TITLE: Drifting between
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS: Bruce/Dick, Barbara, Dinah, Tim
SUMMARY: Nightwing's down, and the Batclan must pull
together to avert tragedy.
WORD COUNT: 11,490
NOTES: I've had this plot in my head for a while (I plot fic
to lull myself to sleep – I know, I'm strange) but writing all these lovely
drabbles for batknights has convinced me to actually
write it.
I don't usually post WIPs, but silvertales
needs h/c, so here it is.
Dick clawed his way through the window, cursing under his
breath. He released the catch on his costume and pulled it away, limping
towards the medical supplies. How had that knife slipped past the Kevlar?
They'd looked like ordinary thugs, but they obviously had some impressive
equipment. He'd have to keep an eye on that gang.
The wound was fairly clean and he treated and bandaged it
with little effort. Downing a couple of painkillers, he eased himself into some
sweats before lying down on the bed. Just a catnap before work, to tide him
over. This leg injury would probably put him out for a week, but he could keep
himself moving during the day, pass it off as a sprain from the gym.
Sometimes he worried how skilled he was becoming at lying to
his friends.
Letting his eyes fall closed, he glided into sleep.
~
"Dick Grayson, you'd better have a good reason for
standing me up. Call me as soon as you get this."
Barbara hung up on him for the third time and scanned
through some Bludhaven video footage. When had Nightwing last been out?
"Stalking your ex again?"
"I'm not stalking," she said firmly. "I'm
taking an interest."
Dinah leaned over her shoulder and reviewed the footage. "This
is marked two days ago."
"Last time he was on patrol," Barbara said,
worriedly.
"Oh, he's probably just getting laid," Dinah said,
stretching out her muscles. "Or him and the Big Bad Bat have had another
squabble and he's keeping clear of
Barbara sighed and shut down her search. "I'm paranoid,
aren't I?"
"Very," Dinah said, grinning, and then wandered
away. Barbara hit redial.
~
Dick opened his eyes and watched the room spin in lazy circles.
That wasn't good. His heart was beating out of his chest and the ceiling was
distressingly blurred. He was aware of being watched, closely, menacingly.
Black shapes in the corner, under the bed, crawling across the curtains...
He was under attack! They were coming for him!
He tried to gather his limbs and run, but they were dull and
aching. Leaping for the door, he fell short, landing heavily on the floor. No,
no, he wouldn't let them take him…
Struggling with the demons, he tried to get to the door, but
he couldn't see straight and he felt his body floating strangely above the
ground. It was futile. He couldn't escape.
All he could do was wait as the black crept over him and
dragged him under.
~
Sweeping into the alleyway, he blended in with the shadows
and bided his time. The voices were getting louder – arrogance bleeding through
their words, and he listened intently.
"Worked like a charm, Davey. Those Eastern things,
they're beautiful."
"What did I tell you, huh? Would I let ya down? Got rid
of him for good."
"Well, we haven't seen him, that's for sure. Little
Nightbird ain't gonna fly no more."
Every muscle tensed and he was frozen, his clarity of
thought vanishing. Nightwing…
"He crawled out of the street like a baby – we watched
him go. Funniest thing I ever-"
One swift punch to the jaw, followed by a perfect kick. He
whirled in an instant, taking out the other with another kick, and then stood
for a moment, breathing harshly, before running off into the night.
~
"Oracle, have you heard from Nightwing?"
Her heart stopped.
"Negative, Batman. Do you…have information?"
"Heading to the Nest now. Call Robin to prepare the
Cave for an emergency."
She closed her eyes against the first around her heart.
"Affirmative. Oracle out."
Her hands moved skittishly over the keyboard and touched the
comm. with shaking hands.
"Robin? Nightwing's in trouble. Get to the Cave and
stay there. Prepare medical."
A pause, then an anxious, "What's happened?"
"No idea, Robin. Just…be prepared."
They waited.
~
He kicked down the door without hesitation. Where was he? Had
he even got back? He should have gathered information from those men, found out
what they'd done, when, how. He wasn't thinking clearly. The Bat had faded from
his mind and he was just Bruce Wayne, panicked, desperate man.
The door to the bedroom was ajar. He hurried towards it and
saw the hand stretched out on the floor. No, no…
Dick lay unmoving on the floor, skin cracked and dry, like a
desiccated husk. Bruce knelt by his head and tore off his glove, pressing two
fingers to his neck. His pulse was wild, almost too fast to count, but at least
he was alive. Bruce turned him carefully and saw the flush in his face, the spreading
patch of red on his leg. He pulled up an eyelid to see a huge pupil, dark and
round, staring. Drugged.
Carefully, he lifted Dick over his shoulder and made his way
out of the apartment, trying to thinking rationally, breathe deeply. All he
could hear in his own mind was the barely-concealed panic – he has to be all right, he has to be all
right, he has to be, has to be, has to be…
It was the longest drive of his life.
~1~
Tim laid out the IV bags and started frantically opening
drawers. What did he need? What could Dick possibly need? What if he didn't
have it ready in time? What if Bruce…what…
"Easy, Master Tim. Just breathe now. We've all done
this before."
There had been injuries before, of course, but Tim had been
*there*, he'd seen him go down with his own two eyes and he'd stayed with him
all the way to the Batcave. Or he'd heard the gruff tone of the Batman over the
comm., saying that he was taking Dick back to the Cave; he had heard Dick's
laughter in the background, or a whisper over the radio letting him know it was
all okay.
All he had was Oracle, the flat metallic tones that told
him…nothing. Dick could be dying, dead, and the voice would still be flat,
intoning his demise as if it were the weather report.
He couldn't lose Dick too. Not after…everything, after his
parents, Steph, Cass…no, he couldn't let it happen again.
The roar of the Batmobile speeding into the Cave startled
him into action and he ran out to meet them, just Tim Drake, Robin all packed
away, and Bruce charged out of the driver's seat, cowl back, eyes dark, lifting
a blanket-smothered bundle into his arms.
"Fluids?" Bruce barked, as he marched past, Dick
hanging limply in his embrace.
"All ready, sir," Alfred said, the tinge of terror
lingering in his clipped words.
"Set up two lines – he's going into shock. He's
definitely been drugged." Bruce's sharp words belied his gentle hands, as
he set Dick down on the gurney, stripping off the blankets and starting on the
clothes.
"I'll do the tox," Tim volunteered quickly and
Alfred deftly drew off a vial of blood before hooking up the saline.
Running away to his computers was what he did best. Barbara
would help him hide within the technology, and he could forget for one, brief
moment everything that was at stake.
~
He stayed quiet, listening. They had captured him. This was
terrible. Bruce would be so disappointed.
They had wires in his body, sucking out his life. He had to
escape this strange floating prison, this house of horrors. Perhaps, if he was
patient-
No, no! His hands seized up, then his arms, shoulders –
buck, kick, just like a mule – and he was flung out of reality.
~
"It's a seizure! Lorazepam now!"
Alfred rushed to the drug cabinet, withdrawing the ampule
and hurrying to Dick's bedside. Bruce had slipped his hands under the flailing
head, providing a cushion of flesh to prevent further injury. Alfred slipped
the drug into the IV, and after what seemed like an eternity, the seizure
finally slowed and stopped.
