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Right. My first fanfic, and I'm a little nervous, so be gentle. Set immediately after the events in Robin 91 ignoring anything that happens later (I often ignore things). YJ don't turn up until the second chapter but I can't think where else to put it. What else? Oh yes - I'm English, so I may be behind in comic books, and may use an odd turn of phrase ;) Comments would be appreciated, of course. It's only PG as a "just in case". First person, but switches to third at one point. I'm sure I had a good reason at the time but it has unforutunately slipped my mind now. Is that the last of the notes? Think so. I'll get back to you with any more ;) 1 of 4.
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Light, so strong it burns. I squeeze my eyes more tightly closed but it's no use. I'm awake. I'm also so cold I'm numb.p
I drag my eyelids open. I don't think it's ever been so hard just to open my eyes. All I can see, for a long time, is white on white on white . . . I turn my head slightly and there's the cliff behind me, white as bone. It gives me vertigo just looking at it. p
Worryingly, though, the tiny movement of turning my head makes white-hot pains shoot through my neck. I lay still for a while, face down in the snow, listening to my uneven, painful breathing. I try to remember what happened, and it comes back in a horrible rush.p
I can't see Sir Edmund or Danny. Somehow I don't think they're alright, but a small part of me that isn't mostly concerned with pain and coldness hopes they are. Danny, at any rate. p
I can't seem to move anything. I don't know if it's the cold or something more serious. Don't think about that now, Tim. But - p
But I fell a heck of a long way. Something must have broken. Oh God, don't let it be anything important. Another pain shafts up my back and I grit my teeth. Don't let it be anything important.p
I twist my head a fraction of an inch and I can feel hot wires running through my neck. This isn't ifair/i, I want to wail. It isn't, it isn't . . . why couldn't the fall have just killed me? I don't want to lay here and wait to freeze to death. It could take days. Who's going to find me? Oh God . . .p
I close my eyes for a moment and try not to focus on self-pity. I have to get out of this somehow. Something cold and sticky on the side of my face. Blood? I concentrate on my left hand, which I can feel, a little - kind of warm and tingly. I can just see my other hand, my right one, in the corner of my vision, and I don't dare move my head any more. I watch my right hand very closely and strain.p
There . . . I can make my fingers twitch. Nothing too important can have broken then. I hope. Unless I've just lost the use of my legs. I don't fancy crawling all the way back to Gotham much. p
I can move my whole hand now, but I'm also noticing the cold properly. If I survive this, I'm going to have words with Dick about making a stupid costume with stupid short stupid sleeves. I put my hand on the hard-packed snow and try pushing myself up, experimentally. p
The pain's so strong it's startling, and for a second I can't even breathe before I just lay still again, chest shuddering. This is awful. This is worse than awful. I'm going to die all alone in the middle of -
pDon't panic, don't panic . . . I have to think of something. Think.
pUnless I start moving around I'm going to freeze pretty quickly. Breathing's harsh. The air itself is too cold. I can think of a hundred places I'd rather be right now.
pOkay. Count your blessings. You're alive. You have the use of one arm and your eyes, and King Snake's nowhere to be seen. It could be worse. The Joker could be here . . .
pProblems: I ionly/i have the use of one arm and my eyes. Not being able to see King Snake's even scarier. Danny's probably dead. I won't last one night out here. If those yeti or the Kobra catch up with me again I'm dead. I may have lost the use of my legs permanently. No-one knows I'm here except Alfred, and he doesn't know exactly where-
pAlfred!
pI try to reach my radio. My shoulder aches but I manage, just. But when it comes to speaking -
pI'm surpised at how hard it is. My throat seems to have seized up and I can only manage a strangled gargle. I think I want to cry. I blink slowly and manage to choke out, "Al- Alfred?"
p No answer. The radio's broken. Doomed.
pMy head hits the snow again. Stupid snow. It's cold and hard and it's going to kill me. No - no, I ihave/i to get up, I have to. I have to find help, even if it's just Kobra. At least then I'll die in the warm. I put my hand down, grit my teeth, and push.
