Title: IF
Author: Moonsetta
Date: November 21, 2013
A/N: Once again, no romance but awkward situations. I PROMISE, there is a return to humor and a happy ending.
Word Count: 13,117 T_T (I meant to stop at 10,000)
Damian opened his eyes just in time, his hands reaching out as he fell towards the damp gravel.
"Damian!"
That was Dick. The assassin's head snapped upwards towards the origin of the yell. As soon as blue met blue in the moment though, the sound of a fired bullet ripped its way through the air. The spiraling sound waves hit the back of his skull, giving him one heck of a headache that the mugger was soooo going to pay for. Of course, before the child could turn his eyes back towards the mugger he saw the bullet that had released the sound embed itself into Dick Grayson's chest. The bullet hit high and to the right, turning the shocked body around in the air. The acrobat hit the ground face down. In the back of his mind, Damian was wondering where his father was. Batman wouldn't have allowed this to happen and Bruce Wayne definitely wouldn't have allowed this to happen. Not again. Not to his family.
But Damian had little time to worry for his father that was nowhere in his vision. He prepared to turn back to the mugger and pound his face in for shooting Dick but- the sudden feel of sticky plasma on the back of his skull made him freeze. Was that…was that blood?
He did manage to turn his head completely though as he felt his arms give out and his chest began descending towards the ground again. The mugger wasn't there. The man standing there now had paste-white skin, bright red lips and a permanent, crazed, mad smile. The Joker.
Who promptly laughed out loud at the boy at his feet before pointing his gun towards one of the alley's side walls.
Damian's head was already on the ground, but with an effort he managed to stretch his gaze in the direction the crazy clown was pointing-more out of curiosity than anything else. His breath got caught somewhere in his stomach at the sight.
"Father."
Bruce Wayne was lying against the wall, his eyes wide and clouded over…in a state of death. His throat…torn out.
Both…they were both-!
"Hush little birdie, don't chirp a word…"
BOOM!
Blood splattered everywhere. The pale body that fell over Damian had no head and the boy, out of fear or loss of possible retribution, found strength that he didn't know he had and scrambled to get out from underneath it. Once sitting up in the alleyway, he heard approaching voices. A lot of voices. When the first member of the street patrol stepped into one of the entrances of the alleyway, Damian reached up to run a hand over the back of his skull. Most of the blood that covered him was from the now headless figure. In fact, there was only a single scratch on the back of his skull, that while bleeding, wasn't very painful nor very hazardous in the least. So, there had been a bullet before his brain had registered the second firing?
It had only grazed his skull then.
"KID!"
Hands were shaking his shoulders…which were trembling in-Shock? Fear? Sorrow?
Maybe, parting his lips he tasted salt and knew that blood was metallic so-were there tears?
The rest of the scene faded into obscurity as dozens of other voices joined the figure that was still shaking him. He did sense a second person who reached up with something in their hand. It looked like a scarf and they wiped away the blood on his cheek. Unfortunately, the scratchy material of the scarf also smeared the blood into his left ear and eye.
"Sweetie, are you OK?"
Before he passed out from stress or…sorrows (he wasn't sure) he promised himself to punch whoever muttered the ridiculous statement in the near future and his thoughts flew to his father and Dick. What about them?
No one needed a long description of North Gotham General Hospital and Timothy Drake-Wayne didn't bother to take in details. Normally he wouldn't be moving in a rushed walk. The family had been in and out of hospitals, especially Gotham's Hospitals, for near all their lives and it honestly wasn't a surprise for them to change from vigilante to civilian to get an injury seen to if they couldn't get to Alfred or Leslie in time or in some of their cases, didn't want the others to know that they had been injured at all. A thing of pride it was.
It was unique then when one of them had to be rushed into the ER for a civilian incident-which, according to the report Tim had pulled from the police department files on his way to the hospital, may have landed his family in a new dark age.
"Room 2-32," the receptionist said.
In retrospect it was too bad their family couldn't reserve a room at this point. As he made his away to the room though, Tim knew Alfred wouldn't be far behind him. The hospital did have a slanted service of valet parking but the butler was insistent to maintain his visage and park the vehicle himself. It wouldn't be long though before Alfred Pennyworth was close behind him.
Hospitals were always filled with a lot of fear and a little bit of hope. Ironically every room was always cold-perhaps for the machines' metalloid circuitry? Who knows?
The young detective found the room easily in the building's back left hall. Reaching out, he yanked the sliding door and its privacy curtain aside with more strength than would ever be necessary for it.
Again there was a meeting of two sets of blue eyes.
Thankfully, it didn't take Tim long to find his voice at the look he was getting from the conscious man sitting to the far right side of the room in a chair that was obviously not very comfortable.
"How are they?"
A strange, silent shrug was his only answer.
"Master Tim?"
Seeing Alfred concerned was one thing, seeing him worried to a point of pacing and kneading his hands together constantly was quite another. Half of the ride over to the hospital, Tim thought he might have to end up driving for the two of them. Cautiously, he stepped aside and let their Grandfather-figure through.
Leslie Thompkins was leaning against the left wall of room 2-32, tapping her foot in annoyance, eying the scene across the room and over the hospital beds. Alfred had brought coffee to those conscious.
"OK, explain this to me again young man. How is it that you two got shot and Bruce is the one lying in the hospital bed?" she asked quietly.
Blue eyes snapped up in surprise at the broken silence and Dick Grayson forced a small smile on his face that was three different degrees of sad, as he reached down to run a hand along Damian's back. The child was sleeping-very uneasily according to the rapid breaths escaping his lips, in a chair beside the acrobat. Dick spoke back just as softly in return.
"I think it's just some form of shock."
"And why are the two of you not in hospital beds of your own?"
Dick raised his free hand up in mock surrender, "We're fine Leslie. I promise."
A frown marred his face quickly as his gaze went back to the still figure on the hospital bed in the middle of the room. Bruce had been unconscious for 4 hours now and had shown no signs of waking up since Dick had regained consciousness in the ambulance. Damian had awoken upon Tim's entrance some 3 ½ hours ago but had fallen asleep almost immediately. The young detective had gone on a walk when he had spotted Leslie heading towards the room earlier. Little traitor!
"Fine, but when Damian wakes up I want to examine you both. Got it?"
"Yes Mam," Dick said with a nod as he felt Damian twitch beneath his hand.
"Alfred, call me when Damian wakes up."
"Of course," the butler said with a sharp nod.
Of course, why would she believe the acrobat? Leslie gave them a sharp nod herself and an additional glare before exiting the room.
"Thanks Alfred," Dick said as he gratefully curled his free hand around the proffered cup of caffeine.
To be fair-the hospital actually had some good coffee but nothing beat Alfred's caffeine mixes. And he was always on guard about his secret with it too unfortunately.
Thankfully, Tim chose that moment to slip back inside the room.
"Did she grill you?" Tim asked, walking over and scooping up his own cup of coffee with a glance up at Alfred asking if it was OK.
The butler would allow it tonight. So, the young detective indulged in it for the time being. It was a waiting game unfortunately, and Tim was already mentally weighing the possibility of Bruce coming out of whatever state he was in verses the possibility of Damian waking up. His bet was on Bruce.
"Master Dick, if everything is in order I will return to the Manor to prepare a quick dinner. I shouldn't be more than hour."
The acrobat blinked in a bit of surprise but nodded. He hated when Bruce was out of the loop because everyone looked to him for admission or advice, even after so many years of leading so many teams-the idea still left him uneasy.
"Of course Alfred…take your time."