Shaking slightly, Bruce withdrew his hands, a trail of blood
creeping down his hands. "I'll…I'll bandage these," he said softly,
eyes resting on Dick's face, as he moved towards the dressings. Alfred tried to
ignore the raw pain behind his eyes and continued making Dick comfortable.
He finished stripping away the sweats and found the stained
bandage. He peeled it off and observed the leeching wound, taking in the angry
red lines marring the flaking skin. Infection. When would things ever be simple
for his family?
"I will bring them to justice."
Alfred sighed softly. It was always the same. A brief of
flash of panic, concern – dare he say love? – and then it was gone, buried
under years of self-discipline. And Dick was rarely conscious and alert at the
time, never catching those moments of naked affection that could reveal-
But a butler always kept his master's secrets. Even if they
threatened to tear them all apart.
"I've got it!"
Tim ran in from the Cave proper, waving a printout in their
faces. "Atropine! It's Deadly Nightshade!"
Bruce took the paper with his clumsily bandaged hands –
Alfred made a note to redress them later – and scanned over the symptoms and
treatment, as Alfred discretely peered over his shoulder.
"We're…" Bruce let out a breath. "We're doing
everything right."
Alfred almost reassured him, patting him on the arm and telling
him that Dick wouldn't care if he'd been doing everything wrong, as long as
some day, soon, he actually told him that he loved him, that his affection was
returned and that they could both stop pretending now.
Almost.
~2~
The world eased in and he was suddenly awake. He kept his
eyes closed, struggling to think. How was he going to escape? How did he stop
the torture?
He could hear voices but they were muted and far away. Perhaps
this was his chance. He'd break his bonds and hide until Bruce found him. Bruce
always found him. But he had to get free, run. It was important to run.
Opening his eyes slowly, he took in the room. It was dark
and bleak, and he could hear the demons up beyond where he could see. He had to
be careful not to draw the attention of their calls, their eerie screeches
sending chills down his spine.
Sitting up, the room spun – the wires were still stealing
his life and he had to stop them! Tearing the devices from his arms, he stood
up, but the whole room lurched to the side. They knew he was here! They were
coming!
He staggered forward, thick liquid on his hands, and the
corridors strangely unfocussed. This was some kind of mind control, to prevent
him from escaping. He had to overcome it. He couldn't let Bruce down.
There was some kind of noxious gas in the air and he was
struggling to breathe. They were trying to kill him, slowly and painfully. The
room was shaking with every step, violently tossing him from side to side. It
must be the Joker! Only he could come up with a torture such as this.
Demons swooped towards him and he cowered, but carried on. He
couldn't be caught again. He wouldn't go back.
"Dick?"
He swung around at that voice and stifled a scream. They had
him – the Joker had Bruce! One of the demons moved towards him and he stumbled
back, shielding his face.
"Stay away from me! Let him go!"
His voice came out as a harsh rasp – they'd taken his
speech, so he couldn't call for help. He would kill the Joker now, he would
take him down for good.
"Master Dick, you're not well," the demon snarled,
a mockery of Alfred. How dare it. How dare it say those things, twist his
beloved memory. He stumbled back some more until he hit something solid.
Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. Bruce had been captured too, and there
was no one to rescue them. No one.
He reached behind him in desperation and his hands closed
on…a sword. He would at least take the Joker down with him. He would make Bruce
proud at last.
~
They stood completely still, waiting. Dick looked about him
in fear, staring up at the dark expanse of Cave and then looking between them.
"I won't let you hurt him," he croaked, eyes
drifting across Tim. Bruce held up his hands and saw Dick shift his focus, saw
the black gaze as Dick strived to see.
"You're bleeding," he whispered. "They made
you bleed."
Too late, Bruce realised his mistake, as Dick surged forward
and, in a flash of metal, swiped at Tim. With a cry, Tim clutched at his face,
as Dick overbalanced and brought himself crashing to the floor, with the sword
clanging dully against rock.
Bruce rushed to Dick's side, kicking away the sword and
kneeling beside his weakly struggling form.
"Alfred?" he called, glancing up to assess the
situation.
"He'll be fine, Master Bruce. Superficial wound." Alfred
was leading Tim away as Bruce turned back. Dick lashed out, trying to strike
him, but Bruce held onto his hands, trying to make Dick look at him, to see that
it was okay.
"It's all right, Dick, it's all right…" but he was
deaf to his pleas, thrashing in his grip, openly weeping with frustration as he
stared into the empty space of the Cave, flinching at unseen horrors of the
night.
"Let me go, let me go…" he sobbed, until,
exhausted, he slumped bonelessly to the floor. Bruce's hand moved to Dick's
hair of its own accord. He flinched, but Bruce continued the soothing strokes,
watching Dick start to relax.
"Did we win, Bruce?" he murmured in that creaking
voice, and Bruce closed his eyes, keeping the tears behind his lashes.
He lied. "Yes, we're winning.
~3~
Everything they did was shrouded in fear. They weren't
doctors, they weren't experts – they had learned in the field, through research
and discovery, and now Dick's life hung on their knowledge. One false step and
they could tip him over the edge.
Such were the thoughts running through Bruce Wayne's mind.
"Tea, Master Bruce?"
Wordlessly, he took the mug and held it close to his chest,
allowing the warmth to seep through his thin shirt. He'd shed the mantle of the
Bat, shrugging off the responsibility that it brought, the pain. He had enough
of that to deal with as Bruce without adding to his tortures.
"I wish you would try to get some rest, sir."
It was a futile effort on Alfred's part, but it would not
stop him from trying. That almost raised a smile in Bruce, but his lips just
twisted into a grimace and he sipped at the tea, letting the scalding liquid
burn his throat. He should've known. He should've been there. He should have
stopped this from ever occurring.
"This isn't your fault."
Oh, how wrong he was. He could have kept an eye on Dick (and
not through Barbara's "GraysonCam", or whatever Tim was calling it
now), he could have arranged regular check-ins and meetings, instead of pushing
him away because it hurt to even look at him. It hurt more to see him like
this.
He had led him here. He had taken him in and dragged him
into this life. Dick had been a child and he had twisted him, made him into
something he should never have been. Now he was a hero, a costumed vigilante
guarding his own city, until his city threw him down and trampled him.
"Master Dick chose this life for himself. He was aware
of the consequences of such a decision. Though, perhaps, you were not."
He looked up then, puzzled.
"I understand the mission, Alfred. You of all people
should know that"
Alfred's face was unreadable, but there could be a glint of
amusement in his eyes.
"Oh, all too well, Master Bruce. Perhaps it was Master
Dick you underestimated. Perhaps you did not expect him to become
so…close."
And close was what Dick was. He wanted the kind of
reassurance Bruce was unable to give him, and it remained a barrier still. Dick
ran to his friends and his lovers for affection and returned to Bruce for
approval, blessing, pride. And those things Bruce understood and would give
them out as Dick waited desperately for a response.
After all, it was appropriate, wasn't it? He'd been his
ward, was now his adopted son, and so they were…family. That was how it should
be, that was how it was. Wasn't it?
"I…care for him, Alfred. He's…he's…"
But he couldn't say the words out loud, refused to give
voice to the lie he entertained in his heart. Dick was not his son – Dick was something
else entirely. Something unspeakable. Something…good.