pOkay. This is something. I'm shaking like hell on my hands and knees but I'm up, and I can maybe stand if I try hard enough. There's a spatter of blood across the snow, from my head. I can't let my left arm touch the ground. It's definitely broken. Not only does it hurt like hell, but it's gone a sort of sickly purple-grey with bruising. I'm also pretty sure I've lost a couple of ribs, from the fire in my chest, but most worrying is my neck. It hurts a ilot/i, just along from my left shoulder, which I must've landed on. Okay. Possibilty of a broken collar bone. Nothing to worry about.
pOh God, I'm going to die.
p Stay positive. Stay positive. With the most taxing push of my life I rock back onto my knees and hug my broken arm against myself, shivering. I can see properly now, the shattered snow of the avalanche. A slow warmth spreads though me. I was lucky - lucky beyond belief - to land on top of it all. The others must have been crushed underneath. Another emotion replaces it quickly; a gnawing guilt. This was all for nothing. Danny's still dead.
p My darkest moment, I think bleakly, kneeling in a snowy wasteland somewhere above a dead and frozen friend with more broken bones and bruises than I can count. On top of that, not a living soul knows where I am and I will undoubtedly die out here.
p Mind you, if Bruce ever does find me the body'll be preserved pretty well in all this ice-
pOh, shut up. Stupid common sense. I sink slightly lower into myself. Can't remember ever feeling so helpless. There's a way out of this. Batman could think of one. Come on, Tim . . .
pWho exactly am I trying to kid? I'm no Batman. I'll never get chance to be, now. Dead before I'm even old enough to drink. Sorry, Dad. I never meant for this to happen, I promise-
pI swallow hard. I'm about to shake my head but I think better of it as another shooting pain travels down my side. There has to be something I can do. Dig a snow cave, even, just some way to get warm.
p I manage to get one foot on the ground, but as I try to raise the other my head swims with the pain. A broken leg as well, then. Thank you. I really needed that right now.
pUsing my only working hand and the sharp edge of a batarang, I slice a triangle from my cape and tie my broken arm up. Okay. One problem taken care of. A few thousand to go.
p My staff - damn. My staff got snapped by Sir Edmund. How am I going to get anywhere with a broken leg and no splint? I try to think what Bruce would do, but I feel numb down to my bone marrow, too cold to think. Too cold even to shiver. For a moment blind panic wells up - am I freezing to death? - but I stifle it and look around. Use your enviroment to your advantage.
pWell, there's nothing to make a splint with. Maybe I could tie together a load of batarangs. Now there's a stupid idea.
pWorst is my neck, because I can't move my head at all. If I jog it in the slightest I think I'm going to pass out with pain. This is - this is - this is indescribable. Has Bruce ever gone through anything like this? He must have, the night when - the night - God, at least I can walk. Sort of. If he beat Bane I can manage one little walk. Please let me manage one little walk.
p In one burst of effort I stagger to my feet and stumble straight into the cliff, sliding down it slightly and sobbing under my breath. I'm hurting and cold and tired and miserable beyond belief. I can't walk and I don't know where I am or which way to go even if I could. I wish anyone was here, even Lobo, anyone . . .
pBy leaning against the cliff and using that to bear my weight I can hop-limp awkwardly along, about ten steps a minute. It's slow, painful and infuriating but I don't have any choice. I don't want to die, not like this. Somewhere slightly less depressing than alone in a god-forsaken icehole, please.
p After what I assume is a few hours - my sense of time's all out - I'm feeling a little warmer, but I hurt more than ever. My side's on fire, my arm's been bashed against the cliff more times than I can count, my leg's no better. I feel clumsy and awkward. I close my eyes for a moment, leaning on the cliff and panting. My vision's blurring now, and I know - I know with icy, dull horror - that I'm dying. It's beginning to get dark and I'm going to freeze to death.
pI'm sorry, Dad.
pJust keep going. If I'm concentrating on moving, one step at a time, I can ignore the way the cliff's beginning to merge in with the snow in front, and the way my feet are like two open wounds with cold.