He wasn't blind and, aside from Bruce, had known Alfred the longest. Tim may have let his gaze slide over the elderly butler's expression but Dick caught the slight lines. Besides…a drive to and from the Manor from here was only ten minutes. Though from the look Tim discreetly sent him a moment later, the statement from Alfred had thrown the teen off a bit. Plus, the Wayne Butler made no attempt to slow his steps out the door.
Well, Leslie would have to take his word for it. Strange, Alfred had never been forgetful of-
"What's Drake doing here?"
One breath. Damian was up.
"Finally!"
Crap. Leslie was back in the room. How did she do that? It was almost as creepy as Alfred's popping-out-of-nowhere moments.
"Tim, why don't you stand by Bruce? Dick, shirt off now! Damian, hood down! I want to see those bullet wounds!"
Tim chuckled under his breath at the sight on Damian's face as he got to his feet. No one got in the way when Leslie was on the war path-not even Alfred.
"The bullet only grazed my head," Damian said, reaching up to pull his hood down before crossing his arms across his chest in defiance.
"And I was-" Dick managed those words of protest before he felt the chill of a stethoscope on his chest.
Brr! He would forever advise everyone that no matter how often it was used on you-you never got used to it!
There was an annoying beeping and though annoying it gave Bruce Wayne something to focus on as he lay awake but with his eyes closed to the world. It only took a second before the images were flying back into and all around inside his mind. The alleyway-the gunshots. His mother and father-no wait, that was years ago. Just a nightmare then. He had them often enough. But no-there was something else.
The smell of antiseptic. Voices that sounded about half a mile away. A sheet beneath his twitching fingertips.
"I can't believe this Alfred."
Wait-that was Tim.
"Yes, Master Tim. Perhaps we should have seen-"
Alfred's voice stopped abruptly.
OK. He needed to open his eyes and-
That was the moment the synapses in his brain started firing and bringing back the real memories. The alleyway, a different alleyway. He had gone to see Zorro. No, a re-airing of Zorro. Not with his parents. With-his children.
Tim. He had been gone for a field trip for school. Cassandra was still in Tibet, training. Dick and Damian had gone with him to the movie. The conversation…about parents? Ugh! His thoughts were still fuzzy on that but-the shots! The shots had been real. WAKE UP NOW!
Bruce Wayne didn't just wake up. He shot up in either shock or fear-whichever one left him saner at the moment in time.
"Bruce!"
Suddenly, he had his arms full of an onyx haired, blue eyed boy.
"Tim?"
"Thank goodness! We didn't know when you were going to come out of it!"
"Master Bruce, it is good to see you awake."
"Alfred? Tim? Dick. Damian. They were-"
Given that Tim was still hugging him, Bruce looked to Alfred. The man's pale face had grown ashen.
"I'm-sorry sir."
"Wh-what do you mean?"
Tim pulled back and stood up as straight as he could, "Bruce, Damian was shot in the back of the head and Dick took the second bullet to his heart."
What! No. No. No. NO! NO! NO! It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare!
Eyes wide and breath short, Bruce jumped off of the bed and up on to two unsteady legs that couldn't support his body weight at all. He would have crashed onto the floor if his two companions hadn't jumped forward to catch him.
"Bruce. I'm so sorry. I should have told you that I felt bad about this idea from the very beginning."
The billionaire's vision was swimming. Dick- a bullet to the heart? Again? Damian? Little, ten-year old Damian-a bullet in the back of his skull? He remembered blood on the ground. A lot of blood. Too much blood. They had lost too much even at that point. They must have hit major veins. He remembered the puddles of blood beneath them growing exponentially for each second that passed.
His vision was blackening. Stood up too fast. Blood trying to rush to his legs that had to have been stock still for hours.
"Bruce!"
Too late. He was out again. But not before he could mutter one last, no! to the external air.
"Damian, you're shaking," Leslie stated as she finished re-bandaging his head.
He had been right. The bullet had merely grazed the skin but had knocked a few nerves as well. Enough nerves to shock him into unconsciousness anyways and cause a little bleeding.
"It's nothing," the child assassin huffed, uncrossing his arms to reach up and pull his hood back over his head before quickly re-crossing them.
"Damian," Dick said slowly and sharply.
The child's face colored a bit, "OK, I just had a weird dream. It was a little disturbing."
Silence. Then-
"Do you want to talk about it Damian?"
"No you-woman! Remove your hand from my shoulder!"
"Damian!"
Crap. Did he have to keep using…the voice?
"Sorry. No, I do not wish to talk about it and will you please remove your hand from my shoulder Dr. Thompkins?"
The woman did as requested but smirked before turning back to the acrobat who was frowning at a loose thread at the bottom of his shirt.
"Good job with the manners on this one Dick."
Beside the one non-vacant hospital bed Tim looked away from the twitching face of his father/mentor and redirected his gaze upon the little demon spawn. Well, as long Leslie didn't turn around and see that look he'd be fine. Brat.
The acrobat simply shrugged after pulling at and adjusting his black t-shirt, "I try."
"Well, call if Bruce shows any signs of actually coming around. He's just been twitching on and off but that's better than nothing."
"We will," Tim said, beating his older brother to the line.
He got a glare for that-but it had been so worth it. After Leslie left though, everyone in the room fell into silence once again. The examination from Dr. Thompkins had only taken 15 minutes even with her taking more tests than necessary. Now, they all remembered their worry…Bruce. Damian, still reeling from the dream that had turned his stomach inside out sat quietly like the good little kid that he wasn't. Truthfully, Dick was worried about Alfred. He knew the trip back to Wayne Manor even with cooking a quick dinner for them all wouldn't take an hour. So, it was more than obvious that the Bat-Family's grandfather-figure wanted some time for himself. After all, they all could only imagine what the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne had done to Alfred Pennyworth-especially given the fact that Bruce became his charge afterwards. It was funny how history seemed to repeat itself.
"Dick?"
Tim's voice was back to being small and for once; Damian didn't appear to be in any kind of harsh mood to mock him for it.
"Yes Tim?"
"What happened? I mean, I read the police report but…"
The teen's voice faded and his brother waved to the chair to his left, inviting Tim back over. The young detective nodded and walked over, sliding into the uncomfortable chair next to his older brother all the while keeping a wary eye on Damian. Dick rolled his eyes at the behavior but settled by reaching out and curling an arm across Tim's shoulders.
With a shared nod Dick began, "We had just reached the corner of Evergreen Lane and Yeton Road when we found the place flooded due to a crash into…"
And that's how the next ten minutes were spent, Tim asking a specific question here and there. Damian was silent through the whole story, which worried the acrobat and even began to disturb the young detective too-not that he would admit it any time in the near or distant future.
"Um, Tim?"
"Yeah, I have to go find a water fountain," Tim said quickly and just as quickly-escaped the room.
When Tim returned he was nearly ran over by Damian himself-stomping out of the room, his hands holding his hood closed tight over his face.
"What's wrong?"
Not that he cared or anything.
"NOTHING!"
Now, the midget assassin quickly made his way towards the nearest restroom, ignoring the heys! Tim was yelling his way that he got shushed from a nurse for. Not caring but curious-Tim made his way back into the hospital room, finding his older brother inside shaking his head in amusement.
"What did you do?"
"Oh, nothing really-now where's that water fountain? I'm still thirsty and we're out of Alfred's coffee."
Tim took a quick glance at his watch as a momentary distraction and found it was 3:00am now. Wow, it had been seven hours already since the incident? He'd never known Bruce to sleep even anywhere near this long!
"Third hall to the left."
"Thanks," Dick said with a wave and left.
