Title: Waiting is the Hardest Part
Spoilers: None
Rating: Pg-13, language, and not even my usual usage of the f-word!
Summary: Robin ends up in Cook County General, in the care of its ER
staff.
Author's notes: Ok, I got into a writing frenzy, insperation hit, but
as the story went on, I lost track of the crosse over. You see, it
was supposed to be a YJ/ER (acronyms, dontcha love 'em?) crossover,
but in the end, the ER characters became periphery to the story.
Well.
Ok, lemme let you judge it for yourself...
**
It was supposed to be simple: Show up and 9:15 pm for a
YTV interview. But dammit, it's never simple with us, is it? So when you got
shot, jeez, I never thought I would write that down, when you got shot, we had
no idea what to do.
What
do you expect? We have superpowers, god-dammit, we can't even comprehend the
idea that a *bullet* would hurt us; it's just a flying piece of lead and steel.
Sure, we realized you never had superpowers, we got it that you couldn't fly
like Superman, or run like the Flash. You were…you always seemed perfect. You
always had the right answer; you always knew what to do. You could break up
fights between men five times your size who could burn you to a crisp just by
looking at you. You could do anything because you never faltered.
Shit.
Sorry. I didn't mean to get the paper wet.
You're
scaring me. You haven't moved since they brought you in, wrapped in gauze and
smelling of antibacterial soap. It gives me a headache just to look at you, so
I turn the chair and face the wall. The nurse gave me a pen to write with. I
have to write this down and let it out before I break something. You know I
can, so don't argue.
Maybe
I shouldn't be here. People are staring. Maybe they recognize me, or maybe
they're wondering why a nice girl like me is sitting by your bed. You scare
people, and you know it too.
…
Wake
up, dammit, you're still scaring me.
**
Don't
ever do that to me again.
Shit.
I'm still shaking.
You
won't remember any of this. You never woke up through it all that's why, even
though you were screaming. They tell me they don't know when you'll wake up. It
better be soon, because I'm getting hungry, and I don't think I can stomach
anything until you wake up.
You
were shaking and vomiting and dammit, I didn't know what to do; that's been
happening a lot lately, hasn't it? I think I caused a few heart attacks
screaming down the aisle, trying to find a nurse. A nice woman, a Nurse
Hathaway, I think, finally understood my frantic, disjointed, hiccupped-laced
cries. A crash cart, a surgical team, and a truckload of drugs later, you were
calm again, asleep. They tell me you didn't feel a thing when they stuck that
needle in you chest. They tell me you didn't feel a thing when they stuck a
needle into your spine and god, when you screamed.
They
tell me you didn't feel a thing.
**
I
went to go get a drink. The stupid machine broke down, so I found myself
standing in line at the cafeteria. Kon and Cissie were there. They had been
talking about something and looked ashamed when they saw me.
I
didn't bother to ask what they were talking about. I just nodded hello and ran
back to your room.
You
see, I know what they're talking about.
They
think you're going to die. They think that it might be soon, that you might
just give up and expire in the next few days.
They
think I can't handle it.
I
never did get that drink.
**
I
remember when we rushed you to the hospital. We didn't know where to go. We
hadn't bothered to get a map of Chicago, we weren't planning to be here at all.
I remember you grinning over your shoulder, shouting a "It will only take a few minutes" before the
Super-Bike headed down into the city. You had spotted something in the myriad
convolutions of Chicago city streets and alleys: Gang war.
You
were able to hear the gunshots from 1,000 feet in the air. Amazing. We flew
down. You promised us it would only take a moment, that we would get to the YTV
interview in time, and don't worry, you do this all the time. So we followed.
We fought. You were able to swing in and grab a little girl and her brother
from the middle of the crossfire. You were always doing heroic things like
that. It was never about the image or the adventure for you. It was about
helping people. So Impulse grabbed all the guns, Cissie was able to knock out
those with the knives. Kon was grabbing a pair of hoods who were ganging up on
a some kid. We were all distracted when it happened.
That
was the great thing about you, you could never leave someone in trouble. You
always had to help.
That's
the problem with you.
You
always had to help, and this time, it might just kill you.
The
ER staff looked at us as if we came from the circus. Not surprising, as Kon was
floating slightly off the ground, and Bart running around the hospital in an
effort to burn off energy and not get in the way of the hospital staff. One of
my pigtails was coming off, and your cape was dragging on the floor as Kon set
you down on the table. Cissie was being treated for GWs (that's gunshot wound
in hospital-lingo, I'm learning a lot just by hanging around your bed. Loser,
making me learn even when you're in a coma.)
