Note: Thanks for the comments, usagipoints! :)
The name changes (Batman to Bruce and Bruce to Batman) are completely intentional. I didn't forget who I was writing about. :)
Later that night:
Alfred had enveloped Dick's ribs and shoulder in a thick layer of Bat-wrap. He had also called Clark, who had called Leslie, but she hadn't answered. So, they couldn't go see her until the morning.
The men had decided to stay in Dick's room for the night, just in case something – a nightmare, perhaps – happened. Dick had protested at first, saying they also needed to be able to sleep, but he had lost the argument in the end. Bruce, having not seen his ward for almost five days, refused to leave. Alfred was there to keep Batman away; he could see the millionaire struggling to contain his emotions.
It turned out to be a rough night. Dick could only lay on his back and he became rather uncomfortable after a while. He was tired but his entire torso, including his shoulder, was sore. Even the Bat-aspirin wasn't helping very much.
Bruce was on his usual chair and he had brought another one in for his butler. Eventually, everyone fell asleep. But it didn't last long. Ten minutes after falling asleep, Dick woke up, slightly panicked. He was in a soft bed, and Jasper was going to find out and take him to the basement again.
Silently, he climbed out of bed, doing his best to leave the unfamiliar men undisturbed. Dick thought about leaving the room in order to roam – he certainly couldn't go to sleep on the hard floor in his room – but the door was closed and he didn't want to risk making even the softest of noises. So, he began pacing around the room, flinching with every step that jostled his shoulder.
Bruce was asleep but Batman was listening. He didn't hear the boy get out of bed, but he did hear the soft wheezes that were coming from random directions. Slowly, the man opened his eyes, preparing to surprise and attack whomever had dared to break into the Manor. The first thing he saw was an empty bed. And, at that very moment, a wheeze passed directly behind him.
Batman instantly jumped to his feet and spun around. There was a shadow drifting along the far wall, so Bruce immediately turned on the bedside lamp. The shadow turned out to be Dick, who immediately froze and stared at him with wide eyes full of trepidation.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," the boy whispered, his voice shaking slightly.
"What are you doing, chum?"
The words woke up Alfred, who stared at the scene in astonishment.
"Um, trying to leave you alone, sir? I know I shouldn't be in here, sir, but I didn't want to wake you up by leaving. I'm sorry."
Dick's voice sounded a little confused, like he wasn't quite sure where he was.
Bruce stood by the table, shock in his eyes. But he quickly recovered and walked toward his ward. Dick took a small step back, hit the wall, and winced.
"I'm Bruce, kiddo, and you're back in Wayne Manor," he stated softly as he stopped walking. "You don't have to use 'sir' and I'm not upset that I'm awake."
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know a Bruce. Are you Jasper's friend? Sir?"
"Master Dick, Jasper isn't here and we are most certainly not his friends."
"But he's coming, I know he is! And he'll take me to the basement and…um…and…"
The boy trailed off. He couldn't remember what he had been about to say, but he was sure it was something that would get him in trouble.
Alfred watched his older charge carefully. Bruce had his hands clenched into fists but he didn't look like he was about to explode.
"Dick, you're not with them and they can't come get you. You're safe with us, with Alfred and I. Even if he did come, he wouldn't get to you because I would take care of him as soon as he set a single foot in this house."
The millionaire's voice was gentle at first but it ended in an angry growl.
"Master Bruce," the butler cautioned softly.
"I'm fine, Alfred, thank you," Bruce replied, without taking his eyes off his ward.
Dick suddenly couldn't breathe so he made a fist and pounded it against his chest. Not caring about the consequences, Bruce raced to his side and caught the boy's arm before it could hit the broken ribs again.
"Breathe," he commanded, staring into the light-blue eyes of a terrified-looking Dick. "You're going to hurt yourself more so just breathe with me."
He placed Dick's hand on his chest and began taking slow, deep breaths.
"My head hurts," the ten-year-old wheezed after almost thirty seconds. "And I don't, I'm sorry, I don't know you. I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."
