Note: Thanks for the reviews, Rollerparty! :)
From now on, just so I don't have to say it every time it happens, name changes are always intentional. :-)
Thirty minutes later:
It had been a quick flight and an even quicker drive back to Wayne Manor. Dick had passed out in the helicopter so Bruce didn't have to worry about hurting him when he carried the boy inside.
The man took Dick to his bedroom and carefully laid him on his stomach. He took the towel off as gently as he could and was surprised that it didn't stick to the boy's skin. It had taken off a lot of cream, though. Bruce hoped Superman could get to Wayne Manor while Dick was still unconscious so he could lather the small back without his boy crying in pain.
Superman arrived ten minutes later. He had four large bottles of cream for Dick's back, two small bottles of liquid medicine to help with the pain and a tiny tube of lotion for the top of Dick's head.
"Leslie said we didn't have to worry about the spider bites," Bruce stated.
"She also said she wanted them to heal as quickly as possible and this will help. I don't think you heard that part; you were too focused on Dick. Just once a day for three days."
"And his back?"
"As often as necessary, which means as often as possible. She wants it covering his back all day every day but knows he won't be able to do that. So, as often as he can handle."
"For…"
"All week, until she sees him again. You need to make an appointment for next week. Oh, and he can only have the pain medicine three times a day and at least six hours have to pass between doses."
"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 turned to Dick. He just stared for a moment, glaring at the wounds and wishing he could go visit Jasper.
"You should do it before he wakes up, Master Bruce."
Nodding, the younger man opened one of the large bottles and began rubbing the cream all over the boy's back. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but also as fast as possible. Dick stirred just as Bruce finished the last wound near the bottom of his back.
"Brussss?" he mumbled.
"Right here, chum," the man responded as he put the top back on and moved it out of Dick's line of sight.
"Where are we?"
"Wayne Manor. You passed out during the helicopter ride."
"Oh. Guess my tolerance level isn't as high as you thought it was."
"That's not something we need to talk about right now. I need you to take some of this medicine."
The man had already poured the correct dosage of the liquid into the small cup.
Dick moved his arms to push himself up. That caused the cream to swirl against itself and he immediately stopped moving.
"I can't give it to you while you're lying on your stomach, kiddo. Can we at least roll to the side a little bit?"
"Sure," Dick panted. "Just…can you do it?"
"Of course."
Bruce handed the cup to Alfred, who sat on the bed and prepared to tip the liquid into Dick's mouth.
"I don't know…where can I…" Bruce stammered, not exactly sure how they were going to accomplish this.
"Um…" Dick responded, having no idea how to go about it either.
"Master Bruce, perhaps you should just lift him to his knees."
Both man and boy considered the idea. After several seconds, Dick hummed in agreement and Bruce nodded.
"You use your abs to stay straight, I'll do the rest."
"K," the boy whispered.
Carefully, Bruce slid his hands under Dick's torso. He put one arm across the boy's stomach and the other across his shoulders.
"Ready?"
"Mmmm."
"Here we go."
Bruce was easily able to lift the light torso and Dick, whose abs were strong from his years of acrobatic training, engaged his muscles. It worked – Bruce pulled him up to kneeling and Dick stayed straight as a board. He was leaning slightly forward; Bruce wasn't going to take the chance that he would fall backwards.
Alfred quickly held the cup to Dick's mouth and tipped the liquid down his throat.
"Like…this…every…time?" the ten-year-old gasped.
"Yes, but it will help with the pain."
"How…many…" Dick wheezed as Bruce carefully laid him down again.
"Up to three times a day. You have to know something, chum."
"Okay."
"We have to keep the cream on as much as possible. So, anytime you think you can handle having me put it on, we need to put it on."
"Okay."
There was a long pause. Alfred left the room and Bruce wiped the tears off the boy's face. Then he pushed the dark bangs away from the light-blue eyes.
"I'm sorry, kiddo," he said softly.
"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 sleep."
"I'm feeling better, though. Can I have some lunch?"
"Of course, chum! Do you think you can sit up?"
"Well, I can't feel my back 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 three hours 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. Take a little rest and I'll be back soon."