Tim sighed into the silence of the room and walked back over to stand by Bruce's side. Hmm, he was twitching more than usual. Maybe it was a sign he would wake up soon? He'd already been told by Leslie that it was some form of shock. Really, Bruce in shock? He had seen his mentor/father injured rather intensely many times before and although this wasn't one of those cliché he's-never-been-hurt-this-badly-before moments this was something new for Tim. Bruce-shock? Sure Dick had been pretty strait forward with the explanation but it wasn't above the acrobat to lie for someone's sake. Had the actual scene been more graphic? More than likely it was more psychology than anything on Bruce's part than actual violence. Sure, he had brought up to his mentors that this movie-night was probably a bad idea; after all it wouldn't have been too hard to get a hold of a copy of the film and watch it at the Manor. That would have been a safer and saner option. What had Bruce been thinking?
Though, Tim did stumble over the irony of it all. What were the actual chances of all of that happening to someone twice? Well, the scenes weren't the same exactly. Dick and Damian were fine after all and it could have been worse. A lot worse. For a second Tim imagined the consequences of the event of Damian reliving Bruce's past, watching the billionaire and acrobat be shot down.
Unsure why he had the thought, Tim shook it from his head while the ends of his bangs trailed a leftover sting across his forehead as an effect of the rapid whiplash.
"Master Timothy?"
Oh! Alfred was back!
Turning around to face the doorway to the hospital room the teen detective smiled at the sight of the elderly butler standing there, a few rectangular plastic-ware containers in his arms with two silver gleaming insulated pitchers atop them.
"Where are the others?"
"Dick went to find a water fountain since we ran out of coffee and Damian, I think, went to find a bathroom."
Sure, he made up that last part but it wasn't like Damian was just going to wander out of the hospital. Not with Bruce still unconscious.
"If you would locate them Master Tim, I'll set out dinner."
Oh, he could definitely use some food at the moment!
"What did you make?"
"Just sandwiches."
Tim's bottom lip pushed out into a confused cute pout before he nodded and headed out through the door which was promptly shut behind him gently but resolutely. Alfred wanted to be alone? Alone…with Bruce. Ah!
-Which means he should probably take his time in locating the others so Tim set his detective brain in motion, telling himself that Bruce would be proud that he was turning it into a mini training mission.
"Shock is annoying!" the youngest Wayne huffed as he fought back a yawn where he was sitting next to Alfred on the right side of his father's hospital bed.
The others had to agree. They did hate it when each other were hurt because it was just a big, dumb, pointless, headache-inducing waiting game. Honestly, none of them HAD to be sitting here. The hospital staff would have just called them when Bruce woke up so they were free to return to Wayne Manor. They could even go on patrol. It had become automatic that the other members of their family would pick up the slack if they needed to be elsewhere at any given time.
-but no one had said anything about leaving and none of them wanted to bring it up either.
Even then, Gotham City was being quiet.
They all remained silent, eating sandwiches and drinking more coffee (with juice for Damian) while they continued the incredibly boring but fearful waiting game.
It was Leslie that brought up departing the hospital and forced the family to leave, using the excuse that she was going to run some MIT and CAT scans on Bruce. She would have to take him into the examination rooms below where only employees had access. She almost regretted saying so but stood firm, even if Damian, behind the yawns, looked ready to break his leg if it meant he could stay in the hospital. Honestly, she couldn't have stopped most of them. Alfred just couldn't be stopped, Dick could pull out his old police badge and have access, Tim would have no trouble sneaking in and Damian would only have to pull the 'my father' card so in the end it was more of pleading on her part to just see the active people moving again.
It had been nine hours and both the child assassin and teen detective were feeling the pull of the really-late-night/very-early-morning hours Alfred noticed as he led his three current conscious charges. He held his ground on driving though. He would get the three home safely.
In the Valen-14 limo, halfway back towards Wayne Manor he did lower the barrier between the front and long stretch of the back seat. He only watched his passengers. Damian had fallen asleep in mere minutes. Sure he did have a life time of training but he was still a child. Tim's head was continually jerking up, the teen trying to keep himself awake. Even at this hour, it was way past time for the normal Gotham City vigilantes to be in bed. Dick was wide awake though, staring out through the half rolled down window to his right…just staring out at the night.
Alfred forced himself to not shake his head and bit his lip instead. As he had thought many times before, Dick Grayson resembled Bruce Wayne in so many ways that the butler thanked all of the believed higher powers for the differences between them.
He really should be paying attention to the road anyways. Wouldn't do to end up back in the hospital after all.
Not that that was an easy thought either.
Bruce would wake up soon and come out of the shock. But what would be the repercussions of the event from last night?
Only time would tell.
The following day Tim had returned to Wayne Manor in time for a late lunch since it had been a half day at his school but what was surprising is that he walked into the mansion, finding only Alfred cooking in the kitchen.
"Alfred, where is everybody?"
"Master Damian's principal called today and given that Master Bruce is in the hospital still…"
"Dick went to take care of it," Tim finished, his mouth watering at the smell of the lasagna he easily scoped out in the oven.
"What did Damian do?"
"I'm uncertain; Master Dick didn't share what he heard from Mrs. Miller."
"More than likely Damian got into a fight or insulted someone…again."
"Lunch Master Tim?"
"Don't you know it!" Tim said with a smile.
It was hard to feel upset with a home cooked meal, especially a home cooked meal prepared by Alfred. Alas it appeared fate didn't want them to eat anytime soon for the Manor's phone line, which had a very easy access port from the kitchen upon the north wall, rang out in the sudden silence. The Wayne butler wasted little time picking up.
"Wayne residence."
"…"
"Yes?"
"…"
"We'll be there immediately."
"Alfred?" Tim asked, a little worry in his voice.
"Master Bruce is awake and very distressed."
When Alfred and Tim made it to the hospital, they had to push their way through about a dozen nurses, all relatively fit men. When they made it through they found Leslie about to inject Bruce with something. The billionaire himself was putting up a good fight actually for being slightly delirious and pinned to his hospital bed by the nurses.
"Master Bruce calm down!" Alfred yelled.
And that-shut everyone up because Alfred yelling? Thankfully it had its full effect on Bruce. The child within curled into himself and externally flinched at the sound of his father figure reprimanding him. Only Leslie escaped the all-encompassing net that was Alfred's voice but shot him a grateful look before putting her prepared syringe away and dismissing the crowd of nurses. Who all filed out in a strange pattern of red and white faces in complete silence.
"Alfred? Tim?"
The teen detective walked to his father's side, "That's us! Glad you finally woke up."
"How long have I been out?"
"Nearly 20 hours Master Bruce," Alfred informed the billionaire, eyes scanning the nearby screens and reports the doctors had left on the wall.
Hm, he would need to see about getting more fiber and vitamin D into his charge. It was only a second later though that Bruce's mood froze the whole room. Seriously it had dropped to some infinite number below zero in less than a second that the group almost feared that ice would form on the walls at any moment.
"Bruce, what is it? What's wrong?" Leslie inquired.
"Damian. Dick."
And to everyone's horror his eyes began to close again whereupon Leslie grabbed the man by his shoulders and with some apparently hidden ridiculous amount of strength, jerked him up a good six inches off of the bed before shaking him and yelling, "Bruce Wayne if you pass out again I WILL inject coffee directly into your bloodstream!"
Threat successful.
Tim jumped in before there could be any possible misconceptions, "They're fine Bruce. Dick went by to pick Damian up from school and they should be here in a few minutes. I called them on our way here."
"But-"
"They're fine Master Bruce," Alfred assured the billionaire as well.