There was a long pause and then Dick's eyes filled with panic again.
"I'm not supposed to be here! Jasper…"
"…isn't here, young sir," Alfred quickly finished the boy's sentence.
"And he never will be," Bruce added, "because if he I ever see his face I'm going to pound…"
"Master Bruce," Alfred reprimanded, just loud enough that Bruce would understand his warning.
"I…um, I'm confused," Dick admitted.
"The last four days were extremely traumatic for you, chum, but it's over. You're in Wayne Manor, where you belong. I'm Bruce and that's Alfred and nobody in this house is ever going to hurt you. I promise."
"Master Dick, you're stressed and terrified and a little bit lost. It might take a few days for everything to return to normal, but I also promise you that nobody in this house will ever harm you."
"I'm…sorry," the ten-year-old responded. "I just don't want to do anything wrong. I don't want to go to the basement again."
"Kiddo, even when you make a mistake, nothing physical is going to happen to you. Ever. We'll talk about it and I'll help you understand why we have the rule and what you can do to remember it. I will never, EVER, hit you."
"Bruce?" Dick questioned, a sliver of recognition in his eyes.
"Yes…"
"I forgot you again, didn't I," the boy said sadly. "I'm sorry."
"Kiddo, you have a concussion. A severe concussion. I would be very surprised if your memory was absolutely perfect right now."
"He threw me down the stairs," Dick explained, not remembering that he had already told them everything. "And they forgot about me. Will you forget about me, too?"
"No," Bruce nearly growled as a picture of a lonely, forgotten ten-year-old jumped into his head. "Not ever. You're too important to forget."
"I…I am? But I'm just circus…"
"You are an amazing person, Dick," the man quickly interrupted. "And anybody who tries to tell you differently is an idiot. Now, you need to get some sleep."
Bruce, without the boy noticing, had led Dick back to bed.
"I tried to block, like you taught me," the ten-year-old said. "But it was really hard to see and I was really dizzy."
Bruce was seething inside again. A different picture popped into his head: Dick, dizzy and floundering against a wall while Jasper threw bony fists against the small body. Looking down at his boy, who was already asleep, he wondered how any adult could decide that it was a good idea to do something like that.
"I'm going to kill him," Batman stated matter-of-factly. "I'm going to tear him into little tiny pieces and then I'm going to put him back together so I can beat him to a pulp and then I'm going to kill him."
"No, sir, you aren't," Alfred responded patiently. "Think about what that would do to Master Dick."
"It would erase his fears of the man finding him," Batman snapped.
"And he would place the blame entirely upon himself for telling you. Do you really want him to spend the rest of his life feeling guilty because he thinks it's his fault that Batman broke his number one rule, sir?"
"No," Batman grumbled. "But it's not his fault," Bruce stated.
"We know that, but that's not how he will see it, Master Bruce. You know he would blame himself, sir, just as you are blaming yourself right now."
"Why do you always have to be so wise?" the younger man mumbled in defeat.
"You should get some sleep, also, Master Bruce," the butler answered with what could almost be described as a smirk.
The next morning:
"That's horrible, Alfred! I didn't even…I should have thought to listen for him! Thanks for letting me know. They're here; I'll take good care of them. Yes, both of them," the man stated before hanging up the phone in his car and climbing out.
"Clark!" Bruce said in surprise as he and Dick exited the helicopter. "What are you doing here?"
"Checking on both of you, of course," the other man replied with a grin. "And to be your chauffeur for the day. Hey, Dick, how are you feeling?" he asked, his tone a little softer.
"Um…not great," the boy admitted, "but better than yesterday."
"Sorry you had to go through that, Dick."
"What doesn't kill you makes you better at protecting yourself, right?"
Clark glanced at Bruce, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
"I think the end of that is 'makes you stronger'," Clark stated.
Dick shrugged his uninjured shoulder and replied, "Close enough."
They were in the car now and Clark was heading toward the clinic.
"So, um, Dr. Thompkins really lied for us?" the ten-year-old asked.
