A/N: Sorry for the long update time. The end of the school year is the craziest. Anyway! Read on!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, but I wish I did.
Chapter 7: After Effects
When Damian woke up, the pain in his head almost caused him to fall back into unconsciousness. He groaned as he shifted in the sheets. Sheets? Where am I? Damian jumped up, but instantly regretted it, grabbing his head. After regaining some composure, he gained his bearings. He was in his own room laying in his own bed. How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was Grayson yelling his name. What had happened?
"Master Damian, I would advise you lay back down," Alfred said, walking into the room holding a tray with food on it.
"What happened?" the boy asked, staring at the older man, ignoring the given advice.
Alfred didn't answer, but placed the tray down on the bed side table. He pulled out a pill container from his coat pocket, "One second, take these first."
Damian held out his hand and took the pills. He swallowed them reluctantly and accepted the water Alfred offered him. As he wiped stray water droplets off his lips, he asked again, "What happened?"
"You suffered from a minor concussion. You've been asleep for over twelve hours. I'm glad you finally woke up though, Dr. Thompkins was afraid you could slip into a coma."
Twelve hours? He hadn't slept an hour without nightmares in a week, and he had just slept for twelve. He didn't know if he should be happy or concerned for his health. He looked out toward his window. If he had been asleep since the incident last night, that meant it was probably around one in the afternoon.
Damian looked over at Alfred. The man's face was one of stress and tiredness. Had Alfred been that worried about him while he was sleeping?
"Where is Grayson?"
Instantly, Damian knew something was wrong. Alfred avoided answering the question and looked away, busying himself with preparing Damian's food.
So, Damian asked again, "Where is Grayson, Pennyworth?"
Alfred sighed, "He is ill, Master Damian."
"Sick?" Damian was concerned now. How could Grayson let himself get the flu at a time like this? Scarecrow was loose somewhere in the city.
"Yes. Dr. Thompkins took blood samples last night. When she gets the results back, we should know what is wrong with him."
Damian rubbed his head as he got out of bed.
"Just where do you think you are going?"
"To see, Grayson. He shouldn't have gotten himself sick," Damian defiantly said. Alfred stared at the younger in disbelief.
"It's…" Alfred's voice trailed off, "It's more serious than your everyday illness."
Damian was confused now, "Then what is wrong with him?"
"Like I said, we are not sure yet. He passed out in the cave last night and hasn't awoken since."
Damian moved toward the door.
"Master Damian, you should get back in bed."
"T-t, I'm fine Pennyworth," Damian snorted. He wished he really was fine, but he had a major headache. He walked down the hall to Dick's room and opened the door. The curtains were drawn making the interior of the room dark. Damian walked toward the lump that lay under the covers. When he got close enough, he could see the man's head underneath poking out.
Dick was pale, very pale. His breathing was shallow, and overall, he did not look well. Damian became worried. Dick couldn't get hurt; they had too much to do. He had just come back out as Robin. He had gone to help Dick, not get him into more trouble.
"I'm sorry," Damian said to the lifeless form in front of him. Damian moved to the side of the bed and sat down. He looked around his older brother's room. As he stared at the dark walls, he found himself becoming tired again. He lay down at the foot of the bed.
When Alfred walked in after taking care of Damian's uneaten food, he found a comforting sight. Damian lay at Dick's feet, both boys sleeping.
Damian was awoken by a clicking sound. When he heard footsteps and hushed voices in the hall, he realized the sound was caused by the door shutting. He slowly opened his eyes, but there was nothing there. Whoever had shut the door had gone out. Damian stood up and walked toward the door. He quietly opened it and poked his head out. Down the hall, Alfred and Dr. Thompkins were walking away.
Damian left the room, shutting the door just as quietly as he had opened it, and followed the pair.
The medicine or the extra six hours of sleep he had gotten had helped his headache, which was now virtually gone. His head still hurt when he touched it, but that was probably due to a nasty bruise.
The pair in front of him entered his father's old study. Damian stood beside the door, placing an ear against it to listen.
"…anesthetic type drug…blood…"
Damian cursed when he realized he couldn't hear everything.
The doctor was still talking, "will be in coma….state…will destroy brain matter….knowing Scarecrow….cure."
Damian couldn't hear every word, but he understood the situation being described. Scarecrow had injected Dick with some special toxin that was destroying his mind. There had to be a cure. And if there was, Damian was going to find it.
