A/N: Hello! sorry for the long wait! Real life stuff blabla, internship, blabla. You know the song. Anyway, here we go again! This chapter picks up right where the last one ended. Have fun and R&R!
Faultlines
Chapter 11
Only a handful of minutes later, the Batmobile swerved into the cave, tires squealing. Dick was pulled out of his stupor in which he had watched the seconds tick by, fast and slow at the same time.
He had prepared the med bay with trained scrutiny, all the time listening hard for sounds or voices over the comm links; Damian and Jason's must have been damaged by the icy water of Gotham's harbour, and Tim had concentrated on driving. No word yet from Barbara, just a chilling silence that screamed Jim's hurt! Jim's hurt!
Dick hurried to one of the stretchers and pulled it with him towards the Batmobile. Red Robin was sliding out of the car the second it had stopped and ran around, opening the door to the passenger seat.
„Where's Alf?" he asked without greeting, as Dick stabilized the brackets of the stretcher next to the car and adjusted it to the right height.
„Fetching Leslie. They'll be here soon."
„I think it's bad."
Dick could see that very well when an unconscious Batman slumped into Tim's arms. Half of the cowl was dented in around a small hole, but luckily no part of the fabric had broken out to reveal Bruce's black hair. Still, there was blood smeared across half his face, and the back of the seat was covered in red.
Dick's stomached coiled at the sight, then again at the smell.
„What happened?"
Tim was heaving Batman out of the car with a grunt, placing him onto the stretcher with Dick's help. Immediately they wheeled back to the med bay, a list of necessary emergency measures already in mind.
„I think he was shot."
„Headshot?" Suddenly, Dick couldn't look at Bruce anymore. Blindly he pulled the oxygen mask over Bruce's mouth – they had to wait for Leslie before intubating.
„Shoulder, most likely. He was awake for a while afterwards, but couldn't fight properly anymore. Probably concussed, as well."
Dick remembered the man with the metallic pipe, standing above the Batman ready to slam it down. He took a deep breath; he couldn't lose it right now. It was just not an option.
Tim had started to strip down Batman's armour by now, removing the heavy gloves to find a vein to attach the infusion bag Dick had prepared. He had pulled down his own cowl somewhere along the way, and Dick could see a big, dark shiner around Tim's left eye.
„What about you?" He asked, cautiously. Tim was too responsible to ignore his own injuries, but the adrenaline was still surging through their veins, and adrenaline did funny things to your senses. His little brother's costume was tattered and his lip split, but otherwise he seemed fine.
"Been better. Any news about Jay?"
Dick shook his head while he attached the EKG nodes and then looked up to be doubly relieved: the jagged lines of the machine were fast, but stable and regular – and on the big monitor, a red light blinked on a large map of Gotham, indicating that Robin's motorcycle was close.
"Leave the cowl on," Tim ordered, the tendency of head wounds to bleed strongly if no pressure was attached in mind. "Did you prepare for an emergency operation?"
"As well as possible," Dick motioned to the three racks nearby, which held the material for disinfection and two sets of basic surgical instruments, respectively. The list of possible arrangements of scalpels, scissors and clamps was endless, and without knowing what injuries would await them, it was ridiculous to try to prepare. Leslie would know what she needed.
Tim nodded, slowly, worriedly looking at the second stretcher next to the large oxygen tank. Fighting against the symptoms of drowning was like rolling a heavy stone up a steep hill – you could stabilize, you could give oxygen; even if the survival chances were high, long term damage of the most terrible kind was possible. Sooner or later, the stone would crash down.
Dick had decidedly chosen not to think about it, and since he himself had been ill, his abilities of denial were surprisingly well-developed. Luckily, he didn't have to concentrate on denying for long, because right after turning the vent of the oxygen tank up higher, Damian's motorcycle reared up in the background.
Tim, cutting the fabric of Bruce's armour apart, looked up with a glance that told Dick to go. So he hurried to where the motorcycle had come to a halt, heart beating painfully fast in his chest. Then he saw the second person on the bike next to Damian, saw how Jason himself let go of the boy's cape, and felt his knees turn into jelly. Jelly of joy.