"Yes, but we're going to have her look at the bullet wound, also, so it's not a complete lie," Bruce responded. "I guess."
"No matter what," Dick mumbled.
"What was that, chum?"
"Nothing," the boy answered.
Clark glanced back in the mirror but said nothing. He had no idea what the phrase meant but was sure that Batman, for some reason, wouldn't be happy if he had heard it.
"Here we are," Clark stated.
"You did pretty good," Bruce commented casually.
"Pretty good?!" Dick exclaimed. "I can't believe you put this together in only a few hours!"
"He is Superman," Bruce grumbled, and Clark grinned.
Doris was at the desk again and there was a real patient in the waiting room.
"I forgot to tell you," Clark whispered as they sat down as far from the man as they could. "Leslie, uh, opened her own practice. And I think part of it might be funded by you."
Bruce shook his head but stated, "That's the least I can do."
Clark nodded and glanced at Dick. The boy had chosen to stand and had one arm wrapped around his ribs. Bruce noticed the look.
"He took him into the basement. Dick had a concussion and couldn't even think straight, much less defend himself," the millionaire whispered so softly that only Superman could hear it. "Two broken ribs and a fractured collarbone, in addition to all the swelling on his face."
"You're not serious!" Clark exclaimed, almost as quietly.
"Would I joke about something like this?!"
"Can I kill him after you do?"
"Alfred made a good point about that," Bruce grumbled with a sigh. "Dick would blame himself for the rest of his life. He would think that it was his fault for telling us."
Superman mumbled something unintelligible. Batman had no idea what the other man had said but he nodded in agreement anyway.
"Dick Grayson?" Doris asked quietly.
The ten-year-old nodded and carefully walked to her desk.
"Dr. Thompkins is ready for you. Do you want the men to come back with you?"
"Um…" Dick paused then looked back. "Am I going to have to tell her every single thing?" he asked as he turned back to Doris.
"Just enough that she knows what she needs to do to treat you," Doris explained.
"Well, they don't know everything so maybe I should go by myself. They don't need to be more frustrated than they already are."
Doris nodded in agreement. She, like Dr. Thompkins, knew that Clark was Superman and had heard of Batman's temper.
"Do you want me to tell them?" the woman asked.
"Um, no, I'll do it. I don't want them to get mad at you," he said with a small grin.
She nodded again. Dick turned and walked back to the men.
"I'm going by myself," he declared softly.
"No, you're not," Bruce almost growled.
"Is it your choice?" Dick asked.
"I'm your guardian," the man retorted.
"And I'm in charge of my own body so if I say you can't go back then you can't go back."
Bruce had nothing to say to that.
"Go ahead, Dick, I'll take care of Bruce," Clark stated.
Dick nodded then turned to Doris and said, "I'm ready."
The woman stood up, walked behind her desk and opened the door between the waiting room and the patient rooms. Immediately, the man on the other side of the room jumped up.
"I was here first!" he exclaimed. "The kid can't go back until after I do!"
"Mr. Dimp, you are getting a flu shot," Doris replied calmly. "The nurse will be with you in a moment, as soon as she is done with her other patient."
"I don't care!" the man yelled.
Dick shuddered at the sound and Doris gently pushed him behind her. Bruce stood up and walked over to the man, Clark following behind, just in case.
"The lady just told you that you are not going back yet," Bruce said in an imposing voice. "Therefore, you aren't going back yet."
"Who are you to tell me what to do?!" the man shouted.
Clark saw the change in Bruce's demeanor so he stepped in front of his friend.
"I'm Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet," he said evenly. "Do you want your face plastered on the front page because you yelled at a nice woman who is just doing her job? If she says the boy needs to go back first because he needs to see the doctor while you need the nurse, then she obviously knows more about the situation than you do."
"You think I'm going to back down because of a freaking reporter?!" Mr. Dimp screamed.
"No," Clark replied, his tone still calm, "I think you're going to back down because it's the right thing to do. Do you have children, Mr. Dimp?"
"What does that matter?" the man mumbled.
