Doctor Light was on the loose again, and had been all week. He had broken out of prison and quickly stole all the components he needed to rebuild his light machine and his armaments. His latest caper involved stealing the city's biggest magnifying lens from an observatory telescope in order to use it as a focus for a ray gun. Involving a cutting beam of artificial sunlight, of course.
Robin thought it looked like a weather balloon with a TV antenna hanging from it. Or a really round rank with a big toothpick sticking out of it. He thought it looked stupid. But that didn't make it any less dangerous.
Cyborg was overheating his arm cannon; he had been firing high-power shots the entire fight, but the energy bolts only bounced off the ray gun's mirrored surface. Starfire and Raven were having similar problems for the same reason. Doctor Light had come prepared for this fight.
The villain in question hooted with laughter from within the tank. "You'll never quench the light!" he gloated, firing the ray gun. A beam of yellow light spewed forth, tearing into the road. Robin rolled to the side to safety. As soon as he was clear, he threw a cluster of tiny plastic explosives. They latched onto the tank and detonated. But when the smoke cleared, Doctor Light's mechanical monstrosity was undamaged.
Robin gritted his teeth in frustration. "Beast Boy," he said. "Smash it to the ground."
But not even a tyrannosaurus could dent Doctor Light's metal creation. The tank lumbered on, tearing up an earthworks with its toothed treads. Cars squealed as they were crumpled beneath. Lampposts sparked. Hydrants spewed showers. The Titans retreated step by step, dodging the pulverizing power of the cannon.
"Any other ideas?" Raven asked her leader, her pale face lathered in a sweaty sheen.
"I'm working on it," Robin said stiffly. He eyed the cannon warily. "Hey, the lens is inside there…and it isn't armored." A bold plan sprung to mind. "Starfire, Cyborg: hit the thing with everything you've got. Beast Boy, run interference. Raven, catch." He tossed another bomb to her. "Throw it right down the barrel," he ordered. The dark-haired girl nodded, understanding her role.
The Titans moved in concert, some blasting, others slamming. Amidst the chaos and the lasers, Raven navigated through the deadly lightshow toward her target. A black cloud of magic surrounded the explosive in her hands. With a thought, the bomb floated into the cannon's barrel, pressing itself against the magnifying lens within. In theory, the bomb would have detonated and disabled the cannon. But Robin didn't expect the cannon to recharge so fast.
Doctor Light, unsuspecting of the danger, fired the cannon one more time.
The cannon and the tank exploded. Raven tried to veer away but was swept up in the inferno.
"Raven!" Robin cried. He cursed himself under his breath, growing louder with each word. "Idiot! Idiot! Should have known this would happen! Idiot!" Though not particularly religious, he prayed fervently that his friend was all right. If there is a God, he thought, now is a good time for me to believe.
Doctor Light survived the ordeal with two broken bones and first-degree burns; his special suit had protected him from greater injury. He was arrested, stripped of his gear, and returned to the state penitentiary without bail. His previous sentence of ten years was extended to thirty-five.
Knowing that didn't make Robin feel any better. Raven lay still as death on the infirmary bed. Her already pale face had turned even more ashen. He didn't want to think that she looked like a corpse. His haunted gaze went to the EKG by her bed. A steady pulse, but weak. Her other vitals were poor, as well.
Though her magic had protected her from burn injuries and shrapnel, a large piece of the tank's hull struck her full-force in the back, almost breaking her spine in two. The blunt trauma alone had been enough to knock her unconscious, as well as break her shoulder, clavicle, four ribs, and lower three vertebrae. She had a concussion. There was internal bleeding—just recently stopped. In short, she wasn't expected to survive.
And Robin laid the fault on himself.
"You didn't know about the recharge, Rob," Cyborg said to him as they looked upon Raven's too-still form.
"Yeah, you were only trying to protect everyone—even Doctor Light," added Beast Boy. "Disabling the cannon was a good idea."
"If it was such a good idea," Robin growled, his fury rising, "then why is she lying there?" He shouted the last, terrifying his two friends. But he didn't care. In truth, the anger and the shout were aimed at himself. For his mistake.
Starfire laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You must not burden yourself so," she said soothingly. "She will recover. She is Raven." She spoke with such surety, such belief. Robin wished he could believe, too. But he had seen injuries like Raven's before…his parents had them. He wished he could believe.
Eventually, the physicians sent the young heroes to the waiting room, suggested that it would be best if they went home and returned in the morning. They sounded confident, professional. They looked it, too. But Robin had been trained to see past faces and smiles and nice words. He saw the shift in their eyes, heard the sigh as soon as his back was turned. They had already given up on Raven.
Robin felt so helpless. Raven was dying. Yes, he didn't know her as well as he would have liked—she rarely talked about herself, and then only reluctantly—but she was still a teammate, a Titan, and, more than that—a friend. The death of his parents held more than enough sadness. He didn't want to add another name to the list. Robin's hands clenched into fists. He wouldn't let Raven die. Not if he could help it.
He grabbed an orderly's arm. "I need to use a phone."
There was only one person in all the world who could save her, Robin knew. He dialed a number. A prim British voice answered: "Wayne residence."
"Alfred. It's me."
"Oh, Master Richard. So good of you to call. Sir? Is something wrong? You sound stressed."
"I need to talk to Bruce. A friend…a friend got hurt. He's the only one I can turn to."
The Batman donned his mask and gloves, ignoring the chill of the Batcave. "I don't know what he expects me to do, Alfred," he said. "I'm no physician and Leslie Thompson isn't a surgeon." Batman didn't like it when he didn't know something. But he was all too aware that, despite his encyclopedic knowledge of practically every topic, he couldn't do everything. Though he despised the term, he was little more than a jack-of-all-trades.
