Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for the reviews for last chapter. I really hope to hear from you after this chapter :) I also want to thank InspireInspireInspire for her reviews.

Chapter 9

Cold hands on my face wake me up.

"Mmph…" I moan. My eyes flutter open. It's dark and I'm staring at a ceiling without a poster of Wonder Woman on it. Right, not my room. I roll over onto my side and frown. Dick's sitting in Bruce's chair with his knees pulled to his chest and Alfie's blanket over his shoulders like a cape. "You okay?" I croak. I clear my throat and try to get a better look at him. It's hard to see what his face looks like in the dark.

"Shh… listen." His head is tilted back toward the wall.

I hum and roll onto my back again. Rubbing my hands over my face and trying to wake up, I strain my ears. Through the wall, I hear a man murmuring and a woman crying. A machine is beeping, the pulse of it steadily growing slower. My stomach lurches. The kid with the bad heart next door; he never woke up from his surgery a few days ago.

"I saw a priest walk by about an hour ago," Dick says, voice low and solemn. "He's gonna die. He's the second kid to die while I've been here. I hate it."

Beep… beep…. beep … beep.

Of course he hates it. Who wants to lie around listening to kids die around them? I roll over to look at him again, my skinny brother who should be up turning cartwheels by now—the one with blood poisoning and fucked up kidneys who can't eat or drink anything. Geez, Dickie-bird. All this worrying about you is gonna give me grays. "Hey man, you're shaking like crazy. Come on, get back in bed."

"I feel better when I sit up."

"How long have you been over there?" I ask. With a grunt, I sit up and stretch.

"A while," Dick whispers. "Can't sleep."

Beep… beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shit.

"Poor kid," Dick mumbles. "He was only seven."

I never really got a good look at the kid. He was always in bed and wrapped up in his teddy bear blanket from home. I see his ma a lot though. She's a real pretty lady with big brown eyes and light brown hair down her back. She's always in sweats and sneakers and looking like a lady who's run a thousand miles. But whenever she sees me, she kinda smiles and raises her cup of coffee to me. She always has coffee.

"The kid's dad ever come to visit?" I ask. I never see a man coming in and out of the room that isn't a doctor or something.

"Mom's got a restraining order on him. He's a C-List criminal. Knocks off convenience stores and been picked up for possession a few times."

I yawn and swing my legs over the side of the bed. "You looked him up or someone tell ya?"

Dick snorts. "Don't insult me. You know I looked him up. Nathan Larusso, 28 years old, 6'2, and father of one."

I set my feet on the floor and push off the bed. Dick doesn't take up much room in Bruce's chair and I squeeze into it with him. I grab the blanket around his shoulders and pull it around us both. The chill coming off his PJ's makes me shiver through my sweatshirt and jeans. I drape an arm over his shoulders and rub. "You're cold."

"Kinda takes my mind off how shit-tastic I feel," Dick says. He rests his head on my shoulder. "Hear that now?"

We're quiet and I hear what has to be the priest doing a prayer. The mom's crying, and the beeping is completely gone.

"Wonder if they already pulled the sheet over his head," Dick murmurs. "I don't think they should do that while the mom's in the room. Seeing people under those sheets." He shudders, and I know he's thinking about his parents dying.

Dickie-bird's a real happy guy, but nobody can be happy all the time. He has nightmares about when his mom and dad fell. I don't know what I woulda' done if I watched people I cared about fall to their deaths. With the way we live, it really could end up happening. One bad line, and Bruce, or Dick, or me could just fall. You'd think Dick would have a phobia about heights, but he craves being up high like Detective Bullock craves donuts.

"You know Bruce paid for the kid's surgery?" Dick says, and I shake my head. "The mom's a receptionist on HMO. Her insurance wouldn't cover it and she couldn't pay out of pocket. Bruce made sure a Wayne Charity covered it."

Brucie the philanthropist. I ain't being sarcastic. I wouldn't mind one day being known as Jason the philanthropist. Bruce helps people as Batman and as Bruce Wayne and no one's ever gonna give him the full credit he deserves. He does Batman as a secret, and as Bruce, he's gotta hide how smart and consciously generous he is. It's a bum rap, but he doesn't care. I wish he did, though. Batman needs a statue like the Flash got in Central City. Bruce Wayne needs something, too, besides newspaper articles about him running around with other rich socialites getting buzzed at parties and buying sports cars.