Some still, pale figure surrounded by wires and tubes,
drugged into subreality and looking nothing like the man he…cared for.
"Master Tim is not himself."
Only to be expected. It wasn't every day your older brother
tried to kill you. Tim would survive. He had to, because Bruce could barely
pick himself up off the floor. Alfred would see to it. Yes, Alfred, mother to
them all.
He almost smiled again.
But the moment passed, and he was left with only the shell
of his beautiful man before him, wondering how he could ever make it right.
~
"That's a nasty cut."
Tim grimaced. "It was a sharp sword."
The head nodded. "I caught it all. Are you all
right?"
"Is there anywhere you don't have cameras?" Tim
said lightly, desperate to change the subject and distract himself.
"Alfred keeps them all dusted for me," she said
cryptically. "But, seriously, how are you doing?"
He should have known better than to try and divert a Bat.
"Scared. Worried. Really, really wishing Dick was
around to deal with Bruce right now."
There was a pause just long enough to be significant. Tim
sighed.
"What's Bruce doing?" came the low voice, and Tim
glanced over his shoulder.
"Nothing," he said, desperately. "He just…sits
there, drinking tea and staring at Dick's face. Alfred's tried to talk to him
and got nothing except some random stuff about the mission!"
"Have you tried talking to him?"
"And say what?" Tim said, frustrated. "'Hey
Bruce, tell Dick what's going on in your Batty head or just get over him
already'? Or 'go and have sex in the Batmobile'?"
"Master Tim?"
Shutting his eyes, Tim once again cursed the fact that
Alfred moved like a cat.
"Yes, Alfred?"
"I've made some soup, if you would care to join us"
"I'm there." Tim stretched and stood up. "Talk
later, Babs."
"Keep me updated, Tim," she said and the line went
dead. Of course, Oracle watched on.
"Alfred," he began awkwardly, "about what you
heard..."
"A butler hears nothing that wasn't designed for his
ears, Master Tim." A pause. "Though I would recommend putting down
the seats first."
Tim allowed his jaw to return to its normal position before
following Alfred again, a spark of mirth distracting him from the pain.
~4~
There was something incredibly satisfying about soup. It
involved a lot of knives and then a rhythmic pounding until all the vegetables
were in an acceptable state for consumption. He found that it calmed him, and
provided a nourishing dish for the sources of his anger and frustration.
His boys. His heroes. He had long stopped counting the
number of times they had come back injured or near death, but those two
terrible occasions when his worst fears had been realised were forever burned
into his soul. After Jason, he had vowed it would never happen again. But it
had to dear Stephanie, and he had realised that he was powerless to bargain
with the gods.
What he could do was make soup, tea, cast a little light
relief into the shadows of that cave. He could try and persuade Bruce to rest
and eat, Tim to smile and stop feeling guilty, and Dick…Dick to stop throwing
himself into handstands despite broken limbs and a bloodstream full of
sedatives. The first Robin had always made the worst patient – even Bruce could
be persuaded, with a dose of encouragement from said Robin, but Dick was
restless, vital.
Nothing had ever stopped him for more than five minutes, so
this poisoned stillness seemed even more unnatural. Alfred dared to say he
might be getting better – fluid had been steadily filling his veins until his
skin had finished shedding and his face had lost that unhealthy sunken
appearance. His heart rate was slowing but was still a cause for concern – when
Alfred had disturbed his wound, the rate had shut up and Dick had twisted in his
restraints, a low moan escaping his lips.
After his little wander with a sword, he had administered as
much sedative as he dared, fear of the damage he could do to himself and others
outweighing the need to keep his system as clear of foreign substances as
possible. He had woken a few times, but only spoke a few words of Romany before
drifting back to sleep. It was better than screaming the Cave down, at least.
"How is he, Alfred?" Bruce said softly and Alfred
turned to him with an indulgent smile.
"I think Master Dick will be pestering us a little
longer, sir," and for the first time, he truly believed it.
~
Bruce watched Tim as he covertly checked his reflection in
the mirror. Alfred had the neatest possible stitches, but it would still scar. Just
another wound to explain to his friends, just another lie told. Sometimes Bruce
was glad he didn't have any friends to lie to.
Dick could be on the road to recovery, but it was still too
early to be certain. Bruce liked certainty, revelled in the logic and pieces
sliding neatly into place, chemistry and physics, laws and lines. Dick defied
logic. He was streams of colour, red and green, laughter and joy and hope. Bruce
had been afraid to even touch him, lest he taint that brightness in some way,
drag him into the dull grey of conformity.
In recent years, the sparks of youth had started to fade. Dick
had not been as optimistic and joyful, not quite so full of life. Bludhaven was
a cesspit of thieves, liars and murderers,
Bruce leaned over him, taking in the taut, dry features, the
pain beneath the rough, red surface hurting him more than he could say. More
than he would ever say.
There was a faint whistling sound and then something hit him
on the head. He jumped and swiped it away, as a couple more missiles landed
from the cavern above.
"Take cover!" he bellowed, as he sheltered Dick,
watching these black packages fall around his Cave, invading his space. What
now? Who was attacking them? Who could have possibly got in here? Unless…
"Bruce, why are the angels falling?" Dick murmured
under his breath, and Bruce shushed him, fingers in his hair.
He saw Tim creep out as the strange assault came to an end
and stare at the bundle.
"Bruce, it's a bat."
Bruce strode over, took one look at the poor struggling
creature and then up at Tim.
"Get out, both of you. Now."
Tim started. "Why? What's happening, Bruce?"
"Rabies. The bats have rabies. Now get out and start a
vaccination program. I can't have you back in here while there's any risk of
infection."
Tim was reluctant, staring at Dick. Why wouldn't he just
follow orders? "But…but who's going to help you?"
Bruce grabbed his arms and, rashly, pulled him into a hug.
"I can't…I can't let you get sick too." He pulled away sharply.
"Now go."
Without another word, Alfred and Tim retreated up the stairs,
and Bruce was alone with the sick and the dying.
~5~
The doorbell rang.
Tim had been marching back and forth across the hall for the
past hour, interested in nothing but his chaotic thoughts. He jumped at the
sound and pulled open the door before Alfred had the opportunity.
"It looks worse close up." Barbara frowned.
"Why aren't you in the Cave?"
Tim pulled a face, then winced when pain shot across his
cheek. "Bruce threw us out."
He stepped back and she rolled herself through the door,
glancing around. "Any particular reason, or just more Batlogic?"
Alfred brought cakes into the den, where they'd set up computer
monitors to watch the Cave feeds. Barbara slid into place amongst the screens
and brought up a couple of pages of code, some obscure websites and an
innocuous WayneTech research article. Within moments, there were twenty extra
camera angles and Tim couldn't fail to be impressed.
"This covers the entire Cave!" Tim exclaimed and
Babs looked mildy pleased.
"Except two spots," she confessed, but no more
information was forthcoming. Tim shrugged – with careful application, he could
find them.
"And what exactly is Master Bruce doing?" Alfred
added softly, and they refocused on the content of the screens.
"He's…" Barbara screwed up her face. "Is he
dissecting one of the bats?"
Tim closed his eyes. "Babs, the bats have rabies."
Her face was a mask of shock, and he watched as composure
filtered in and she drew herself up straight in the chair.
