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There are probably worse ways to make a first impression on Batman,
Steph thought giddily, pressing her wadded up cape against the bullet
graze on Robin’s skull.  The blow had knocked him unconscious, and the
bullet had cut away hair and skin, leaving a long, jagged scrape that
was currently bleeding copiously over her thighs.  She looked down at
her lap and was suddenly reminded of the time when she was thirteen and
she got caught unawares without a tampon or a pad or anything.

A dark and ominous presence dropped down beside her.

“Robin,” Batman said, in a voice that crept in the shadows.  She totally wasn’t intimidated by it, not even a little bit.

“It’s just a graze, it’s not too deep,” Steph said, lifting her cape
from the wound long enough to let him see for himself.  “My, uh, my mom,
she’s a nurse.  I know first aid.  I think he’s just gonna needs
stitches or staples?”

Batman stood, but he kept looking down at Robin, lying in her lap.

“You should go,” Steph blurted.  “You’ve got to catch them, Batman!”

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