Dick stared down at the carpet in front of him. It took him a minute but he realized the carpet looked familiar. He lifted his head and looked around the dimly lit room. Dick found himself sitting in his old apartment in Bludhaven. The one he had lived in before Blockbuster had blown it up.
Everything was the same as it had been. The Flying Graysons poster was in its place on the wall. The television was there, muted on the evening news. It was like nothing had ever happened.
As he sat there, the door opened and in walked Bruce. Bruce?
"What are you going here?" Dick asked confused. Now that he thought about it, what was he doing here? This apartment had been destroyed. Was this a dream?
"We're inside your mind," Bruce told him. Dick thought about this.
"So, you're not real?"
"Well, I am real. I'm just not physically real. But I'm technically you."
Dick stared at the figure standing in front of him. What was going on?
"So, are you like my subconscious?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Now Dick was really confused, "If you're my subconscious why are you Bruce?"
"Well, apparently, you base a lot of your decisions based on morals or judgments that Bruce put in your head. That, and I guess you thought it would be easier to talk to someone else than, well, yourself. That could get confusing."
"This is already confusing."
Dick stared at the couch as he ran his fingers over its fabric. It felt so real. Then, he heard something.
"I'm sorry."
Dick looked at Bruce in front of him, "Did you say that? Because that sounded like…"
"Damian?" The other interrupted, shrugging his shoulders in a matter of fact way, "Like I said, we're stuck in your own head, but you can still hear what's going on around you. You just can't respond."
Dick sat up straight, holding up his hands as if to signal a stopping motion. "Okay, okay. Let me just figure all this out. I'm me, you're me, and this is my mind which I'm trapped in because...," he tried hard to think. What had happened that led him here? Then, he remembered, "the toxin?"
"Yeah."
"Why is my mind my old apartment?" Dick asked, looking around the room.
"This was your sanctuary. It was the first place you went that was truly your own. You take refugee here, even if now it is a place of painful memories."
Dick thought about the incident with Blockbuster. The people who had lived in this building had died, because of him. They wouldn't have been killed if he had just lived somewhere else.
"It wasn't your fault."
Dick stopped short and froze, "I didn't say that out loud."
Bruce laughed, "We're in your mind and I'm your subconscious. You really believe I don't know your thoughts?"
Dick felt like screaming. This was way too confusing. He turned away and stared at the television. There was footage running from old news reports he had once watched in real time. However, the words that ran across the screen were unreadable.
"You can't read in a dream," Dick murmured just to create noise. Bruce didn't respond though. Why is this so confusing?
"I know. It's very confusing."
Dick really wanted to scream now. He was talking to himself without having to speak. This was completely new to him, "You are so annoying."
"Hey, I'm you. So, watch what you say about yourself," Bruce replied smirking.
"Seriously, am I really this annoying?"
"You have no idea."
Dick paused, sighing, "Wait, if you are me, how would you know if I'm annoying?"
"That's what I said right? You have no idea."
"Oh, my, God," Dick muttered under his breath.
"I'm confused; did I answer your question?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Just stop talking, please."
"Did you forget I'm you?"
Dick was fuming now, "Okay, aren't I under the fear toxin? This isn't frightening. Well, sort of, but you know what I mean."
"I do know what you mean, I mean I am…"
"Stop, just stop," Dick interrupted, holding up a hand in Bruce's face. Suddenly, he found himself missing the real Bruce. He would give anything for the gruff seriousness and not this jokester attitude.
"Look, you are under the toxin, but your mind is trying to fight it. You were always the happy one in the family. You're trying to push back everything negative by being light-hearted and happy. It won't last forever. You should be happy while I'm here."
Dick pondered these words, staring at the television screen blankly, "How long until this is all over?"
Bruce laughed a deep, chilling laugh, "You won't get out of here. And I know we're supposed to be optimistic, but even you know when a situation is hopeless."
Dick sat there worried. Next to him, Bruce stood up and Dick tore his eyes away from the news footage to look at his old mentor.
"Where are you going?"
No answer.
"Hey, I asked you a question. Where are you going?" Dick said, standing up.
His subconscious turned around with a serious face, "I would tell you, but you really don't want to know."
It couldn't be a good thing if his mind was keeping the truth from him. Was it really that terrible? What could be so bad that you would keep yourself from knowing about it? Now, he knew he was under the toxin, because that was terrifying: the unknown.
Dick watched as the door of the apartment slammed shut; the harsh sound making him jump.
He fell back onto the couch. Dick looked back up at the news footage which had been covering a major car accident. Now, the scene on the screen was a burning building. Firefighters, police officers, and civilians ran around, pain and fear etched in all their faces. That's when Dick noticed it. In the rubble, he saw Nightwing picking up debris, looking under it for someone, anyone who was still alive.