"If one of your kids was injured and I needed a flu shot, who would you want the woman to call back first?"
"Whoever was here first."
"Let's say it was me and I had been waiting for fifteen minutes."
"Still…"
"What if your child came in limping because of a sprained ankle?"
"I'm not a doctor! How would I know it was sprained?!"
"Exactly, Mr. Dimp."
A lightbulb went off in the man's head and he sat down. Doris and Dick had already disappeared, leaving the men to take care of the situation. Clark turned around and pushed Bruce back to their chairs.
"Nothing would have been gained by the way you were about to do it," Clark stated.
Bruce, who had been tense and ready to put the man in his place, released a frustrated breath and sat down.
"Shut up," he mumbled rudely and Clark smirked.
Dr. Thompkins' office:
"Good morning, Dick, I'm Dr. Thompkins," Leslie said kindly as they sat across from each other at her desk.
"Hi," Dick said timidly.
"Do you want to go into a patient room or do you want to do everything right here?"
"Um, I don't know," he replied softly.
"I think you will be more comfortable if we talk in here."
"Okay."
"So, let's start at the beginning. You can tell me whatever you want. I might need more details about some things but if you don't want to tell me then we can move on to the next subject. Is that okay?"
"Sure."
"Whenever you want to take a break, we can take a break. If you want Bruce to come back here at any time, just let me know and I'll send for him."
Dick nodded but remained silent.
"Take your time and start when you're ready. I have no other appointments and Doris knows that I'm booked for the day."
"The whole day?!" Dick exclaimed. "For me?!"
"Yes," Leslie replied, "the whole day. But you don't have to stay the whole day, of course. When you want to be done, we're done."
"Um, maybe you should look at my shoulder first? Where the bullet was. Since, you know, you lied for me and everything. Bruce said if you do that then you wouldn't have been completely lying, right?"
"It's true, I did tell a lot of lies," Leslie admitted. "But I would do anything for a certain hero out there, which means I would do anything for that hero's best friend who also happens to be a hero."
She smiled and Dick grinned back. He rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt and waited.
"How about if we go sit on the couch? Then I can check you without either of us walking around my desk all the time."
Dick agreed and they moved to the couch. Leslie put on some gloves and gently probed the wound that was almost completely healed. The fractured collarbone did not escape her notice, but she decided to wait for the story.
"Clark told me the butler did this for you."
The boy nodded and Leslie murmured, "He did a good job."
"Alfred's a pretty amazing man," Dick responded.
"Sounds like you live with two pretty amazing men," the woman remarked. "The bullet wound looks good, Dick. Can we talk about what happened during the last four days?"
"Yes," Dick replied softly. "I'll start at the very beginning."
The story poured from his mouth for the second time in less than a day. Leslie kept her face neutral, as she always did when hearing stories like this. Dick remembered most of the details, although some of the tiniest ones were lost. He didn't know how many hours he had been outside when they had forgotten him. However, he told her where the sun had started and ended so together they made an educated guess.
Leslie was both impressed with his strength and horrified at his lack of medical attention. If Dick had heard the 'cracks', which he had told her he had, then certainly the man had heard them. She had seen many cases like this in her career, but every one of them had been in a hospital setting. Did Jasper just expect the bones to heal on their own without proper treatment?!
After the explanation, Leslie asked if she could look at his injuries. She reminded him that he could have someone in here if he wanted to and he thanked her but refused.
"Do you need help taking your shirt off?" she asked quietly.
Dick nodded without a second thought. He had discovered that the pain was easier to bear when someone assisted him. Alfred had helped him figure that out. Leslie gently eased the shirt up and over his head then heard a relieved sigh when she was done.
She gently unwound Alfred's careful wrapping job and began probing Dick's ribs. Two were obviously broken and two more were moving awkwardly, as if they were ready to be torn in half. The collarbone didn't feel like a serious fracture but Leslie wanted x-rays to be sure.
"Dick, we have an x-ray machine here and I need to check some of your bones. Can we go do that? You can bring Bruce or Clark with us, if you want."
