Dick yanked open the door to Gobblehead's home and disappeared inside, Clark on his heels. The smell assaulted the Kryptonian immediately, thick straw and earthiness carrying him back to a time when he had no reason to believe that he was anything more than a simple farm boy. I guess in some ways I still am a simple farm boy, if walking into a turkey shed seems heavenly, he made gentle fun of himself.

"Hi, Gobbles!" the boy skipped straight to the bird on the other side of the small space. It cooed and nibbled at his jacket as he stroked its feathers. "I missed you, too. Sorry I haven't been down to see you, I was sick."

Wow. That is one calm turkey. In his experience, such creatures weren't the kind to stand patiently in any situation, let alone when someone was touching them. Spotting the nearly empty food trough, he located the bag of feed and refilled it.

"Oh! I was going to take care of that, Uncle Clark. You didn't have to."

"It's all right, pal. Not a big deal." You were a little busy making up for lost time. Finished, he sat on the spare bale of straw in one corner, watching as the child and the fowl resumed their strange conversation, Dick talking, Gobblehead cooing, pecking, and headbutting. …I must be losing my mind. The bird really does seem to be responding to him, not just doing normal turkey things. This is odd, how has Bruce not noticed this? A creeping suspicion was growing in the back of his mind, but he tried to push it away. No. That's impossible, all of the experimental birds were destroyed. We made sure of it.

He glanced around the room, trying to think of anything other than the strange plot to create super-smart animals that had been foiled early in JLA history. A gleam of gold-edged pages caught his eye. "…Dick, why is there a copy of…" he picked the book up and read the spine, "Sherlock Holmes out here?"

"Gobbles and I like to read together."

His eyes narrowed. "The bird reads?" Oh, no. No, no, no.

"Well, no. I read to him."

"…Does he listen?"

"Yup! Isn't that crazy?" he grinned. "Everyone says turkeys are dumb, but not Gobbles. Why are you all the way over there, though? Don't you want to meet him? I thought you'd like him, since your file says you grew up on a farm. Didn't you have turkeys?"

"We had a couple, from time to time," Clark nodded. I'm being stupid. There's no way this turkey has anything to do with…that. It was five years ago, he would have been a hatchling at best. And we destroyed them all. Standing, he walked slowly towards the pair, stopping a few feet away and crouching so as to not tower over the creature. "Hey there, Gobblehead."

The turkey made its signature sound and extended its neck to peck gently at his sleeve. Seemingly satisfied with him, it returned its attention to Dick, shuffling over against him until he began to pet its back once more. "You're needy today, Gobbles. I'm sorry you were lonely while I was sick." He frowned. "…Uncle Clark, you didn't hear him from inside at all, did you?"

"I was completely surprised you have a turkey, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. That's strange, normally he goes bonkers when he gets left alone for too long." He was quiet for a moment, patting the bird. "…Do you like Sherlock Holmes? I think we should read Gobblehead a story before we go back inside, so he doesn't feel neglected."

"…It's a little chilly in here. If you get cold, you might get sick again."

"Well…if we sit over by the heat lamp, I won't be cold. And you could read it, and I could just, like, lay on Gobbles and steal all of his warmth."

The Kryptonian smiled. I swear he's got an answer for everything. "Okay. But if you get cold or tired, you have to agree to tell me. Deal?"

"Deal," he nodded, moving over to where the specialty light shone redly. The turkey followed, settling down obediently beside him. Clark finished the bookending, leaning back against the wall on the other side of him. "There's no way I'll get cold like this," he smiled upwards. "Between you and Gobbles, I'm toasty."

"Yeah? Good." He fingered a slip of paper midway through the book. "Is this where you stopped?"

"Yup. Are you ready, Gobblehead?" he asked the bird. The creature tapped his knee gently with its beak. "Okay, Uncle Clark, we're ready."

If nothing else, he thought as he read the old story aloud, being out here like this seemed to be keeping Dick from thinking about either his terrifying experience of the previous morning or the fact that there were still two-plus days to go until Bruce's return. And those are two big things, he considered. But you really do seem distracted, and I can't object to anything that's going to make the time pass more easily for you. As such, he didn't say no when the crime was solved and a second tale was requested.

Halfway through, he glanced down to find the boy fast asleep, his head pillowed on the back of the perfectly still bird. You were supposed to tell me if you got sleepy, pal, he chastised silently, although he wasn't surprised that he'd tried to stick it out. Stubborn, just like someone else I know, he chuckled to himself, setting the book aside and slipping his arms around the slumbering child. …I wonder if I should put you back in Bruce's room, or…well, I can ask you. I'm sure you'll wake up when I try to take your boots and coat off.

As he'd predicted, there was an indecipherable mumble as he set him down on the bench in the foyer. "…Wha?"

