The Meeting
By
AJ
Part 6
Bruce arrived back at the Manor and after parking the car out front. He carried his stricken son back up to his room and placed him on the bed. He pulled a quilt over him, but didn't want to leave his side. He sat beside him and grasped his hand, feeling the strength in that grip, fearful that he wouldn't feel that strength ever again. They always seemed to know what the other was thinking without having to speak a single word. The connection they though had been lost a couple of years before was still there having resolved itself just six months ago. It was still tenuous, but as time moved forward, Bruce and Dick had once again settled into that deep understanding that fathers and sons had with each other. For them though it was much more. Their partnership was still apparent, though different in other ways. Bruce continued to hold his son's hand feeling the love and the strength that came with that simple touch. With that grasp Bruce could tell what his son was trying to convey.
'Please don't leave,' Dick was thinking. 'I need you close. I don't want to die alone.'
'You're not going to die, not if I can help it,' Bruce replied in that touch with just a squeeze of his own hand, wanting to give his son all the strength he could. "I will find the antidote. Now, try to get some sleep. I'll send Alfred to keep you company." He gave Dick's hand one more squeeze then let it go. Alfred appeared at that moment carrying a small tray with a glass of water and couple of pills.
"I took the liberty of bringing a couple of pain relief pills to ease some of the cramping," the old butler said.
'Thanks Alfred," Dick said weakly.
Alfred handed Dick the pills and the water. Both knew the pills would not be enough. Dick didn't want to say anything, but in the last few minutes the nausea and the cramping had grown worse. His vision was blurred and even though he was lying in bed, he still felt dizzy. Disorientation was setting in and he felt as if his heart was racing.
Bruce though was aware of his son's distress and it was tearing him up inside. He had to be strong for his son if they were going to survive this. Bruce looked around the room noticing little details that others would have missed. He noticed the box on the floor and the trophies that had been placed inside. Dick's decathlon trophy where he took first place in the discus throw had fallen to the floor nearly underneath the shelf where it had gone unnoticed. Bruce reached down and picked it up and placed it back on the shelf where it belonged. Was Dick planning on moving his stuff to his apartment? Thinking about the fallen trophy, Bruce looked up to see the broken chain of what remained of the chandelier still hanging from the ceiling.
'Alfred must have cleaned up the broken chandelier,' Bruce thought. 'Dick had been lucky. He could have broken his back on the medal portions or had been pierced by the broken glass. Instead he had been cut with a sword that contained oleander on the blade. Looks like I'm going to have a long talk with Damian.'
Bruce made his way out of Dick's room to find his youngest son. It was time to face the miniature lion in his den.
"DAMIAN!" Bruce called.
"Master Damian is in your study," Alfred said as he came out of Dick's room. "Master Richard is running a fever and he is complaining of feeling nauseated."
The faint sound of vomiting came from Dick's room. He must have rushed to his private bathroom soon after Alfred left.
"I shall stay with him," Alfred said.
"I have to find that antidote and soon. I'm going to talk with Damian then I'll be going down to the bat cave."
"Will you be going out to patrol?" Alfred said coolly.
"You know I won't, not while Dick's life is in danger. After speaking with Damian, and getting my suspicions confirmed, I will be paying someone a visit, and it won't be a social call."
Bruce moved down to the study and entered. Damian was sitting in one of the chairs just staring into space. There was a look on his face that reminded Bruce of himself. He often looked like that when he was thinking about a problem that needed solving, but didn't know what his next step would be. Taking a closer look at the boy, Bruce suddenly realized how much Damian looked like him, not just from the dark hair and blue eyes, but the shape of his face. Bruce moved over to his desk and pulled out an old photograph that he kept in the bottom drawer. It was of him and his father that his mother took of them during a quiet moment together. Bruce looked at the photo and saw . . . . Great Scott! Damian didn't just look like Bruce, it was as if he was looking into a mirror, and yet. When Damian came to the Manor, now just three days ago, Bruce had checked to see if Damian was a clone, but that wasn't the case. Even so, once this ten-year-old boy reaches his full height and maturity, Bruce would certainly bet that everyone will mistake Damian for his younger self.
For the moment, Bruce had to confront this younger child-like image and find out what he knew.
"Damian," Bruce called.
Bruce observed how the younger child sat up straighter, becoming stiff and formal in his presence. 'I can certainly see he doesn't behave like me when I was his age. I was never that formal.' Bruce walked over to where Damian sat. "We need to talk."
