[OOM: Gotham. Some time has passed. Not much.]
Steph is recovering.
It's not fun and it's not pretty but she's gritting her teeth and doing it, working through the physio and putting her head down and dealing with the therapy sessions, trying not to look at herself in the mirror and trying not to care when anyone else looks at her. Because they keep looking and Steph thinks that's maybe the worst thing of all, the fact that there's evidence engraved right on her face of what she d--
Of what he did to her. Like the therapists say. What he did. Because they keep telling her it wasn't her fault, it totally wasn't. They tell her it was Black Mask's fault.
Leslie tells her it was Batman's fault.
Sometimes she half believes that.
When she wonders why it was just so easy to find that plan in that computer, for a girl who stopped learning computers about as soon as it became more fun to spend time making out with Tim instead. When she wonders what the hell that plan was even meant to do, how it was supposed to work out. When she thinks Any other Robin would have known who Matches Malone was. Any other Robin would have had help.
Sometimes she doesn't. Nobody made her do it, after all. She was just stupid (reckless, like Jason, another costume in a case) and overeager to prove herself (no father figure, needed validation, blah blah blah) and -- basically just stupid.
Mostly she prefers not to think about it. Therapy kind of stinks. She can't hit things, and that's always been the easiest way to deal with her problems before, so they want her to talk. Yeah, right. it's not as if she can tell the counsellor what actually happened. "So I was Robin, and I worked for Batman, and --" Yeah, about then would be the straitjacket.
Maybe not. Apparently Bruce got caught on camera rescuing some dying girl from a school and now everyone knows he's real. That's what the news said, anyway.
(Steph had looked at the picture and thought -- too many things. Like "that was my fault that girl died" and "he must have been really stressed to have let the media get him" and "isn't that the girl Tim was kissing" but mostly, mostly what she'd thought was "why did he save her and not me?")
Still, she's not about to go telling people. Nobody except Leslie even knows that Stephanie Brown is alive. Well, Babs, probably. Steph hasn't heard fom her and hasn't tried to get in touch, either. She's "Melanie Green" in the hospital and to the therapists and physio people, and she doesn't see anyone else. Melanie Green who was abducted by one of those Gotham crazies and tortured and is now pretty messed up, but recovering. Poor Melanie.
That word is important. Recovering. She's recovering.
But she still gets really, really freaked out by weird things - the sound of generators, or construction crews with chainsaws, drills (she's never going to be able to see a dentist again), darkness, those pictures of people climbing down mine shafts in hard hats and headlamps ...
Well, maybe that's not so weird, considering.
The really weird things she doesn't tell anyone about except Leslie. She's having weird, weird hallucinations, or dream-memories, or something. Ridiculous, stupid, crazy things.
Like - sometimes when she looks up at the stars she's absolutely, one hundred per cent certain that they're all about to explode. Not in a "oh my god it's the end of the world" way, and there's no fear or anything, it's not like she's having morbid fantasies. It's just that she can see perfectly clearly how this one will whirl out into a pink cloud of dust and that one will shudder and blink out and this one will blur into that one and they'll all whirl together in a colossal cloud of destruction.
She's not imagining it. She didn't ever sit down and say "I wonder what the end of the universe looks like?" and then picture exactly what it would look like to see stars die. The images were just there, in her head. Like a memory.
Or the phrase "the end of the universe." On her tongue, that feels like something she's said a million times. A billion. And she's also half convinced that it's followed with "and I'm dead."
She's not dead. That is blatantly obvious. She'd been sure she was at first, even when Leslie told her differently. It didn't seem weird or strange. It was just that she was dead and the universe was ending and that was the end of it.
And she has this recurring dream where she can fly. On a skateboard. A freaking skateboard. Made of carpet. All she can think of is that she spent way too much time with Tim in his Tony Hawke phase. But - that was years ago, and it doesn't explain why now she can remember so clearly what it's like to swoop upwards into the sun with the lake glistening beneath her and someone at her side. A friend. A sister.
As if Steph ever knew what it was like to have a sister.
She remembers travelling to a planet where everyone was blue. She remembers being electrocuted down by the side of that shining lake. She remembers being trapped inside a giant game of Munchkin. Munchkin, of all things. Jeeze, she hasn't ever even played that, only watched Tim.
She remembers Dick looking out for her and Tim and Kon kissing in a corner. That last, yeah, that was almost definitely her imagination. (But since when does she think of Superboy as "Kon"? He goes by Conner now, and he's dead, too.)
She remembers visiting a city that was like Gotham, only a built-up, amazing Gotham with flying cars and towering skyscrapers and no sky. Again with the sister. Steph vaguely remembers meeting someone in the hospital, in the first weeks after - after. She figures she's invented a friendship with that woman, Mel, because there's no other damn thing going on in her life.
She says 'remembers' because she isn't about to admit to hallucinations. Dreams, maybe. 'Remembers' works for dreams. But none of it can possibly be real.
"Morbid, creepy, weird," she describes them to Leslie, when the topic comes up, and Leslie frowns and makes concerned noises and then talks about post-traumatic stress disorder and asks if Steph's getting enough rest. Which she is. Jesus, rest is all she ever does.
"Maybe you need a break," Leslie says, one day.
Steph does three more pushups, then drops to the floor and rolls to look up at the doctor. "From what, exactly? My punishing schedule of brooding, resting, physio, and brooding?"
"Exactly." Leslie looks at her, head tilted to one side thoughtfully. "How do you feel about Kenya?"
Steph says brightly, "I hear they've got tigers."
Leslie smiles, a little bit. "I've talked to Barbara. She agrees it could be good for you to spend some time out of Gotham. And I know there's good work we could do, in Kenya."
Steph sits up, draws her knees to her chest, and thinks about that. "... Everyone here thinks I'm dead already," she points out, after a moment or two of consideration. "I don't really feel like telling them otherwise."
Not until she's better. Not until she can go back and kick ass and take names. Like this, scarred and broken and without anything resembling stamina - and still dreaming of the flames - yeah, she'd rather not, thanks.
"Is that a yes?" Leslie prods, gently. Steph shrugs.
"I guess so. I don't really care."
"Well," Leslie says, gentler than before. "Think about it. And if you really don't care, then we'll go."
Steph considers this, and shrugs. "Okay."
That's about all she's got in her.