Jay was fine.
He was breaking into slight jog when Jason shakily descended from the bike, never letting go of either Damian's shoulder or the seat. He was deathly pale, thoroughly wet just like Robin, and somehow still managed to look extremely pissed.
"Jay! you okay?!" Dick reached them and rushed to Jason's side to steady him. His brother was shaking like a leaf, chilled to the bone.
When he gave only a non-commital grunt, Damian spoke up, before hurrying to his father. "He's fine. Shoulder hurt. Found him half-conscious down the river stream, clinging to a pier."
"Goddamn sons of idiots and bitches that wouldn't even find their own assholes if they weren't..."
"Damn, Jay," Dick said, pulling the shivering and cussing Nightwing into a position that wouldn't hurt the shoulder. He gently started to walk to the med bay, Jason following on weak legs. "The last thing I saw of you was how you got thrown into the water, unconscious."
"'Woke up... second I.. went... under," Jason said through clattering teeth, and Dick send a quick prayer upwards. This could have ended so, so badly.
Jason was through with the night, that much was obvious. If Dick wasn't dragging him forward, he would have probably just dropped to the floor to sleep. Determined to get Jay to lay down anywhere else Dick consciously didnt react to the sudden loud noises behind him: Alfred and Leslie had arrived with screeching tires. He ignored the loud and hurried noises as the two of them jumped out of the car and ran towards them, shouting orders at Tim and Damian.
A quick look at the blinking lights told Dick that Bruce was stable – not well, but stable. Removing the cowl would reveal the extent of the injuries. Jason, however, only noticed the injured body twometres away when Dick guided him to sit on the med bay's stretcher.
"How is he?" Jay asked, almost incomprehensible through the teeth-clattering, as he removed his own mask to reveal two black eyes and a busted lid, which collided heavily with the pallor of his skin. Dick, not strong enough to lift him, pushed him lightly, and Jason pulled himself up with his last reserves of strength. Visibly to the eye, he slowly gave in to the tiredness; Dick tried to remember of Nightwing had received a head injury – maybe he was concussed as well. When Leslie arrived at Bruce's bed only metres apart from them, Jason didn't even react to her.
"Stable. Leslie'll take care of him." Dick helped Jay to get out of the costume and piled a plethora of towels over him. His younger brother didn't even protest, which was worrisome enough, and answered with movements that got more and more sluggish by the second. He must be tired beyond words, Dick knew, but a belated shock syndrome was possible as well. They needed to keep an eye on him.
"Don't fall asleep."
"Screw you."
Grinning, Dick attached the blood pressure cuff and shoved the oxygen tube into Jay's face, which was followed by more curses. Sounded like the current Nightwing would make it. Right now, he settled back onto the stretcher, pulled the thermo blanket over himself, and glared at Dick to leave him alone. He was asleep only two seconds later.
Slow and regular ups and downs under the blanket.
Dick allowed himself to breathe again, as well, and closed his eyes for a small second to gather strength. Then he pulled open a mental curtain and allowed the noises from Bruce's stretcher to crash down on him. It sounded like an episode of emergency room. At once, his heartbeat picked up speed again.
Leslie had immediately ordered Tim to cut open as much of the heavy armour as possible to gain time while she and Alfred properly disinfected their hands and arms. Unfortunately, the injuries done to Bruce's torso were heavier than Dick had hoped, since the machinery that measures blood pressure and pulse started to screech in alarm the second Tim broke away the kevlar layers that had held the damage together.
Dick turned around slowly, unable to get his feet to move faster. Leslie had by now finished preparing for surgery and had hurried to the operational table, roughly shoving Damian out of the way. The boy stumbled back, as surprised as indignant at the same time, and flinched when Dick placed his hands on the boys shoulders to keep him out of the way.
