'll be in this row tomorrow but in a cell instead of patrolling the hall. So if you're the one that set the password, I strongly suggest that you give it to us so he can get whatever medical attention he needs."

"Ya gotta ask Joker about that," the biggest one mumbled.

"And how would you know that?!" Muschamp nearly shouted. "Were you in solitary last night?! Did you open the door?! Did you help him attempt to kill the kid or did you just watch?!"

The man refused to answer so Copple twisted him around and used his partner's cuffs to restrain the guard, shoving him to the floor when he finished.

"And you?" Muschamp demanded.

"I've only been here four days," the final man whimpered. "That guy is insane! I figured he'd leave me alone if I let some things go!"

"What, exactly, did you 'let go'?" both lieutenants demanded simultaneously.

"I may have, uh, turned off the lights in the rec room."

"And?!"

"The kid almost hit me! What was I supposed to do, ask him to calm down?! How would that look to the other inmates? 'Oh, all you have to do is try to hit that guard and he'll back off'. That's not really the impression I want these crazy people to have!"

"What did you do and when?"

"I just got him in the gut and the back of the head. He was being unruly, so I took care of the situation. It was at lunch, right before he went into solitary."

"Why solitary? Those cells haven't been used in years!"

"Um, Joker, uh, said to," the man whispered guiltily. "I'm…sorry?"

Rolling his eyes at the weak apology, Lt. Copple twisted the last man around and used they guy's own handcuffs on him.

"Password," Muschamp demanded after his partner had shoved that man onto the floor with the other two.

"Like I said, ya gotta ask Joker. He changed it when we left. I don't know it."

"Joker is unconscious in the infirmary. There's no way an inmate could change the password."

Shrugging, the guard replied, "Unless someone lets him inta the system then walks away."

"You son…"

Lt. Copple interrupted Lt. Muschamp's sentence when he grabbed the man's raised fist before it could fly into the face of the guard.

"Go talk to Joker," Copple ordered. "I'll take care of this."

He shoved his counterpart away before taking his radio off his belt. Holding up his hand in a silent command when Muschamp advanced toward the fallen men, he called for two trusted guards to come help him haul away some trash.

Lt. Muschamp growled but turned around and walked away. They needed the password more than he needed to beat the man to a pulp.

Cell Block N, number 4:

Batman's voice was raw and panic was gnawing at the edges of his mind. It had been almost an entire day with no sound from Robin. But he couldn't be dead. Joker had just done a really good number on him, he wasn't dead.

"Come on, chum," he whispered as he continued to pound on the door. "Just give me a sigh or a mumble or…something."

Robin was fully awake and on the verge of crying. He could just barely hear his partner through the ringing in his ears but, no matter how hard he tried, the teenager couldn't form an answer. The Boy Wonder actually wanted to lay there and do nothing – forever – but Batman sounded very worried and slightly panicked.

I'm fine, everything is fine. Don't worry about me, I'm fine.

If only he could get the words out. That's all Batman wanted, to hear something from him. All he had to do was groan or sigh or say hi or laugh. Why wouldn't his mouth form the words? And why was there no sound when he coughed?

Robin knew he had been close to dying. He remembered the fight and the injuries and the water. He remembered the terror of not being able to breathe, and the relief of falling into the blackness of his mind, where he didn't have to worry about breathing. And he remembered the agony of being forced to come back. That was sticking around, the pain blossoming throughout his entire being. The teenager was actually wondering if there was any part of him that wasn't injured. Even his hair hurt.

But Joker was hurt, too. Robin smirked in his mind as the memories formed clear pictures – a broken nose, his favorite knife kicked out the tiny window, the man on the floor gasping for air, a teenager beating a villain twice before being on the receiving end of a weapon wielded by a dishonorable guard.

The smirk vanished as the other memories took over – his own broken nose, several bruised and cracked ribs, his blood running down his head and covering his face, water everywhere, his throat being squished by that same weapon. So much water.

He was silently hyperventilating now, the distinct pictures overwhelming him as unbidden terror began flowing through his pain-filled body. Robin could feel Joker's hand on his neck, pushing him down, drowning him in blood. Dots of black began dancing through his wavy vision as he struggled to breathe. The Boy Wonder knew he was supposed to be breathing, he just couldn't remember how to do it.

"Please, kiddo, just…please."

The quiet words grounded him, brought him back from the edge of a terror-induced death. Batman was out there, Joker wasn't. Batman was waiting for him, needed to hear him. His breathing slowed down, although it was still a struggle to bring air in.

"B…"

The word still wouldn't form, all he got out was a short puff of air. Robin couldn't remember how to say the word and his throat hurt too much to try again. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. Sleeping helped a person heal; he just needed to sleep.

"Please, kiddo, just…please."

The sound from the cell was quiet, so soft that Batman assumed he was imagining it. There had been nothing for too long, he was going to have to accept that his partner was…

He couldn't even think the word. The Caped Crusader had been so sure that the Boy Wonder was too stubborn to die. But the picture in his mind, formed by the words of a crazy, Robin-hating villain, wouldn't leave. The image of a teenager, floating face down, dried lines of blood covering his small body. Not moving, limp, motionless, frozen…

Dead.