One day… oh geez, I don't know. I wanna fix it, make it right, but what do I know about stuff like that. I'll get Dickie-bird to fix it. I know he can figure something out. He might even already be thinking about it: Gotham giving respect to Bruce Wayne while he's still kicking, without finding out he's Batman. Or Gotham just paying respect to Batman.

"Bet Bruce will go to the funeral," Dick continues. "The mom got all flustered when Bruce would stop in the room, but she really likes him. Bruce thinks she's scared about something, though."

"Yeah?" I ask. I'm thinking about Bruce flirting with a sick kid's mom. I mean yeah, she's cute, but damn Bruce.

"Yeah. He's been trying to keep an eye on her," Dick says. "We think she's scared of the dad, Larusso. He hasn't been around, he's not even in Gotham, and I don't think she told him the kid is…was… this sick. He might not even know about him being here."

I blink, feeling kinda angry. Geez, so Larusso is a crook; he's still a dad. My dad was a crook, and he didn't give two shits about me, but if he did and I was in the hospital, I'd want him to know. What if he'd wanted to come out and make sure I wasn't dead? And this guy… his kid's dead. Maybe he woulda wanted to be here with him.

"That's real shitty, Dick," I say. "Real shitty."

"Yeah. I know." Dick goes quiet and I glance down to see that his eyes are closed. I keep rubbing his shoulder, slow and steady.

The priest ain't praying anymore, but the mom is still crying.

How long do mothers cry for their kids, especially when they're all alone?

I don't know.

Wonder if my ma woulda' cried for me if she was still around and not a crack head.

But I guess it don't matter. Alfred would cry. Dick would cry. I don't know about Bruce, but I know he'd do something for me. I know he's gonna do something more for that kid and his ma, but it still ain't gonna stop that lady from crying.

The cold of the tile floor seeps into my socks, and I pull my knees to my chest like Dickie-bird's. He moans as I jostle him with my movements and I apologize. I don't want to hurt him. Hell. I shift and turn to the side, so that I'm sitting with my legs crossed, and move Dickie-bird, resting his upper body against my chest. He moans but doesn't wake up, and I fix the blanket around us again.

It's both comfortable and uncomfortable sitting like this. Having another guy practically in my lap is weird, but having Dick so close, and warm and breathing, keeps me from thinking about people losing folks they care about, and crying, and nothing ever being enough to make it stop hurting.

I close my eyes and rest my cheek on the back of the chair. I fall asleep to the sound of a woman crying for her dead kid.

(~*~)

Alfred is Satan.

The guy comes in at 7:00 am with all my homework I missed from skipping class on Friday to go out with JV Justice. He also brings me a change of clothes and a toothbrush.

"I've snuck you in some strawberry and crème scones, Master Dick. They're still hot and I've got fresh butter." Alfred pulls a thermal lunch kit out of the backpack he brought for me. "Let me set a plate for you."

Alfred fusses about setting up Dick's TV tray over his legs. My bro's back in bed and looking nauseous as hell. One whiff of strawberry scone has him doubled over his basin again.

"Oh dear." Alfred pushes Dick's TV tray back and strokes his back. "I thought Dr. Thompkins said you were being given something to help you with your nausea."

Dick pants over the basin; he doesn't throw up, but his whole body heaves like it wants to. "Ow…ow… The nurse gave me something." He coughs until he gags and Alfred looks ready to hit the call button beside the bed. It sounds God-awful, but he's been doing that since he woke up again at 5:00. I'm kinda numb to it.

"Well, it certainly didn't work. I'll speak to Dr. Thompkins when she comes in on her rounds," Alfred says, his tone crisp and down to business. This man was born to give orders; why is he a butler again?

Alfred goes about fluffing Dick's pillows. He touches Dick's hair and tuts. "When's the last time this has been washed?"

"Two days ago," Dick rasps. He pushes the basin away from him and reaches for a Kleenex to wipe his watery eyes and blow his nose.

