August 17, 1154h Babs sat quietly watching as Spud's sleep grew more restless. His fitful tossing worried her, but it was a definite improvement over his drugged stillness of a few hours before. She would not allow him to be sedated again, she decided firmly. Spud whimpered in his sleep and she reached out her hand, resting it soothingly on his sweat-damp curls. He calmed a little. Babs glanced at Spud's baseball clock, wondering if she should wake him. He needed the sleep, but the clearly encroaching nightmares did not need to be part of the package. She shuddered at the memory of her own nightmare which had jerked her awake only three house after she'd lain down. The only problem was that waking up didn't make it go away. Spud began mumbling now, an occasional word clear enough for Babs to make out. "...don't ... bad guy ... too many ... not hiding ..." "Spud," she said gently, still uncertain about waking him. Her voice only seemed to enter his dream. "No, not talk to me ... watch bad guy ... not me ... he's got ... look ... not at me ... watch ... no ... no ... DICK!" Spud sat bolt upright, tears and sweat trickling down his face. He gulped for air, his eyes wide and panicked as Babs reached for him. "Spud, shhh. I'm here, Spud," she soothed, frustrated in her effort to take him into her arms by the wheelchair and his frozen attitude. His eyes focused on her, and an expression of pure betrayal crossed his features. Babs wanted to curse. Dick always calmed Spud after nightmares, and in his sleep-muddled state, Spud must have expected to find himself in Dick's arms. She took Spud's hand. "I know, Spud," she sighed. They sat for a moment as Spud's breathing eased, and finally he wiped a pajama sleeve across his eyes. She could see him struggling for calm, his face wearing an expression so like Dick's in similar moments that she ached to see it. "How is he?" Spud finally asked hoarsely. "Sleeping. Alfred is with him." It wasn't a full answer, but Spud seemed to accept it. "Okay," he said softly, closing his eyes. Babs watched his face, trying to place his oddly composed expression. Recognition struck suddenly and prompted her to transfer herself from her chair onto Spud's bed. Maybe she wouldn't be able to transfer back, but she'd be damned if she would allow her child to take the path of retreat that had claimed Bruce Wayne. Spud's eyes flew open at Babs' sudden weight on his bed. "Babs?" he asked uncertainly. Babs scooted herself back to lean against the headboard. "Yeah?" she grunted. "Babs, your chair - you won't -" "You'll help me," she said firmly. Spud opened his mouth and shut it again. He tried again. "But - but I'm -" His eyes began to well again. Better, Babs thought, even though his tears pained her. She opened her arms. "C'mere, Potatohead," she whispered. He scrambled into her embrace, although he was still careful to sit beside her legs rather than on her lap. He pillowed his face against the side of her breast, now making no effort to stop his slow tears. Babs wrapped her arms around him, letting one hand idly stroke his unruly hair. "When I was a teenager," she began, "I wanted to be a superhero, too." Spud's head jerked up to stare into her face, and Babs smiled comfortingly at him even as her heart sank. The reaction and Spud's nightmare ramblings suggested that her son was blaming himself for his father's injuries. "So I made myself a costume," she continued, "and one night I decided to try it out." "In your wheelchair?" Spud puzzled, his face perplexed. "I didn't need a wheelchair then," Babs clarified, using her thumb to brush away one of Spud's tears. "I could still run and dance and kick and fight crime." "You still fight crime," Spud pointed out, and Babs almost laughed in surprise. She hugged Spud tightly to her for a second. "Yeah, I do. But not like then. Then I was Batgirl." Spud sat up again, his nose wrinkling. "But Cassandra-" "Cassandra was probably still in diapers back then," Babs explained. "This was back when Dick was still Robin. Spud took a moment to digest this. Then: "Is that why you got shot? When you were Batgirl?" "No." She shook her head. "That was later. I was lucky as Batgirl." "Lucky?" "I didn't know what I was doing when I started," Babs recalled. "It was just so exciting, sneaking out of the house at night, putting -" "You snuck out of the house?" "I knew my father wouldn't approve. He'd have been furious." Spud nodded in recognition, settling down again. "So I'd go out in my homemade costume with only a yellow belt in judo and a little gymnastics training and I'd try to find crime. And when I found it, it was - it was like being extra-alive - kicking butts and taking names. Being Batgirl was so much cooler than being plain old Barbara Gordon." "Didn't Batman get mad at you?" Babs shook her head. "Things were different then. And I think - I think Dick might've argued for letting me stick around." "He already liked you." Babs smiled, the story pushing back some of her worry for a moment. "Yeah. Except I thought he was just a kid. And we were kind of competitive, because I was really jealous of him." "Jealous of Dick?" "Well-" Yes, she had been, she remembered. Desperately jealous and refusing to admit it to herself. "He was just this kid," she explained, "but he was Batman's *sidekick*, and I wasn't. He always would be there, and the two of them were like a well-oiled machine." The phrase slipped easily from her mouth, and with it a different set of memories. Memories of a hurt and bitter Dick Grayson, spitting those words in anger as his relationship with Bruce fell apart. And suddenly, she got it. She understood why Dick had been so adamant about keeping Spud off the rooftops. It wasn't about the risk. It wasn't about the possibility of days like this one. It was about building a family around the language of fists and risk at the cost of the language of comfort and support. It was about the fact that Dick Grayson was lying in a coma downstairs and no one had seen his "second daddy" since the scene of the crime. Babs felt her stomach constrict in anger and regret as she held her son closer to her. "Babs?" Spud questioned, a quaver in his voice. "Yeah," she answered. "I'm sorry, Spud." He was quiet for a moment. "Do you miss being Batgirl?" he finally asked. "Sometimes," she confessed. "But then I remember that Oracle can do more good and not just anyone could be Oracle." They were Dick's words, a mini- lecture he had offered her more than once. Spud nodded thoughtfully. "Spud?" "Yeah?" "Dick and I love you very much." "I know," Spud replied, a full measure of confidence behind his words. He tightened his hold around Babs and buried his face again. "I know," he repeated.