I based this off of a comic: Batman: Greatest Stories Ever Told. I just changed Jason to Dick because Jason Todd sucks ass. After this, I'm typing my dream which the KF/Rob fans might appreciate the existence of. I'll be 200 stories in no time! (:
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
It had to be the worst storm in the history of Gotham City.
Outside, it was pretty violent. The sky was darker than the shadows in Batman's cape as he bolted down the sidewalks. The bright flashes of lightning in the sky were as bright as the Bat Signal in the sky that was being purposely ignored. The thunder was as loud as the four carefully aimed gun shots that had torn through the air only seconds before. The rain poured down in hot, violent streaks that were similar to the tears that would've been falling from the Dark Knight's eyes if he didn't have a reputation to uphold.
The real storm was inside though.
Anger fumed up inside the eldest ebony's mind, burning every thought it touched, spreading the contagion. Sadness bubbled up from the bottom, stopping some of the illness from spreading, but it could only uphold half of its battle. Guilt ran rapid through the battlefield, trying to save the poor lust of revenge soldiers from the paths of both sadness and anger, but they were just a bit too late. Any positive emotions that had once poisoned his mind were now just dead corpses along the side, rotting into nothingness.
Please be in time he begged desperately, holding tight to the body in his arms.
He kept his eyes on the buildings before him, his eyes scanning for the familiar golden plate that he had come to memorize in all of his years of life. He didn't want to ever return here, but he needed her help. He had screwed up, worse then he ever had before, and she was the only one he could turn to for help. He couldn't go to a normal hospital or even the infirmary at Mt. Justice. He couldn't trust his baby boy anywhere but here. Then, he saw it.
With a bright flash of lightning, the golden plate was illuminated in the stormy night sky. The engraving on the plate said in big bold letters: THOMAS WAYNE MEMORIAL CLINIC. Below that was her name in neat and printed letters: Dr. Leslie Thompkins, Director. His arms were full, but he knew he had no need to knock. Leslie would welcome him; not with open arms, but with a soft smile hidden by an angry glare. When he got to the steel doors that kept him from saving his baby's life, he brought his black boot up and kicked the door in, a loud clang sounding as the steel hit the concrete behind it.
"Leslie!" he screamed her name as he rushed in.
She ran towards him, but it looked like she didn't have the intention to greet him from the bat that stood in her hands.
"I told you, stay away from here! I won't—," when she saw who stood in her doorway, she lowered the bat and her blue eyes widened in panic, "Oh my Lord…"
Batman stood still in the doorway, the harsh rain from outside pounding down on his back. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, but he kept staring hard at Leslie through them. In his arms lay his sidekick, blood leaking through the holes in his costume and through his barely parted lips.
"Help him," Batman managed to choke out, shaking lightly in the effort to hold back his tears.
XxXxX
Robin was soon set onto a white hospital bed, bars setting on either side to keep him from escaping. His domino mask lay abandoned on the dresser beside him. A breathing mask rested over his breathing orifices, not quite yet fogged up because his breathing was too shallow to darken it. His gloved arms lay lifeless at his sides, his legs spaced out cautiously. Leslie unhooked the cape that bound the pale neck above it, setting it over the bar nearest her. She stuck her stethoscope to Robin's chest, listening carefully.
"Bruce, what happened?" she asked in horror, trying to avoid getting any blood on her hand.
Once she was sure he still had a heartbeat, no matter how thin it was, she began to quickly hook up the IV. Batman turned around angrily, setting a tight fist against the counter top, pressing his other fist hard against his forehead, leaning over the countertop. Water dripped down from his cape as he dangerously pressed his teeth together.
"The Mad Hatter," Batman said slowly. "The wounds are .38 Caliber, a minimum of four entry wounds, three exits…"
He wiped hard at his eyes, the blur almost becoming too much.
"It was my fault," he growled regretfully, blinking swiftly.