As he stared at the screen, the apartment around him caught on fire. Dick knew he should be scared, but he found himself becoming sad. All the lights went out, leaving only the glow of television lighting the room. He watched as Nightwing continued to search the debris. He wanted to reach out and tell the younger man it was hopeless, they were all dead. Everyone in the building was gone.
But there was nothing he could do. Inside the burning building, he could hear the screaming of former residents as their worlds were torn apart, their lives taken from them.
His subconscious had been right; he would rather be dealing with the confusion of talking to himself than watching and listening to the building's residents he had once cared for die all over again.
After Damian left the two talking in the study, he headed to the cave. The only thing he could think of doing was heading back to the scene of the crime. He was going to search the warehouse for any clues of where Scarecrow might have gone.
As he got dressed in his Robin gear, he constantly looked around to make sure Alfred wasn't going to sneak up on him. Luckily, he was on the motorcycle halfway to the warehouse before the older man even realized he was gone. Damian could hear the communicator ringing in his ears, but knew no good would come from answering it. Alfred would simply tell him to come back to the manor, which he wasn't going to do.
He was going to find Scarecrow and the cure. Grayson would be fine.
He had to be.
Damian pulled up to the warehouse, parked his bike, and headed inside. Once inside, he realized how hopeless the search was going to be here. The police had basically destroyed any evidence that could have been useful after they had left. As much as he liked Commissioner Gordon, some of the other officers were somewhat incompetent when it came to investigation work.
In vain, he walked around looking for anything, but after a few minutes he was sitting on the ground, leaning back against a pillar. Where could he go now? He could go interrogate Two-Face in jail. But Damian knew the villain wouldn't be intimidated by him, and definitely wouldn't give him any information.
He could find Jason. But that would require finding Jason, and that would be as hard as getting information out of Two-Face.
As Damian headed back to the cave, he realized he only had two choices. He would try the first one when he got back.
When Damian parked the bike and got off, the first thing he noticed was an angry Alfred standing by the computer. He must have been sitting there waiting for me to get back.
"Master Damian," was all Alfred said as the younger approached him, taking off his mask.
Before Alfred could say anything else, Damian started, "Pennyworth, please to not lecture me on going out. I am just trying to find the cure for Grayson."
Alfred's eyes got big in momentary shock, "How did you know…"
"I overheard the doctor and you talking about it. If you wish to keep something secret, you should try to be quieter about it," Damian snorted.
Alfred sighed, "Master Damian, I appreciate you trying to help, but going out in Gotham alone as Robin could make the situation worse if you get hurt yourself."
"T-t."
"I mean it. You are not to go back out alone."
Damian stared at the older man with narrow eyes, "Then how do you expect Grayson to get better?"
Alfred was silent and stared at the glaring boy. After a few moments he whispered, almost inaudibly, "I do not know."
Suddenly, Damian felt guilty for being harsh toward the older man. He had already lost one important person this year just like Damian had. Losing Grayson could be bad for the both of them. But losing Grayson and himself, would be worse for Alfred.
"I'll be careful and won't go out alone until I have a definite lead," Damian bargained.
"Fine, Master Damian."
Well, that was easier than he had expected. Alfred was so stressed and tired he could barely argue back.
"I am headed to bed. I want you to do the same," Alfred informed the boy.
Damian snorted, "Fine, Pennyworth."
Alfred gave him one last look before heading off to bed. Soon, Damian found himself once again standing alone in the cave.
The flames had engulfed him. One minute he had been having a conversation with his subconscious on his old couch, and then, all hell broke loose. The building had burned to the ground around him. He hadn't moved, just sat on the couch, watching television. The couch and television were the only two items that hadn't burned in the fire.
Dick finally looked around. He was outside. He could see Nightwing searching in person instead of watching it happen on the screen in front of him. He was going to look away when the vigilante's eyes locked with his.
"Why didn't you do anything? This is all your fault."
Dick wanted to look away from the pain stricken face, but he couldn't. He remembered how it had felt. The anger, the sadness, everything had come crashing down so quickly. First it was the circus and then it was his apartment building. Blockbuster had managed to destroy his entire world within a matter of days.
Dick tore his eyes away from Nightwing, clasping his head in his arms. The screams from earlier became louder. He tried shutting his eyes, willing the feelings that were welling up in his chest to go away.