"What's he going to do? Why hasn't he got out?"
she said, fixated on the screen.
"He needs to lock down the Batcave and…cull the
bats." Tim paused to let her digest that information, and then continued. "He
can't move Dick into the house, because we don't have the appropriate equipment
up here, but he can't take him anywhere else-"
"Because he might be infectious." She blew air
through her lips. "What a mess."
"Master Bruce doesn't wish to put us in further
danger," Alfred said with a tone that strongly suggested Bruce needed his
head examined. "He and Master Dick are immune, and I believe you have also
been vaccinated."
She nodded slowly. "You want me to go down there?"
Alfred's face crumpled slightly. "I'm afraid not.
Master Bruce has already sealed the Cave. However, I am sure your research skills
will be invaluable to us."
"And you're good company," Tim offered lightly;
she offered him a tight smile.
"I'm glad you called," she said, and set to work.
~
"Bruce?"
He clenched his teeth. "Barbara." He scanned the
screens until he saw the one bearing three concerned faces. He sighed. "What
are you doing here?"
"Helping. Are you planning to poison the food?"
Business. He shook his head. "Too long. I'll need
to…gas them."
He watched her frown, as Tim leaned forward. "But what
about you? Surely the poison will affect you too."
"I have made plans, Robin," Bruce said sternly and
Tim took a step back, shaking his head and glancing over at Alfred, who pursed
his lips. He didn't have time to navigate family politics – this was an
emergency, he was the head of the family and he made the decisions. He could
deal with their bruised egos later.
"Bruce?"
Startled, he turned, and saw a slight figure half-suspended
between IV poles, grasping onto them as if his life depended on it. A shadow of
a grin crossed Dick's face.
"Did I miss anything?"
Bruce rushed forward and grabbed hold of him before he fell,
unhooking the drips and lowering Dick to the floor.
"You look funny," he said, trying to touch Bruce's
face and missing by half an inch. Frowning, Dick turned his attention to the
floor. "Why are there bats everywhere?"
With some amusement, Bruce noted that Dick could recognise
bats but couldn't work out the dimensions of Bruce's face. Carefully, he lifted
Dick into his arms, and turned back towards the screen.
"As you can see, I have work to do. I will speak with
you all later. Batman out."
Dick sighed and vaguely kicked his legs, as Bruce moved him
back to bed. "You could be nicer, you know."
"Nicer?" Bruce repeated incredulously, as Dick
relaxed back into bed, drifting off again.
"Yeah, nicer," he said, idly playing with Bruce's
fingers. "Like cookies."
Bruce shook his head. It appeared that, even with half his
mind flailing, Dick still could not be expected to rest for a moment. Still, it
was good to hear his voice, even with that dull creak, good to see him stand,
even if only for a precious few seconds.
He drank in every last drop of the Dick Grayson experience
before, finally, responsibility called him away and he went back to work.
~6~
It had been the strangest dream.
He had been out in Bludhaven, on patrol, when, suddenly, a
gang had appeared out of nowhere. They weren't trained and he easily avoided
their sluggish punches and trollish reactions, though one, at the very last
moment, had somehow jammed a knife in his leg. The memory of the pain was vivid
and he winced at the thought, continuing to commit the entire dream to waking
memory as he moved closer to reality.
Somehow, he'd ended up back in his flat – dreams were like
that – and there had been demons hounding him, desperate for him. Once again,
he'd changed location, and now he was in an underground den, chased by the
shadows until he'd run into the Joker holding Bruce hostage. And he had taken a
sword to the Joker's face, marking the clown, allowing Bruce to get free. He
hadn't seemed very grateful though.
Then, it all got a bit strange, something about falling, in
the Cave and seeing Bruce, being carried to bed…yeah, that was where the whole
thing abandoned reality entirely. The look on Bruce's face, that care – if that
wasn't a figment of his imagination…
Dick opened his eyes to a horrible blur. He was being
carried and everything hurt. What…?
"Bruce," he croaked, and was almost dropped.
"Dick," was the reply and the man smiled at him. Something
was definitely wrong.
"Um, why are you carrying me?"
"We have to get to the decontamination chamber, where
it's safe. I'll explain later."
Good boys follow orders. He remembered that part of the
training well, recalled the first time he intentionally disobeyed it, but
figured this wasn't time for a repeat. Bruce would tell him when he was ready –
meanwhile, he could assess why he wasn't simply allowed to walk by himself and
why everything was stubbornly out of focus.
His leg burned and it felt about twice the normal size. That's
where he'd been stabbed in the dream, wasn't it? Had something happened while
he was asleep? And how would Bruce have known about it? Was he keeping tabs on
him?
Dick suppressed the flash of irritation that rose within
him. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Bruce did actually trust him to live his life
in his own way. Maybe that was a floating side of bacon in the sky.
The decontamination chamber was one of Bruce's simplest
ideas. Airtight shower cubicle, independent oxygen supply, secure waste
disposal – exactly what you'd find in the field or at a hospital. So simple in
fact that Dick suspected it was probably Tim's project; he'd always managed an
economy of resources that Bruce still failed to grasp.
Bruce placed Dick on the floor of the cubicle and he leaned
into the corner, noting the bottles of water, protein bars and vials in the
hatch. How long did they have to shelter in there? Bruce stood in the corner and
shut the door, the seal locking into place as the fan started to whir and cool
air filtered into the chamber from the floor. Definitely Tim.
"So," he began casually, "want to tell me
what's going on?"
Bruce brought his bandaged hands together and studied them
carefully, raised a foot as if about to pace and then put it down again. Dick
rolled his eyes.
"Sit down. We're not going anywhere."
Awkwardly, Bruce crouched on the floor and seemed to stare
at Dick's swollen leg for a moment. "Does that hurt?" he said softly.
Dick shifted under the scrutiny, slightly intimidated. Bruce
should've been berating him for whatever he did to get himself injured – not
following up a lead, not making a connection, lax security at the apartment –
but he was just softly-spoken, almost apologetic. It was weird.
"Not really," he lied. He waited a moment before
his patience reached its end. "Are you going to lecture me or not?"
Bruce looked up. "Lecture you?"
Dick continued, suddenly less sure of himself. "Yeah,
lecture. About whatever stupid thing I did that made you grab me from Bludhaven
and bring me here."
He watched as Bruce shook his head, but he couldn't make out
the expression on his face. "You did everything right. It was…it was me
that failed you. I should've watched you more closely."
Ah, so he had been watching. And he was blaming himself for
Dick's mistakes – when would he learn that Dick could take responsibility for
his own mistakes, like any reasonable adult?
"I don't need a babysitter, Bruce," he said, as
the last drop of moisture left his mouth and he let out a harsh gasp. Why did
he feel so terrible? As if telepathic, Bruce handed him a bottle of water. Oh,
smooth, Grayson – exactly how to prove how capable you are.
"Small sips. You've been very ill." Bruce's voice
caught on the last words and Dick filed that away in his mind, to turn over and
over again, relishing the sign of affection. It seemed he wasn't getting any
answers fast and he felt so very tired.
He was vaguely aware of Bruce shifting and moving closer.
"Shh," he said, as he eased in behind Dick, laying him back against
his chest. He was warm, heart beating almost as quickly as his own, and Dick
revelled in this lapse of untouchable decorum, letting his eyes fall closed and
sleep guide him away.