It took a lot of will for him to do so, but he took a deep breath and turned around to look at his little boy. Seeing the weak and vulnerable state that Robin was in, he couldn't have felt anymore guilty. Leslie grabbed the back of the bed Robin's in, the IV bag in one hand to keep fresh blood pumping into the pale body.
"I'm sure," she nodded, starting for the door. "His heartbeat's faint, but regular. There's a chance."
Batman's lips opened in horror. Hearing that the closest thing you have to a son has a slim chance of surviving does a number on your mood.
"What can I do?" he asked brokenly, his eyes wide with fear.
Leslie picked up in speed, her face set in the same amount of seriousness as ever.
"Do you ever pray?" she asked.
Batman's lips closed tightly.
"No," he said firmly.
Leslie pushed open the doors to her surgery room with the bed Robin was on, peeking a glance back at Batman.
"You might start," she advised, leaving Batman alone in the dark.
He watched the doors for a long while before he finally got the nerve to go and sit down. There was a line of chairs along the wall, submerged in the shadows. He took a seat in a big arm chair, resting his cape out beneath him in a way similar to the way a woman in a short dress would before he sat down. He rested his head against the wall, finally letting a few unnoticed tears fall hopelessly. As the angriness and the numbness began to set in, he found that he almost welcomed it. He dug his teeth into his lower lip, closing his eyes gently.
He hadn't meant for this to happen. It was just an awful mistake and with it, memories swiftly came to mind that he never wanted to see.
"Did you like the movie Bruce?" he could hear his mother ask.
He pictured her curly black hair hiding behind that silly hat of hers, her grin almost as bright as the pearls on her neck. He could almost feel her warm hand entwined with his.
"I hope he did Mother. He made us sit through it twice!" he heard his father's warm laugh, his black hair as neat and tidy as ever.
He could hear the gunshots echo through the air. He heard his mom and him scream for his father. He heard another gunshot and his scream was the only one to pierce the air. He could almost feel his mother's warm cheek as he shook her in a mad hope for her to awaken. Then he remembered glaring at that sonofabitch who had thought it'd be nice to take away his family.
"Stop looking at me! Stop it!" he heard the man hysterically cry.
He could see the gun pointed at him and he remembered not caring.
"They're DEAD! They're dead! THEY'RE DEAD!" he could hear himself sob, "YOU! You did it!"
He could see himself hit the man. Every punch hadn't been enough though. He could've put the man into an iron maiden, filled to the top with piranha infested water before rolling him down a cliff into shark infested jagged rocks and it wouldn't have been enough. He could just see the EMTs zip up his parents' body bags, not even bothering to check for a heartbeat. He could hear himself scream in agony for them to stop before she had shown up. Leslie was probably one of the only reasons Bruce hadn't killed himself back then, the other being Alfred.
"You can't help them now Bruce. Why don't you come with me?" she had ignored his frantic sobs, "My name's Leslie. Please, come with me. I'll do what I can."
She had only encouraged his tears.
"That's right Bruce. Let it out… that's all you can do…"
"-Done all I can, Bruce," Leslie's voice snapped him from the horrible memory.
It took Batman a long while to remember what was happening. When he did, his lip trembled in anticipation.
"H-how… how is he?" he asked nervously.
Leslie pulled down her white medical mask, her wispy white hair the same shade as the square hat on her head. She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to the glass so he could look in on his sidekick.
"His spine and spleen were undamaged. If he makes it through the night, he'll probably survive."
Batman wasn't sure whether to sob furiously or laugh with joy.
He'll probably survive.
That wasn't a promise. That was a chance. That meant that Robin had less than a 50% chance of surviving. Just the thought caused him dread. He rested his forehead against the glass, looking hard at his ward.
Robin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Dick lay in the hospital bed, a white sheet laying an inch above his navel. His chest was bandaged up to the underneaths of his biceps. He had a huge patch of white bandage to the left of his heart. His costume lay folded neatly beside the bed, his gloves, boots and belt lying on top. His black hair was messy, hanging down just barely above his closed eyes. He had a tube up his nose, taped to his cheek. He had two tubes plunged into his veins, blood and water being pumped into his body in a desperate attempt to keep him alive.