Damian rarely tolerated touch for a longer time, even though Dick had been granted a bit leeway after surviving cancer. The fact that he didn't pull away was a clear sign how distressed he was – Dick wondered briefly if the situation was more dire than he realized, before shoving the thought away again. He was oddly calm, even though watching Bruce bleeding on that stretcher was like a kick in the stomach. Maybe the emotional rollercoaster of this evening had exhausted his adrenaline reservoir.. or maybe the pills he was taking were numbing him down? This time, Dick wouldn't even mind.
Quietly, Dick and Damian watched Leslie and Alfred cut down armor and suck away blood until Bruce's face and neck were visible again, pale and still. A few seconds later, Leslie had checked for damages in the throat and upper chest area that would prevent an intubation, and Tim hurried to get the utensils.
"Skull fracture, possible damage of soft tissue."
"EEG looks fine."
"I want the emergency depressurization kit nearby."
Tim hurried back and forth, by now clearly limping. So he had been hurt, too.
"We need x-rays for the shoulder and a CT to locate the brain swelling."
Dick turned towards the heavy machinery behind him, but Alfred was next to him in an instant and grabbed for the CT. Rolling it past Dick, he sympathetically shook his head. "Dick, you should better leave the cave."
"What?" he asked, confused. As if he would leave them down here, in a time of crisis?! "I can help!"
"No, you can't," Leslie intervened without looking up. She extended a hand, into which Tim placed a clamp Dick didn't even remembered having seen around. "Damian neither. Check on Jason and leave the cave, please."
Before he could protest, Damian rose to the challenge. "You cannot throw me out of here!"
"Master Damian," Alfred spoke up again, "as of right now, the two of you merely pose sources of possible infections in a sterile surgery."
"The rest of the team and the girls asked what happened," Tim announced while stitching one of Bruce's many minor wounds back together.
"Any information about Mister Gordon?"
"I need the CG 7 clamp, right now."
Damian prepared to argue further on, but Dick clasped a hand over his mouth. As much as he hated it, he knew they were right. Standing here wouldn't help anyone, but could, in the worst case scenario, even turn into a distraction, and least of all it would help Damian and Dick themselves. Bruce was in fine hands and within reach of the most modern medical equipment, and Jason needed to recuperate, most of all. With Babs gone, they stayed out of the loop of the information exchange of media and police – there was a lot to do and to find out, stuff that surely would be important sooner rather than later.
"What about you?" Dick demanded to know from Tim, thus. The boy was growing tired quickly, the limp heavier. It had been an exhausting evening for Red Robin as well, and another unconscious superhero was going to be a larger distraction than a sulking Damian.
"I'm oka-"
"We don't have time for this!" Leslie interrupted, making Alfred send them a murderous glare.
Dick gave Damian a clap on the shoulder. "You stay down here. Keep an eye on Jason. If Tim's getting tired, take over."
Dick hurried outside, trying to get into his heavy winter coat while jogging towards the two police cars that held vigil at the Manor. When the policemen saw him approach, they got out of their cars, worriedly.
"Mr. Grayson, is everything alright?"
"I need to get to the hospital."
The two officers exchanged surprised looks. "We can't leave our position..."
"I need to get the hospital, now."
Dick could see the panic deciding for them; the task of making sure Gotham's most famous cancer survivor, who happened to be the celebrity rich kid and boulevard prince, was probably out of the usual police training. They had been told not to let anybody into the Manor to him – now he wanted them to get him out.
Lucky under the circumstances, the night was cold and windy, and Dick was shaking like a leaf in only a few seconds. That, and he probably looked like shit anyway, must have helped; the younger officer nodded, and motioned for Dick to take a seat.
In the car, Dick only had a few seconds to listen to the completely overburdened radio signal. Whatever was happening out there sounded like a disaster operation, which once or twice clearly dropped the words 'Batman' and 'Vigilantes'. Quickly, however, the police officer in charge turned the signal down.
Only moments later, the car sped through the still-stuffed streets of Gotham, sirens blazing.
Barbara was sitting in the waiting area in front of the surgery, for once not looking at the screen of a laptop or typing.