~7~
"He's turned off his cameras," Barbara said
tightly, trying to adjust her own angles. "I now only have about half the
Cave covered. Where are they going?"
She saw Dick shifting in his arms, eyes open, lips moving
just before Bruce vanished out of shot – he was conscious, alert. Small
miracles, smaller steps.
"If Bruce is planning to use gas, he must have a secure
site in the Cave. What's he thinking?" Tim was intently scanning the picture
as Babs tilted her cameras again and again, but couldn't find them on any
screen.
"Perhaps the Batmobile?" Alfred suggested but Tim
shook his head.
"Not enough oxygen. Whatever he's got will need time to
work and then dissipate. Batmobile only has air for…three hours? Might be four
with the latest upgrade."
"Where else is there?" Barbara mused aloud,
switching angles. "And where have they gone?"
She had a brief flash of inspiration and started typing more
code. Tim frowned at her as three new angles appeared.
"Bingo!" she crowed, pointing at the two figures
huddled in the decontamination chamber. "The only other place with an
airtight seal."
"Babs, you do know that we…decontaminate in
there?" Tim looked uncomfortable and she caught Alfred's amused smile out
of the corner of her eye.
"I only used those for the Hunk Wonder, Short Stuff. Though
I think there are a few Teen Titans I could sell my footage to…"
Tim flushed red and stared at the screens some more. It was
good to see him lighten up a little, even if the situation was tough. He'd
become more serious recently – it was the territory of the superhero, tragedy
and grief, and Tim had held on bravely. Yet now that Dick, his more relaxed
mentor, was struggling with illness and had taken a sword to Tim's face – well,
he was stronger than she'd ever thought possible. She reminded herself to give
him a hug when they had finished damage control.
"Wait…" he said slowly, and she saw a flurry of
thought run past his eyes." We broke the decontamination chamber – Ivy's
drugs eroded the seal, and we were going to replace it…Dick was going to
help…oh, God, Babs, they're not safe. And Bruce had forgotten – he's,
he's…"
She watched him melt down as she felt her own spirit
collapse into a black puddle at the base of her spine. Bruce was going to
poison them with the bats, and he had cut off communication, there was no way
to warn him…no…no…
"I will fetch the hazmat suits, Master Tim," Alfred
said, a quavering note entering his voice that she had no desire to hear. She
had to take control. She had to be strong. Oracle was a leader and she would get
them both out of there. There was no alternative.
"He's put about twenty layers of protection on this
lock," she said, with pursed lips, fingers flying over the keys. "It
will take me at least an hour."
"I'll grab my laptop – we can do it in forty
minutes," Tim said, running out of the room and up the staircase. Barbara
couldn't look away from the screen, desperately trying to bypass the controls
and artificial intelligence elements that persistently denied her access.
Batman knew about security, but she was the Oracle and she
wouldn't let her family fall. Not again. Never again.
~
He wasn't particularly aware when they came. He must've
drifted off to sleep, but his thinking was fuzzy. What was happening?
Alfred's face was behind a screen, right up against his own,
saying something about bats and poisons. It wasn't good manners to wake your
master on the floor of his shower. Wait, was he naked? No…so why was he clothed
in the shower? And why was Dick there?
Tim also appeared behind a screen and he carefully heaved
Dick over his shoulder. Sleeping. Sleeping was good. Why was Alfred trying to
make him stand? It was comfortable on the floor. Hard maybe, but he didn't want
to move, enjoying this sense of bonelessness.
He tried to tell Alfred this but he couldn't seem to find
the words. Instead, he found himself being lifted up and carted around like a
sack of potatoes. He felt like a sack. Odd, as he'd never considered himself
particularly sack-like.
As nothing interesting was happening, he should probably go
back to sleep. There was something important he had to do. He just couldn't
remember what.
~8~
Reality
seeped in through all the cracks and crevices of his mind until he realised he
was awake. His weighted eyelids slowly lifted and he realised he was in his
Gotham room. A tight-fitting mask was secured over his mouth and nose and there
was an IV at his right elbow. He followed it up with his eyes to see a slight
figure backlit by the drawn curtains. He smiled.
"Tim?"
His voice sounded muffled but Tim still started, turning his attention from the
door to Dick's face.
"Dick! Didn't think you'd wake up this soon – sleeping through it must've
really helped."
Obviously, talking in code was the order of the day. What with Bruce and now
Tim…Bruce…
"Where is he?" he said, panic rising and the automatic instinct to
sit up was thwarted by IV, bandages and the sudden onset of dizziness. Tim
gently pushed him back down.
"Next door. Babs and Alfred are fussing over him while I'm left holding
the drip. Robin the Boy Pole."
That elicited a small smile, as Dick struggled to think of questions as his
body started screaming its various issues at top volume.
"What happened?" he rasped. Good question.
Tim sighed. "Bruce forgot about the seal on the chamber, so you were both
affected by the carbon monoxide too. We…we left it on, though, but the squeaks
are…yeah…"
Carbon monoxide? What on earth was Bruce thinking? Squeaks? His head was
starting to hurt.
"Tim…what are you…talking about?" his bit out and then took a deep
breath, his lungs filling with beautiful oxygen. Better.
"He didn't tell you?" Raised eyebrows. "Of course he didn't tell
you." They shared a smile – World's Greatest Detective he may be, but
World's Greatest Communicater he wasn't.
Tim perched on the edge of the bed, hand raised over his head with the bag
looped over his index finger. Dick watched as the liquid slowly made its way
down the tubing and into his arm.
"Bruce found you in your apartment – you were really dehydrated, sick. He
brought you back here and we found out you'd been poisoned with atropine –
deadly nightshade. Probably through that wound in your leg."
Dick could feel the throbbing through the layers of bandage and blankets. Well,
that explained one thing, at least.
"This is saline, then?" He said, gesturing with his left arm to the
drip but tensing when his arm began to ache. There was a neat bandage covering
his left elbow, and another on his right wrist. Seemed like a rough fight then.
"You were on saline," Tim corrected gently, "but you pulled out
the first two lines when you went a little…crazy. Side-effects of the atropine
really."
Tim's voice was too light, too casual. Dick squinted through the uncertain
light and with slightly hazy vision made out a bandage on Tim's cheek. The
Joker. The sword.
"I…I did that to you, didn't I?" he gasped, feeling his eyes fill
with tears. Oh God, he had hurt Timmy. He had…and Tim…Tim was still here…why…
"No! No, it wasn't you!" Tim had seized his shoulder and was forcing
Dick to look at him. "You were hallucinating, you weren't yourself. I'm
*fine*, Dick."
Dick searched Tim's eyes, looking for forgiveness. He saw nothing but warmth,
an understanding that there was nothing to forgive. Slowly, he relaxed, storing
the tinge of guilt in the back of his mind to be remembered but not dwelt on.
If Tim could be brave about this, then so could he.
"Anyway," Tim started uneasily, offering a smile, "Alfred
patched you up and stuck a new needle in your right arm. Thankfully, Bruce
remembered to cap it before he took you into the chamber."
"Right." That all made sense so far. "So, what am I on
now?"
"Antibiotics. For the wound infection."