"How can you check my bones if they're inside my body?"
"X-rays show us the inside of your body…"
"Like Superman's eyes?" Dick interrupted then immediately apologized for doing so.
Leslie laughed, accepted the apology and answered, "Yes, like Superman's eyes."
"Okay, well, I'm okay with that, I guess. Why don't you just have Superman do it?"
"Well, we need evidence against the people who did this and Superman's eyes can't give us pictures."
"Oh, okay. Will it hurt?"
"No, all you have to do is stand behind a little screen and I'll take a picture. I want to do each side of your body so it will take a few minutes, but it won't hurt at all."
"Okay. I have a high pain tolerance level – that's what Bruce said – so even if it did hurt I think I could do it."
"Good…"
"I went for a month without them knowing about a nearly fractured rib and a bunch of bruises."
"When was that?" Leslie asked in confusion.
"Last year, when I first came here, um, I mean, to Gotham City. Obviously not here."
"Obviously," Leslie replied with a grin.
"I also had some other, um, accidents but you can ask Bruce about those. Or Clark. He knows some of them."
"I'll look at your paperwork later and then call Bruce if I have any questions. I'm sorry you've been through so much, Dick. Gotham City hasn't been very kind to you."
"Well, Gotham does need Batman a lot so I guess it's not very kind to a lot of people."
That was an astute observation, especially for a ten-year-old.
"Has anybody ever told you that you're smart?" Leslie asked.
"Well, I passed out of two math books and Bruce sometimes says I say things that are a little too wise for my age. Is that what you mean?"
"That's exactly what I mean. Is there anything else you enjoy doing?"
She was leading a shirtless Dick down the hall now, toward the last door that led to the x-ray room.
"I like to read and tumble."
"Clark has told me about your acrobatic abilities. I've always wanted to fly through the air and tumble my way through life."
"Yeah, it's pretty fun. Oh, and now Bruce and I are painting a wall. Alfred drew a giant picture of a jungle – to hide the blood when she came – so now we're painting it. Well, we were, before all this happened. But we'll probably start again soon."
"I'm sure you will. Why did you have to hide blood?"
"Oh, she came a couple of days after I was, um, my shoulder, you know?"
"Yes."
"And we couldn't let her know because then she would take me away. So I didn't wear the sling to school and a little girl squeezed my arm on the bus and that really hurt. But we decided to use a lot of red on the picture because when kids paint they get stuff on their shirt. So we put some red paint on my shirt and she didn't even know it was a little bloody. Bruce and Alfred are pretty smart. Well, it was Alfred's idea but Bruce added stuff."
"Okay, Dick, I need you to stand right here…"
"And she was mean when she talked to me and tried to make Bruce sound horrible but I told her not to do that and she slapped me."
"What?!" Leslie exclaimed, carefully positioning his body behind the x-ray screen.
"Yeah, and because of that Mr. Makov came over and that was the night Bruce and I had an argument about, um, a certain hero, and Mr. Makov didn't care. He just took me away without even talking to us about it. And then all of this and now I'm here."
"Wow, you really have had it rough. Thank you for telling me all of that. And I'm done."
Leslie had taken pictures of everything she needed to without him even noticing.
"Really, that's it?"
"Yes, really, that's it," she replied with a grin. "Let's go back to my office, get you dressed and then you're done."
"Oh, okay, thanks."
They began walking down the hall again, going back the way they had come. Suddenly, a bout of dizziness assaulted him and Dick swerved. He almost ran into the wall but Leslie was able to steady him before that happened.
When they got to her office, she sat him down on the couch again and pulled a penlight out of her pocket.
"I'm going to check your eyes, Dick, you were a little shaky out in the hall. Open wide, please."
He obeyed and she shined the bright light in his eyes. Dick flinched but kept his eyes open.
"Looks like your concussion is going to take a while to fade away," she commented. "You're looking a little lost, Dick. Are you with me?"
"Hmmm?" he murmured.