"Hey. You fell asleep outside."

"Oh." His eyelids dragged open. "…We're inside now?"

"I brought you in."

"...Did you say goodbye to Gobblehead for me?"

"No," he smiled, working on knotted bootlaces, "but I'm sure he understood that it was time for you to leave. You were laying on him, after all."

"He's a good pillow. Fluffy." His hands rose to his jacket zipper and fumbled with it despite the fact that his eyes were closing again.

"You're still pretty tired, it looks like."

"No, I'm okay," he forced himself to sit up straighter. I am tired, but I don't know if sleeping in Bruce's bed will work by itself, he worried. Last night I had the movie and his bed, but I can't ask to watch it again, that would be so boring for Uncle Clark. "Could we-" he yawned, "-watch some TV?"

"Sure. If you fall asleep, do you want me to move you upstairs?"

"Yes, please." But I'm going to try not to fall asleep. Just in case.

Dick flipped through the channel directory, finally stopping on a re-run of 'Deadliest Warrior.' Clark gave him an odd look. "…Bruce and Alfred let you watch this?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded. "Bruce says it's good training because it lets you see how much damage different weapons can do to a person with just one or two hits. It's cautionary."

I suppose it's hard to argue that a show is too violent when the person watching it spends nights taking down criminals, he considered. Still, he made a mental note to check with the billionaire when he got home. I seriously doubt he's trying to get to watch something he wouldn't normally, but…better safe than sorry, especially when it comes to Batman's little bird.

The boy's attention might have been held longer had they been watching an episode he hadn't seen before. Half an hour into the show, however, he slipped back into sleep, slumping against the Kryptonian's side. For a while, everything was fine; then the images began. They didn't form a true nightmare, but were instead a series of short horrors, the worst moments from the past year of his life showcased one after the other behind his helpless eyes. His parents fell; Batman limped in on a weeknight, bleeding copiously from a wound that Robin hadn't been out with him to help prevent; the Joker leaned in, box cutter waving in his hand; there was no air, it was all gone, no air, no air, no air…

He jerked awake, gasping as Clark's cell rang on the end table. "…What?!"

"Whoa, relax, pal," the man frowned down at him. He must have passed out without me realizing it, he realized guiltily as he picked up his phone. "…Can you handle talking to Bruce?" he asked when he saw the number.

"Yes," he said vigorously. "I want to talk to him." His stomach was churning slightly from the bloody scenes still sketched onto his retinas. Maybe talking to him will make me feel better.

"Well here, then, you take it," he passed the device over. "Take your time. I'll go get the bruise cream."

"Okay." Taking a deep breath, he answered the call. "…Bruce?"

"Hi, kiddo," his eyes widened as he slipped his key card into the door to his room. I expected Clark to answer, but this is much better. You must really not be mad at me; you had to know it was me calling, after all. "…How are you feeling?"

"A lot better." Physically, he added to himself. Mentally, not so good, but I can't tell you that. Not yet, at least. "I haven't thrown up since yesterday."

"Good," he crooned. "What have you been doing today?" Tell me everything. Anything. Just talk to me. Schulte's parting words echoed in his head as he waited for a response. 'You still have time, this weekend. I can easily cancel the arrangements for tomorrow. So long as you are able to return by Monday morning, there will be no problem.' He'd nodded wordlessly at that, swallowing hard as he shook the bank president's hand and exchanged a meaningful look with the older man. I don't know how he got to me so quickly, he had puzzled on the way back to the hotel. I guess it doesn't really matter, but…I wish I could figure out why he felt so familiar. I know I've never met him before, so that can't be it…

Putting the quandary aside for the moment, he'd spent the rest of the drive searching for flights. If Schulte's going to be that open about letting me leave and come back, I don't really care what anyone else at his firm thinks. I don't even really care what Lucius or Alfred will say. It's going to be exhausting, but I don't give a damn about that, either. I promised my son we would spend Sunday together, and we're going to. To his relief, there was a plane that would get him into Gotham fairly early in the morning and another that didn't require he leave until well after the boy's school-night bedtime. I may even be able to catch a nap in there somewhere, he'd grinned, booking tickets on both.

"We made pancakes. You're going to have to get a new box of mix to hide, I think we used all of it," Dick's answer to his question snapped him back to the present. "And then we went outside and saw Gobblehead, which was good because he was almost out of food, and read a couple of Sherlock Holmes stories with him."

"Clark let you sit outside in that cold shed long enough for two stories?" he frowned ferociously, pausing in the middle of removing his shoes.

"We sat by the heat lamp, and I was in the middle. I didn't get cold, I promise." He paused. "Plus, it was more like one and a half stories, I think, because I fell asleep."