"But-but he shot-"
Leslie promptly dropped the billionaire back onto the bed with a sigh, "They're fine Bruce! I checked them out last night well…extremely early this morning. Damian has nothing but a scratch on his head and Dick's only got a few bruises on his chest."
"…"
Well that sure shut him up.
"But…how?"
For a short moment anyways.
"Whoa, did we miss a party or a tornado?"
The four heads all snapped towards the doorway where low and behold stood Dick Grayson with a pouting Damian Wayne being carried in his arms.
"DAMIAN! DICK!" Bruce shouted and then promptly tried to jump up onto his feet.
Eh…bad idea!
His legs hadn't been used in 20 hours. So, he also promptly crashed onto the floor before anyone could catch him.
"Father!"
Thankfully he had managed to avoid hitting his head but bruised his knees as consequence. Alfred and Tim helped him back onto the bed as Dick crossed the room, still holding Damian. The question of why was finally revealed as it was seen that the boy had a medical splint around his right foot.
"What happened Master Damian?" Alfred asked, raising a disapproving eyebrow at the sight of the injury.
"Damian!" Bruce said again, his hands outstretched towards his son.
Dick decided on the smart thing to do, so he dropped Damian into his father's lap and turned to the others.
"Father-I cannot breathe!"
Wow, Bruce actually hugging!
"Seriously, why is this room a wreck?" Dick asked, his eyes scanning the four over turned chairs, three metal carts and two serving tables.
And a partridge in a pear tree.
"Bruce lost it!" Tim said with a humored smile at the state of irony.
The acrobat threw up his hands, "Don't give me the details."
"Master Damian, what happened to your foot?" Alfred repeated.
"I-uh-Father-you're choking me!"
Dick chuckled before speaking up, "That's what his principal wanted to see me about it. In his gym class one of the other students tried to tightrope walk across the climbing rope they had just hung up between two of the ceiling's support beams."
"Idiot!" Damian agreed with a nod as he began squirming to try to get away from his father's grasp.
"When the boy fell Damian pushed out one of their towers of dub step mats across the floor to soften the kid's landing."
"They have dub step mats now?" Tim asked with a diagonal tilt of his head.
"Shut up Drake!
"Unfortunately the kid also broke down one of the support beams as he fell that really needed repairing some five plus years ago," Dick continued, smiling ruefully at the arm lock Damian was stuck in.
"Hey, I remember that beam. Mr. Reynolds said he took care of it when I left for Middle School. It kept dropping chipped paint down onto our heads during dodge ball," Tim said.
"You can't stabilize a support beam with paint," Alfred said while shaking his head, secretly hoping he could run into this Mr. Reynolds and give him a good, rightly deserved lecture.
"Anyways, Damian pushed the kid out the way and tried to avoid the beam too but it caught his foot. Nothing to worry about though, it's just a twisted ankle so it should be fine in a few hours."
"Then why did the principal want to talk to you?" the teen detective asked, trying not to look at how the child assassin was near to giving up struggling.
The acrobat groaned, "Mrs. Miller has spent the past hour apologizing and begging for me not to sue her or the school."
"You could sue, you know?" Leslie said where she was gazing at Damian's ankle.
If he could get away from his father, she might just be able to look the ankle over.
"Oh please by the time I got out of there she had offered me half of the school. I told her it would be up to Bruce, not me."
Alfred stepped forward and pulled at Bruce's arms, allowing Damian to finally breathe.
"Thank you Alfred," Damian said, placing his right hand on his rapidly rising chest.
"Dick, would you move Damian over here? I'd like to take a look at that ankle," Leslie said, crossing the room to right one of the fallen chairs.
"Sure," Dick replied and reached out to scoop Damian back into his arms, which the boy might have protested if his father hadn't still been looking at him like a honey-baked ham.
Very creepy. Very creepy indeed repeated in Damian's head as he carried across the room and set down by Dr. Thompkins.
"You're both OK?" Bruce asked, sounding as if he was still half asleep.
The acrobat crossed the room again, to stand by his mentor's side and give him a calming look, "We're fine Bruce. I mean come on; you're the one in the hospital bed."
"But, how?" Bruce asked, his blown pupils finally shrinking in relief as he reached out to lay a hand on Dick's shoulder.
"Well, Damian only got a scratch on his head."
"That idiot couldn't hit the side of a mountain!" the child assassin said from across the room.
"But, I saw you were shot in the chest and there was…a lot of blood."
Dick frowned in confusion before something made a light spark in his eyes, "Well first of all there's wasn't a lot of blood. Remember the ground Bruce?"
It clicked for the billionaire too, "The puddles."
"Yeah Bruce, it rained last night," Tim reminded him.
"So I saw a little blood and a lot of water," the billionaire pieced together.
"Exactly," the acrobat said with a flourish.
"But you-"
Dick smirked, balled his hand into a fist and knocked against his chest twice, "When you told me what we were doing that night I didn't think anything would happen. The odds were really against anything happening but I just had this…feeling that I was better prepared than not. So I found my old police gear and decided to wear the bullet-proof vest last night."
Bruce was just staring but Dick lowered his voice, hoping to calm any explosion that could follow, "I wasn't going to let it happen again Bruce. Not if I could help it."
The returning to Wayne Manor was…calm. The actual return was…not so calm. The garish nightmare event was over but they still had problems concerning unapproved matrimony.
"Masters can any of you explain why the yard has half a dozen elephants in it?" Alfred's voice rang out to those in the back of the limo out of the proverbial blue.
"You didn't cancel the elephant order?" Bruce asked his youngest son.
Damian huffed, "They were already in the city and I have to wait until tomorrow to get a hold of someone to take them back."
"Wait a minute when did Damian order elephants?" Dick asked, greatly confused about what was going on.
"They were for our 'wedding'…dear," Bruce said sarcastically.
The acrobat slapped a hand over his face with groan, "I thought we talked about this Damian?"
The child actually looked a little betrayed at that before muttering sadly, "I had already ordered them. You said you liked elephants."
Dick actually had to, seconds later, fight back a charmed smile because in a way it was cute, admirable and just so…thoughtful.
"You were going to have live elephants at our wedding just because I said I liked them?"
"Well, I was going to have your circus flown in too but you and father confronted me before I could make the arrangements."
It was strangely touching in a creepy never-gonna-happen way and Dick couldn't help but to reach out and pull the child into a hug.
"Ah, that's so sweet Damian!"
"How am I supposed to explain this to the gardeners?" Bruce whined, his eye twitching at the sight of dung all over the place.
"Master Bruce?"
Oh no, Alfred's garden was…eh. Uh oh!
"Yes Alfred?" Bruce asked meekly, shoulders hunched in fear.
"I request the next two days off."
"Granted," the billionaire said in a quickly released breath.
Thankfully, the elephants were shipped off with few problems. Except for the police showing up TWICE and demanding some proper documentation, which Damian somehow had?
"Obsessive little bat-child," Tim had muttered at the event.
Luckily the family was able to make up the cover story that the elephants had been ordered from a conservation in Africa, were supposed to end up in another conservation in India but were shipped to the USA because the company was Spanish but the delivery service was Russian that had French workers.
There had been a lot lost in translation.
And now that Alfred was back (admittedly, still kind of angry about his garden), the yard was fixed, everyone was home and…for the most part marginally sane, everything calmed down.
Except for two things:
1. The rumors of Batman and Nightwing still circulating among the heroes and vigilantes of the world
2. Bruce had NEW nightmares to deal with.
The first Bruce assured his family would work itself out. Eventually everyone would just forget it since Batman, Superman, Nightwing and Robin were quelling the rumors with the truth.