But the boy had already fallen asleep. His breathing was deep and even and there were no signs of pain floating across his face. So, Bruce went downstairs to make a phone call to a man who, although that man already knew, should be told that he was the millionaire's friend.
Several days later:
Dick spent much of the days lying on his stomach or sitting up with his back completely straight. He hated everything about it: not being able to move without something hurting, having the cream rubbed on his back several times a day, not taking a full shower because it was too painful, and not being able to paint Alfred's amazing drawing.
Bruce took the rest of the week off of work and spent his days trying to find new ways to entertain the ten-year-old. It seemed like everything was off limits and it was frustrating to both of them. They read books, they played card games – both the ones Dick already knew and some new ones – they played board games, and they read some more.
But, the lotion was doing its job. Dick's back was no longer infected and the wounds were fading. Slowly, very slowly, but it was happening. It was still painful when Bruce or Alfred gently rubbed the cream on, but the boy had forced himself to stop crying after the first day. He knew it was harder for them when the tears slipped down his cheeks, so Dick decided to be stronger than the pain.
Alfred had made an appointment with Dr. Thompkins and it was three days away. The ten-year-old, in his eyes, wasn't healing quickly enough to make her happy. So, he took the matter into his own hands.
One hour after Bruce had applied the cream, Dick decided to do it again. He couldn't reach his entire back but his shoulders were flexible enough for him to do the majority of it. Dick realized, as he laid on the bathroom floor panting from the pain, that this had not been his best idea. In fact, it was turning out to be one of the worst.
At that very moment, Bruce entered the boy's bedroom. The bathroom door was closed so the man waited for Dick to finish. After two minutes, he put his ear to the door and heard nothing.
"Dick? You okay, chum?" he called through the door.
"Yeah."
The word was more of a gasp and Bruce frowned.
"It doesn't sound like it, kiddo. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
That word was a wheeze and Bruce grabbed the door handle.
"I'm counting to five and then coming in," he warned.
"Locked," came the answer.
"Then I'll break it down."
"Wait."
Bruce heard movement, what sounded like swishing, and then there was a quiet 'thump' on the door.
"What on earth are you doing?" the man demanded.
The lock clicked and Bruce immediately turned the handle and pushed the door open.
"Shoot," Dick whispered.
Bruce didn't immediately see his ward but he did hear him.
"Door," the boy growled.
The man stepped inside and closed the door. Dick had been caught between the wall and the door. He slid down the wall, his back supporting him the entire way, and ended up sprawled on his stomach.
"What are you…?"
"Not fast enough. Tried to put it on myself," Dick explained softly.
Bruce stared at the ten-year-old's back and sighed. It was now obvious that Dick had attempted to apply the cream and his slide down the wall had just scraped off all his hard work.
"Not fast enough to get out of the way of the door, I see."
"No, not healing fast enough."
"Dick, your body has to heal at its own rate. You can't force it."
"More cream?" the boy asked, disappointment in his voice.
"Yes, but it's also time for medicine. I'll put the cream on after you're numb. Let's go, up off the floor."
It still hurt, but Dick was able to help Bruce get him up now. He could push with his arms but he still had to keep his back straight. That was another thing that was frustrating to the ten-year-old – he felt helpless most of the time.
"You're not helpless, you're healing," Bruce murmured, almost rolling his eyes.
"What?"
"You just mumbled that you hate being helpless. You're not."
"But you're doing practically everything for me!"
Sighing, Bruce said, "Kiddo, your back has gone through more trauma than mine and I'm Batman! It's ridiculous to think you're helpless. However, I understand."
"So…you're saying I'm ridiculous."
"No, I'm saying the idea is ridiculous. Give your body time. You're not Superman."
"Obviously," Dick laughed with a roll of his eyes.
They had arrived at his bed and he had already taken the liquid medicine. Dick laid down on his stomach and Bruce began applying the cream.
"But…" the boy began and then paused.
"What?" the man asked.
"I could be like Batman," Dick stated softly. "I could help you fix problems and stuff."
"No," Bruce said firmly, "and that's the end of that conversation."