"He… He'll make it," Batman said it more as a prayer. "He's strong… he's a… a fighter."
"'A fighter'? Is that all you can say?" Leslie mocked, setting her hands on her hips.
She looked as if she had a long lecture to go at him with, but he didn't want to hear it.
"How's Dick?" he asked, walking away from her into the room with his ward.
Leslie followed, shaking her head shamefully. She figured she might as well check on him though, just in case.
"He's still sleeping," she confirmed her thoughts.
Batman gazed down at his little boy, gripping the metal bars tightly.
"Is he… in any pain?" he studied the shut eyes for any tightness or other signs of pain.
Leslie looked down at him, setting a gentle hand to his forehead.
"No. Actually, he kind of reminds me of you… the night I brought you home from your parents funeral-," she began a story, her eyes going distant.
Batman spun around, aiming to sink his fist into the wall. Leslie caught his fist though.
"Come on Bruce, hear me out," she pleaded, patting his hand lovingly.
He shook his head violently.
"I don't want to talk about this in front of Dick. He doesn't need to know about my family life. He has his own to worry about," he reminded her, his eyes full of sharp worry.
Leslie studied him hard, setting a hand to the bat symbol on his chest.
"This isn't the real you, Bruce," she told him.
Bruce stared down at her hand through blurry eyes.
"It's the only me there is," he sighed roughly.
"But… have you ever thought of what your father would say if he knew?" she sounded so disapproving.
"If we could know that, none of us, not you, not me, not Dick, none of us would be here, would we?" Batman slipped her hand from his chest, holding it in his own for a moment before setting it down.
"But your life… it's so empty," she said sadly.
He glanced down at Dick softly, furrowing his eyebrows.
"And yours isn't?" he countered.
She shot him a glare.
"This isn't about me. It's about you. And what about you? What about Bruce Wayne?"
Batman looked out across the room to his reflection in the mirror, scowling at it.
"I don't know if he exists… or if he's just another disguise…"
Leslie looked down at the unconscious thirteen year old who lay helpless in the bed.
"Then think about Dick. Think about what you're doing him!" she insisted, running a hand over her hair.
Batman glared hard at her, murder in his eyes.
"Do you think I don't? I remember what it was like growing up! I don't want him to grow up like me. I didn't know what to do! I didn't know how to fight this… war… until my youth was gone. I wanted to give Dick a way to get rid of his anger… I wanted him to get on with his life… And instead, I might've killed him. I always thought this was my probable end… not his…"
Leslie's eyes softened and she set a hand to his face as a loving mother may do. She didn't get to speak up though. Dick stirred lightly, forcing his eyes open.
"B… Bruce?" he choked out, turning his head side to side weakly.
Batman quickly tugged down his mask, seeing that he was in the presence of his almost mother and son, flying to Dick's side, suddenly becoming Bruce. He set a hand to the top of Dick's head, smiling weakly in relief. Dick returned the smile even though he looked like he was in a lot of pain. He eyed Bruce's free hand and weakly reached for it. Bruce took the hint and reached his hand up, catching the pale and frail hand in his own. It was so cold, but it made them both feel safe.
"Dick…" Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, locking eyes with his ward. "I… I'm so sorry… I won't force you to do this anymore-…"
He stopped when he heard Dick laugh weakly.
"Are you kidding me Bruce?" he smirked lightly, "We've got work to do."
Batman shook his head lightly, but he couldn't hide a grin. This boy wasn't his beginning and he was sure that the boy would live past his end, but Dick was what was going to keep him going until he finally hung up his cape in the Batcave. And as he looked at the innocent soul lying before him on the bed, he realized that he was totally fine with that.
I loved this comic… but I left out a ton of Bruce's past because I'm already at page seven and mom's up my ass and then some about me hanging up my clothes. Alrighty… hope you liked this. I guess Leslie and Alfred raised Bruce? I don't know, it was in "Dick Sprang Remembers".
-F.J. Thomas