Dick switched into a faster pace when he spotted her red hair. There were a few nurses hurrying from station to station, and some of them already recognized him worriedly. The news about the Commissioner's injuries hadn't reached Gotham's population yet thanks to the ungodly hour, but early, blurry press releases already hinted at a showdown at the harbour concerning Freeze, and Gotham's night shift was used to following the local TV station with one eye.
But Dick didn't have time to explain to the worried nurses that he wasn't the patient this time. Barbara looked so forlorn, staring into nothing, that Dick didn't dare leaving her alone any longer.
"Barbara," he breathed as he sank down in a chair next to hers, squeezing her hand warmly.
Babs looked thankful, relieved, concentrated, sad – but not surprised. You couldn't surprise Barbara Gordon that easily. "Dick. How did you get here?"
"One of the police officers drove me."
Babs nodded, understanding. There were dark circles under her eyes, and Dick loved that she hadn't done anything so far to conceal them. Her eyes, though, were clear and sharp as the eyes of a predator planning its next step. Even afraid and full of worry, Barbara was extracting information out of these two sentences they had spoken – if no one of the family drove him to the hospital, it meant they were busy or off worse.
"I'm surprised Alf let you outside in this cold." Status of the vigilantes?
"He's in a good mood. The lost son finally called." Jason's home.
Relieved, Babs closed her eyes for an instant. "Good for him. We were worried sick." How is he?
"Went overboard with the diving lessons and will probably get a cold now. His boss will have a fit if he calls in sick again." He'll be fine, eventually. More worried about Bruce, right now.
"Well, he has the best surgeon in town, so he'll be fine, too."
Dick flinched in surprise at Barbara's harsh change in conversation tone. Obviously, he had hit a sore spot, there.
Not good.
"Babs..." he said softly, leaning forwards and reaching for her hand.
The redhead, though, turned her face away and crossed her arms, angry and hurt. "He's been shot three times. In the chest. And Gotham's best surgeon can't be found, Dick."
Her voice wavered a bit at that, and Dick swallowed. Jim was hurt, badly, maybe injured through one of them, while Leslie was stitching up Bruce.
"I'm sorry," he said therefore, even though of course, Barbara didn't blame him the least. There was just nothing else to say in such a situation. "What else do you know?"
She sighed, dropping her angry pose. "One of the shots hit the left lung critically. The other two shots aren't helping, but that's the one they are worried about. First aid was administered quickly, thank God."
"Who's in?"
"Doctor Jenkins."
Dick send another quick prayer upwards. Ramona Jenkins was a good trauma surgeon, trained in the army. After Leslie, she was surely the best suited for the job. "Thank God."
"But he's not holding up well, Dick," Babs said suddenly, and the calm facade cracked further. "He's too old. They worry."
This time, she allowed him to touch her. Reaching out to her shoulder, Dick pulled her close and rested his face on her head.
Barbara wasn't too fond of touching under stress, but they stayed in that light embrace for a long time, until Dick's cell phone chirped. Quickly, no explanations needed, they pulled apart to let Dick read the message.
"B.'s stable, Tim writes," Dick told Barbara, the words flickering a little bit in front of his eyes. He didn't know if he was shaking due to tiredness or the emotional rollercoaster he was riding.
"Nothing more?"
He shook his head. Only these two words from Tim, which were all he had dared to hope for, but left so little room for security – he still didn't know how badly Bruce was hurt, what his prognosis was, or if he needed further surgery. It was too risky to write a text message about that, but Dick wished Tim would abstain from the rules just once.
'thx. JG still critical.'
A sharp elbow suddenly hit Dick in the ribs, making him almost miss the send button. When he looked up at Babs, she was staring at a group of nurses who had gathered around the entrance of the nurses' room. The voice of Gotham's most famous news reporter was audible, and Dick and Babs immediately rose.
The nurses recognized the two of them and moved to the side. Babs and Dick had free view onto a small TV, which was probably constantly tuned to local news. As Dick concentrated on the screen, the voice of the reporter piped up again. They had arrived just when the scene of Batman dropping through the upper window of the harbour store house flickered across national television, and Dick's insides churned.