I snicker before Alfred can react to the lack of hygiene. Oh man, it is going down. I plant my ass on the end of Dick's bed and help myself to a scone or three. Alfie didn't say anything about bringing food for me, but I'm used to cleaning Dickie-bird's plates. The first sweet, buttery bite melts in my mouth, and the second one does, too.

Dick and Alfie bickering is nothing but a soundtrack for my breakfast, because I'll be damned if I eat what the nurses will bring in around 8:00. I swallow the last bite of the third scone, and pour myself some of the hot cinnamon, apple cider Alfie brought in, too. "What time did Bruce get in last night?" I ask, interrupting Alfred and Dick.

Alfred pauses in trying to comb Dick's hair. (I think he keeps combs and wet naps up his sleeves.) "Master Bruce didn't get in until this morning, around 4:43 am, Master Jason. He's quite exhausted himself and he may not be in to see you, Master Dick, until later in the afternoon."

"That's okay," Dick murmurs. He slumps back, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain on his face makes me feel useless. I can't do anything to make him stop hurting so bad. "He's not injured or anything is he?" Dick asks.

Alfred frowns. "Only the usual bruises, Master Dick. I dare say your strength would best be spent worrying about yourself. The furniture misses your daily gymnastic routines, and the manor is much too quiet. Master Jason isn't quite as adept at making noise as you are."

Alfie's not lying. The manor's been quiet as a tomb without Dick running around and wrestling people (me). He can even get Bruce to play with him.

Dick gives Alfie his first smile of the morning. "Remember you said that, Alf."

"I'll live to regret it, I'm sure," Alfred says drolly, but his eyes twinkle and Dick laughs.

"Yo, you said there was butter. I don't see any butter in here." I'm digging in the lunch kit when the sounds of slamming doors and raised voices have us all looking toward Dick's open door, into the hallway.

"… you kept this from me, you fuckin' bitch! And you let these people kill my son! You killed my son!"

"Sir, I'm sorry but you're going to have to leave…"

"You got some nerve trying to throw me outta here after what you people did! Oh, you ain't seen the last of me! I'm gonna sue your asses! You kill a kid and you…"

"Nathan, he had the best surgeon money could pay for! Bruce Wayne himself…"

"That rich yuppie don't care about nothing but ass and making more money! What's he care about my kid? As far as I'm concerned, he's as much to blame as these flunkies!"

"Sir, you're going to have to leave now."

"Let go!"

I start to stand up at the sound of flesh on flesh. Punches are flying. Alfie's hand on my shoulder makes me sit back down. "No, Master Jason. To act now would not be wise."

"Murderers, the whole lot of you! You killed my kid! You killed him! And you bitch—you bitch—I didn't even get to see him!" The man's voice breaks and he's in tears. I hear shoes squealing and people grunting and struggling… and a woman crying.

I sit, appetite gone as my insides quiver. Fuck… just fuck. Poor bastard did care about his kid and came all the way here to see a corpse. The bite of scone I'm chewing is a rock in my mouth and it's a bitch to swallow, but I manage. I wash it down with apple cider that tastes like dirt and water now.

I glance back at Dickie. He's all solemn and serious. "Poor guy."

"Is that the father of the young man who passed away last night?" Alfred asks, sounding harried. "I wasn't aware that he was a part of the child's life. I've never seen him."

"Restraining order," Dick says. "You heard him. He didn't even know the kid was here."

Alfred shakes his head. "How awful. The boy's mother is a charming woman. If she was keeping the father away, I trust her judgment, but no matter who you are, everyone deserves a chance to say goodbye."

"Yeah," Dick murmurs, "but just because you deserve it doesn't mean you get it."

I frown at him, worried. "You okay, man?"

He turns onto his left side, curling around his body pillow. "Tired."

I watch Dick for a minute. His face is tense and drawn and the fingers of his left hand curl and uncurl. The place in his skin the IV's stuck in is black and blue. Alfred's long fingers ghost over Dick's forehead.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Master Dick?" Alf asks, voice heavy with loving concern. It amazes me how certain sounds can mix together and make a new tone.

