14. Walking Wounded

"Wayne, where the hell is my son!?"

Alfred held the phone a considerate distance from Bruce's ear as the Batman changed out of his armor and into appropriate street clothes. "He's here. Safe. We've cured him."

"Cured him? What the hell was wrong with him? What've you done?"

Bruce sighed. "He was in a state of hallucinatory psychosis brought about by alteration of his brain chemistry by unknown means. But I killed him and he's all better now. Good day."

Alfred hung up the phone as Bruce adjusted his tie. "That was rather cruel, sir."

"We don't have time for nice."

They probably looked ludicrous. Bruce driving, Egyptian silk shirt and four hundred dollar pants even at five in the morning. Tim next to him, dressed in some of Dick's old clothes from back when he was the first Robin. In this case, a tuxedo, stretched to accommodate Tim's leaner, taller frame. Dick's shoes were too big for Tim, so Drake was wearing slippers.

Yes, it would probably look ludicrous if Tim wasn't huddled up in the passenger seat, arms drawn tight around his knees, trying his very best not to cry, Bruce's jaw set in mute determination, the silence tense and palpable around and between them.

The greatest comfort Tim took was in the steady resounding footfalls of Bruce's shoes on the hospital floor. He filled out all the forms, greased all the wheels, and never said a word until they reached the room.

"She's in there," Bruce said simply, and Tim nodded.

Bruce took a seat, arms resting on his legs, hands steepled together. Breathing deeply through his nose, Tim entered the room. There was no sound except for a coiled beeping, low and constant, and the dull noise of raspy breathing.

"Tim?"

Tim closed the door behind him and took a step forward, nodding. "It's me."

"How's… Dinah?"

"She's in intensive care. It's touch and go, but they think she'll be okay."

"That's good."

The voice was a dry croak from the shadows of the bed. The covers were pulled up high, Steph facing away from him, blackened hair peeking out from between her bandages.

Tim's feet padded across the floor toward her. "You want to talk about it?"

"No. And don't come any closer. I don't want you to see me like this."

Tim paused there, about six feet from the bed. He felt slightly stupid, his hands shoved in his pocket, not sure what to do. Was this how Dick felt after Barbara was paralyzed?

"Oh, Steph… What did he do to you?"

"Nothing that won't heal."

"Do you want me to open a window or something, get you some water?"

"Water would be nice."

Seeing a cup at the bedside, Tim picked it up. In doing so, he got close enough to Steph to briefly touch her on the shoulder, giving her a supportive squeeze. His biggest hope was that it didn't cause her any pain, but one hand reached up and stroked his fingers before he withdrew.

"I'll be right back."

"I'm not going anywhere," Steph said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

As Tim strode out of the hospital room to refill the cup at a water fountain, Bruce fell into lockstep with him. "How is she?"

"About as well as you'd expect for a woman with her face half-burnt off."

"I'm having the best reconstructive surgeons from around the country being flown in. They're very optimistic. Barbara fought him off before he could do any lasting damage. People won't stare when she walks down the street, people won't be able to tell. There won't be any scars."

Tim froze, ignoring the water as it overflowed from the cup and ran over his hand. "There already are."

It wasn't until he got back to the hospital room that he saw Cass lingering in the shadows, of which there were many. He tried to figure out if she'd entered while he was gone or been there all along and gave up on it. She stepped in front of Tim and said, in her own quiet way, "Have to go. You watch her now. Your responsibility."

Tim didn't quite like the gist of that responsibility line, but he ignored it as Cass headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Hit something," was the answer.

Tim suddenly felt very sorry for the next criminal Batgirl came across.

"Here," Tim said as he handed the glass to Steph. She was wearing some sort of device on her forefinger to measure her pulse or something like that. She drank the water slowly and when she handed the glass back to Tim there was blood on the rim of it.

He set the glass down and handed her a candy bar. "This was the most expensive thing in the vending machine. Hope you like it. Do you need me to open it for you or…"

"It's one half of my face that I'm lacking, Tim, not opposable thumbs."

"Right. Sorry."

Steph tried to tear it open, but the packaging was resistant. Tim pretended not to notice as she wrenched it this way and that, finally giving up. "Is this what my life is going to be like now? People pitying me, doing things for me? He can't do that! He can't make me that way! He can't take this from me!"

Tim gently repositioned her hands along the candy bar's flap. When she moved her hands, it tore open with ease. "You'll get better. It's going to be okay. You'll get better."

The candy bar forgotten, Steph's eyes settled on Tim. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Something's wrong. Something's happened. What is it?"

Tim sat down on the bed next to Steph. "It's nothing. He… he went after me too. Did something to my head. Put images inside of me, thoughts, feelings… they weren't mine. But I'm okay now."

They sat in silence for a long time.

"It was you."

Steph looked up sharply. Tim had spoken, not moving a muscle except his mouth.

"I saw you… hurting me, and I knew you would never do that. That's how I knew it was a lie. That's how I broke free."

Reaching out, Steph slowly turned his head to face her. "Don't fall in love with me now, boy wonder. I'm not worth the trouble." She sat up, her head moving into the light. The fire had burnt away most of her hair and half of her face was covered with bandages. Blisters extended out from under the bandages, tainting her reddened skin. Her one good eye was heavy-lidded and bloodshot.

