Between Father's and Sons

By

AJ

Part 3 – A Broken Wing Needs Mending

The screech of tires, the sudden impact and a body being flung into the air, twisting then falling several yards away brought a look of horror on the driver's face all contributed to bring the night to a horrendous end. The figure cloaked in darkness jumped from the car and ran to the body that lay near an entrance that was supposed to be secret.

Who was he? Was he even alive? The dark figure knelt down, took off a glove and reached for the pulse point on the neck of the prone figure. There was a pulse, but it was weak and thready. He could not have hit him that hard despite his quick breaking to reduce the impact. In the headlights of the vehicle, he examined the fallen figure as best he could. His bare hand rested on the young man's right hip and felt the tell tale stickiness and it came away, covered in blood. He didn't know who the young man was, but he could not allowed him to die on the road. He would have to face the consequences later. Still a few questions did form in his mind. Who was this young man? Was he a new villain or a new vigilante? What was he doing outside the entrance? And how did he know it was even there?

The figure picked up the unconscious young man and placed him in the passenger seat. He climbed in the car, backed up then turned and entered the hidden entrance. The car came to an abrupt stop. It started to turn on the concealed carrousel and the man in the driver's seat rushed out and went to the medical bay area of the cave and grabbed a gurney. As the passenger side moved into position where the car was facing the exit, the dark figure opened the passenger side door and nearly ripped it off its hinges. He pulled the young man out and placed him on the gurney. The dark figure moved the gurney to the medical bay and immediately removed the lower half of the young vigilante's costume to get at the wound in his right hip. The dark figure could not help notice that the lower half of the young man's costume was covered in blood. A figure in the background approached silently but knew exactly what was needed.

"I need a probe," the dark figure ordered.

The older man behind him handed the cloaked figure the instrument.

The cloaked man took the probe and carefully placed it into the wound feeling it hit something hard and metallic. The wound continued to bleed.

"Looks like the bullet is still in there."

Suddenly the young vigilante stirred and tried to curl into a ball.

"Nooooo," the young man mumbled.

The cloaked figure hesitated only for a moment. He thought he recognized the voice, but he couldn't be sure. He shook it off and concentrated on what needed to be done.

"Forceps then hold him down. I need to get the bullet out."

The older man handed the cloaked figure the requested instrument then assisted in keeping the young man from turning onto his side by stretching his body over the young man's upper body. The young man struggled, but in his compromised state, he wasn't able to fight off the older man.

The cloaked man carefully removed the remains of a large caliber bullet and placed it in a nearby tray.

"Better give him a sedative as well as a local anesthetic. It looks like the bullet nicked an artery. That's going to need repair. I'll turn that procedure over to you. This guy has lost a lot of blood."

"Where did you find him?" the older man asked. "And who is he?"

". . . Near the entrance to the cave." The cloaked man was reluctant to mention how he happened upon the young man.

The older man didn't question the cloaked figure further, but continued to work on the young man. He injected the young man with a local anesthetic and started an IV for fluids. The older man was about to add the sedative through the IV when the young man's eyes behind his mask opened. In a soft voce he spoke one word.

"Bruce."

"What? Did you say something?"

"Must . . . find . . . Bruce."

"Master Bruce."

"What is it Alfred? I'm trying to determine this guy's blood type. He'll need a transfusion. You should be suturing up that artery."

"You're right, Sir," Alfred prepared the suturing kit and started to work on the wound as soon as the young man was asleep once again. Working in silence, Alfred worked on repairing the nicked artery then suturing the wound closed. Alfred turned back to his patient and noticed the structure of the young man's face. He should have recognized him the moment he saw him. Why hadn't he? Perhaps it was due to the young man's attire. While Alfred had been suturing the wound, Bruce prepared to bandage the area after thoroughly cleaning away the remaining blood.

"Master Bruce," Alfred stated again. "I know who he is."

"How could you know? Neither of us has seen him before."

"Look beyond the costume," Alfred said.

Finally, taking a moment to think about Alfred's words, he turned to look at the young vigilante's face. Something about the young man was familiar. No, it couldn't be. Bruce brushed his hand through the young man's hair then along the young man's chin. A smear of make-up came off on his glove revealing a small scar. Bruce's eyes grew wide not daring to hope that the young man lying wounded on the medical bay table was whom he thought.

Slowly Bruce reached up and carefully grasping the mask, he started to remove it. The mask was stuck tight. Taking a cotton pad and some rubbing alcohol, he carefully removed the spirit gum holding the mask in place. Bruce also removed the black polish around the young man's eyes. The black polish gave added protection to hide the skin color and to help cut glare from sudden flashes of light. Bruce remembered the first time he started using the polish to help disguise his facial features. Once the polish was removed, the full face of the young man was revealed.

"Great Scott! It's Dick!"

A voice unexpectedly popped up.

"Who's Dick?"

A boy about ten years of age with strawberry blond hair stood near the edge of the medical bay. He was wearing a pair of sweat pants and T-shirt and he carried a long staff. He had seen Bruce come into the cave. He also saw him carry someone from the batmobile and lay that person on a gurney. He wanted to know then, but waited. For some reason, he knew that wasn't the time to ask. Now, with Bruce's sudden exclamation, Jason Todd couldn't resist asking, but instead of an answer . . .

"Jason, get back to your practice," Bruce ordered. "We'll discuss it later."

The boy slowly walked back toward the workout area trying to crane his neck to see whom it was that lay on the medical bay table. He could see a man with dark, almost black hair. He wore a mask. Curiosity almost drove him back to ask more questions, but he knew Bruce would reprimand him for it. Questions formed in his mind, like the one he just asked and did not get an answer for. One thing though did weigh heavily on his mind, the look on Bruce's face. Bruce never looked at him that way, like a beloved father. What was so special about this guy? Jason knew one thing for certain. He was going to find out, whether Bruce liked it or not.

Continues with Part 4