'Clearly, Batman and the other Gotham vigilantes busted the police's attempts to find out about Mr. Freeze's deadly threat. In a mission carefully planned for weeks, as the GPD's spokesman told Channel 5 only a few minutes earlier, the police had been working together with the best of local scientists to recreate an environment in which Freeze could work out his plan.'
In a montage, shots taken from a camera angle Dick had never seen before, Batman's dramatic entrance was followed by a Nightwing who was suddenly wielding guns, pointing them at the surrounding people who now were obviously police men. In the next moment, he was shooting at someone, while in the background, Damian landed a heavy punch in someone's neck. The person fell down and didn't get up again.
'Batman, Robin, Red Robin and Nightwing suddenly appeared at the destination and started to fight and shoot, as witnesses and the material the police already delivered to the press, clearly shows. In the brutal battle following, the Commissioner Gordon has been hurt critically, possibly by the guns shot by the vigilantes, while various other police officers have been badly hurt.'
Nightwing was hit again by the police car and flew backwards, right into the dark waters, burning the scene from another angle into Dick's brain. It didn't look as dramatic without the sounds, though, and the news reporter spoke seconds after Red Robin was seen hitting the guy in the lab coat in the face.
'The vigilantes disappeared quickly. Their status is unknown, even though the footage shows that the Batman was hurt, and Nightwing didn't resurface. There has been no response yet by the hospital about the Commissioner's situation but that he is in surgery. Channel 5 will keep you updated.'
As the advertising came on, the nurses surrounding them slowly turned towards Dick and Babs, who were both wordlessly staring ahead. Dick's head was buzzing – they had crashed a police gig?! That had tried to reenact a villain's lair? And the police had fought back and almost killed two of them?! This was like bad dream.
One of the nurses Dick had seen a couple of times in the ICU laid a comforting hand onto his shoulder, and only then did he notice that he said that last sentence aloud. He cracked her a fragile smile; Barbara simply sighed and let her head fall into her hands.
"How could that have happened, Dick?" she asked, quietly, oddly calm, and Dick grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and pulled backwards weakly. They needed to talk, to recuperate, to regroup – and to get away from the sorrowful and watchful eyes of half of the hospital. Just when Barbara showed a little bit of cooperation and turned her chair around, a young nurse appeared at the other side of the waiting area, looked confusedly at the empty seats, only to flinch when she spotted Babs a few metres away.
"Oh Boy, here we go," Barbara muttered in finest Oracle-fashion, and Dick knew she was building up strength through her alter ego's coolness. She rolled faster to meet up with the girl, and Dick voluntarily stood back to give them privacy.
The young nurse was intensely talking to Babs for a few minutes in which the red head neither started to yell nor cry, which Dick deemed as very good signs, until she started to gesture with her arms into the direction of the ICU. Barbara knew all-too-well where that specific station of the hospital was located, but still listened patiently – another sign for Dick to hope for a good result. A quick glance backwards was all he needed to follow her as she rolled into the direction the girl had pointed to.
She started to talk before he had completely caught up with her.
"They interrupted Dad's surgery because they worried about his heart," she reported, and Dick tried to cling to the positive feelings he had felt just seconds ago. "He's stable now, attached to a lot of machines, and they want him to gather some strength before they start with the next round of cutting."
"But he's not in mortal danger anymore?" They had reached a room of the ICU now. On the door, a name tag reading 'J. Gordon' had already been attached.
"Not right now. If there are no unexpected complications, everything should go well," Barbara said, wheeling into the empty room. There was no bed in it yet, but heavy medical machinery Dick knew too well.
"That's a good thing, Babs!" Dick smiled, relieved, and closed the door behind them for a little bit of privacy. When he turned on the light and caught Barbara's expression, he knew he was in trouble.
"How is that a good thing, Dick?!" Barbara hissed, voice barely audible, which was the scariest of all Barbara-hisses. Dick wished immediately that he hadn't closed the door behind him. "My father has been shot in the chest, Bruce and Jason are out, we have no clue about Freeze and his plans, and we busted a freaking police gig. A police gig, Dick!" Barbara threw her arms into the air. "How could that have happened!? How could we make such a mistake?!"