"I never should have been Robin. We both know that. Just… give him one for me."

Tim moved closer, feeling the contrast between her coarse bandages and smooth skin with his hand. Steph shuddered a little at the contact and looked down.

"We'll take him together… Robin." He kissed her on the forehead. "You're still as beautiful as the day I met you."

"The day you met me I was wearing a mask."

"Minor technicality." Tim smiled. "Your face wasn't what I fell in love with."

"My boobs then?"

"Close." Tim tapped her heart. "You are… simply amazing. You can go through these horrible things and still make jokes. You give me so much strength, you can't even realize it. If there's one good thing to come out of all of this, then it's this. In escaping from Arkham's nightmare world, I realized I had the courage to tell you that I love you. I've loved you so damn much that it hurt to keep it inside. And I'm going to keep on loving you for as long as you'll have me."

Steph smiled and shook her head. "All this time I try to get you to express your true feelings and it turns out you're a complete cheeseball…"

"Shut up and kiss me."

So she did.

For the record, it was worth waiting for.

"Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looked up at the orderly. "Yes?"

The orderly clutched his clipboard nervously. "There's a situation with the patient."

"Is Stephanie alright?"

"You'd better see for yourself."

With the orderly ushering him in, Bruce stepped into the hospital room. Tim was curled up on the bed, atop the sheets and next to Steph, one arm rolling over her, his hand covered by both of hers. Both were sound asleep.

Bruce stared at them as the orderly spoke up. "Sir, visiting hours are over. He'll have to leave."

Bruce took off his coat and gently lay it over Tim, who snuggled into its warmth for a moment before returning to motionlessness. "Ten million dollars," he said, writing a check. "Do whatever you want with it. But the boy stays where he is."

"What boy?" the orderly asked innocently before hurrying off.

Bruce followed him, pausing a moment at the doorway to look back at them. "Good night, sweet prince," he whispered before closing the door behind him.

"Tim?"

Tim's eyes blinked open, his body coming to full wakefulness immediately like a startled animal. Sunlight was streaming in through the window and his loose clothing had grown no more comfortable over the night, although someone had added a man's long coat to the ensemble. Standing up, he turned to face the new arrival.

"Dad?"

They rushed into each other's arms, Tim wanting to bury himself in his father's embrace and not emerge for a long time. A purple bruise and good-sized lump had developed over Jack's face, evidence of his run-in with Arkham. Jack slipped his hand under Tim's shirt and rubbed his back, comforting him as he had when Tim was just a boy, and Tim finally felt a sense of standing down, of not waiting for the hammer to fall for the first time in a long while.

"I've been so worried," Jack sobbed into Tim's ear. "I called all the hospitals, when I heard you were here I thought the worst. Oh, my boy, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, dad. I'm okay."

They broke and Tim noticed Steph looking at him. Jack noticed her too.

"Tim, who's this?"

Tim looked between Jack and Steph. "She's my… well, it's kinda complicated at the moment."

"I'm his girlfriend, Stephanie Brown," Steph announced, extending her hand to Jack, who shook it firmly.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Jack said before turning to Tim. "Tim, we need to talk. After last night, I think it's time we hash out the… the you know…"

"Dad, she knows about Robin. Actually, right now? She is Robin."

Jack looked at the two of them suspiciously. "She's Robin? Then what have you two been doing together?"

Both shook their heads frantically. "Mr. Drake, it's not like that." "Dad, I've been helping her…"

"Alright, alright!" Jack called, placating them with his hands. "I get it. I was young once too, ya know. Young lady, do you mind if my son and I talk in private?"

"Go ahead."

Jack and Tim walked out, leaving Steph alone. Steph yawned and stretched and made an little girlish sound of all-is-right-with-the-world-except-for-my-face and when she opened her eyes she saw that a bouquet of flowers had appeared on the bedstand beside her.

Picking it up, she saw there was a card.

Steph.

Get better.

Cass.

Steph smiled and poured what was left of her water into the pot.

The cafeteria sold the Drake men flat-looking slices of pizza, which Tim stood in line for while Jack got on the phone and told Dana that everything was okay. Sitting down, Tim ravenously devoured his slice, chasing it with a carton of milk.

"You're hungry," Jack commented harmlessly.

"Missed breakfast."

"Tim, let's get down to brass tacks." Jack folded his hands atop the table and Tim's body language shrunk in on itself, ready for a talking-to. "I don't like the thought of you risking your life night after night. I don't like the thought of you spending time with someone like Bruce Wayne."

"Dad, he's a good man…"

"Let me finish!" Jack insisted. "I don't like a lot about this… life you've chosen. But what I like even less is the thought of people like this 'Arkham' hurting people because you can't do your job. And, since I apparently can't stop you anyway, I want you to have my blessing."

Tim's face went through a contorted sequence of emotions. "Dad, I… I don't know what to say."

Jack smiled and put out his hand. "Say you'll make me proud."

Tim shook it. "I'll make you proud, sir."

"That's my boy."