She
was the lucky one. She only got hit in the arm and leg; the bullets missed all
major arteries and such. It's funny, almost, to see her limping up and down the
hall in a matching bright pink casts and unwieldy crunches.
You,
on the other hand, weren't so lucky.
Multiple
GWs to your chest, legs, arms and head.
Fuck.
**
Sorry,
had to compose myself. I have that image of your head snapping back with the
impact of the bullet.
It
was something out of a movie. Everything slowed down; no one moved; it was
unreal. You had in your hands a little child, no older than two and clutching
onto her stuffed elephant with all her might.
And
then someone shot you.
It
seemed like forever before the gun emptied into you. You had spun around, had
the girl in your arms, head ducked beneath that triple-weave Kevlar cape of
yours. Some of the bullets were stopped by it, but others took advantage of the
stress fractures in your cape (I overheard your doctor, a Mark Greene,
something or another) and embedded themselves in your chest cavity (hospital lingo!) and arms and legs.
That
in it self could have killed you. But it wasn't enough, was it? You just had to
go and get yourself shot in the head.
It
always has to be complicated with you, doesn't it?
The
doctors are here.
**
That
was Dr. Courday. She's married to the other doctor, the one with that cut on
his head. You've turned me into a snoop, are you happy now? All your harping
from past YJ meetings have turned me into a gossip-monger. It's just that I'm
worried about you. We haven't been able to contact anyone, except that Bat of
course, but we didn't contact him. He just…knew. It's scary really.
A
lot of things scare me lately.
Dr.
Courday wanted to take off the mask today. I almost laughed, and I would have,
if it wasn't so inappropriate. She looked uncomfortable asking, her English
accent slurring some of the words. You would have been proud of me, I didn't
even bother asking, just gave her a patented Bat-Staretm and she
shuffled away. God, what a sense of power, no wonder you're always brooding,
you can control anyone with that stare of yours!
After
that this pig- excuse me- Doctor Romano came in and began to act like an ass.
He was getting all high and mighty about how they had to know your identity in
order to treat you.
I
gave him the Bat-Staretm and he flinched. He became flustered and
skittered out of the room as quickly as he came in. Dr. Courday was in a state
akin to shock. She smiled and asked me to teach her how to do that.
I
pointed to you, "I learned from the best."
She
faltered, looked at his charts one more time, and gave me a shaky smile, "I
hope he can teach me as well." It was the smile that frieghtened me the most
about the incident though, I didn't worry about your mask, or your identity;
the way everyone was acting…
I
miss you Rob.
Jesus,
just wake up already.
**
I
wonder if you remember the bullet hitting your skull.
It's
a depressing start, I know, but I can't get the thought out of my head.
It
must have hurt. (Cassie Sandsmark: Mistress of the Obvious) But I'm not talking
about the bullet itself: it must have hurt that after taking five bullets into
your body, trying to protect that tiny girl, she died anyway.
After
that first clip was emptied into you, after we realized what was going on and
rushed to your aid, that's when you found out.
You
weren't even trying to stop the blood flow from your chest and arms and legs.
You didn't even bother to wipe the blood that was dripping from your mouth as
you cradled her head, as you realized that the bullet in her head was something
you couldn't fix and you couldn't make better.
We
all froze. It wasn't because of the dead girl, it wasn't because you were shot
or that you were bleeding so much that green of your suit was turning a murky
brown. We froze because we never saw you look like that.
It
was a mixture of- damn, I can't even begin to describe it; I don't want to
describe it.
And
because you were trying to understand why this little girl was dead, despite
all your efforts to prevent otherwise, you never noticed, we never noticed, the
guy pull a gun that Imp wasn't fast enough to collect. You looked up, horror
mixed with anger, and then he shot you.
Your
head snapped back and the girl, dead and limp in your arms, slipped from your
grasp, her elephant beside your feet.
…
Kon
beat the guy pretty bad. Funny, he's in the room next to you, I didn't mention
it before, but it's true. It takes a whole lotta willpower to stop me from
killing him. (Guess who taught me that too?). But unlike you, he's going to
make it in time for his court hearing.
You're
depressing company, you know that? All you do is sit and listen and wait. God
forbid you ever make a move. You must be horrible on dates.
Dammit.
It's been two weeks now. You have to wake up Tim Drake, you have to.