"Dick, can you find my finger with your eyes?" Leslie asked, concern in her voice.
Patiently holding one finger right in front of his face, she watched his cloudy eyes search the room. Changing her tactic, she held up three fingers, hoping a bigger target would help him latch onto it.
"Dick."
Leslie paused, watching his eyes carefully. They suddenly began to clear and he was finally able to focus on her hand. Going back to one finger, she moved it slowly side to side then up and down. His eyes followed, although they were lagging by a quarter of a second.
"Hey, Dick, you back with me now?"
Furrowing his forehead in confusion, he asked, "Did you go somewhere?"
"No, you were just having a little trouble focusing. I'm going to wrap your ribs and you get a sling…"
"Again?" Dick almost whined.
"Unless you don't want your collarbone to heal."
Sighing in resignation, he waited for her to wrap his ribs then help him put on his shirt.
"I'm going to go get Bruce, since we're done. I want you to just lay down for now, okay? Just rest for me. We'll put that arm in a sling before you leave."
"Okay," Dick answered with a yawn.
He laid back on the couch and closed his eyes. Leslie walked out of her office and quietly shut the door behind her. Two minutes later she was back outside the closed door, Bruce and Clark standing right beside her and listening carefully to her explanation.
"He was really out of it for almost five minutes," Leslie stated. "I know he could hear me because his eyes were searching for my voice. I don't think he understood he was looking for my fingers, but he knew he was supposed to find me. When he did come back to me, he was slow to follow my finger, but he was able to do it. His concussion is more than just severe, Bruce. This might affect him for longer than we originally thought."
"When you say more than 'just' severe," Bruce began, "are you thinking brain damage?"
"I'm not sure. I want to give it a week's worth of observation. Here's what I need you to do. Clark, this is a prescription for pain. He's going to be having a lot of headaches and of course his ribs and collarbone are going to give him difficulty. If you could go get that and maybe meet them back in Gotham?"
"Sure," Clark replied, immediately leaving out the back door.
"Bruce, I need you to watch him carefully. If he starts slurring or he passes out, you need to take him to a hospital. You need to wake him up every three or four hours during the night, which mean he's going to be tired all the time. Don't allow him to shower by himself, or use stairs without somebody next to him. I don't think I have to tell you that tumbling is off limits because of more than just his head. Does that all make sense?"
"Yes," the man nodded. "So do I need to bring him back in a week?"
"Absolutely," Leslie said firmly. "If his behavior changes in any way, make note of that, also. He might zone out once in a while, too. If his eyes glaze over or suddenly start darting around the room, get him to focus on you as quickly as you can."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he seems like a usually happy child?"
Bruce nodded so she continued, "He'll probably be grumpy because he's tired. But if it's random – like you're playing a game and he's having fun and suddenly he's bursting into tears – write it down. I need to know when, what he was doing, and how it changed. And there's nothing wrong with a dip in concentration once in a while, it happens to everybody. I just don't want him there for a long period of time."
"Don't sugarcoat, Dr. Thompkins," Bruce suddenly commanded. "Do you think he has brain damage?"
Sighing, Leslie replied, "From what he told me, it was a pretty long flight of stairs and he fell from the very top. I have to admit that it's a possibility, yes."
Fear crept into his expression and Bruce's heart dropped into his stomach.
"It's also possible," she continued, "that it is merely a long-lasting concussion."
"Merely?!" Bruce almost shouted.
"When compared to brain damage?" Leslie retorted. "Yes, merely."
"How often have you seen something like this be 'merely' a long-lasting concussion?"
"To be perfectly honest, Bruce, I've never treated a child who was pushed down a flight of stairs. I've had my share of 'fell out of a tree' and 'fell off the trampoline' and things like that. Contrary to popular opinion, one of the rarest excuses for evidence of any kind of abuse is 'I fell down the stairs'."
"Leslie."
"Bruce, it's impossible to know right now! If you have to take him to the hospital because he's slurring or passing out, then I will say it's definitely brain damage. If he's like this all week and I check him out here next week, I'm going to lean toward concussion."