pIf I have to die, let it be quick. Just drop down and end it, I can't lay there and wait for it, sinking deeper and deeper into numbness. I lower my head. On top of everything else, everything I'm struggling through, I feel - well, stupid. It just seems so pathetic, not even able to stand on my own, barely able to speak, shambling along the cliff even though I don't know where it leads. Yes, I do. It leads to nothing.
pStupid cliff.
pI trip over a chunk of rock lying beside the cliff and pitch forward with a cry of shock. I get a microsecond to realise this is going to hurt a ilot/i and then I'm lying face down in the snow, my neck a solid lump of pain, arm burning, chest agony. I really want to cry now. I think I'll just lay here and die, thank you.
pNo . . .
pI have to get up, I have to . . .
pCan you hear that?
pWho am I talking to? Oh God, I've gone crazy on top of everything else. But - but I can hear a dull roaring, very low and muted like - like -
pOne shoulder pressed against the cliff, I drag myself one last time to my feet and look up. There's something dark and sharp outlined against the sky, but its outline is shimmering like swamp gas. I think I'm hallucinating. I put my head against the cliff, ignoring the red hot wiring through my neck and half-close my eyes, looking down at where my feet meet the snow but even that's unclear now, and looks so far away. I hear a shivering sigh and realise it's mine. I wish -
p"Tim?"
pI twist my head so sharply my neck screams in retaliation and I'm swaying as I look at the dark shape, still with shock, standing over me. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
pI faint instead.
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Warm. Comfy. Think I'll stay still for a bit, before I work out where I am. Especially since it's probably even worse and I don't think I can face it right now.
pI can hear voices, though . . . but I can't make out any words, just the low hum. Male. Might be speaking English, but it might be Esperanto for all I know. I try to open an eye and find I can't, but I'm not too worried about that yet. That's a problem for the future.
pI can still twitch the fingers on my right arm, and my left arm feels less like it's been put through a mangle. Maybe I'm going to survive after all. Wonder where I am.
pIf I thought opening my eyes was hard in the snow, it seems to take forever here. For a brief moment I think my eyelids have been sewn shut, but that brings on a wave of nausea and I have to lay still for a moment and think happy thoughts.
pIt passes. I open one eye - the other's held shut with something.
pCan't see immediately left or right. Some sort of clamp holding my head in place. Good start. I look down and see sheets. Even better. I might just go to sleep again and let the future take care of itself.
pI manage to move my head enough - there's a tingle of pain but it's nothing compared to earlier and I ignore it - to pull myself slightly up from the pillow to listen better and I recognise one voice. You can't miss that accent. Alfred.
pSafe.
pI take a moment to blink rapidly and fully wake myself up, and then I feel a yawn overtake me. Hurts my neck again. I shiver and go limp. I hate this. Maybe I'm hurt worse than I thought. Maybe I just hallucinated limping along the cliff and I spent the whole time lying in the snow.
pRecognise another voice now. Sounds like Bruce and Alfred made up. They're not shouting, at any rate, but that doesn't always mean anything around Bruce. If he whispers in the right tone of voice you want to kill yourself.
pI wonder if he knows that?
pPlane, I think sleepily, looking up at the ceiling as the entire room jolts, ignoring the shock of pain running through my neck. We're going home. Wonder why I'm not more upset about this? Everything seems very detached and unimportant, like it's happening to someone else.
pPainkillers, a little voice says. You're probably stuffed with them.
pGood. I've had enough of pain.
pHang on. I can hear a third voice. Very upset. Well, very loud, and the tone's kind of angry. Shut up. Please. Headache. Can't you hear me? Shut-
pOh yes. I'm only speaking in my head. Stupid painkillers. It's Dick, I think. He sounds pretty frantic. Hope he's okay. Wish he'd shut up.
p"Shut up,"
pIt only comes out as a croak but silence falls immediately. I can't remember, now, if I said it out loud or not. Two faces appear at the right hand side of me, Dick and Alfred. I blink slowly. Must've spoken out loud after all.
p"Headache," I say, because I'm already exhausted with the effort of being awake and need to conserve words.