It was Bruce's third night that IT hit hard. And by IT, it means the NEW NIGHTMARE.
Now, he didn't personally relive the incident of his parents' death every 20 seconds of his life-there was too much to do. Doing so would just be ridiculous. It was those times of inactivity both physically and mentally when his brain couldn't help but be pulled back to the most influenced-based events of his life. That's just how it worked. Unfortunately, he now had another one to add to the list. It didn't help that the events in question shadow-mirrored the event that had influenced him from the very beginning.
"Bruce!"
"Mom! Dad!"
"Damian!"
"No!"
Bang!
Splat!
Blood. Not a pool of blood. Four bodies floating over his head. Thomas Wayne. Martha Wayne. Dick Grayson. Damian Wayne. All four with bullet holes and the blood was gushing. Never mind that there was more blood raining down from them than could be held in four human bodies. And it didn't remain just rain, soon it gushed and despite that there was only air around Bruce and no stable standing surface, there was quickly-made an ocean of the iron-based plasma raining down on him. Could one swim in blood?
He couldn't. He was drowning. Drowning!
The bodies floated down and dove into the red sea, their pale arms reaching out towards him with decayed hands twitching with random spasms.
Bruce screamed beneath the flood of blood as two rotted hands clamped over his shoulders.
NO!
"Bruce!"
He tackled the shadow, smacking his skull into the unseen, shadow-hiden person above him (not hearing his bedroom door being opened by Tim) as he shoved the shadow in question against the footboard of his bed. A hiss followed, the body beneath him arching against his in pain.
That's when the bedroom's electric light came on, helping the very limited light pollution from Gotham City sneaking its way in through the window from miles away. When Bruce's vision was clear he found that the one he had pinned to the footboard in fear was Dick and unfortunately his footboard had a design that included sharp points atop the design. So, he had accidentally forced the acrobat to take one of them in his back which had caused the other to arch his body in its natural urge to shy away from sharp pointy objects that caused pain. Unfortunately, those factors were not known by the teen standing in the doorway, whose eye was twitching very…violently.
"Uh Tim," Bruce tried to explain the awkward situation but the teen detective just held up his hands, shuffled back into the hallway and let the door close in his face.
"Bruce?"
"Huh?"
"Your footboard is stabbing me in the back would you mind getting off!"
It wasn't a question.
The billionaire was off of his protégé in a proverbial flash, "Sorry."
"You know Bruce; situations like this are the reasons for those rumors!"
A sigh escaped the billionaire's lips before he shook his head clear of confusion, "I know. What were you doing in here anyways?"
The acrobat raised an eyebrow before saying, "You were screaming bloody murder. It was a miracle that I convinced Alfred and Damian to go back to bed. I thought Tim had managed to stay asleep."
"Sorry," Bruce apologized quietly.
"Well, try to get back to sleep."
The sea of blood flashed behind Bruce's mind.
"I'm not tired," he said in a very quick, single breath.
"OK then. Well, there's still the parent issue that we need to work out."
"What parent issue?"
"Bruce, what you said to Damian when we left the theater?"
"If you want Dick and I to be your parents. That's fine."
"Oh yeah, that."
"Yeah, we said we'd work it out the next morning but then…the alley, you were in the hospital, Alfred took a few days off, the elephants, the yard being a wreck, one of the gardeners having a heart attack, the ambulance plowing into the fence, etc…"
"Uh don't remind me Dick. Not to mention how much I've got to do at work. That reminds me, my phone's still in my office! I've never gone to get it!"
"And we need to hit the streets again soon. The others are getting tired, though Huntress is denying that she's tired."
"I need to contact the League and assure them that I'm not dead before they turn up in the city looking for me."
"The Titans, Outsiders and Society are probably wondering where I'm at, too. The last time I was in New York was last month and I had only been home long enough to get…you know? When we explained everything to Tim and Clark?"
The billionaire nodded before getting to his feet. The acrobat copied him and they exited the room. Something told Bruce that he wouldn't be sleeping for a while…he wouldn't go in that room for a while.
They both ended up in the kitchen Dick taking charge of making some coffee while glaring at Bruce until he sat down at the breakfast bar. Only, the glare continued until Bruce couldn't take it anymore.
"I know what you're thinking and come on-it was one time!"
"Bruce, you put gunpowder in the coffee machine."
"Well it looked the same and it was Jason's fault anyways. He put the container of black powder there."
"You couldn't smell the difference?"
"I had a cold. My nose was stuffed up."
The acrobat just shook his head and stared heavenward, "Oh Bruce."
"It could have happened to anyone."
"No Bruce, only you would mistake gun powder for coffee grinds, short out the coffee maker, cause a spark and send it hurtling with enough strength to go all the way through the floors of the Manor."
"Well, it did survive," the billionaire pointed out.
"Yeah, and once all of the powder was burned out it fell down the chimney and into your fireplace."
"I didn't sleep well that night either."
That shut them both up. Once the machine was running though, Dick made his way across the tiled kitchen floor to sit at the breakfast bar across from his mentor. The billionaire could hear the question already; the acrobat didn't need to say a word. Perhaps the acrobat couldn't bring himself to say it because of the tension obvious on Bruce's face or maybe because he too knew that Bruce already knew what he was going to ask. They were silent and spent time looking at random splotches of the tiled floors and marble bar table.
Finally though-
"Yes, and I don't want to talk about it."
Dick crossed his arms across his chest and glared, "You never do, Bruce."
"Then why keep asking?"
Beep! The coffee was ready. Truthfully, money could buy a fast coffee maker and if it got a bit altered throughout the years due to some advanced alien or semi-dimensional technology well-Swift Co. was none the wiser.
The acrobat got to his feet but muttered before walking off, "Maybe one day you'll give me a different answer."
He returned with two cups of coffee well brewed but nothing compared to a cup brewed with careful conscience. Unfortunately, there wasn't energy to do something like that at the moment.
For safety's sake Dick just said, "Damian," when he sat back down and handed over a cup to his mentor.
Bruce Wayne took a deep breath, an even deeper drink of the bland liquid and grimaced, "This is bitter."
"Yep," the acrobat responded, putting down his own cup.
Bruce froze and leaned forward a bit, surprised to see that coffee mix his protégé was drinking was strait up black coffee-which he knew Dick hated. Where was the sugar and cream? Maybe some milk?
"What?"
"That's black coffee."
"Naw! Really?" the younger man said sarcastically, casting a thank-you-captain-obvious face at Bruce.
"You hate black coffee."
"Yeah," he said, bored, and took another long drink.
"So, what are we doing about Damian?"
The billionaire shrugged very faintly before speaking, "Do what we were doing before? It seemed to be going well."
"That doesn't give Damian a lot of stability."
Another sigh, "I know, but what else can we do? You won't move back in or even in the city from New York and even if you did we'd kill each other eventually. That wouldn't be good for Damian either."
"True, but what can we do? Just walk through the door and tag each other?"
"I don't know."
"Oh come on, you're the World's Greatest Detective!"
"That doesn't mean anything in this situation Dick."
The duo spent the late hours of the night getting nowhere. Dick had a home in New York, Bruce had his business in Gotham, Nightwing had a place with the Justice Society, and Batman had to be available for the Justice League. One would come up with an idea only for it to be shut down quickly afterwards-ironically usually by the one who had first suggested it. And they stayed there, until they moved into the den in the early dark morning hours. Alfred would be up soon and they didn't want to be caught in the kitchen in their nightwear because they would end up with over cooked toast, runny eggs and ground filled coffee or orange juice with seeds for breakfast.