"…Okay," the billionaire allowed slowly. "So long as you didn't get cold."

"I didn't. Then we came inside and watched TV."

"Did you fall asleep again?"

"…Yeah. I wish I hadn't, though." Oh, crud, shouldn't have said that.

"Why? Are you having bad dreams?" Please say no. The thought of you having nightmares and my not being there to comfort you…

"No," he lied, wincing as he did. "…It's just kind of early, you know? It's only six o'clock here."

"If you're that tired, though, you should probably let yourself sleep," he advised. "You can use my bed if you want."

"I did last night. It helped some."

"Clark told me you did. I'm glad it made it easier." He couldn't wait any longer to share his good news, but just as he prepared to do so Dick spoke again.

"…I really miss you, Bruce," he whispered.

"I know, chum," he closed his eyes. "But you know what?"

"…It's only two days until you come home now?"

"Nope," he smirked. I'm about to blow your mind, Dicky. "It's less than one."

"…Huh? But…it's only Saturday."

"I know. I'm coming home early."

There was a moment of silence, then a squeal. "…Really?!"

"Really," he laughed. "I'm supposed to land at four thirty in the morning, Gotham time. Which means I should be home by six."

"We'll come pick you up," the child blurted out. "Please? Please say we can?"

Oh, kiddo… "If Clark's willing, then of course you can." If it buys me an extra ninety minutes with you, I'll take it. He's just going to have to deal with feeling like a chauffeur, because I'm sitting in the back on the way home.

"…Don't you have to be there on Monday, though? How can you come home tonight?" he puzzled.

"I'll fly back tomorrow night, then home again after everything is finalized Monday afternoon."

"You're going to be so tired, though!" the boy objected. And you'll want to come home Monday night and patrol, because that's how you are, but if you're tired you'll get hurt, just like I remembered when I was sleeping…

"That's okay, chum. It's worth it. Don't worry," he calmed him, knowing that he was thinking Batman would go out right after getting off of the plane. "I'll come home and go straight to bed on Monday. I have to go to work Tuesday morning, remember?"

"…Okay," he agreed. He's coming home early, and I can tell him everything and maybe not have any more bad dreams… "I'm so excited! I thought we wouldn't get to spend Sunday together, but now we do. And…it's really okay that you leave? What about the stuff the people there wanted you to do?"

"I had a talk with the president of the bank. He…understands." He understands far more than you know, and feels it far more deeply than I ever want to. His lips pursed. Never make me know the kind of pain that man lives with, Dick. Just…don't. Dying would be preferable to living in a world without you in it.

"Yay!" He was bouncing now, his stomachache and the other vestiges of his unpleasant sleep banished by the good news. "…Do want to tell Clark? He just came back in the room."

"You can tell him, if you want."

"Okay! So…four thirty?"

"Exactly. I'll see you then. Try and sleep before you come to get me, okay?"

"I'll try. Bye!"

"Bye, kiddo. I'll see you in a few hours."

The Kryptonian didn't get a chance to ask what had him so ecstatic before the child leapt from the couch and tumbled across the floor, popping up in front of him. "…Hello," he joked.

"Bruce's coming home early!" a happy little voice crowed.

"…He is?" I'm glad you get to see him sooner than you thought – you're clearly delighted – but…I'm also a little sad. The problem, he realized, was that he wanted to spend more time with the boy, and given what had transpired since Thursday there was no reason to think that Bruce would ever let that happen. "When?" How much longer do I definitely have with you?

"His plane lands at four thirty in the morning. We can pick him up at the airport, right?"

"Sure," he nodded. Damn. That's not long. "Are you hungry?"

"Umm…yeah, I kind of am, actually. I guess we could heat up the rest of Alfred's broth and put some crackers in it. That sounds good."

He ate, then went upstairs and took a bath before rejoining Clark in the den. "Whatcha watching?" he asked, climbing onto the couch beside him with dripping hair and fresh pajamas.

"Hmm? Oh," he made a face at the political panel on the screen. "I don't know, to be honest."

"…What's wrong, Uncle Clark?" Dick asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Nothing at all, pal," he answered quietly, letting his arm fall across the thin shoulders.

"If you weren't watching, that means you were just staring off into space," a rebuttal came. "You must have been thinking about something."

He sighed. "To be frank, I'm worried about how Bruce is going to react to everything. I feel like I could have done a better job taking care of you while he and Alfred have been gone."

"…Are you kidding? You've been awesome!"

That resounding assertion made him smile. "I'm glad you feel that way. The problem is, I highly doubt that Bruce will agree with you. Between letting you get dehydrated and the Joker, I have a feeling that he may never speak to me again, let alone let me anywhere near you. And that would make me pretty sad. I've enjoyed this weekend, and I think we could have a lot more fun some time when you aren't sick, but…that doesn't seem likely to happen." He paused. "…Am I blowing this out of proportion, do you think?"

