Disclaimer: Batman, Alfred, and other DC characters appearing in this fan-fic are, of course, DC's. Psion Force is all mine. This story is being written for fun, not profit.
Timeline: Four years before Knightfall. Roughly two years before Dick Grayson leaves to become Nightwing.
Note: Yes, I am drawing Bruce a bit lighter. Four years pre-Knightfall, he hadn't lost Jason.
Prologue
"Mayday!" Naiad's voice came through the commlink clearly. "Phasma's hurt. Repeat, we have a member down. Amusement Mile."
Hindsight acknowledged the message and patched the signal through to the rest of the team. Silver Dragon was first to respond. "How bad?""Bad. She took a wrecking ball to the ribs and the impact knocked her through a boarded window."
Silver Dragon exhaled slowly. "Hindsight, have Kay take the van out there. Naiad, give me a precise twenty. Kensai and Umbra are in Oldtown—they'll reach you first. I'm on my way."
"What about Pathwarden?" Naiad asked. " There was a moment's silence. "Well, what do you think?" Sil snapped. "Of course he's coming!" The connection went dead.
"Ouch!" Kay said, from behind her. She was already pulling on her jacket. "I thought Callie got rid of that temper of hers."
Hindsight tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "With Alison away, she's the only doctor we've got, and she's barely out of pre-med. Cut my sister some slack, willya?"
Kay Berger grabbed the van keys from the counter. "Sure. Tell her I just left." She closed the door behind her.
Hindsight let her head sink slowly onto the table. "Bronwen Aaronson," she told herself furiously, "you know that worrying won't change anything so just stop stressing." Yeah, right. Stop blinking while you're at it. She reached for the small leather-bound prayer book on the shelf above her and flipped to the back where the psalms were. "Jill's Hebrew name is 'Yehudis,'" she reminded herself. I am reciting these for a recovery for 'Yehudis bas Miriam.'" Which was precisely all she could do at the moment.
By the time Kay arrived with the van, the rest of the team had assembled. Silver Dragon, already in civilian attire, had removed Phasma's helmet and mask. The helmet had probably saved her life a thousand times over, Callie thought to herself. I wonder why Gotham's official vigilantes don't wear them. "Jill," she said aloud. "Jill! Hey, Perkal, can you hear me?" The younger woman moaned. Semi-conscious, with her honey-blond bangs plastered against her forehead, she looked considerably younger than her twenty years. "Hang in there, girl, you're going to be OK."
Kay and Pathwarden wheeled the stretcher out of the van. Callie looked at her older brother. Only a faint tremor in his hands betrayed him. He and Jill had been, while not dating, exactly, certainly close for two years. "OK, Bran?" she asked softly.
Pathwarden smiled faintly. "Codenames in costume, Cal. Oldest rule you made. Give us a hand lifting her?"
There were times when metahuman abilities came in handy. Callie levitated Phasma onto the stretcher and helped move it back into the van. "Kay, I'd prefer to look at her in a stationary vehicle, but if anyone's coming and we need to move, we will. Just let me know before you have to put it in gear. Naiad, report." Naiad frowned. Overhead, it began to rain. "Either that's a coincidence," said the young elemental pointing at the window, "or my shields aren't holding up too well. Jill and I were investigating a crackhouse in the area. We found it. We nabbed five of the goons, but two ran. One of those two got into the cab of that wrecking crane and—he swung the ball. Jill must've rolled with it, and he didn't have a lot of momentum or maneuvering room, or it could've been worse. Anyway, I got the creep—don't worry he's alive, but it was close. We have 'em tied up inside. Umbra went to alert GCPD."
"Where's Kensai?"
"Standing guard."
They were inside the van, now. Cal unzipped Jill's tunic. Despite the padding, the woman's chest was one massive black-and-blue mark. Almost certainly there were cracked ribs. What if it was worse? What if there were internal injuries? "Ribono shel Olam," she prayed, "I'm just starting my first year of medical school. Help me. Please, don't let her die. Don't let her die because I don't know what to do!"
When the team had begun its forays in Toronto, a decade before, she would have opted for a bandaid solution. Assume the ribs are broken, tape them up, and come up with a convincing cover story so her mother doesn't suspect anything. Anything to safeguard their identities. That was the difference between being twelve and being twenty-two, she thought.
Kensai let herself in the back of the van. "The police are almost here," she said pulling off her mask. "Is Jill going to be alright?" When her older sister failed to respond, she asked again. "Callie?"
Cal let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "I don't know, Natalie. Kay, where's the nearest hospital?"
"Madison General," Kay said after a moment, "but—"there was no need to finish the sentence. Madison had the highest mortality rate in the city.
Natalie Aaronson gasped. "Callie, you can't. If we take her to a hospital—"
"She might pull through this!" Callie snapped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Umbra phase through the side of the van. That was everyone. Perfect. "I am not going to lose her because I don't have the training to know what's wrong. And if our pictures show up in the tabloids tomorrow, we'll just have to deal with that, won't we? Kay, how long would it take you to drive to Saint Swithin's?
"At this time of morning, about twenty-five minutes."
Callie nodded. "Do it."
"Wait!" Natalie said. "We're only five minutes from Bristol, aren't we?
"Yes," Kay said with some confusion. "From the nearest access, but so what? Oaklands Medical is private and clear on the other side of the 'burb."
"That's not where I was thinking we could take her."
Umbra looked up. "You... know about him?"
"I've known for two years. He'll help. No matter what he thinks of us, you know he'll help."
"What are you two on about?" Pathwarden asked from his post at the head of the stretcher.
"Kay," Natalie said, "get us to Wayne Manor."
Kay glanced behind her. "Callie?"
Callantha Aaronson faced her two youngest sisters. "Why would we want to go there?" she asked, mystified. "Tabitha?"
Umbra started to say something. Natalie stepped on her foot. "Trust me, we do."
Callie shook her head. "You're going to have to give me something more than that."
"I can't. But Cal, have I ever steered you wrong before?"
Callie looked away. "I don't think you understand. Jill is seriously injured. Every second we delay could make it worse, and I am not going to knock on the door of Wayne Manor at—"she glanced at the digital time display "four-forty-seven a.m. without a good reason."
Natalie swallowed. "Cal, if he wants to tell you why he'll help, that's his business. But he will help, and at the end of the day, Jill and our identities will be safe. Please, Cal, if you've ever trusted me, if there's anything I've ever done right, in or out of costume, do this." Natalie had stopped throwing temper tantrums at the age of four. Twelve years later, she looked like she was going to relapse.
Cal looked at Natalie, then back to Jill. As if in response, the older girl moaned. Callie bit her lip. "It's not a question of trust," she said quietly. "Without more data, I can't risk it. Kay—"
"Kay!" Natalie interrupted. "Please!"
"Callie's the leader," Kay said regretfully. "I'm sorry."
Callie finished taping Jill's ribs. "Natalie, give me something to go on. Anything. Otherwise, I'm sorry, but--"
"Bruce Wayne is Batman." Umbra interrupted. "Satisfied now?" Callie looked up, stricken. Natalie nodded, an expression of cold fury on her face.
"Cal?" Kay asked after thirty seconds of silence.
Callie's reply was barely louder than a whisper. "Bristol."