"Master Richard thinks very highly of you, sir," Alfred said by way of explanation, handing the crimefighter his cape. "I'm sure you can help him, even if not directly. Surely you know someone who knows someone who knows someone?"
"If his friend's injuries are as severe as he says, I doubt anyone I know can save her."
"Oh, dear." Alfred went to a precipice at one end of the Cave, where an operating table and several large machines stood. He diligently prepared the infirmary to receive its incoming patient. "You'll at least try, sir?"
"Of course. But aside from the morphine and surgical tools we have here…. Alfred, there simply isn't anyone I can call. They're either not skilled enough or too far away to summon in time to help."
There was an echoing roar in the Cave. The Teen Titans had arrived. Batman looked at the young heroes and the pale girl lying upon the stretcher. He saw Robin, seemingly calm. But he saw his former partner's hidden turmoil, his uncertainty, his fear. Batman's eyes narrowed and his jaw firmed. He didn't have to say that he was going to try his best to save the girl—even though he knew he couldn't.
Robin looked up at his mentor. Please, he thought wildly. He did not usually beg. He was too proud for that, just like Batman. But this once, just this once—he would do it. Batman saw the look in Robin's eyes and silently took control. He led the stretcher to the operating table and gently lay the dying girl on it.
"Alfred, start a morphine drip," he commanded. "Robin, on my desk upstairs is a Rolodex. Call up the following people…." Batman might not be able to save her, and all the doctors on Earth might not be able to do it either, but he would be a poor human being indeed if he didn't at least give it his best shot.
She woke up to a dull ache that became a fiery pain. A moan escaped her strangely dry lips. She tried to turn her head, to look around, but her body didn't obey. Refused to obey. The agony subsided after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. Raven took in a labored breath. The painful fog melted away.
She was lying on a bed. In a cave. There was a light above her. It stung her eyes. It was cold and she shivered. And no wonder; she had been stripped to a hospital gown. She tried to sit up, but strong, sure hands gently pushed her back down.
"Who're you?" Raven asked the kindly-faced old man. "And where am I?"
"My name is Alfred Pennyworth. And this is the Batcave. Master Richard—Robin—brought you here last night."
"Robin did?" she murmured tiredly, suddenly losing focus. It was a struggle to pay attention to the old man's words.
"Yes. He and your other friends…uh…stole you from the hospital and brought you here. Batman called in some help—the most respected surgeons in the country. Some of them work for the Justice League and were in the area. You're very lucky, Miss Raven. Had your friends brought you here an hour later, you probably would have died."
Raven was only paying half-attention. By the time he finished, she had fallen back asleep.
She woke up hours later, feeling very hungry. But at least her mind had cleared. It didn't hurt to move, either. She slid her legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the nauseous feeling dancing around in her stomach. Hunger gnawed at her, and she would be damned if a little vertigo would stop her.
Her bare feet touched the cold ground of the Batcave, sending a shock of coldness rushing to her brain. She shivered and then lurched. The room seemed to spin around her, a confusing menagerie of blurring colors. Strong hands gripped her arms, forced her back to the bed, supported her as she sat up and waited for the room to stop moving.
"You shouldn't be up," Robin admonished, his grip on her being exceptionally gentle.
Raven smiled wanly at him. "Just a little dizzy. I'm all right, really."
He frowned. Was that...pain...that just went across his face? Raven wondered.
"You're not all right," Robin whispered. "You're not all right because I screwed up. I'm…no apology of mine can make up for it, but I'm sorry."
Ah, so that's it, the dark-haired girl realized. "You have nothing to apologize for. Guilt doesn't become you," she said sincerely. "What happened to me was unfortunate, but it wasn't your fault. You couldn't possibly know that Light had that trick up his sleeve."
"Should have anticipated it," he countered, his tone almost savage in its intensity. "I should have thought of every possibility, no matter how remote."
"If you did that, then we wouldn't have been able to do anything," she chided.
"Still, it's my fault you got hurt. I gave the order."
Raven threw him a withering—and disappointed—glare. "You, you, you. It's all about you today, isn't it, Boy Wonder?" she said scathingly. He looked up in surprise. "Did you ever stop to consider who else was involved in that mess? Doctor Light, for one. Me, for the other."
"You?"
"Yes, me. I should have tried moving the bomb in from a farther distance. Would have given me more time to dodge. But I moved in too close. No reason why I did that. I just did. So it's also my fault that I'm in this bed." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "This isn't always about what you do, Robin. Let everyone else have a little spotlight."
The absurdity of the logic made him laugh—as Raven had intended. "I'm surprised; you just used humor."
"I'm full of surprises," she replied enigmatically.
"That's only because you never tell us about yourself."
She shrugged, conceding the point.
Robin touched her arm, squeezed it companionably. "How are you feeling?"
"Thirsty. Hungry."
He chuckled. "I'll be right back with some food, then."
Robin turned to leave, but Raven stopped him. "Wait. Robin, it really isn't your fault. Even if you blame yourself, I don't." She extended a hand and rubbed his arm. At the simple gesture, Robin turned his face away, suddenly overcome with emotion he rarely showed. In some ways, Raven mused, you're more of a loner, more of a recluse than I am. But, Robin, you're not ready to close yourself off like I am. You don't need to hide. As if reading her thoughts, the Boy Wonder began to sob.
"I'm sorry, Raven."
She smiled, and it wasn't just a ghostly smile. It was a real smile. "I told you, you don't have to be."