p"Hey, Tim." Dick says very quietly, I try to focus on him but he's all blurry. This seems very funny for a moment but I stifle any giggles. I don't even grin. I'm getting good at this.
p"I'm afraid we had to use rather a lot of painkillers, master Timothy."
pI knew it. Hah, master detective. Feel very nauseous now. Hope I don't throw up.
p"How d'you feel?" Dick says.
pI consider it from a few angles. I'm alive. Last time I was awake - it can't have been that long ago if we're not home yet - I knew I was dying; not just thought but iknew/i. Now I'm safe and warm and very, very sleepy.
pOn the other hand, Danny's dead. I - I failed him . . . how could I let him die? He just saved my life five minutes before I let him fall . . .
pI managed to beat King Snake again, barely. But the memory of hollow, burnt-out eyesockets makes my head swim again. I got out of Kobra alive. Kobra itself looked pretty trashed when we left. Beating a top-secret cult all on your own. Not bad.
pI find a word to encompass all of this, and feel a strange pride for finding it. I think it's the painkillers. Everything's still very fuzzy.
p"Tired," I say.
pAnother thought wakes up and jostles for attention. Bruce is going to be mad. Really mad. Foaming at the mouth. Oh God, why did I do any of this? I wish - I wish anything. I wish they'd let me die.
p"Is-" I swallow for a moment. I need a drink. I continue, very quietly so he can't hear, "Is Bruce really mad . . . ?"
pDick gives a low groan. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Don't worry about anything except getting better. Okay?"
pPainkillers are wearing off. This means two things. One, I can now think properly and I'm beginning to worry. Two, my ieverything/i is killing me.
p"What're we gonna tell my dad?" I say faintly. I can't imagine. He'll be furious.
pAlfred and Dick look at each other. "Skiing accident," Dick settles on. "You're still worrying, aren't you?"
p"Waking up a bit," I say grimly. "It's just - oh God, I fell off a cliff." It seems very important, this point, suddenly. "What was I doing? How did I manage to -? I mean, it's not like I couldn't see the damn great thing -"
p"Tim," Dick says urgently.
p"And I could have heard Sir Edmund coming up. I was just so worried Danny would work everything out . . . not that it matters any more . . . I could have saved one of them-"
p"Tim!" Dick snaps. I try to focus on him. I can make out his expression now, and it's flickering constantly - surprise and horror and what looks a lot like fear.
p"Yes?" I say quietly. I'm just about spent up in guilt. I just want to sleep now. Or maybe burst into tears.
p". . ." Dick stares down at me, puzzled. "Sir Edmund Dorrance? King Snake?"
pI try to nod and bite my lip at the pain. "Yes," I say quietly. "He used . . . the Lazarus pit, got his sight back. We had a fight . . . he got some cobra venom in his eyes. Burned them out." I press the nightmare image to the back of my mind and close my eyes. I try not to imagine what it must have felt like. "Went over the cliff with me and Danny."
p"Lazarus pit . . . ?" Alfred murmurs, and I assume it's for Bruce's benefit because he gives a grunt from somewhere further away. He's flying the plane. I think. Are we on a plane? Everything unfocuses and then comes back again. My head feels very, very strange.
p"I'm sorry," I say very quietly. "I didn't want any of this. it just - happened . . ."
pI close my eyes and try to think about going to sleep. Want to sleep. Want to forget everything that happened this past week, want it to be wiped from history.
pMore than anything I want to cry. I don't, but I can feel my breathing quickening.
p"It was my fault, master Timothy." Alfred says dimly. "I was supposed to be watching you. I should not have let this happen."
p"It's no-one's damn fault," Good old Dick. If you can't find an answer, get angry. "If anyone, it's King Snake . . ."
pHe makes a frustrated noise and when I open my eyes, feeling drowsy, he's gone. I can hear him pacing around. I sigh, and stare into the middle distance. I can't believe Danny's dead. I tried, Danny, I did . . .
pI see Dick's face again. I give him a weary look, but he seems very concerned about something. "Tim - do you know he's dead? Sir Edmund?"