"But I could at least help Alfred in the Batcave!"
"I'm out late and you need sleep; you're a growing boy. We're done talking about it."
"But what about Mr. Mack?! I found him and took him down!"
"I said we're done," Bruce commanded. "And I took him down," he added, "not you."
"I helped! I got him to the circus grounds, I fought him and the only reason he was winning was because he cheated with a gun!"
"Dick," Bruce sighed, "he took you to the circus grounds and you would have been killed if he had shot at you again. I wasn't close enough when you were hit in the shoulder."
"But if you had trained me," Dick argued, "I would have known how to get out of the way or something."
"Nobody is fast enough to get out of the way of a bullet," the man grumbled.
"Except…"
"Yes, but you are not Superman. Like I said before. I'm done with your back and we're done with this conversation. Like I also said before."
"Fine," Dick mumbled into his pillow.
"Lunchtime. Up here or do you want to come down?"
"Not hungry," Dick growled.
"You have to eat, chum, even when you're upset."
"I'll eat if you'll let me help Alfred when you're out on patrol or chasing a villain."
"Now you're being ridiculous," Bruce growled. "Eating is not a bargaining chip, Dick, it's a necessity. I would think you would know that after…"
Bruce trailed off when he realized what he had been about to say.
"You would think I'd know that after what?" Dick practically snarled as he pushed himself up to sitting with a wince.
"I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."
"You're sorry. Really, that's what you're going to say? Sorry?!"
"What do you want me to say?!"
"Maybe think before you speak, Bruce. Maybe think about how you would feel if I brought up something that is painfully fresh for you. After you think about that, then you can say sorry."
Dick was glaring at his guardian, daring him to challenge the words. The boy stood up and almost fell right back down. Bruce put out his arms, but Dick shoved them away.
"I got it," he muttered, walking as quickly as he could away from the man.
"You're right, it was idiotic of me, I wasn't thinking."
Dick almost didn't hear the soft words. He froze, put his hand on the door jamb to steady himself and looked back.
"Now you can say you're sorry."
The ten-year-old turned to leave but then glanced back and stated, "And you're not an idiot, you're Batman. Sometimes Bruce allows Batman to react. Just think before you speak."
"Sorry," Bruce mumbled again.
"It's fine," Dick replied. "Um, could you maybe help me down the stairs?" he asked, cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "I probably should have waited until we were down there to lecture you."
He was suddenly gazing at the ground, ashamed because of his inability to do something so very simple. Bruce walked over to him, took his hand, and began leading him to the stairs.
"It's fine," the man echoed. "I guess I can learn a few things from a ten-year-old. And you have no reason to be embarrassed. Like I said before, you're not helpless…"
"I'm healing," Dick ended with a sigh.
Bruce grinned as they carefully went down the stairs. The boy was impatient, bored, frustrated, and ridiculously intelligent. There was only one person brave enough to stand up to Batman, and that was Alfred. But the hero had just found out that now there were two, and one was just a ten-year-old kid.
Dr. Thompkins' office – three days later:
"You look better than I thought you would, Dick," Leslie stated, a little surprised that his back was almost free of bruises. And the welts, although still slightly visible, were no longer bright red.
"Every day, almost all day," Bruce said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Three or four hours between each layer. Except at night. It was seven or eight hours at night."
"It hurt," Dick admitted. "A lot. And I was tired, that's why it wasn't as much at night."
"That's understandable," Leslie replied. "You definitely needed to catch up on sleep. I'm very impressed, Dick."
"Thanks," Dick said, cheeks blushing from the compliment.
"I think we can take the cream down to once a day. Morning would be best, then just leave it on until you decide to take a shower."
"A…a whole shower?!" Dick exclaimed, excitement in his voice.
"Yes," Leslie replied with a laugh. "But try a bath first, see how it feels to wipe the cream off with a washcloth. If you can handle that, then you can try a shower. The water needs to be light, though, if you're going to let it stream down your back. And you need someone in there with you, just in case something happens."
"Like what?" Dick asked.
"Well, the pain might overwhelm you a little bit at the beginning. That's why I want you to try a bath first."