It all felt so real. Even the flames that had engulfed him before had literally burned him. Not completely of course, but the smell of burning flesh and hair had been there.
Nightwing continued yelling at him, trying to scream above the victims. Dick only shut his eyes, willing it all to end. It was his mind. He had to have some control here.
He took a deep breath and realized it was suddenly quiet. He opened his eyes and realized he was inside again. He knew this place. Dick was sitting in the large chair in front of a large wooden, antique desk. He was in Bruce's study back in the manor.
Behind the desk Bruce sat.
"Bruce?"
No answer.
"Are you my subconscious again?"
The Bruce behind the desk did not answer, but gave him a confused look. The man leaned forward to rest on his elbows, placing his chin in his hands. Bruce stared at him as if trying to read him. Finally, he spoke.
"Subconscious? Dick, what are you talking about?"
Okay, so this wasn't the Bruce from earlier. Maybe making Bruce his subconscious would prove to more confusing than if he had just made it himself.
"Nothing," Dick replied.
"I only have one thing to say to, Dick," Bruce said, ignoring the earlier statement Dick had made.
Dick became intrigued, "What is it?"
"I told you not to become Batman," his old mentor answered.
The statement shocked Dick. This is not what he had expected.
"Don't become Batman?" Dick repeated questioningly, as if he had heard incorrectly. In Bruce's last message to him, his mentor had told him not to take up the Dark Knight's mantle. He remembered receiving that message and the chaos that had followed Bruce's supposed death at the time. Everyone had wanted Bruce's legacy as Batman to continue. The Batman was a symbol for Gotham. Just because the man behind the cowl was only human, it did not mean Batman was supposed to be, too.
However, Bruce had told him not to follow in the older man's footsteps. Dick had been torn between honoring Bruce's last request and what everyone else was telling him. In the end, Dick became Gotham's savior.
"Yes, I told you not to and you did."
Dick was brought back from his thoughts. Suddenly, he found himself becoming angry.
"What did you expect me to do Bruce?"
The man in front of him did not react to Dick's sudden change in attitude, but simply narrowed his eyes.
When he didn't get a response, Dick continued, "Seriously, Bruce, what did you expect? For Tim to take over, Jason, or even Alfred for goodness sake? Who else was supposed to take over? You knew I was the only one at the time, but you told me not to. It was like you wanted to make it look like you cared, when in reality, it was all a part of the plan."
Dick was practically yelling now. And he had gone from leaning back in the chair to sitting on the edge of it.
"You knew that if you asked me to take over I wouldn't do it, because I would feel forced. However, by asking me not to, I would feel obligated. In the end, you always knew I would do it."
Dick finished his rant. The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing. The man just sat there, emotionless. The silence became too much.
"Why do you never feel anything?" Dick yelled.
"I don't understand why you're yelling at me, Dick. I'm not even real."
Then, it hit him. This wasn't Bruce. Everything he was saying was just in anger, but it was too late. Bruce would never hear his words. The emotion he had longed for from his mentor when he was alive would never happen. It was too late. Bruce was gone.
Even if Tim believed their old mentor to be alive, he knew it wasn't true. He had carried the body into the cave himself.
Dick didn't know if you could cry in a dream, but tears stung at the corners of his eyes.
"You're weaker than you let on to be, Dick. I'm disappointed in you."
"Well, just add your name to the list of people disappointed in me," Dick sighed. Once again, he found himself staring at all too familiar carpet. This time, however, it didn't catch on fire. It didn't have to though, Bruce's eyes were burning a hole into him that could catch on fire any second now.
Alfred had left the cave over an hour ago.
As soon as the older man had left, Damian had gone back to contemplating his two options he had thought of earlier.
Now, he stared at the communicator in front of him. Was he really going to do this? Was this really necessary? He could simply go on to his second choice.
Finally, Damian opened the communicator in front of him and pressed a few buttons. He listened to the static at first, but finally the connection was made.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end spoke. Damian sat there for a second. He really didn't want to do this.
"Drake," was all Damian could manage at first. He did not need help from his older brothers, especially Drake.
"Damian? What do you want?" Tim asked on the other end, seeming annoyed.
Did he truly need Drake's help? No, he didn't. He could find the cure for Grayson on his own.
"I'm glad you finally decided to leave and allow me to fully take on the mantle of Robin. I'm glad you've accepted how things are meant to be."
Damian could sense the anger on the other end. As the static returned, signaling the end of the connection, Damian stared at the communicator. Did he truly not need help? Of course he didn't need any help. He was Damian Wayne.
It was on to plan B.