The boy looked pensive. "Maybe. I don't know." He shook his head and met the Kryptonian's eyes. "Let me talk to him. He needs you, and I like hanging out with you. I'm not going to let him be all grumpy and standoffish again if there's anything I can do about it."

"...Thank you," he said seriously.

"Like you said before, it's nice to have help dealing with him sometimes," Dick shrugged, smirking slightly. "And he needs other people to talk to besides Alfred and I, so…yeah."

"He's very lucky to have you, you know."

"…I'm lucky to have him. It's a fair trade, I think."

Mm…no, I think he needs you more than you need him. Maybe only a little bit, but…a small amount can make all the difference in the world. It wasn't worth arguing over, so he kept the thought to himself. "Should we find something funny to watch?"

"Yes, please," he nodded, yawning as he stretched out and rested his head on the man's leg. A hand settled on his arm, and before they'd so much as located a program his eyes shut, letting him drift into a contented sleep.

He woke up an hour later to the sound of his own scream. Clark, who had gone down the hall to his guest room after moving the boy to Bruce's bed, was there instantly, having allowed himself a burst of super-human speed in response to the distress he'd heard.

"Okay, pal, calm down. It's okay," he tried to hold the trembling figure steady.

"What time is it?" Dick sobbed at him.

Jesus, what did you dream about? "…Seven thirty. Why?" The child hustled out from under his hands and dashed towards his own room, mumbling something about there still being time, if they hurried. "Dick, what…?" He didn't stop him, but merely followed, standing in the doorway and watching as he threw on day clothes. "What are you doing?" he asked quizzically.

"He can't get on that plane tonight." As he spoke, tears still pouring down his face, he upended his backpack, completely unconcerned as texts and papers went everywhere. The pajamas he'd torn off took their place, along with a light jacket whose hanger pinged off to somewhere on the other side of the room as he ripped the article from it.

"…What?"

"He can't get on that plane!" he exclaimed, whirling around, his wet face adamant. Slamming the zipper closed, he stepped up until he was toe-to-toe with the Kryptonian. "Take me to Bruges."

"…What?!" he sputtered. I mean, it's certainly possible, but…why? What changed? You were perfectly happy an hour ago, and now you're a wreck. What's going on?

"You've got to take me to Bruges!"

Okay, this is way out of my league. Deeply concerned, he knelt down. "…Dick, I need you to explain what's going on here."

"There's no time!"

"I'm not taking you anywhere until I know why it's so important that you go to Bruges, pal. Bruce is coming home, remember?"

"I had a dream, okay!? And…and his plane crashed, and…" His expression dissolved into abject terror as he recalled his nightmare, all smoke, fire, panic, and unavoidable death, with Bruce wearing a 'well, how inconveniently ironic is this' look in the middle of it. No escape. "…and it wasn't the flight on Monday, it was the one tonight, and I don't know how I know that, but I just do, and he can't get on the plane!"

So much for Bruce's bed helping him avoid nightmares. "…Listen, pal, the odds of that happening-"

"I don't care about the odds," he shook his head. "I've never had a dream like that before, never ever. Not that I was so certain was going to happen." He grabbed Clark's wrist. "Please, Uncle Clark. Take me to Bruges. If I'm there, he won't come home. He won't get on the plane, and he won't die. Maybe nobody will, if he's not on it, I don't know. I know it sounds stupid, I know it does, but what if it's not?" He threw himself forward, burying his face against a broad shoulder.

An almost-ten-year-old having a premonitory dream wouldn't be the strangest thing I've ever experienced, Clark considered as he held him. But still, it's so unlikely… "What if we just call Bruce? You could tell him about it."

"No. You know how he is, he'll tell me that everything's fine and then he'll get on the plane anyway. Even if I make him promise not to, he'll be worried about the fact that I had a nightmare like that, and he'll try to come home. He'll tell you not to bring me there, and it'll be too late..." His voice was a teary whisper. "What if I'm right? I'll…I'll be alone again, and I can't…I can't…please…"

The last word came out in such a pitiful whine that there was no defense against it. …Even if he's completely wrong and this was just a really awful nightmare, he's going to work himself into a fit at this rate, he decided as the slight figure in his arms all but hyperventilated between sobs. And I already have enough to explain to Bruce. "…Okay," he agreed finally. "I'll take you." I don't have much of a choice, not at this point. I think I'm going to regret this, but if it keeps you from making yourself pass out - or worse - from stress, I'll do it. "But we're going to have to be careful, you know that. This is going to take some planning." He felt him nod, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Well, to Bruges we go, then. Shit.