What You Do To Me: Chapter 02
Chikorita-Trainer1
T
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything else I might make references to.
Author's note: Sorry it's been over two months since I updated. Not that there are that many people following this story. I know exactly what I want to happen, but GETTING there is the tough part. Especially when it involves action sequences, which, if you'll read below, you'll see I suck at. Thank you for your patience, though.
Out on the streets, things were more hectic than the night before. An unidentified criminal had somehow acquired a truck full of machine guns, and was speeding through the city, killing everything in sight. Batman and Robin were pursuing them in the Batmobile, but it wasn't long before the windshield had been obstructed with cracks from a dozen bullets.
"Switching to radar mode," Batman ordered the vehicle, so he could see without actually seeing.
"This is pointless, Batman," growled Robin. "I'm ejecting."
"NO!" cried Batman. But it was too late; his sidekick had already launched his seat upward, out of the roof of the car, and while falling back down, thrust five birdarangs at the car in front of them.
Four of Robin's weapons connected with the truck's main wheels, causing it to spin out of control and flip over. The fifth penetrated the back windshield of the truck, almost hitting the driver in the head, but instead, landing on the steering wheel, prompting the driver to, even though he was screwed anyway from the car being sent out of control, jerk back in alarm.
The explosion was inevitable. Robin, however, used his para-cape to slowly drift down safely into a nearby alley.
Batman, however, had had to slam on the Batmobile's brakes and make the car skid furiously to a halt, which it only came to inches away from the blast.
"ROBIN!" roared the Batman, twisting his head from side to side, furiously scouring every inch of space his eyes could scan, hoping not to find his son's charred and blackened skeleton. "ROBIN!" he cried again.
I can't believe he did this. Has he learned nothing?! thought Batman as he lifted his cape over his face to shield his eyes from the heat and flames. Impossibly soon, somehow, his eyes landed on a tiny shard of what was unmistakably, a birdarang. Batman's heart clenched up in his chest, and tears formed in his eyes. Although the cowl would absorb any liquid, the sting was present. Batman was about to cry. He had lost his baby. No doubt in his mind. Until-
"OK, I admit, that didn't go exactly the way I had planned-"
"ROBIN!" Batman leaped towards the voice.
"I didn't think they had inflammable ammunition in there. I thought it was just-"
"You don't get to talk," was all Batman said. He didn't even yell. He said it calmly, in his trademark rasp, and that was all that was needed. "You do not GET TO TALK," he said again. Robin's eyes widened and he backed away.
"Batman, I'm sorry- I- I-"
"Don't move," Batman rasped. "Do. Not. Move."
It was a confusing order, but became clear in time, as within a few minutes, the Batplane, controlled via autopilot, arrived overhead, and extended a rope ladder for the Dynamic Duo to use.
"Go straight home. NOW," ordered Batman. Robin gulped, took hold of the ladder, and ascended into the Batplane.
"Back so soon, Master Damian?" asked Alfred, as the Batplane landed in the hangar and the young Robin emerged.
"I was sent home," he said softly.
"It's probably just as well. Titus hasn't eaten a morsel, which is most unusual. Perhaps you can persuade him."
"Titus?" Damian spoke to his dog. "What's the matter?" He crouched down to the Great Dane who was lying on the floor, and scratched behind his ears.
"Rrrmnhh," was all Titus had to say.
"Are you hungry at all?" Damian tried, bringing a single piece of kibble up to the dog's mouth, and trying to stuff it under his jowls. Titus didn't make any show of wanting to eat. The kibble just fell right back out and onto the floor.
"He also hasn't moved from that spot since this afternoon," said Alfred. "I fear there may be something wrong."
"Yeah, I don't know," said Damian. "Maybe he has a stomachache from all the people-food Colin and I fed him. He's not used to eating like that."
"Perhaps," said Alfred. "Though I've never known fruit and pancakes to be harmful to dogs. Maybe if they had been chocolate-ship pancakes…"
"You OK, Titus?" Damian asked again, petting his furry friend. Titus only closed his eyes and sighed.
"When your father gets home, I'm sure he'll know what to do," said Alfred. "If not, we'll call the vet in the morning, and make an appointment."
"OK," said Damian, still not moving from his place on the floor beside the dog. "I hope you feel better, Titus," he added softly, giving the dog's floppy head one last pet.
Damian had already gotten into bed by the time Bruce got home. It was about 4:30 in the morning when Batman pulled the heavily-dented and almost irreparably damaged Batmobile into the Cave.
"Goodness, Master Bruce. Difficult night?" asked Alfred.
"You have no idea," Bruce growled. Taking off his cowl and cape, the Dark Knight stumbled to the nearest chair, sat down, and dropped his head into his hands.
"Master Bruce?"
"I almost lost him, Alfred," Bruce nearly sobbed. "He caused an explosion. Didn't even think twice about the fact that he was IN it! I almost watched him get blown apart right in front of me!"
"Master Bruce," Alfred soothed, resting his gloved hands on his master's shoulders. "The lad is fine. You needn't worry."
"I know he's fine NOW," said Bruce. "But he never listens! He won't obey! Why doesn't he understand what he does to me? Why can't he understand how much I love him?"
"He's young," the butler managed. "This is not abnormal for ten-year-old boys, Master Bruce. To be oblivious to the love their parents have for them, to be unaware of the stress they cause. But Master Damian does not intend to cause you grief. He merely wants to participate in your crusade. Wants to fight by your side, and make a difference."
"The only difference he's going to make is in his own lifespan," said Bruce. "I don't know how to make him understand."
"Perhaps enlightenment will come to you after a good night's sleep, Master Bruce," said Alfred. "Master Damian has already gone to bed. Oh, and before you do, Titus seems to be under the weather."
"What do you mean?"
"He won't eat. He won't move. I fear something is wrong."
"Oh, man. Poor boy," Bruce said softly, getting up from his chair and walking over to Titus' still form. "You OK, boy? You sick?"
"Rrrmnnhh," Titus croaked out.
"Yeah, I don't like this," said Bruce. "Make an appointment as soon as possible."
"Yes, Master Bruce," said Alfred.
"You said Damian's in bed?"
"Yes."
"OK. I'm going to go tuck him in. Good night, Alfred."
"Good night, Master Bruce."
The weary vigilante trudged up the stairs and slinked down the hall to his son's room. He opened the door slowly, and the light from the hallway fell upon the form of Damian, who was lying on his back, as is the only position his odd bed will allow.
"My little boy," Bruce whispered, smoothing back Damian's hair. "Why can't you understand? Why can't you just cooperate? I love you so, so much. The thought of losing you makes me sick. I just want you to be safe, and happy, and healthy."
The ten-year-old stirred, but didn't awaken. Bruce sighed, bent down, and kissed Damian on the forehead. He left his head bent there, close to his son's face, for a moment, before rising and walking down the hall to his own room.
END OF CHAPTER 02
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