It was 6:00am when Damian made his way downstairs. The scratch on his head hadn't made sleeping easy so he had regrettably slept in beyond his normal 5:00am wake up time. When he arrived in the kitchen though, he found only three of the people he had been living with for the past year. His father was already in a suit with his briefcase by his feet, obviously ready to get back to work at Wayne Enterprises, Alfred was sitting a plate in front of Damian's empty seat and Tim was pecking at his cell phone very rapidly.
Curious, Damian crossed the room silently and glanced at the phone's screen over Tim's shoulder.
"Who's Kon?"
"AH! Don't you have something better to do?" Tim growled at him, his face red from what appeared to be anger instead of embarrassment.
"Something you want to share Tim?" Bruce asked from across the table, grimacing as he ate a piece of burnt toast.
"Nope!" the teen yelped and slid his phone into his pocket before turning back to the stack of waffles before him.
"Tt!" Damian hissed before making his way towards his seat to consume the omelet Alfred had prepared.
Of course, after his first bite he raised a confused eyebrow at his father. He hadn't been with the family for a very long time but he did recognize a Pennyworth-Punishment when he saw one. Poor father.
"Father, what did you do to make Alfred mad?"
"Eat your breakfast Damian," Bruce ordered, poking at the runny yellow yolk that was slowly taking over his plate with his fork like it was a blob alien that enjoyed the taste of china.
"Where's Da-Dick?"
Oh boy was that awkward. Bruce opened his mouth to reply but then shut it as a mental voice in the deep recesses of his brain asked why people either said 'oh boy' or 'oh man' in situations. Why didn't they say 'oh woman' or 'oh girl'? Isn't that kind of sexist? Great, his protégé wasn't even here but he still managed to randomize conversations!
"Dick went back to New York," Tim said distractedly, who had laid his cell phone on the breakfast bar at a disapproving glance from Alfred told him quite tangibly that this was 'meal time', not 'texting' or 'phone time'.
"What?"
Damian's voice made the whole room fall silent. Even the tea kettle on the stove that had been sitting there for 20 minutes that should have whistled out that it was down boiling had fallen quiet.
Sensing an approaching torrent, Alfred quickly walked around the breakfast bar to rest a hand on his youngest charge's shoulder, "Fear not Master Damian, Master Dick has just gone to New York to check in with his teams and get a few things from his penthouse."
The relief in the boy's eyes was so great that the Wayne butler had to cover up his own sigh of relief. Really, him distressed? It would not due to show such while on the clock. The rest of the breakfast consisted of Alfred tackling the emptied dishes and tossing rueful looks at Bruce. The billionaire himself was fingering the phone in his own pocket as he saw Tim stare longingly at his. He had lifted a hand to maybe see a text a few minutes previously but Alfred had pushed it down to the edge of the bar in response.
And now that Bruce really noticed the look he was getting himself, he knew he in was trouble with Alfred too.
"Alfred, my omelet's cold," Damian said with a scowl as he was half way through the meal.
Bruce and Tim froze, unsure how Alfred would respond. Now was not a good time to get on the butler's bad side. Especially not today.
"I see. Would you like that warmed up Master Damian?"
Yikes! There was tightness in the elderly butler's voice even Damian could hear. OK, yeah Alfred Pennyworth had been stressed as of late. Especially because the elephants in the yard had subsequently gotten into his garden. Not to mention Dick and Damian being shot. Then add the fact that Bruce had been in the hospital and everyone was suffering from their own nightmares …etc.
Damian Wayne was no foolish child though and knew that no one tested Alfred-not even Batman! So, he gulped, sat up strait in his chair and forced a small smile onto his face. He had to get this right if he wanted a hot breakfast, though he was beginning to suspect that the butler had made him such a large omelet to test him in the first place. Conniving butler! Conniving but impressive nonetheless.
"Alfred, my breakfast has grown cold. Would you warm it up please? I would be very grateful."
The butler in question smiled and took up the plate, casting a glance at both Bruce and Tim, "I would be glad to Master Damian. At least one of you has manners."
It was obvious that both the billionaire and teen were now scared. Both could expect a real ironed out lecture that included a lot of questions in the near future. In short for the remainder of the meal, everyone finished their plates despite over or under cooked food because leaving food on your plate would just be another way to piss Alfred off.
"Master Damian, Master Tim it is 7:00."
Right! They still had school and the two rushed upstairs to…grab their school books and triple check their homework and organize their school bags and work on reports and read their English books and study their spelling words…and brush their teeth twice and clean their rooms and press all of the wrinkles out of their bed sets and dust their book shelves and wash their windows and just all around…do anything to keep them from having to go back downstairs for the next half an hour!
"Master Bruce I like to believe I've raised you well. Now logically explain to me why you were in the kitchen this morning in nothing but your bath robe and dismantling the coffee maker!"
"…"
What could he say? He was in for it!
It felt so good to hit the rooftops again, Bruce reflected at the sound of his boots creating friction against brick and concrete.
"I heard Alfred got ya."
"Nightwing," the Dark Knight despite his rough day, smiled.
"The one and only!"
The black and blue themed hero launched himself from a nearby low rooftop up towards his mentor, adding in a backwards flip before he landed that should NOT have been humanly possible.
"Criminal," the Bat muttered at the Dark Squire landed at his side.
"What?" Nightwing stepped back with a frown.
"You heard me. Do you enjoy breaking the laws of gravity?"
A smile blossomed across the other's face, "I assure you Old Man, they're the only laws I do break."
"Oh by the way," Bruce mentioned before raising a hand into the air above his head.
"Huh?" Nightwing said, staring at the hand before he felt the wire around his foot.
Uh oh!
Before he knew it, he was flat on the rooftop on his back.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"That's for being a Traitor. You left me with Alfred and you left me with Damian before that and then don't think I would never have noticed that Superman t-shirt in the back of your closet. You're a traitor."
The younger vigilante raised an eyebrow, "Wait, you went through my closet?"
The Dark Knight turned away quickly, "I was putting laundry up today."
Two very cartoony blinks followed.
"Alfred?"
Silence.
And then.
Slumped shoulder and-
"Alfred."
Nightwing sighed and got to his feet before taking a few steps forward to stand next to Batman, "Well, this adventure sure has been crazy. How's the League?"
"In general? Insane. All the systems were down, a group of hackers somehow got into the systems, the place was a mess, and Alfred would have a heart attack if he even suspected and-uh! How are the Society and the Outsiders?"
Nightwing shrugged, "Pretty quiet…except for-"
"Yeah I know. The rumors haven't stopped. They've grown. Superman's going to pay for this."
"Where is Superman?"
"In the Nova-III sector. So I can't get to him yet."
"Alfred didn't grill you too hard did he?"
Batman thought back.
"Young man if you think I would allow you to wander this house naked then you've got another thing coming!"
And thought back some more.
"That is not the proper way to operate a coffee machine! I have told you time and time again to NOT touch the kitchen appliances!"
"No, not too much."
A release of breath followed that wasn't the least bit convinced but Batman pushed it to one side as his gaze turned to the right to scan Nightwing's form. There were no tears in the suit or indentions in the armor, his frame was clear of any dirt and his skin was healthily shaded. Meaning he hadn't met with any trouble on his way back from New York.
Good.
Strangely, Batman moved first. He bent his right arm in, turned it out between the two of them and splayed his hand out palm up.
"Give me your hand."
He had said it so quietly that Nightwing only stared back…confusion curtaining his face.
"What?" he said back, just as softly.
"Give me your hand."