His head was spinning with all the information. "Is there anything right
with me?" he said nervously, laughing a little to himself. Tim smiled
indulgently.
"Well, you're still breathing. And now you're conscious, talking. Could be
worse."
Dick heard everything he didn't stay and gently squeezed his arm. "Still
here, little bro."
There was a moment of comfortable silence, just being and living.
“So, why the carbon monoxide?”
Tim looked perturbed again. There was something going on. His heartbeat began
to fill his ears.
Beat. “Dick, the bats are all dead.” Beat. “They had rabies.” Beat. “We…we had
no choice.” Beat.
“That’s okay, Tim,” he said, automatically, not really thinking. He felt like
part of his heritage had been ripped from him, stolen away by this news. But
they were just bats. This didn’t mean anything…did it?
“I want to see Bruce,” he said.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Tim began, but Dick shook his head.
“I’m going to see Bruce,” he said stubbornly, and held out his hand to be
helped up.
Tim took it, and nothing else needed to be said.
~9~
There
was the sound of wheels in the hallway. Alfred frowned.
"I
thought you had returned to the Clocktower, Miss Gordon."
"Aww,
she's gone? Damn."
Turning
on his polished heel, Alfred watched as Tim pushed a wilted figure into the
room in the appropriated chair. He looked haggard and drawn, obviously still
requiring many hours of bed rest, but at this precise moment, Alfred could not
conjure up a single word of admonishment.
"Master
Dick," he said, eventually. "You are awake."
He
was favoured with a ghost of a smile. "Seems that way," he rasped
before breathing in pure oxygen from the nasal specs he wore. Where had they found
those? It didn't matter. He would be having words with the both of them about
the proper way to recover from injuries, but he was too busy watching Dick's
movements, the way he craned his neck ever so slightly to look at Bruce.
"Is…is
he…" he stuttered and Alfred slowly shook his head.
"Sleeping,
Master Dick. Though for how long I do not know. You were spared most of the gas
as you were sleeping, but Master Bruce has received a hefty dose. He was…not
quite himself when we retrieved you."
Dick
smiled to himself wistfully. "Crazy Bruce," he said lightly, but
there was a shadow behind his eyes. Tim pushed him closer to the bed, running
on instinct it seemed, and Dick carefully, cautiously, touched Bruce's hand.
"Not
more than ten minutes now, Master Dick," Alfred said softly, knowing he
didn't really mean it but feeling it should be said.
"I
know, Alfred," he said with equal care, daring to run his fingertips
across the pale wrist. Alfred turned away, feeling like an intruder on an
intimate ritual, and slowly, silently, they left the two of them alone.
~
There
was a decision to be made. He knew that clearly and crisply in his mind.
The
mission taunted him with her corruption, her wastrels and her death. She told
him of all the lives he failed to save as he lay still, sick, dying. It was a
convincing tale, and she smiled when she saw his resolve falter. He had to get
up and give himself to her again, renew their marriage vows under the dark of
the moon, with his symbol flashing out amongst the skyscrapers.
That
was not the reason he wanted to go back.
He
wanted to talk with a man who had been a boy, his boy, one protected under his
wings until the day he threw them off and flew alone. Every feeling would be
bared, his broken heart on display, and then, perhaps, he would be comforted in
arms that knew him, protected him and offered respite from his mistress, the
mission.
But,
if his boy, now man, had gone ahead, had forged a path into another world
before him, what use would the mission be, cold and unforgiving as she was? Every
day would hang like a lead weight around his neck until finally, blissfully, he
joined him in that step beyond.
Was
he dead now? Had he slipped away while he had been sleeping? Was this his only
chance to draw close to him, on the cusp of the second world, and if he were to
return to him, would he dare to whisper all those things that seemed so right
in this moment, in the twilight?
He
had a decision to make.
~
It
was a still night and he couldn't hear the call of the bats. They were all gone
now. He knew that tomorrow he'd be picking their small cold bodies off the Cave
floor, but he didn't want to dwell on that.
Dick
wasn't moving from his spot, despite Alfred's protests. No doubt they'd be
moving a bed in there next, but before that, he wanted just a few moments to
himself. A good detective always takes a minute of silence to work everything
out in his head. That's what he'd been taught, that's what he would stick by.
Item
1 – Dick almost died.
That
was as good a start as any and he began to lay out his feelings in a logical
order. Shock at first, developing into panic (he would have to work on that
later. Couldn't have it happening in the field) and then a calm approach to
getting Dick well. Yes, that was all right now, with Dick getting better. He
could deal with that.
Item
2 – Dick attacked him.
This
was easily dealt with, wasn't it? Dick hadn't been himself and he'd acted out
of fear and delusion. Simple. Then why couldn't he just forget about it? Why,
when he looked at Dick's face, did he recall the vivid downsweep of the sword,
the scarlet pain of the blade slicing his skin, the feeling of horror inside
his gut as he realised that this could be it, forever?
Yes,
he still had some unresolved feelings on that issue.
Item
3 – the bats were dead.
How
did that even affect him? They were just some flying mammals, right? Nothing
special, nothing out of the ordinary, just…there. Though it was disquietening
to think of them not being there and that was where it all got very strange.
The Batcave without bats just didn't really make sense, and he needed to work
out how they fitted into this mess that represented his inner self.
Item
4 – Bruce could be dying.
He
couldn't even approach this with thought, just threw it out of his mind before
it could seep through his defences. This was not a time for breaking down or
crying. He had a job to do and that particular trial could be faced when it was
actually confirmed, for bettter or worse. There was no sense in dwelling on
probabilites.
With
his thoughts seemingly organised, Tim returned to the house.
~10~
Bruce
Wayne. Deceased.
Dick
wandered through Wayne Tower, every doorway blurring into one. He couldn't find
his way at the best of times, but now his mind was blurred, broken. Everyone
watched him with sad, regretful faces, but he ignored them. He could do without
their pity.
"Mr
Grayson."
He
mustered a vague smile. "Lucius."
Shifting
his cane over, he shook the man's hand, knowing he was being watched for signs
of cracking. But he had been a good actor for many years and the man saw
nothing that Dick didn't want him to.
Lucius
guided him into his office and Dick once again marvelled at the fantastic view
over Gotham. Bruce had always demanded the best.
"Come
and sit down, Dick," he said, suddenly warmer out of the employees' gaze. "You
must be exhausted."
"I'm
fine, Lucius," he said sternly. "What's the situation?"
"Well,
as you know, Bruce left everything to you. That includes Wayne Enterprises. I
am, of course, CEO of the company, so you don't need to concern yourself with
the daily running of the business, but you do need to be present at certain
functions…"
Lucius
trailed off, as Dick looked away.
"I'm
going to sell it."
An
expression of perfect horror fixed on Lucius' face, and Dick couldn't look at
him.
"Sell
it? Dick, you can't be serious. I mean, you know who will buy it."
He
did know. He knew that he was probably contributing to the ruination of Gotham,
America, and perhaps the world. But he just wanted rid of it all, the reminders
of a life he could never have again.
"If…if
Lex buys it, so be it." Lucius inhaled sharply, but Dick strived to ignore
him. "He's a shrewd businessman, and…Superman can watch him."
It
sounded pathetic to his own ears. 'Superman could watch him' – passing the
buck, distancing himself. What kind of hero was he?