p"He fell of a great big cliff," I say vaguely. "There's a pretty good chance of it."
p"iYou/i survived."
p"Don't remind me." I mutter.
p"Tim," he says warningly.
p"I messed everything up," I say, and I think I'm going to cry again. "I- Dick, ieverything/i. I'm so sorry . . ."
p"It's the painkillers talking,"
p"It's not," I say, and everything's blurred again but it's tears this time. "I did. I wrecked everything and Danny's dead and it's all my fault. And I got you guys into all this trouble. And it sucks, and I'm sorry-"
pMy voice goes all high and strange and I think, Maybe it *is* the painkillers . . .
p"Just go to sleep, Tim." he says, and he sounds kind of strange as well. I close my eyes until the hot, tickling sensation goes away. I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again. I feel something prick my arm but I can't make my eyes open, and then the world sucks in around me and fades to darkness.
p
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Footsteps, echoing. Big room, I think, and feel a little proud of this. Two major points of detective work in as many days. Or nights. I can't remember what the last one was, but I'm sure it was very important. Or maybe not. Oh, my head hurts.
p
Eyes open slowly. The Cave. I sigh slightly, strain to see the ceiling high above and wonder where everyone is. Hang on. I heard footsteps not two minutes ago. Must be more painkillers. Have to focus. What happened?
p
Ice and pain . . . hobbling through the dark . . . the plane, and - and guilt. There you go. Guilt. I have managed to screw up in a major way again. What did I do this time?
p
Oh yeah . . .
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Feel even worse now. Oh, God. Everything's ruined. Why is my life always such a shambles?
p
I try to raise my arm but it's pinned down with something. Sheets. You know you've hit the bottom when you haven't got the strength to lift up a sheet. Footsteps again. I try to focus on the face looming over me. Dick. He gives me a tired sort of grin and I summon strength I didn't know I had to return it. "What're you doing here?" I murmur, feeling my head throb.
p
"Took a few days off work. How're you feeling?"
p
I think about it for a while and settle on honesty. "Terrible."
p
I try to move my arm again, and sigh. Another, very morbid, thought occurs. I wonder what's wrong with me? I don't quite know how to ask.
p
I think Dick must've read my mind, because he picks up a notepad from somewhere - I can't see properly left or right - and I can make out Alfred's neat handwriting. "Considering what happened and what could have happened . . ." He shakes his head. I got off easy. I know that. "Arm broken in two places. Broken leg. Two ribs. Collar bone. Nasty head wound. Numerous cuts and bruises. And that shiner,"
p
One eye's still held shut. That's why, then. It doesn't matter, anyway. "How'd you find me?"
p
"Your locational transmitter cut out after a while, so we just followed it to the last site of transmition. And found a bit of a mess," He puts the notepad back onto what I assume is a table. Can't move my head at all. "You left quite a nice trail for us, though. We followed in the Batwing. Alfred called Oracle when you didn't turn up again," he adds, because I must look pretty puzzled.
p
"So how far did I get?"
p
"About three kilometres. Which isn't bad, in the circumstances. How far did you expect to get like that?"
p
I try to think about it, but it makes my head hurt even more. "Nowhere, really. Just . . . passing the time."
p
"We didn't find anyone else," he says carefully, and I shiver. Far away from the ice and the danger of slow, cold death, I can't see the fall killing Sir Edmund. I'm never going to be rid of him. "Tim," he says, sounding very wretched, "we need to know what happened in a little more detail . . ."
p
I close my eyes and ignore my buzzing head. "Great," I mutter.
p
"We can wait until-"
p
"No," I say firmly. I want to get it all out right now so I never have to think about it, ever again. I hear the scrape of a chair, and close my eyes, because I can't look at him while I say this, and tell him everything. From the moment Danny mentioned the spring break trip to the Servitors, and the little yetis and the scary snake lady - Eve - and the Lazarus pit, King Snake getting his sight back, the fight, the mad Servitor, Danny's weird new suit, the snake venom -
p
I feel so tired now I want to sleep more than ever. I open my eyes dimly and look up at him. He hasn't interrupted once, not even for the yeti.