Dang it! The request was still so quietly and softly spoken that Nightwing couldn't help it. He lifted his left hand and let it fall into his mentor's right. Batman was just staring at their hands though.
"Perhaps you two should get married. He could keep you out of my kitchen!"
"Uh, boss?"
"Thank you."
"What?"
Though hidden, the acrobat felt Bruce Wayne's dark blue eyes snap up towards his face very suddenly, like he was looking for an excuse rather than an answer.
"The alley. Thank you."
The solid black gauntleted glove squeezed his for a few seconds before letting go and falling to the Dark Knight's side.
"Bruce?"
That's when their commlinks clicked on.
"Batman! Nightwing! Come in!"
"Robin?" they unintentionally said in unison.
"We have a group of UFOs landing on the docks. And the aliens are really ugly too! Crap! Blasters! Hurry!"
"Let's move," Batman grunted while shooting off his grapple line to a higher building.
Behind him Nightwing sighed, "Why is it ALWAYS an alien invasion?"
Dick Grayson felt drained. Completely drained. It was happening. Both he and Bruce knew it was going to. Seesh! Had they really been arguing about the DVD remote? Of all things! The acrobat had punched his pillows into oblivion, knocked over plenty of dummies in the training room, done many acrobatic sets in the cave, went over and solved a few cases, talked with some friends (who still wanted information about the wedding that he was NOT having) reported back to the Outsiders and Justice Society and just all around tried to work off some steam. He and Bruce had fought about some pretty stupid things in the past but the DVD remote was a new low for them. Couldn't they at least have an argument about something meaningful?
Sure by tempering the time his spent in Gotham they had gotten into a rhythm they could both live with but unable to decide what to do about Damian, Dick had relented to staying at the Manor for a little while longer. Not too long though-they had promised themselves and now here they were:
Pissed off at each other and avoiding one another like the plague. Classic. Just classic. Just freaking cliche-classic!
Damian hadn't even used any of his previous strategies against them to try to force them to settle their differences. Not that Dick liked being locked in closets, or dangled from light posts, or buried underground or locked in panic rooms, or trapped in the hull of boat that was shipped off into the middle of Gotham Bay, or left on a snowy mountain top or dropped off in a desert or stuffed into a chimney, or dropped on to a deserted island, or magnetically sealed into an aquarium being delivered via airmail to a military base in Korea (he still didn't know how the kid had managed that!) but it did force Bruce to talk to him. Sure at first all they had managed was playful banter when trying to spend more time together but it had been so long since both had been engaged in such they had subsequently stuck to it as their saving grace. While this wasn't bad necessarily it wasn't really getting them anywhere progressively. Tim and Damian had stayed out of their way for the entire day, leaving the two to brood their troubles away as usual.
A sudden footstep outside made Dick snap his head towards his closed bedroom door. Bruce must have been home. The billionaire had been at his office all day, returning calls, answering e-mails, having meetings and such. Dick quickly and quietly curled up beneath his blue blankets and turned over, pretending to be asleep. It was definitely Bruce's footsteps that rang out very quietly through the hallway. Weird. Normally he had to activate that weird bat-hearing everyone said he had to hear Bruce moving anywhere at all but tonight…an average person could hear that! Was he hurt from a spontaneous decision to patrol. They were still looking for that gunman after all.
It scared him when Bruce's footsteps stopped right outside of his door and his doorknob turned ever so slightly. Was Bruce coming in to talk or just check on him? Hn, he was an adult now he didn't need his teacher checking on him every three seconds!
Spookily, as if his mentor had heard the words, the doorknob quickly snapped back into place. The door remained closed and Bruce's footsteps continued across the hallway. Yeah, there was the curse that the two had bedrooms were right across from each other. It had been irritating when they tended to walk out of their rooms at the same time.
Uh! As much as he wanted to wait it out though, Dick knew. He knew that them ignoring one another would get nothing done and waiting for Bruce to say anything about emotional problems well…everyone knew/understood that. So, the acrobat bit his bottom lip and turned back over towards the door. Consequently, his eyes also centered on the black velvet box that was sitting atop the side table. The box. He sat up and reached for it. Bruce did give this to him-out of trust.
Snapping the box open, Dick made sure to count out all of the pearls inside. All eight were safely there. Though being the paranoid dark creature that he was, Dick was certain that his mentor had actually lied and had the remainder of Martha Wayne's pearls somewhere else. Still though, he would have been shocked to have been trusted with just one. If anything it was certainly a sign of trust from Bruce himself.
And none of this was going to work out if he just sat there thinking about it all. So with a sigh he put the box down, threw the remainder of the blankets off of his lap and got to his feet. He almost left without a shirt but thankfully remembered the lessons drilled into his head as a child and back tracked to his closet to grab a Gotham Knights' t-shirt which he didn't actually remember owning. He scooped up the black velvet box on his way out and focused on deep controlled breaths as he transversed the steps that lead him across the hallway. There was no sight of the normal electronic light being on, though since Bruce's bedroom window faced Gotham in the distance the room did get a bit of light pollution from the city. That light was clearly visible so Bruce hadn't closed the drapes.
Of course there was a more discrete pattern to those habits when it came to Bruce Wayne/Batman. If the drapes were closed and the room dark it usually meant that Bruce was either asleep or so deep in thought about something really important that he couldn't afford disturbances. If one could pick up the slight light pollution from Gotham it could mean a number of different things. Either Bruce was half asleep and brooding, asleep and dealing contently with a problem, or, Dick was sure, posing in the light for visual dramatics to think over a personal problem.
Given the past hours of the day that last reason was probably the best guess of what lay inside the room.
Now, he did knock very lightly. He didn't want to wake the others up and Bruce had probably heard him walking across the hallway anyways.
"Come in Dick."
The acrobat took a last deep breath and reached for the doorknob. In just a moment of breath he was inside and leaned back to close the door behind him. Bruce Wayne was sitting on the far edge of his bed with his back to the door, gazing out of the window where Gotham still glowed darkly in the distance and curling a hand into the red pajama set he wore in nervousness. His very characteristic black robe was lying beside him on the bed showing that he had just removed it.
"Hey."
"Is there something you need?"
"Uh the DVD remote thing today?"
"…"
"That was stupid. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too."
And that was it! All was good!
Except, Bruce still had the excess red cloth balled up in his right fist.
Dick had a theory though…
"The new nightmares?"
Bruce nodded very discretely that anyone non-bat would have missed it entirely.
OK then. What could he do about that? Bruce wouldn't be open about the nightmares and any amount of pushing on the acrobat's part would make the billionaire just hide deeper into the shadows of his own making. Yet, standing and leaning against the door wouldn't do anything to move them along. If they wanted this crazy plan to work out they had to find middle ground somewhere but the last time they actually had such specific common ground was when Dick was 18 years old which was…years ago. He could resort to playful banter but Bruce looked way too wound up for any of it at the moment.
Still, he had to cliché-ly do something. So the acrobat pushed himself away from the door and crossed the room. Nothing was ever the same in the city, manor or even Bruce's room every time he visited. There was always a change that was either a front for life or a new process or possession someone hoped would be the answer to unresolved questions. Nevertheless, Dick stopped his walk when he reached Bruce's side.
"So, this isn't about the argument? It's about your dreams?"
"Yes."
"Do you mind?"
Bruce reached out to push his robe onto the floor so he could scoot over for his protégé to sit down beside him. It was only then that the billionaire saw the small black box that Dick was carrying.
"You didn't leave them in New York?"
"No. They're never leaving my side Bruce."
A gulp and a, "Thank you."
A deep sigh escaped the acrobat's lips before he turned to his mentor, who took an entire minute to return the gaze.