**
See
that? That was your name. I figured it out, you know? You were on TV and
everything, it didn't take too long to make that connections; I think Dr.
Greene suspects as well. You're dad is looking for you. They say you ran away.
He's worried about you, he wants to know if you're safe. I want to call him, to
tell him to get over here and spend the last few moments with you. I want him
here holding your hand rather than just me or
Cissie, or, once, Secret.
I
want him here to know that you died protecting someone, but he won't come
because I won't call him. I couldn't do that to you. I wouldn't dare, you would
come back to haunt me, and a ghost-Robin I can't handle.
But
you're not dead yet. I can't think that way, I don't want to think that way.
**
Dr.
Greene cornered me in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom today. He
seemed angry.
"How
long are you going to wait until you tell us who he is."
I
didn't say anything, gave Bat-Staretm and hoped for the best.
He
shook his head, "Don't do that to me. His family has to know, they need be here
for him." He sighed, "I know who he is," He looked around for a moment, as if
someone might be listening. Someone always was. The nurses here talk like
crazy.
"It
doesn't look good, and I don't know how much longer it's going to be."
I
was in my optimistic mood today, the one where I thought you blinked or when
Cissie claimed you squeezed her hand.
"But
you said that the bullet didn't permanently damage his brain. You said-"
"The
damage caused by the other bullets might be to much for his body to handle, he
wasn't even supposed to last this long."
It
had been a week since you were shot Tim, I thought you might like to know that.
"The
only reason he's breathing is because of the machine, the only reason he's
living is because were doing all the work for him." Dr. Greene sighed again;
when he does that it means he's getting exasperated, "Please, Miss, consider
calling his parents-" He sucked in some air and let it out again, nodding to
open window in your room, "His real ones."
I
ran back to your room, angry, confused about what to do. He was there.
Nightwing.
(The guy referred to as the "great ass" by Cissie.)
He
looked sad. That's what you've been doing to everyone lately: making them sad
and angry and lost.
He's
a nice man. We spoke for a while, exchanged stories, sat in silence, laughed
and wiped away tears. As we spoke, Kon came in, clutching coffee, looking me
over with a worried expression. And he joined us. Then came Cissie and Bart and
later, even Suzie. As the group grew, the stories multiplied and became
funnier, happier, sadder, everything became amplified.
We
celebrated you and waited for you to die. We sat around the bed and laughed and
cried and silently stared and the raise and fall of your chest.
You
always knew how to grab hold of a conversation. The red-head pushed some hair
back and sniffed quietly.
**
I've
decided that I'll burn this journal after all of this is over. You'll never see
these words, my teen-angst and anger.
I'll
burn it, but before I do I have to write down what happened.
You
woke up. Against all odds, you opened your eyes behind that green mask of
yours, you looked up at the ceiling and groaned.
The
red-head woman had been fingering your mask. By the end of our little Robfest
we were ready to let you go; we were ready to bury you. We could tell that she
was going to pull off the mask, I curled up against Kon's chest, dug my nails
into his chest, and tried to hold back tears.
I
was- we were ready to bury you when you opened your eyes and grabbed the woman
and scared the shit out of everyone in the room.
No
one breathed for a long time. All we heard were you're tortured gasps for air,
and the slow scream of the klaxon. We didn't move, we didn't speak, just looked
at your gasping twisting body and froze.
It
was Cissie who first moved, running to your bed and grabbing your tremoring
hand. It was what stopped your shaking. When the nurses and doctors came,
moving quickly and efficiently, getting the tube out of your throat,
disconnecting the machine that breathed for you, adjusting the salinity in your
IV and generally, trying to keep you awake, we still sat there, Kon's arm
gripping me towards him even tighter and Cissie rubbing your arm, soothing your
tortured breathing.
When
I turned back to the red head woman and "Great Ass" they window was closed and
they were gone.
Kon,
Bart, Suzie and I made our tearful greetings and left you with Cissie.
I
don't think I've ever seen her cry like that before, and for the first time
that week, under the gauze and tape and beeping monitors, you smiled.
See
what you do to people Rob?
Welcome
back.
**
Did you like it? I don't think it counts as a crossover anymore, but
oh well, I had fun writing it.
R&R and you'll get you're choice of BNs...come on, you know you want
one...
-dafnap
PS:
for those BN virgins: BN= Bare Nekkid. Such as a Bare Nekkid Robin (BNR) or
Bare nekkid Batman (BNB) The variations are endless!