Dick suddenly felt the late hour in each and every one of his bones. Babs was right – the night had been a disaster, and the only good thing was that no one had died. So far. With a sigh, Dick dragged himself over to a chair and slumped down. "You're right."
Barbara bit her lip. "I shouldn't scream at you. You're the last person to blame."
"That's okay," he answered with a weak smile. Yes, he was the most blameless of them all – because he hadn't been included at all. Not a comfortable position to be in, either.
They stayed silent for a little bit after that, both hanging after their own thoughts while they waited for Jim to be wheeled in, and Dick replayed the news report in front of his inner eye. They had clearly arranged the montage to show the brutality of the vigilantes, and blamed them. Why? Yes, they had messed up and ruffled the police's feathers, but the police had reacted strangely violent, as well.
"What happened, Babs?" he asked, finally. Barbara was one of the sharpest minds there were, and an integral part in every mission planning and surveillance work. The ultimate decision to attack had had to come from Bruce, who was unavailable right now, but the whole mission had been a group effort; Tim, Jason, Alfred, Damian, Babs and Bruce, possibly also Steph and Cass. How could such a mistake happen?
"We didn't count in the police, I guess," Barbara answered after a while. "We concentrated only on finding Freeze, and then reinterpreted the evidence."
Dick nodded, grimly. What a beginner's mistake. They had seen only what they wanted to see, and that was Freeze. Because they wanted to catch him. Because they wanted to make him feel safe.
"But you kept surveillance of all the data for days," Dick thought aloud, "you told me yourself, the computers where hard to hack. Since when can you not hack police code?"
"I don't know, it doesn't make sense. They must have learned a trick or two recently."
"Without us noticing?"
Before Babs could answer, the door swung open and a whole bunch of hospital staff swarmed in, an occupied bed in their midst. They were carrying all sorts of equipment, eyes glued on the pale figure on the bed.
Dick felt his insides freeze and then move up to press against his throat. Jim, on the bed, covered only with a blanket, looked as much as a corpse as any he had ever seen. There were tubes coming out of too many places, at least two filled with red liquid Dick couldn't tell if it was streaming in or out of his body, he was intubated and had one of the nurses pumping air into his lungs with a hand-held bag valve mask. Immediately, the staff started to reattach cables, tubes, and electrodes, two were taking down at a shocked and scared Barbara, and Dick found himself automatically backing out, through the door, into the dark corridor.
He needed a break, just now. Heading back to the waiting area they had occupied just minutes earlier, Dick tried all of Batman's techniques to get his mind empty. He didn't want to see such a fragile Jim Gordon, who had been a figure of calm strength since he was a small kid, and he didn't want to listen to the words of the news reporter anymore.
He didn't want to think about Freeze and cancer and hospitals and injuries anymore, even though that seemed to be his life now. Apparently, he couldn't get away from bruises and medicine. At home, a critically hurt Bruce and an exhausted Jason would wait, and who knew what was up with Tim.
Dick had reached the uncomfortable hospital chairs by now, but couldn't bring himself to sit down. He was tired and exhausted, but also full of jittery energy and sleep-deprived nervousness. Something had to be done, he knew, but he didn't know what, didn't know how, or even by whom. Babs would be busy taking care of her Dad the next weeks, Bruce was hurt. Jason would flee the Manor and maybe even Gotham in anger and embarrassment as soon as he was able to.
Things were going downhill for all of them, that much was for sure. The next days would be nerve-wracking: Bruce and Jim heavily hurt and recovering, while the media would be terrorizing both households. Dick could already see the headlines: 'Attempted murder! Batman shoots the Commissioner!' and 'That's what our Jim Gordon got from trusting the vigilantes' and 'Freeze is out there infecting our kids with leukemia, while vigilantes and cops shoot each other!'.