"You're not going to sleep with those nightmares, we're not going to be able to sleep with you screaming and I want to help…as always. Are you going to let me this time?"
"I don't think you can help me with this Dick."
"That's bull and we all know it. You think you're the only one having nightmares. I know I'm having a few and I'm guessing Damian is too."
The billionaire cleared his throat and let his eyes drop to the floor in concern. That's when Dick held his left hand palm up towards his mentor.
Give me your hand.
It was a reflection of his own action previously and Bruce did so without protest but when he did his hand was flipped over and the box of blood stained pearls was put in his hand.
"Don't get me wrong Bruce, I wouldn't let anything happen to them I swear that, but maybe tonight you should keep them here. Not in the bunker, not in the cave, HERE. And for once in your life remember what you DO have."
The younger man released his hold and let both of his hands fall palm flat against the black and gray comforter beneath them. Bruce stared at the box, snapped back the lid to gaze at the pearls and then stretched over slightly to set it upon one of the bedside tables.
"For tonight. Just tonight," he agreed.
A hand landed on the billionaire's shoulder and his protégé spoke softly, "It's all OK Bruce and everything WILL be OK. One way or another."
Bruce opened his mouth to speak but his door opening again made the two men turn back to see a very short figure standing there.
"Damian?" the both guessed together.
"You weren't in your room Dad."
Dick blinked, shook his head slightly and motioned the child to come in and close the door behind him. Damian did so before gazing up at his two parental figures.
"Father? The gunman, have they?"
Bruce drew in a sharp breath before turning around completely and pulling himself across the bed to sit on the opposite side facing the child. He motioned to the empty space beside him which Damian quickly acted to occupy. His gaze was frighteningly speeding between both Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson as if trying to decide.
Dick rolled his eyes at the obvious debate. 'Do I go to dad for protection?' or 'Do I go to mom for comfort?' From the look Bruce was aiming at him, he probably understood too, so in sync as usual they reached out to the boy. Dick pulled Damian into a hug while Bruce reached out to curl a protective hand over his shoulder.
Dick had to though. He looked up at his mentor and mouthed, 'Why am I the woman in the relationship?"
Bruce tried to hide his smirk but happily failed and shrugged his shoulders.
"Nightmare?" Bruce asked his son, who nodded in response.
"Tt!"
"Well, that proves it," Dick said with a slight smile.
"Proves what?" the billionaire asked with a raised eyebrow.
"The nightmare. He is SO your son."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Not much. I just hope he doesn't start going caveman on us like you do."
"What!"
"You grunt, he hisses."
"…"
"Now, I know you don't want to talk about it Damian so why don't you stay here with your father?" Dick said and began pulling away.
"No!"
Damian hit him like a missile. Right in the ribs!
Thankfully Bruce had many fluffy pillows on his bed that slowed him down enough before the acrobat could bang his head on the acutely named headboard.
"He doesn't want you to leave," Bruce said.
Dick raised an eyebrow at that from where he was now laying down with a kid attached to him, "You truly are the World's Greatest Detective!"
"Well, you two can use my room tonight," Bruce said, allowing his hand to drop from his son's shoulder, "I don't think I'll be getting any sleep. So I'll just go-"
"NO!"
And how did Damian do that! Had a ten-year-old's punch really knocked him over? Now Bruce was lying down with Damian's fist clenched into the fabric of his shirt above his stomach while the child's other hand and arm was hooked over the acrobat's neck. Strangely though, it was only a few minutes of condemned silence until Damian was asleep, his head buried into Dick's side that was causing pain in his ribs.
"Bruce?" Dick whispered.
"Yes?" another whisper returned.
"I don't think either of us is leaving."
"I think you're right."
Defeat clouding his face Bruce resigned himself to the situation. If he didn't he'd probably wake up trapped with Dick in a rocket ship on the way to Neptune. It took a bit of maneuvering but Bruce was able to grab the folded down comforter halfway down the bed. A little fancy leg maneuvering in addition and they all finally had a blanket over them against the cold night.
"Bruce, this is awkward."
"Yeah, go to sleep. That's an order."
"Yes sir."
Bruce awoke first, which was strange as, unlike many of those he-never-sleeps rumors, he was normally the last in his house to be roused by the morning hours. What surprised him more was that he had slept nightmare free. Maybe it was the talk, or the pearls or the two beings still sleeping soundly. In their sleep, both appeared calm and relaxed. Through the window it was clear that it was still very early so he could get in a few more hours of dreamless sleep.
Which he did.
The second time he awoke it was to laughing and a bright flash. Fortunately it also woke up his companions as well. They both felt someone else in the room and the cleaner breaths of air warned them that whoever was there had come through the window.
They both shot up to see a figure in the dawning light of the morning leaning back in the window seat where the window was in a, no-surprise, open state.
"Jason!" Dick yelled, having been the first to clear the night from his eyes.
The chuckles that followed only confirmed the figure's identity to Bruce, who cleared his gaze in enough time for the red hooded figure to raise the object in his hand and launch another bright flash at them. What was…oh no.
"Jason! Put that camera down now!" Bruce ordered.
Across the room Jason jerked in contained chuckles, "Are you kidding? I'm going to channel 7, these are going to make me some dough and give you trouble. See ya!"
With that he leaned and fell backwards out of the window. Which Bruce and Dick rushed to immediately.
"What's going on?" Damian asked, the movement of the others having woken him.
Strangely though he had apparently been moved to the foot of the bed.
"He's already half way to the gate!" Dick said.
"Father, what happened?" the child assassin said, walking up to look out of the window.
"Jason had a camera and he took pictures of us!" Dick said, trying to think at the same time.
What could they do? They couldn't run after him like this!
"I've got an idea," Bruce said, a smirk suddenly spreading across his face.
"What?"
"Damian-fetch."
A similar smirk crawled over Damian's face at the hidden line of permission as he launched himself off of the windowsill. Thankfully it took little time to catch the red hooded black mailer since the kid seemed to be full of a new energy.
"Now Todd, you should know better," the child assassin said slowly pulling a spool of cable from his pocket as he stared down at the newly discovered photographer.
"Where'd that come from?" Jason asked, trying to escape the fact he was now being pinned by multiple tree branches.
How had the kid even done that?
"Oh, don't worry about it...YET...Todd."
Back upstairs Dick whistled, "Wow, that's impressive."
Bruce smiled and threw a joyful arm over his protégé's shoulders, "That's our boy!"
Loud laughter suddenly filled the upstairs floors of Wayne Manor waking up the other members of the house.
Down below the front gate opened and a very confused Cassandra Cain was staring at two of her 'brothers' in the driveway of Wayne Manor. She thought about it for a very long moment before shaking her head and continuing her stride towards the front door-ready to tell everyone about her training trip to Tibet and to enjoy Alfred's cooking…once again.
A/N: Well, now that's finally out of the way. I want something from YOU! Like the title says it's all about IF. I want readers to give me suggestions like:
What IF there hadn't been any gunman in the alley?
What IF everyone had gone through up to the wedding?
What IF Bruce had to answer to the JLA for the misunderstanding?
What IF the news had reached civilian media?
What IF Damian had insisted the Teen Titans assist with the wedding?
It can be ANY 'What IF?' you want. Just leave it in a review. The top three either most requested or inspiring will be made into three companion pieces in the series full of humor.
The only rules surrounding the suggestions is that they have to match this site's rules and you cannot give me a word count. Seriously, I'm not writing a 50,000 word companion story-that's ridiculous! Besides that you have free reign. Request as many as you want-give me a list!
~Moonsetta