p
"Danny opened the door and we ran for it, then we came to the cliff. I was still trying to think how we'd get past it when Sir Edmund grabbed me from behind and -" my chest contracts as I think of his eyes. "The yeti shoved us off the cliff and a load of snow came down with us. When I woke up . . ."
p
I don't tell him that I thought I was going to die. I think he knows that anyway, but it all seems so stupid now. I finish when I passed out after seeing what I assume now was Bruce, and then I wait to see how he takes it.
p
"Well," he says, "all you need's a thousand elephants and that's one heck of a story."
p
Still a little giddy with exhaustion, I feel an intense wave of gratitude for Dick. I couldn't bear seriousness right now. I've had enough of that in the last week to last me a lifetime.
p
"Is Bruce ever going to forgive me?" I say quietly. Dick sits back, yawns. I wonder how long he's been up.
p
"He's not mad at you," he says. "He's inot/i, really. Anyway, he feels bad about it anyway."
p
"It was my fault," I mumble.
p
"He thinks it was - that fight you had a little while ago. He's blaming himself and you're blaming yourself. God, what a pair."
p
I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at him. "If I could hit you now, I would." I tell him. He laughs weakly. "Is he really not mad?"
p
"No, no. Do you ever stop worrying?"
p
"Probably not," Everything's going to be alright. I try to hang on to that thought. "Where's Alfie?"
p
"Chased him off to bed a couple of hours ago. It's been pretty crazy 'round here. Don't make a habit of falling off mountains."
p
"Hahah. Where's Bruce?"
p
"Someone has to keep an eye on the city. You know what it's like if he leaves it for a few days."
p
I can barely even blink now. "I feel really weird," I say, a little worried.
p
"You're full of painkillers and tranquilisers. Try to get some sleep."
p
"Okay. Thanks, Dick."
p
His voice comes from a very long way away. "Any time, kiddo."
p
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My run of dreamless sleep is broken by confused memories of eyes being burned out and falling off cliffs. I wake with a pounding head and throat so dry I can't actually breathe. I can't hear anyone else in the Cave and I feel terrible.
pI don't even realise what's happening until I'm sitting up, little after-shocks of pain coursing through me. I need a glass of water ibadly/i. How did I sit up? I don't remember.
pQuite dark, but that might be my eyes. Eye. Can't wait till I'm better again. My leg's in a pot and I have a big clunky collar on, but I can't draw breath without choking. I know where there's a water dispenser. Hard to walk. Very drowsy. I almost walk into it - I hadn't realised how far I'd walked - and strain to see it properly.
pI feel a lot better after a drink, actually, but still very light-headed. Now I just have to head back to bed. Whoah, that's a long way. This may - take - some - time . . .
p
center ***/centerp
Cave won't stop spinning. My neck hurts worse than ever. I unglue my eyes and look up, and tense.
pI'm back in bed and Bruce is standing over me, in costume, the cowl still pulled up. I don't remember making it all the way back. Did I pass out? Don't let me have passed out. I'll be a good person for the rest of my life if only-
p"What did you think you were doing? Don't you realise how dangerous that was, in your state?"
pBruce's tombstone voice. I cringe back involuntarily. "I-" I swallow, look up at him. "I'm sorry . . ."
pHe shakes his head and stalks away. I wish I knew if he meant getting up or the whole Kobra/King Snake/cliff incident. Now I feel even worse. I don't get why he's so mad this time. It's not like I don't have a bizarre habit of picking ridiculous odds. And I never do it on purpose. Things just - just ihappen/i around me.
pDad and Dana are on holiday in France. They won't get back for another week, in which time I have to perfect my story of "how I fell of a cliff in a totally innocent manner, involving no crazy snake cults whatsoever". I don't really care right now. I just want my dad. The entire world's gone crazy.