"Father . . . how is . . . Richard?"
"You know how he is," Bruce stated, though his words implied more. 'You poisoned him. You should know what that means.'
"I do not. Please tell me."
"He's dying, and if I don't find the antidote . . ."
"Antidote? For what?"
Bruce's eyes narrowed. Could Damian not know what happened? Bruce decided on another line of questioning.
"Who gave you that sword?"
"My grandfather, after I finished the first phase of my training."
"Ra's al Ghul," Bruce said. Bruce recalled his own training with the League of Shadows. After he reaching a certain level, he too received a samurai sword. He was told about the old samurai code that once a samurai sword was removed from its sheath, it had to draw blood. "Did your grandfather say anything about the blade?"
"Only that I must use a special oil to keep the blade from rusting. The oil must not be touched by human hands. He said it was sacred to the samurai."
"Did he say what the oil was made from?" Bruce asked.
"He did not."
So, Damian did not know. Bruce turned to his son and could see his eyes were steady. Though Damian was just a child, there was far more maturity there than he expected, maturity or coldness, he couldn't be certain. Bruce's next words hopefully would teach him what was within Damian's heart.
"Damian, the oil your grandfather gave you wasn't to keep the blade from rusting."
"What are you talking about Father? Grandfather told me the oil was to be used on the blade before . . ."
"Before you were to use it?" Bruce finished his words. "The reason you have been told to place that oil onto the blade is so it will get into the wound. If the one wielding the blade doesn't kill the other person, eventually, the oil will."
Damian's brow furrowed. "What are you saying, Father?"
"Do you know what oleander is?"
"No."
"It is a flowering bush. Its seeds are poisonous if ingested. The oil that you have been using on that sword was made from the seed of the oleander flower."
Damian's eyes became wide. Richard! He not only tried to kill him with his sword, but now he just learned that the very sword he had been taking care of with such care had a powerful secret. Without his knowledge, Damian had been lacing the blade with a deadly poison. Then his eyes narrowed.
'Grandfather did not trust my skills. I had been training since I was three. Some day Grandfather, I will prove you wrong.' Damian turned toward his father. "Where is Richard?"
"He is in his room," Bruce answered.
"I wish to see him."
"Not right now,"
"I must apologize, Father before . . . . Before he dies so his spirit will not be trapped in this world."
"You can do that later. Right now we have a bigger issue."
"You just told me that Richard is dying. What issue is there?"
"The antidote." Bruce said.
"Antidote? I was not aware there was one."
"Didn't your Grandfather tell you what to do in case the oil were to get on your skin or accidently ingested?"
"No. I have been careful. I only use the oil with gloves and a towel. My grandfather said it was part of the ritual of tending to the blade."
'And you have always followed that ritual without making a mistake,' Bruce added, thinking what Damian hadn't voiced. "I know of one antidote."
"If there is, then we must find it."
Bruce was taken aback by Damian's words. "You care about him that much?"
"I do not know Richard the way you do, Father," Damian said, but added in his mind, 'I saw how much he means to you. Though I wish you would react the same with me. I must learn who this Richard is and why he affects Father so much.'
Bruce thought for a moment on what he should do. The choice he was about to make would affect them all. He didn't know whether he was making a mistake, but either way, Damian would have to learn of its existence soon enough.
"Come with me," Bruce said.
Bruce left the study and didn't look back to see whether Damian was following him. The boy's footfalls on the oak wood floor confirmed that fact. He moved down the hall to the music room and entered. He went over to an old grandfather clock and pressed down on one of the finials then opened the face of the clock and moved the hands so they pointed to midnight. Bruce could sense the odd questioning look on Damian's face. It was when the clock moved outward on its base when Damian's reaction reminded him of Dick's the first time he saw the entrance to the cave. Before entering the cave, Bruce turned toward his youngest son and questioned him.
"How much do you know about Batman?"
"Mother told me that you are Batman, but she did not tell me where your lair could be found."
"That is because I never told her," Bruce said. "There is someone else I want you to meet. I want you to tell him everything you told me."
"Who is this other person?" Damian asked.
"Your other brother, Tim, and my partner Robin."
"Why?"
"Because he's going to help us find the antidote. And you're going to tell me where to find your Grandfather."
Continues with Part 7
A/N: Why did I choose Oleader? Because it grows in a desert climate. Damian Wayne came from Middle Eastern stock on his Mother's side. Oleander can be found in Algeria.