In
truth, he could never be a hero now. Barbara was braver than he could ever be,
but flying over rooftops was his life. Without that feeling of flight, he was
nothing. Without Bruce…he might as well be dead.
"I'll…make
inquiries. If you're sure this is what you want," Lucius said carefully,
hoping for a sign that this was all some elaborate hoax.
"I'm
sure," he said quickly, and pulled himself stiffly to his feet. "A
pleasure, as always, Lucius."
He
was even starting to talk like him, strictly polite, as if he were trying to
fill a gap left in reality from that man's passing. Maybe this is what it felt
to have Gotham resting on your shoulders. This was certainly how it felt to run
away from that responsibility.
His
cellphone rang. Tim.
He
didn't want to have this conversation. "Dick Grayson speaking."
"Uh,
hey, Dick. Alfred was, uh, just wondering if you were coming back. For
dinner."
"Tell
Alfred I'm busy," he snapped, and shut the cell angrily. Why couldn't they
just leave him to his grief? He didn't need their pain as well as his own. He
wasn't the head of the family, they weren't his children – couldn't they just
move away?
The
park was emptying, as the rain began to fall. Dick pulled his coat in closer
and limped towards a bench, curling up against the armrest. From here, he had a
perfect view of the construction work, watching that patient scultor working
beneath her canopy.
The
legs rose from the stone, loose slacks concealing the power in his thighs,
before strong torso and wide shoulders, sleeves rolled to the elbow as he
gestured expansively to Gotham, inviting her in. The face was playful yet kind,
but…his nose was all wrong.
And
that's what he thought of, as he sat in the rain, that the nose of his mentor,
guardian, love was all bent out of
shape, and wasn't that just the truth of it?
Dick.
He
started and looked about him. "Who said that?"
Dick.
No,
no, it couldn't be. Why was he haunting him?
Dick.
He
was disappointed, angry, upset. He knew that Dick had failed him.
Dick.
Screaming,
he tried to tear himself away, to escape from the dead man's arms, but he
couldn't, couldn't…
"Dick?"
Soft
rasp startled him from sleep, and there were blue eyes watching him, lips
curved upwards behind the mask.
"Bruce,"
he whispered, "you're awake."
~11~
The
Cave air was finally breathable, but he was taking no chances. Locked inside
his protective suit, he used the litter picker to pluck the dead bats from the
floor and toss them into the biohazard bag. When he'd first stepped into the
Cave, there had been so many that he couldn't avoid stepping on them, a
disgusting squelch with every step he
took, trying to restore the Cave's climate control.
He'd
now got about halfway through, but the last rat had uncovered a dark red streak
on the floor, a neat arc that he knew was made by the splatter from a blade, a
juicy facial wound and…
Now
he was crouched on the floor, just replaying events in his mind. That's where
Alfred found him.
"Master
Tim?" he said softly and Tim turned his head slightly, though his eyes
remained fixed.
"I
can't stop remembering it," he said dully, afraid to blink in case it
leapt to mind. "Dick doesn't deserve this."
Ever
so carefully, Alfred laid a hand on his shoulder and Tim leaned into the simple
touch. "While it is true that Master Dick has been through quite an
ordeal, you cannot believe that you must suffer through this alone."
"I…I
should've realised what he was doing, that he wasn't safe. Bruce was distracted
and he was relying on me-"
"And
you did everything that it was reasonably in your power to do. You weren't to
know what Master Dick was seeing. And you were wounded in the battle with his
demons. There is no shame in that." Alfred's voice was strangely hypnotic.
Tim tried to scrub at his eyes, but his hand bumped into the helmet.
"Maybe?"
he offered. Alfred chuckled.
"I
think you need some rest, Master Tim. And in a few hours, perhaps you can speak
with Master Dick. Come on now."
Hauled
up with perfect gentleness, Tim allowed himself to be led out of the Cave and
into the day.
~
He
didn't know what to say. His mouth was dry as the desert, and as Dick's faintly
trembling hand passed him a glass of water, he almost pushed it away.
"Thank
you," he settled on, as polite as he could make it. His head was too full
to think.
"How
are you feeling?" Dick said slowly, sensing something amiss in the air.
Bruce couldn't quite meet his eyes.
"Tired."
A pause, while he carefully pulled back the mask and sipped, before returning
it to his mouth. "What happened?"
The
effort had caused his hands to shake, but he stubbornly ignored them, even as
Dick stared. He was sitting in a wheelchair, taking in oxygen from nasal specs
and constantly shaking. Alfred should be looking after him.
"Tim
said that…"A deep inhalation, a pause, "the seal on the chamber…was
broken."
Bruce
took a deep breath, watching Dick echo the motion, bringing his body under
control. What could he say to make Dick leave him alone?
"You
shouldn't be here," is what left his lips and Dick stiffened.
"I've
already had the lecture from Alfred," he said easily, drawing in another
breath, but it was too casual, and his fidgeting hands betrayed him.
"I
think…I'd like to sleep now."
With
a taut jerk of his head, Dick painstakingly turned the chair and made his way
out of the room. Only then did Bruce let that one traitorous tear fall.
~
"Are
you meant to be out here?"
Dick
looked up, leaning heavily on the cane he'd found in the hall, and smiled
weakly at Tim.
"No,
he admitted. "Walk with me?"
They
made slow progress down the stone steps, Tim carefully watching his trailing
oxygen tube as it tried to tangle itself in the neighbouring flora. As they
reached a bench, the line reached its limit and Dick sat stiffly.
"Alfred
will kill me when he finds out that I fitted that extension," Tim said
mildly, and Dick looked impressed.
"It
was well hidden," he offered as praise. "I taught you well."
Tim
laughed then, but it caught strangely in his throat and he looked down. Dick
laid a hand on his shoulder, concerned.
"Bruce
will be all right, you know. He's awake and…well, back to his moody self
actually. We'll all be out on patrol soon, little bro."
"I
know," he said softly, but Dick knew something still wasn't right. Slowly,
he reached out and touched Tim's chin. To his surprise, Tim flinched and drew
back, leaving Dick's hand frozen in mid-air.
"Tim?"
he said, a note of fear in his voice. What was wrong? What had he done?
"Nothing,
it's nothing," Tim stuttered, still leaning away, eyes wide. Dick felt
sick, as a curtain of realisation dropped over him, turning everything to
darkness.
"You're
afraid of me," he whispered, not wanting to believe it even as he spoke
the words, but as Tim turned his face away, Dick knew it was true. Oh, Tim.
"Come
here." Tim hesitantly looked back. "No, *come here*."
Without
waiting for a response, Dick reached out and hauled Tim into a hug, holding on
until Tim's weak protests ceased.
"You're
safe here," he said. "Just breathe."
Slowly,
steadily, Tim began to relax, burying his face in Dick's jumper. Ghosting his
hand over Tim's head, he looked up at the house and could have sworn he saw
Bruce's face at the window just before the curtain dropped.
~12~
There,
he knew it. Dick was happy and he hadn't had to…yes, everything was as it
should be. They would get better, Dick would leave and they would all haunt the
night as they should. Yes. This was for the best and all was right with the
world.
Then
why did he feel as if his heart had just turned to dust?
"Some
refreshment, Master Bruce?"