p
center ***/centerp

Dick stumbled into the kitchen, yawning, and found Bruce glaring down at a coffee cup. The younger man paused in the doorway and watched him for a moment, until Bruce spoke. "What're you still doing here?" p
"Good morning to you too," Dick growled. "What happened ithis/i time?"
pBruce looked at him for a long time and then said slowly, "I'm sorry, Dick. I'm just under a lot of stress right now."
p"Aren't we all?"
p"You can go back to Bludhaven whenever you want."
p"It's probably better I hang around here," Dick said, watching his face carefully. "Tim's still pretty torn up about this whole thing and you being your usual sunny self probably isn't making him feel any better."
pBruce took a sip of coffee carefully. "The boy has a death wish."
p"No wonder he fits in so well with this crowd, then."
p"I found him lying on the floor of the Cave. God knows what he was doing."
A worried look passed over Dick's face, and then froze. "Hang on. How did you react?"
pHe looked up. "What do you mean? What does it matter?"
p"It imatters/i because he's got practically no self confidence right now and you're not helping matters," Dick snapped, and marched off for the Cave, wondering what he would find there.


p
center ***/centerp



"Tim? Are you awake?"
pI open my eyes. Dick. My head's buzzing so badly I can barely see him. "Yeah," I say, but it comes out kind of mangled. The inside of my skull's made of hot wire-wool.
p"Are you okay? What happened?"
pEyes feel too hot. Should I tell him? "Needed . . ." Can hardly breathe again. This sucks. "Needed a glass of water . . . passed out on the way back." I swallow and close my eyes, but it doesn't make me feel any better. "Bruce is really mad . . ."
p"Bruce is a jerk," Dick says shortly. "Are you okay? You look-"
pCan't breathe. I know it isn't this hot in the Cave. "Can't-" I don't think I can manage the next word. My throat's seizing up. I hear a scramble and Dick saying something, but everything's coming through cotton wool now. I'd like to just lose consciousness but instead I'm trapped somewhere between waking and sleeping and I still can't get my hot, dry lungs to work-
p
center ***/centerp
Cold. Voices. Pain.
p Sleep.
p
center ***/centerp
I can hear Bruce and Alfred talking but it's like my ears have popped, so I'm just getting nonsense. Really, really hot, but I'm shivering. I wish I knew what was happening. Feel appalling. Can't stay conscious. Slip away.
p
center ***/centerp
Open my eyes. Head's kind of fuzzy and eyes are burning but I can see. Blink slowly and yawn. I wonder what time it is. Wonder what day it is, actually. I don't know how long it's been since I went over the cliff, but it must be a matter of days now.
pI see a head hovering somwhere above me, but even if I squint I can't make it out. I try out a sentence. It comes out quite well, but a little quieter and more quavery than I imagined it would. "What time is it?"
pThere's a pause and a slight rustle. "Five past six. Morning."
pBruce's voice. Wonder if he's still mad?
p"What iday/i is it?"
p"Tuesday. You've been asleep for three days."
p"Feels like longer,"
pThere's another pause and then, "You contracted pneumonia. All the added stress didn't help."
pI digest this for a while. How are you meant to react to something like this? "Oh," I say. I can see him properly now, dressed for "work" but with the cowl down.
pI swallow. "I'm sorry. About everything. It all just - I couldn't stop any of it happening."
pHe smiles. I wonder if we're having the same conversation, or if he's hearing something entirely different.
p"It's not your fault, Tim. I know as well as anyone how one thing can lead to another. Just try not to take on a world-wide cult alone next time."
pI can't believe this. "Okay," I say warily.
p"How are you feeling?"
pI consider it, and I'm quite pleased with the answer. "Better," I say. "Not so - well, not as if I'm dying anymore."
pHe stands up and walks away, but comes back with a pile of paper in his hand. "Messages. Your friends wanted to know where you t the computer.
p"I didn't. Dick contacted them a while ago, but I don't know what he said."
p"Great," I mutter. I don't want to know what Dick told them, knowing Dick. No wonder they're so panicked. Can't wait to be back on my feet. The last few days have been a nightmare but I can forget them and start again, with no crazy snake cults. And I'm going to stay away from cliffs, too.
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