Chapter Text
Hal hadn’t really expected to be admitted when he’d gone to the hospital for his arm.
Hal hadn’t really expected a lot of the things that happened when he went to the hospital, really.
Metropolis’s hospitals were understandably crowded, having been at the epicenter of the action, so while the invincible and invulnerable people were helping with the cleanup relief, Hal had taken the time to slink away and find a less busy institution. It was either a stroke of inspiration or a side effect of shock that had him across the bay in Gotham General to check himself in for a cast and maybe something for his pounding headache.
The plan had gone sideways in an unexpected way, and he found himself facing down a hospital gown held up by a very well-meaning nurse.
“Look, Mister, um.” Hal realized too late that the badge didn’t have his nurse’s last name. “Mister Anthony M, I really don’t need to be admitted, I was just hoping for an air cast? Maybe some Tylenol?”
Anthony M did not seem impressed, and stoically continued holding up the gown.
The door behind Anthony opened on a black haired kid in sunglasses, who Hal was very glad didn’t have to witness him in his underwear, and the nurse finally lowered the gown slightly to look at the kid.
“Uncle Hal!” the complete stranger proclaimed, walking into the room and shaking hands with the frustrated nurse.
The nurse immediately put his hand in his pocket and left the room as the kid situated himself in the visitor chair and rummaged in his backpack, which was very clearly embroidered with the Gotham Prep Academy logo.
“Who are you?” Hal asked into the silence, once it became clear that the kid wasn’t going to speak.
“I could ask the same, but I really don’t care that much. B told me to find you, I did, and I didn’t even have to leave the city, so I’m counting this whole thing as a win,” the kid... demurred, for lack of a better word. He held out a folder with a big stylized W on the front with an expectant expression.
“What is that?” Hal puzzled through the words. He was pretty sure he remembered the logo from the side of a building while he was tracking down Batman, when he’d thought he had placed the motherboxes. Hal’s head was more than muzzy--the fight and the whole day were kind of blurring into a big painful ball as the adrenaline faded, pushing insistently at the edges of his consciousness.
“Your workman’s comp case,” the kid told him, as though he should have known. Hal didn’t move to take the folder
“I’m not billing Ferris Air for--” Should he mention the fight? Did the kid know who he was? Had he already revealed too much?
“No, no, your Waynetech workman’s comp paperwork,” the kid stated, as though this was an explanation. “You were working as a contractor when you were picked up by an experimental Waynetech robot and shaken around. Your arm was broken, and you impacted a wall. The company is concerned for your health, since a concussion would be no small matter, and Bruce Wayne himself sent you a get well card.” The kid huffed and opened the folder onto the lap table, rolling it so that the papers were in front of Hal.
Something flickered in Hal’s memory. Superman had known Batman by name. It hadn’t seemed weird since Batman had called him Clark, but then Batman had told Hal his name as though it was important. Hal had assumed at the time it was because he wasn’t planning to make it back, figured someone should know.
In his hands the Waynetech emblem used the stylized W with an added T, all very sleek on thick, expensive paper that was covered in legal and medical jargon as well as what appeared to be dozens of authorization codes. He didn't even know how it had gotten here as he knew for a fact Batman was still coordinating cleanup across the bay.
“Okay I’m going to ask this again, and some day, someone is going to answer me.” He looked up, staring at a gaunt reflection of himself in the kid’s dark sunglasses before continuing, “Who the hell is Bruce Wayne?”
***
As the MRI clicked and whirred, Hal found that he was bored as hell. Instead of suffering the expected claustrophobia, he was exhausted and too worked up to sleep, and apparently had a lot to think about.
That's weird. I read the dossier twice, and it didn't mention you being an extraterrestrial?
The kid had asked the question with a straight face, completely sure of his assumption. In this kid’s world, not knowing who Bruce Wayne was meant either ‘alien’ or ‘idiot,’ and Hal had been given a massive benefit of the doubt.
Batman was apparently a billionaire. Also: famous.
That tracked a little. Hal had met Oliver Queen a few times, both as the rich bastard and as the Green Arrow. While he wasn’t as close with Oliver as Flash was, Hal’d kind of gotten a feel for the man. That feeling was that Queen was more or less in the heroing business because being ridiculously rich was incredibly boring.
Hal still didn’t know who the kid was, but when he’d held out a velvet drawstring bag while the nurse-- who had returned with backup-- was back to monitor (or facilitate) his changing into scrubs, Hal had dropped the ring in, practically without thinking. That brought the number of times someone else was in control of his ring up to 2 in 24 hours, and they were both Gothamites.
The kid inspired confidence, Hal had to give him that.
***
Rounding out a night of strangeness, Hal had his cast put on that night. He’d been expecting an air splint and a referral, but when he’d come out of the MRI he’d been taken immediately to get the cast. He was surprised to see the kid still in his room when he got back around 5am, but he maybe shouldn’t have been.
“You know, I’d have figured you’d go for green,” the kid said by way of greeting, pointing at Hal’s black cast.
“Seemed a bit on the nose,” Hal chuckled, calling the ring to his left hand.
“Well, they’d like to keep you for observation and rest for the day, but I figure you’re probably as ornery as B, so I brought you some less suspicious clothes. If you wait until tomorrow though, B will give you a ride home in the Batjet I bet.”
“Flight suit wasn’t doing it for you?” Hal tried to aim for offended but he knew that it just came off as tired. He was bone tired, more or less holding it together with pain meds and the caffeine from a really terrible cup of coffee that a nurse had brought him while he was getting his cast. It wasn’t duty coffee... but it wasn’t much better, either.
Instead of answering, the kid tossed a bundle of clothes onto the bed with an offhand, “Figured your boots’ll be okay still.”
He turned the chair away to give Hal some semblance of privacy to change.
“So what do I call you, anyway?” Hal asked, only slightly weirded out that all of the clothes were exactly his size.
“Let’s stick with Robin for now,” the kid-- Robin-- said after a long moment. Hal got his tee over his cast with a minimum of quiet swearing, then almost swore again when he saw the front.
I Heart G C.
“I look like the worst kind of tourist,” Hal complained. The kid turned around to appraise the fit and Hal gave up on doing things the right way to use his ring to make tiny hands to hold his boots open and tie the laces.
Robin looked like he was studiously trying to be not fascinated by the constructs as he shrugged. “Considering how down tourism is, it’s actually a pretty common shirt for locals to wear. They’re cheap, and we like irony,”
Robin dropped a plain black backpack on the bed and was now sizing up the hallway.
“Heading out so soon?” Hal was honestly surprised the kid had stuck around this long, but he’d enjoyed the company.
“I picked up your prescriptions for you. You’re just waiting for the nurse to show up.” The backpack was open just enough for Hal to see a white pharmacy bag on top of a mass of olive drab. Almost certainly his flight suit. “The day nurses are harder to bribe… and I’ve got school in a few hours.” Robin shrugged. “Give B a call if you need help getting home though. He’s in your phone.”
“I didn’t even bring my phone with--” Hal found it in the front pocket of the backpack as Nurse Anthony came in to discharge him. Robin was nowhere to be found.