"Make Jase brush his teeth," Dick says. A tiny smile touches his lips and I pinch his big toe.

"Jerk!" I snort, but like I wasn't able to change the subject with him last night when it came to me being upset about the Team, he can't make me forget how sick he is.

We're all quiet, Alfred folding my dirty clothes and cleaning up after my breakfast and Dick trying to sleep. I look to the pile of homework Alfred put on the cabinet with the built-in sink and ponder how to make it disappear without actually doing it.

"Master Jason, will you be coming back to manor with me when I leave?" Alfred asks. He only stays with Dick for a few hours before going back to the manor in the mornings.

I'm tired and can't really sleep well here, and I want to eat a full breakfast of real food, but… I pinch Dick's toe and smirk when he kicks. "I can't leave Dickie-bird all alone. He needs me to entertain him."

Dick hums and Alfred quirks a brow.

"Shall I bring you lunch?"

"And dinner?" I grin, hoping I look cute. I duck my head as Alfred comes after my hair with the comb he used in Dick's.

"We'll see, Master Jason."

Alfred sits in Bruce's chair and stays there until around 11. I find out he stays for all of Dick's dialysis sessions and to talk to Dr. Leslie later, when she comes in for rounds, to find out how Dick's really doing. When he leaves, I feel a little abandoned—and bored. Dick's totally zonked out. Dialysis sapped the last inch of energy he had and I'm left watching cable on mute with subtitles.

The halls are relatively quiet. I hear nurses walking down the halls and people talking. I hear the beeping of machines and the hiss of oxygen tanks from other rooms.

And then I hear the unmistakable click of a rolling gun barrel and I'm on my feet too slow. The first shot is thunder in my head and the screams flash like lightening.

"No! Don't be stup…!"

I see an image of the mom with her coffee, giving me a half-smile.

The gun goes off again, and the image is gone.

Pounding feet and lots of shouting… and lots of shooting.

I'm to Dick's door in a split-second, slamming it shut and jamming the lock. Shit. Shit. I need to be Falcon. I need to help the people outside… but… I look to Dick, who's somehow sleeping through this whole thing. I gotta get my brother outta here, first. He's first. I run to the bed, shaking him, and putting my hand over his mouth before he can speak.

"Shh…" I mouth the words, "Gunman. Gotta get out."

His blue eyes narrow, focusing for a mission. He nods and struggles to sit up. He flinches and bites his lip hard, body shaking. Shit. How do I move him without hurting him?

Something hits the door hard. "Bruce Wayne's kid is in here?"

I grab Dick around the shoulders and boost him out of the bed. His chest is heaving and his forehead beads with sweat; he tries to help me though. He fumbles to pull out his IV's. I'm looking for our exit. The window. There's a ledge that wraps around the building. But fuck, Dick can't walk on a ledge… can he?

I'm shaking, too; fear making me crazy. This guy's not shooting at my brother!

Dick rips out the IV and I keep an arm under his shoulders letting him put his weight on me as we stagger to the window. I try to get it open while he leans against the wall, struggling to breathe.

The gun fires; a bullet explodes through the wood and rips into the wall behind Dick's bed. I throw the window open; cold air smacks me in the face. "Dickie, get out there; I'm gonna take this guy down!"

"Not alone, Jay…!"

"You can't do shit! Just… just get out and get down and hold on!"

I grab Dick, pushing him up onto the window sill. I look down at the ledge and am glad to see that it's kinda wide. He can sit on it. I start to boost him over, and the door bursts open. A tall man with a revolver gives us a wild grin that puts the Joker to shame.

He fires so quick I can't move, a bullet grazes my cheek and Dick cries out; his body slips from my grasp and I hear him hit the floor.

Dickie?

I can't look.

I can't see anything but the grinning joker with his gun. Another bullet flies, and my brother is quiet.

I can't look.

I can't see.

I can't breathe through the rage.

My vision goes black and I'm moving so fast I don't know what's happening. I hear people screaming. I hear a man screaming. But I…

Can't look.

Can't see.

Can't breathe.

Dick's quiet.

He's quiet.

Everything's quiet and I feel wet, and warm and sticky.

I look at my hands… red.

Everything is black and red.

Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!