"Lean toward it?!"
"Listen, just follow my instructions and I'll see you next week. I know you're concerned but I can't predict the future. Right now he's resting, and he's allowed to, just don't let him sleep for more than four hours at a time."
Nodding, Bruce said, "Thank you. I'll have Alfred call and set up an appointment."
"I'm putting his arm in a sling, which he's very disappointed about, but his collarbone won't heal properly if he's using his arm all the time. He can take an hour break from it every once in a while but not too often. At night, of course, it can stay off.
Bruce, I know this is a lot but he's been through a lot. Dick is going to be tired, and grumpy, and in pain so you're going to have to be patient with him."
The man raised his eyebrows and Leslie sighed.
"I didn't say you aren't patient with him right now. I'm just telling you that his personality is probably going to be much different from what you're used to. Now, go get your son and take him home."
They entered the office, where Dick was peacefully resting. Bruce could tell he wasn't yet asleep, but also knew he was tired.
"Dick," Leslie said quietly as she knelt by the couch. "I need you to wake up; it's time to go home."
The ten-year-old mumbled something and turned his head away from her voice.
"You can take a rest at home, chum," Bruce stated as he crouched down by Leslie. "But we have to get home first."
"Okay," the boy mumbled as he forced his eyes to open and slowly sat up.
Leslie had the sling ready and, before Dick could react, his arm was nestled inside the soft material. The boy gave her a half-hearted glare and Bruce cleared his throat.
"Thank you, Dr. Thompkins," Dick stated quietly. "I didn't mean to glare, it's just that I hate this thing."
"I know, Dick, but if you want your bones to heal correctly, you have to use it."
"All day and all night?"
"No, you can take a break once in a while and you don't have to wear it at night."
"Okay, thanks."
"You're welcome," the woman said as she stood up.
Bruce joined her and then helped an unsteady Dick to stand up. He gently put his arm around the boy's shoulders, fully expecting to have to guide him to the car.
"My head hurts," Dick said as they walked out of Leslie's office.
"I know, chum, but Clark went to get you some medicine for that."
"How are we going to get home?"
"Clark took a…different mode of transportation and gave me the keys to his car."
"Okay."
"Thank you, Dr. Thompkins," Bruce stated when they got to the door leading into the lobby. "We'll see you next week."
"You're welcome," Leslie replied with a smile. "Close observation," she whispered discreetly.
Bruce nodded then led Dick out of the clinic and into Clark's car.
"How are you feeling, kiddo?" he asked.
"Tired and my head hurts," the ten-year-old replied.
"I'm going to tell you what Dr. Thompkins said because I think you have a right to now."
"Okay…?"
"You can't sleep for more than four hours at a time, which means I'm going to be waking you up a lot. You're going to be really tired and sore and have good-sized headaches once in a while. She also said you might have abrupt mood swings…"
"What's a mood swing?"
"It's when you go from one emotion to another very quickly. For example, being happy and then suddenly bursting into tears," Bruce answered, using Leslie's illustration.
"Okay, is that bad?"
"Not necessarily, I just want you to be aware."
There was a long pause; Bruce was unsure about telling him the next part. He was saved by a helicopter, because at that moment they arrived at the helipad.
He helped Dick out of the car, across the cement, and into the helicopter. To his surprise, the ten-year-old wasn't swerving or unsteady on the short walk. It was too loud to talk in the helicopter, saving Bruce again from having to go on with the discussion. And when they got home, Dick immediately went to the couch in the living room and laid down.
Bruce followed him, but the boy was asleep before he could say a word. Superman arrived ten minutes later with two bottles of liquid medicine.
"Leslie said he can only have this three times a day and at least six hours have to pass between doses," the hero stated.
"Clark, I…"
"Don't worry, Bruce," Clark stated when the other man paused. "I already know what you're trying to say."
With a grin, Superman walked out the door and flew back to Metropolis.
"He's a good friend, Master Bruce," Alfred commented as he walked into the room. "A very good friend. You should let him know that some time, sir."