Okay, the last one was probably too long for a headline, but surely they would all go that way. The support among the police and the Gothamites had been wavering anyway, Jim had told Dick not long ago, since Batman had been caught dealing with the intruders in Wayne Manor rather than capturing the escaping Freeze – a situation Bruce had been able to explain with the financial ties between Wayne Enterprises and Batman. And now, said vigilante had busted a police gig that had tried to save Gotham from being poisoned...
His cellphone vibrated in his pocket all of sudden, making him jump in his worried over-alertness. It wasn't Tim or Jason, as he had hoped for, but Lucius Fox, of all people. Dick stared at the screen for a second, perplexed. Lucius had had his number for years, but usually only called on birthdays or utter emergencies – when he couldn't reach Bruce, Tim, or Alfred...
"Hello? Lucius?" Dick asked thus, as he picked up the call, not bothering to hide his confusion.
'Dick, hi. I'm sorry to bother, I'm sure you're busy right now.'
Dick rolled his eyes without any comment. Either Lucius had seen the news and knew everything was going to hell, or he hadn't and suspected Dick to be wrapped up in blankets in his bed at the manor. "Don't worry. Is everything alright? Why are you calling?"
'I can't reach Bruce or Tim. Something's up with the company, we need some quick decisions.'
Dick closed his eyes in frustration. Something about Wayne Enterprises? Now that was why Lucius usually talked to Bruce or Tim; Dick was as useless as uninterested in the business as possible. He knew the basic stuff to handle Bruce's heritage, had had to learn it, but he gladly handed it over to Tim, who was actually interested in finances and economics.
"What's up?"
'Well, I'm sure you heard the news by now,' Lucius said, and immediately Dick knew this was about Batman. 'The news are hitting the first morning news reports. Wayne Enterprise's stockholders, partners, and clients aren't happy with what they see.'
"Huh?" Dick's head was starting to feel stuffed with cotton. Stockholders? What?
'The first complaints about WE's policy arrived. People don't feel comfortable supporting a business that is financing a man in a bat costume that attacks the police when every eye is turned to Gotham.'
Slowly, Dick started to get it. "Oh, no..."
'They worry about their money. No good news mean no happy buyers, no happy clients.'
"They are withdrawing financial support?"
'Some are. So far, its not a problem. But when the news go viral on national TV...'
Lucius didn't have to explain any further. Wayne Enterprises needed to make some statement about the current events, before the stockholders, clients and buyers could form their own opinion. Only recently Bruce had announced that Wayne Enterprises was supporting Batman financially and politically, and Batman was by far not as accepted nationwide as he was in Gotham. With the rest of the States either not as problematic and lunatic as Gotham or used to superheroes like Superman or Wonder Woman, Batman's gloomy and violent ways were cause of much dispute outside of the city limits. And a lot of Wayne Enterprises' sponsoring came from the technology-crazy West coast. If the west stopped support, the river would dry out soon. Bruce's family's heritage was at stake.
'We need to think of something, Dick. I take it Bruce can't have a meeting, right now?'
"Now, not anytime soon," Dick sighed. "We can't stop the news anymore. We don't have the manpower."
'We need to think of a story. Some sort of compensation to balance out what they'll see.'
"We need to cut Batman's financial support, at least temporary..." Dick knew what Lucius was thinking, and the cogwheels in his head were turning full speed.
A few sentences later, Lucius hung up after Dick promised to take care of the issue.
Turning back, Dick watched the light shine out of the Commissioner's room. The clock on the wall told him that the night was over. The East Coast would be presented with the news of trigger happy vigilantes soon, and only in a few hours the images would arrive at the West Coast.
Bruce wasn't even conscious. Jason hurt, Babs was indisposed. He didn't know what was up with Tim, but the boy was probably hurt himself, or exhausted. Damian couldn't speak for Wayne Enterprises yet, and Lucius was the mastermind, but not the face of the concern.
Compensation...
Dick thought a long time about that word, trying to fit it into everything that had happened in these few hours.
The morning light was slowly creeping though the windows into the hospital. By now, the phones in the Wayne household and the Gordon household must be ringing with angry business partners, angry journalists, and angry police men.
They wanted compensation. The cogwheels clicked.
tbc