"But what could happen?" the ten-year-old asked.
"I'm going to be completely honest," Leslie said. "You could faint, or curl into yourself and fall over, or…"
"What?!" Bruce exclaimed.
"Bruce, you can't even begin to understand how it will feel for him. None of us can, and I just want to be cautious. He can do more things for himself, but someone needs to be there for him when water is hitting his still-injured back."
"It's fine, Bruce, I can handle it," Dick stated reassuringly. "I've handled a lot so far, right?"
"Yes, kiddo," the man responded with a sigh. "Unfortunately, you have."
"I won't need to see you again for this unless it gets worse," Leslie stated. "But, I do want you in for a check-up sometime in the near future. Unless…" she glanced at Bruce, "…you already have a doctor."
"Not one that can find out about some things," the millionaire answered. "So, I guess you're our new family physician. And I can't thank you enough for all you've done."
"Well, Dick, do you have any questions?" the woman asked.
"Yes."
He paused, trying to decide how to phrase the question. Leslie and Bruce waited patiently, assuming that it was something difficult for him to express.
"Um, never mind," the boy finally said.
"It's okay, Dick, I'll answer anything you want to know," Leslie assured him. "Whatever it is, you don't have to be afraid to ask."
"It's just…Bruce, don't get mad, okay?"
"I'll do my best, chum, but I can't guarantee anything if it has to do with them."
"Do you want him to leave?" the doctor asked gently.
"Um…"
"Not an option," Bruce declared.
"Bruce," Leslie began, "if he wants to talk about something, he needs to be able to do it without worrying about your reaction. He's had a rough couple of weeks."
"You think I don't know that?" the man replied sharply.
"Never mind!" Dick shouted. "Just forget it, I don't have any questions!"
"Dick," both adults said at the same time.
"No, Dr. Thompkins, I don't have any questions."
"Bruce, let him talk and leave a certain person out of this," Leslie commanded.
"That 'certain person' hasn't had a chance to talk to the people who did this. I need to know what he wants to know so I can discuss it with them," Bruce growled.
"If he doesn't want the 'certain person' to know then he shouldn't be forced to ask his question in front of you!" Leslie retorted heatedly.
"STOP!" Dick yelled again. "Just…stop. I'll ask the stupid question and then we can be done. If the 'certain person' you guys are discussing gets mad, I'll just deal with it."
"If that 'certain person' can just leave the room for a minute, you won't have to deal with his reaction," Leslie said, glancing at Dick. "Can you just be Bruce Wayne for now?" she asked, turning her gaze back to the man and glaring at him.
"Depends on the question," Bruce nearly growled, his glare matching the one radiating from her eyes.
"Bruce," Dick said softly, "I can already tell you it's a question you won't like. But, I really want to know the answer. Maybe just sit down and grab the arms of the chair and clench your jaw and glare and all that other stuff. Then, after Dr. Thompkins answers, we'll wait until you're a little calmer before we leave. Compromise?"
Silence reigned and everyone was uncomfortable with it.
"Fine, I'll just come back sometime with Alfred," the ten-year-old snapped. "Since you obviously can't be an adult and deal with something as simple as a question that I've already told you will make you mad."
Leslie stared at the boy in astonishment. Without batting an eye, he had basically just told Batman to 'grow up'. And that man now looked completely defeated.
"Fine," Bruce echoed angrily as he sat down on the nearest chair. "I'll just be furious over here while you guys talk about something I don't want to hear but am about to anyway."
"Thank you," Dick responded with a sigh of relief.
"What's your question, Dick?" Leslie asked, breaking the tense silence that was beginning to fill the room again.
"Could I – actually, should I – have died?"
From the corner, Bruce quietly growled and clenched the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Leslie glanced back with a glare and the man shifted his gaze to the ceiling. He used a dark Bat-glare on the offending tiles and waited for her answer.
"Well, that's a complicated question," she finally said. "Each problem by itself – heatstroke, dehydration, infected injuries, extreme sleep deprivation, lack of food – could cause death if not taken care of properly."