Bruce mumbled something about butlers and reporters then looked down at Dick, glaring at the wounds he knew were under the boy's shirt and wishing he could go visit Jasper.
"I took the liberty of making the appointment, sir. Dr. Thompkins told me exactly what she told you."
"What if…"
"Hope for the best, Master Bruce. That, and watch him carefully, as the good doctor advised, sir."
"Should I tell him? I was going to…"
"That, sir, is your decision. However, it is my opinion that wondering whether or not he has brain damage will only stress him further, Master Bruce."
"I feel like I'm lying to him," Bruce countered.
"Sometimes, there are things that people should not be made aware of until the theory has become a fact, sir."
"Brussss?" Dick mumbled.
"He slurred!" Bruce quietly exclaimed, panic filling his chest.
"He is merely waking up, Master Bruce," Alfred replied calmly. "Give him a moment, sir."
Dick slowly sat up and Bruce sat down beside him.
"Everything hurts," the boy admitted.
"It's a good thing Superman is fast, then," the man replied with a smile.
He poured the correct dosage of medicine into the small cup and Dick quickly drank it down.
There was a long pause and then Bruce softly stated, "I'm sorry, kiddo."
"Me, too."
"You have no reason…"
"I shouldn't have…you were right."
"About what?" Bruce asked, completely confused.
"I'm glad you came to me instead of changing into Batman. I might not even be here if you hadn't. Maybe I would have been placed with them after getting out of the detention center. If I ever actually got out of the detention center. I'm sorry for getting mad at you."
"And I'm sorry I yelled at you because of it. If I hadn't been yelling, Mr. Makov would have had no reason to worry about your safety."
"I thought it was supposed to be two weeks?"
"He…discovered some things about us and about Miss Jameson. Clark helped, Dr. Thompkins helped, Alfred helped, even Miss Jameson slapping you helped. Although I hated having to watch it again."
"And you helped," Dick commented. "Didn't he interview you?"
Bruce nodded and the boy continued, "Then he must have realized that you're much more than a man who got into an argument with his ward."
"Son," Bruce automatically corrected and then widened his eyes. "Sorry, chum, I shouldn't have…I'm not trying to take his place…I didn't mean…"
"Stop," Dick lightly commanded. "You're not taking his place, or even trying to. You are the closest thing I have to a dad so, um, you can call me that. I mean, uh, if you want to, um, I don't know if you really want to and, um, you don't have to if it makes you feel embarrassed or anything. Or if you think I'm not good enough or whatever."
"Dick, why would I ever be embarrassed by you?" the man asked gently.
"I, um…I don't know."
"That's because I'm not, and never will be. And, like we've discussed before, you're more than just 'good enough'. Your name is still 'Dick', though, so that's what I'll call you," Bruce said with a small grin. "But you are like a son to me, chum."
"You're my best friend," the ten-year-old suddenly blurted, tears shining in his eyes.
"And you, kiddo, are mine," the man said, his grin turning into a smile.
"Except for Clark. He's your first best friend."
"He's not my…"
Bruce paused then rolled his eyes.
"Fine, he's my friend. But you're my best friend."
"You should tell him that. He already knows, but you should tell him anyway."
"Thanks for the advice," Bruce mumbled. "You should try to get some more rest."
"I'm feeling better, though. Can I have some lunch?"
"Of course, chum! Do you think you can walk to the kitchen or do you want it in here?"
"Well, I can't feel my torso so I'm pretty sure I can make it."
"You can't…?"
Bruce grabbed the bottle of liquid medicine and looked at the label. Instead of the name and dosage, he read:
Special family recipe. Numbs for about an hour but is very strong so no more than three times a day. Take good care of him. Clark
"Dick," Bruce declared, "I have a phone call to make. Wait here and I'll be back soon."
But the boy had already closed his eyes again. His breathing was deep and even and there were no signs of pain floating across his face. So, Bruce went to his study to make a phone call to a man who, although that man already knew, should be told that he was the millionaire's friend.