"Thank
you, Alfred," he said automatically, not turning away from the curtained
window. It would all be right. It would be.
"I
don't suppose you know, Master Bruce, to
what place Master Dick has escaped," Alfred said neutrally and Bruce
wondered how he could reveal Dick's location without letting Alfred know he'd
been spying on him.
"Hmm…well,
I might have heard voices in the hall…" he said, putting on his best air
of puzzlement. A sidelong glance at Alfred told him that the butler wasn't the
least bit fooled.
"I
see, Master Bruce. And have you spoken to Master Dick since you awoke this
morning?"
Bruce
wanted to tell Alfred it was none of his business whether he'd spoken to Dick
or not, but years of good breeding held him back. "He was there when I
woke. That'll be all, Alfred."
That
phrase had never worked in the past and there was no reason to believe it would
start now. Alfred regarded him as if he'd just told a mildly amusing joke.
"I
trust it was a pleasant and charming conversation, sir."
Bruce
lost his temper. "No, Alfred, it wasn't, and no, I will not be discussing
it with you or anyone else. We both nearly died and now we're recovering – it's
all very simple. There's nothing that needs to be said."
It
took a few moments of deep breathing before he felt able to speak again and Alfred waited
patiently to see if there was any more he wished to say. Seeing that Bruce had
indeed ended his little diatribe, he regarded him like a schoolmaster would
stare at a particularly obtuse pupil.
"I
wish that, for one moment, you would look beyond your brutish, callous and
obstinate excuse for a brain, sir, and paid attention to your poor neglected
heart."
Bruce
stared at Alfred as if he'd just grown another head. He had never heard him
speak with such vehement force and for a moment he was struck dumb, as the
words slowly filtered through the shock. Thinking through all the consequences,
permutations, possibilities, probabilities, complications, frustrations and,
ultimately, disasters had not, in actual fact, helped. All it had done is fill
his Robin folders with spreadsheets.
But
how did Alfred want him to deal with this?
"I…but…how…"
he stopped stuttering, took a deep breath, and produced a completely different
question. "Why tell me now?"
Alfred
sighed. "Because, Master Bruce, I've watched you and Master Dick make cow
eyes at each other's prone forms for too many hours now. Every time you push
him away, you tear out his heart – and, one day, he won't come back."
Something
in Bruce broke, a subtle crack in the dam that let this ugly black mess of
emotion rip through him, choking him in its intensity. What had he done? What
could he do?
"I…Alfred,
please…" he begged, but Alfred shook his head.
"I
think you need to work this out for yourself, Master Bruce," he said
gently, and left Bruce alone.
~
His
walk in the gardens had completely exhausted him. Struggling up the stairs of
the Manor – when had they got so steep? – Dick started dragging his wretchedly
poisoned body to his room. Suddenly, he heard a curse and splash-thud, followed by more cursing. Curiously, he half-staggered
to the door of Bruce's room and stuck his head around the frame.
A
half-stripped Bruce was staring at the bowl on the floor, a large puddle of
soapy water already starting to soak into the carpet. He looked up and, for an
instance, Dick thought he saw intense pain in his eyes.
Setting
aside the cane, Dick picked the bowl up off the floor and used the wall to get
himself to the sink. Filling it half full of warm water and perfumed soap, he
slowly and painfully made his way back, setting it down without a word. Bruce
was watching him, waiting for something that Dick couldn't identify.
"Thank
you," he said softly, but Dick shrugged it off.
There
was a moment of silence and then Dick sat on the edge of the bed, reached for
the flannel and dipped it in the water.
"Dick,
what are you-" Bruce started, but Dick looked up fiercely, passionately.
"Please,
Bruce, let me help you."
The
tension in his shoulders increased exponentionally before finally, slowly, he
lowered his hands to his sides and waited, staring at Dick again. Holding out
the flannel, Dick began to sweep it over his exposed shoulders and down to his
chest, concentrating on the movement of the cloth and not on his own thoughts
and reactions. This was a necessity. It was a moment of acting on concern, that
was all.
That's
what Bruce would think anyway.
Dipping
the cloth again, Dick brought it slowly up his neck, then over his left cheek. Bruce's
hand came up abruptly and trapped his hand there, letting his eyes fall closed.
"Bruce,
what-"
"Alfred
told me…he…" But Dick didn't want a conversation about Alfred. He had
never been this close, never balanced on the edge of the abyss with such
temerity, and perhaps he never would again. Pushing aside all his Bat-driven
barriers, he leaned forward and planted the softest of kisses on Bruce's lips.
Bruce's
eyes startled open, but he only stared, as if drinking in the sight of Dick was
a new and delightful experience he'd only just learned of.
"Kiss
me again?" he whispered.
Even
if he'd wanted to, he couldn't resist the desperation in the man's voice, the
naked emotion that was so rarely seen in Bruce's eyes. Again, he kissed him,
chaste and sweet, wanting to savour this first glorious step beyond. They
parted again, old men still struggling for breath, and Dick saw the hint of
panic in Bruce's face. He threw aside the dripping cloth and took Bruce's hand,
tucking it carefully between his own.
"Don't
regret this," he said, in a low determined voice. "Whatever you do,
don't make me feel guilty over what I've wanted for years, what we've both
wanted. Because I can't take it anymore."
Bruce
was silent for a minute, and Dick thought he had lost, that this would be the
first and only taste he would have of Bruce Wayne's lips. But he raised his
face and mustered what could have been a smile.
"I…I
don't know what I'm doing, Dick," he confessed softly. "But I do want
to be…honest with you."
Dick
smiled. "It's a start," he said.
~13~
Sunlight
was just beginning to filter through the curtains when Alfred came in to check
on Bruce. With a jolt of surprise and pleasure, he registered that Dick was
indeed curled on his side, fully clothed, on top of the covers, hand
outstretched to rest in Bruce's open palm as he lay sleeping with his shirt off
but covers on.
Realising
they could never be trusted to do anything sensible by themselves, Alfred removed
the bowl of stone-cold water and the cloth that was still drenching the foot of
bed. A butler's work was never done.
~
After
he'd set his robotic creation scampering into the Cave to collect bats, Tim
made his way to the study – which could now be more accurately termed the
nursing home.
"Afternoon,"
he said and paused on his way to the sandwiches, noted the joined hands beneath
the blankets covering their laps, and continued on his way.
"And
how are you today, little bro?"
His
voice was cautious but Tim raised his head with a smile and walked towards him
surely and confidantly. Without thinking too much, he bent down and gave Dick a
hug, thrilled at the smile of delight he received in return.
"It's
a good day, Dick," Tim said, and meant it.
~
"So
I was considering Nycticeius for repopulating the Cave and-"
"Babs,
there's something I have to tell you."
A sigh carried
down the line.
"Did you
finally buy a clue, Hunk Wonder?"
"Uh…I…you
knew?!"
She laughed
loudly and Dick held the phone away from his ear, with an amused scowl.
"Oh, Dick, I
think everyone knew."
"So…we're
okay, Babs?"
Silence for a
moment, then a low chuckle.
"We were
different, Dick. You and Bruce – I could never come between you, and I don't
want to."
There
was a companionable quiet before a high-pitched squeal broke the peace.
"Oh!
I just have to tell Wally!"
"Babs,
no!"