She paused and glanced back at Bruce again, who was now ferociously contemplating the existence of a picture on the wall. His hands were still clenched and his jaw had chosen to do the same. She could practically hear his blood boiling with anger and decided that she wouldn't be surprised if steam started coming out of his ears.
"So…" Dick prompted impatiently.
"You had all of them, Dick," she answered with a sigh. "By all logical medical standards, yes, you should be dead right now. Especially since you went through all of it for five days and then didn't get proper treatment until the day after that."
Complete silence reigned again as Dick thought that over.
"But, I'm not."
"Obviously," Batman quietly snapped from his corner.
Ignoring the man, Dick asked, "So, why not?"
"That's also a complicated question. In my opinion, you have an extremely strong body and were unwilling to allow yourself to succumb to such atrocities. That's the only thing I can think of and even that isn't logical. Mental and emotional strength shouldn't be able to keep a person alive after his body has gone through all of that."
"So, I'm abnormal, but in a good way," he concluded.
"I…well, I suppose you could put it that way," Leslie responded.
"In your professional opinion," the boy continued, "would I be able to fight through pain if I were ever injured."
"What do you mean?"
"Fight, you know, like protecting…myself."
The word 'myself' was a quick replacement for 'people in trouble'. Batman didn't need to hear that.
"Well, I have no knowledge of your fighting abilities, but I can say that you have a very high pain tolerance level."
"Let's say I've been trained to protect myself."
"Okay, but this is a bit unusual. However, with what I know about you, it is my professional opinion that if you were being attacked you would be able to protect yourself until you received an extreme injury."
"Like?"
Leslie glanced at Bruce again. He was giving her an exceptionally forceful Bat-glare, which she had never seen before and now knew why people feared it. The man was halfway out of his chair and struggling to stay there.
"Like?" Dick asked again.
"Perhaps we should stop this line of…"
"Ignore him and continue," the ten-year-old lightly commanded.
Sighing, Leslie said, "Like a broken bone or a weapon-inflicted wound or, obviously, a hit to the head that knocks you out. Among other things."
"Okay, thanks!"
Dick stood up and walked over to Batman. He stopped right in front of him and put a small hand on his shoulder. The man sat down but his body stayed tense.
"Now you have an unbiased opinion, Bruce. So just think about it."
"Not. An. Option."
"I'm a patient person, Bruce, so I can wait for you to make your final decision."
"Final decision already made," Batman growled through clenched teeth.
Leslie had no idea what was going on but she suddenly wished that she hadn't given her professional opinion about the topic.
"I'm going to fill out some paperwork," she said hastily as she rushed from the room.
"You do not have a choice in this, Dick," Batman growled again.
"I'm strong, I listen and usually obey, I've been trained and can continue to train soon, my pain tolerance level is high and I can withstand something that should have caused my death. And a professional just agreed with me. Not just any professional – a doctor. You just keep thinking about it and I'll just patiently wait."
"You're ten," the man snapped. "If I allowed you to do it, I would at least wait until you're old enough to handle yourself. Eighteen, maybe twenty, if I were to allow it."
Dick chuckled and Batman glared.
"I said if," the Caped Crusader declared tersely.
"Which is more than you've ever said before," the boy retorted with a smirk. "Ready to go home or do you need some more time?"
"Let's go, I have a date with a punching dummy or a training mat," the man nearly snarled.
"And I have a shower to take," Dick responded with a grin. "Finally."
"I'm talking to Alfred about you," Batman threatened as he stood up and attempted to calm down enough to walk out the door.
"Don't worry, I already have. He seems to be a little more open to the idea than you, but he still firmly shut me down."
"Then I'm definitely talking to him."
"We can all talk together, if you want. It might be easier than you asking him what I say about it and me asking him what you say about it."
"There is nothing to ask about because the answer is absolutely, positively, firmly, without a single doubt, NO!"
"Too late, you already said 'if'."
Bruce was happy to see the grin and the sparkle in his ward's eyes, but was upset about why it was there. There was no way Dick was going to become a crime-fighter. Ever. Even though the man had accidentally thrown out the word 'if'. As he had said to the boy earlier, it was not even an option.