Note: Thanks for the comment, usagipoints! :)
From now on, just so I don't have to say it every time, all name changes are intentional.
Bruce took the rest of the week off, making it easier for him to keep a close eye on Dick. They were constantly together and Alfred loved watching them interact with each other. The butler was concerned about the reason for all this togetherness, of course, but the sound of Dick's light laughter and Bruce's more rumbling chuckle was music to his ears.
It was difficult for Bruce to watch his boy lose track of where they were in a game, or be eating a meal and suddenly begin staring at nothing. He hated the fact that Dick's head was constantly hurting. The boy never complained, but sometimes the man would watch the young features crumble into a look of anguish that would last for several moments. The longest had been twelve minutes and fifty-two seconds. During that one, Dick had grabbed his head and snuggled into Bruce's chest, tears leaking out of his closed eyes while he tried to ride out the pain.
And there was nothing Bruce – or even Batman – could do about it. The medicine from Clark took away the pain radiating from the boy's broken bones but it didn't seem to help Dick's headaches very much.
Bruce went one step further than what Leslie had told him. He began quizzing the ten-year-old on all sorts of subjects, from history to math to remembering the plot or details of a book he had recently read. The man wove the questions into their conversations so effectively that the boy didn't even know he was being tested.
Until day four, when Bruce asked a question that was too simple. Dick stared at him for a moment, confusion dancing in his eyes, then his face morphed into a look of complete distress. Fear took the place of confusion as a thought jumped into his mind.
"Are you…testing me?" he asked.
Bruce glanced away guiltily before decided to go with the truth.
"Yes."
"Why?!" Dick nearly shouted.
"Well, you have a concussion and it seems to be lasting longer than a normal one."
"There are 'normal' concussions?!"
"Most last for the same approximate amount of time, but no concussion is normal. That's not the word I should have used. But yours is lasting a little longer than some severe concussions."
"Do you think I'm losing things? Like, my memory or intelligence or…"
There was a short pause and then the boy whispered, "Am I…brain damaged?"
This was the conversation Bruce had not wanted to have. He had taken Alfred's advice and had never spoken about the cause of Dick's headaches.
"BRUCE!" the ten-year-old exclaimed frantically when the man remained silent. "Please tell me I'm not!"
Bruce sighed, not knowing quite how to say it.
"Les…Dr. Thompkins said it could be a possibility," he finally acquiesced. "But not a surety," he added as he watched the tears begin streaming down the young face.
"That's why we're always together," Dick accused. "Not because you want to be, because you have to be!"
"That is completely untrue," Bruce stated firmly. "I enjoy being around you and we have fun together, right?"
"Yeah, but are you just pretending?" Dick asked in a small, timid voice.
"Why on earth would I do that?!" Bruce almost shouted.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred asked as he hurried into the room. "What happened, sir?"
"Did you know, too?" Dick demanded, anger replacing the tears. "Did you know this whole time that my brain could be damaged?!"
Guilt filled the butler's eyes as he said, "Yes, Master Dick, but we were only trying to protect you. We did not want to put more stress on you, young sir."
"By lying to me?!"
"Dick," Bruce sighed, "see how upset and stressed you are right now? This is exactly what we were trying to avoid."
But Dick was lost. Somewhere in the fog that was his brain, the boy knew he was supposed to be upset about something. Someone had been talking but now Dick was confused and somebody was pounding a nail into his brain.
"Dick?"
He heard his name but couldn't find the voice. The sound was familiar and he wanted to find the person that belonged to the voice. But all he could see were clouds – gray clouds bumping against each other and throwing stones at his skull.
Bruce pulled Dick to the couch and sat him down. Crouching in front of him, the man held up three fingers. Leslie had told him to give the ten-year-old a bigger target at first. The boy's eyes were glazed and his body was trembling.
"Come on Dick, come back to me, chum," he murmured.
It wasn't working so Bruce gently cupped the small cheeks with his hands. He held Dick's head still and watched the boy's eyes flit about the room.
"Right here, Dick, I'm right here," the man stated loudly. "Look at me, kiddo."
It took longer than usual, but the ten-year-old's eyes finally cleared. The first things he saw were the concerned eyes of his guardian.
"Hey," the man whispered softly. "You feeling okay?"
"No," the boy whispered back. "Are you pounding a nail into my head?"
"No."
"Is Jasper here? Is he pounding the nail?"
"No and no. Remember, he can never come near you again."
"Okay, but maybe I should…"
Dick's chest started heaving and his throat began making noises that were, unfortunately, very familiar to Bruce. Alfred was already on top of it, grabbing the always-present bowl and passing it to his older charge.
"It's okay, chum," Bruce said, still speaking softly.
The nausea passed quickly and everyone was surprised that nothing had happened.
"Well, that's a good sign, right?" Dick whispered hopefully.
"I truly don't know, kiddo, but we'll take it as a win. Doing okay now?"
"No," the boy replied honestly. "Someone is still pounding a nail into my skull."
Alfred had dimmed the lights, easing the pressure on Dick's optic nerves.
"I think you should take a little rest. Down here or up in your room?"
"Here, I don't feel like moving."
"Okay."
"Will you stay and read a book to me?" Dick asked, pain filling his voice.
"Sure, chum, of course."
"Just don't read too loud, okay?"
"Of course not," Bruce responded with a small grin.
"It's just that sometimes you do but I know it's by accident. Maybe don't say anything, just read it to yourself."
"Okay," Bruce acquiesced with a quiet chuckle.
"And will you kick whoever is pounding the nail out of the house, please?"
The sentence was mumbled as Dick drifted off to sleep. Bruce hadn't even had time to get up and find a book.
"Sleep well, chum," he said softly. "See you in four hours."
Standing up, the millionaire went to Dick's favorite blue chair, sat down, and picked up a well-worn copy of "Moby Dick".
The next day:
Dick was tired. Tired of everything. Too little sleep, constant headaches, and the pain of a still-healing collarbone. And the fact that he could be brain damaged was adding more stress. As was the knowledge that both Bruce and Alfred were worried about it, too.
He decided to try to block out all the pain and work on his concentration. If he could make his brain stay focused, maybe it would all go away and everything would be fine. But adding that to his already overloaded senses backfired.
They were eating lunch. Well, Bruce was. Dick had an elbow on the table, his head propped up on his hand, and was staring listlessly at his bowl of soup.
"You have to eat, chum," Bruce stated quietly.
"Too tired."
"It will help with that. Alfred put some extra protein and iron in this one."
Dick suddenly sat straight up, eyes widening in both surprise and fear. He watched his soup spill over the edge of the bowl and spread across the table. Then, horrified at what was happening, he watched it morph into a combination of two men: Mr. Mack on one side and Jasper on the other. It was creepy and terrifying and he couldn't hold back the scream.
Bruce had immediately noticed the change in his boy's demeanor. He had no idea what was happening; all he knew was that Dick's eyes had gone from blue to nearly black and his expression was frozen in a mask of terror.
The man jumped up from his chair and was by Dick's side in less than five seconds.
"Dick!" he yelled, trying to be heard over the scream. "Dick, I'm right here, you're safe!"
That wasn't working so Bruce hauled the ten-year-old off the chair and dropped to the floor, Dick landing safely on his lap.
"It's not real, chum, whatever you're seeing isn't real!"
Alfred was suddenly standing beside them, his demeanor both calm and concerned.
"How can I help, sir?" he asked quietly.
Bruce was trying to force Dick's head against his own chest, knowing that the sound of the man's heartbeat was usually comforting to the boy. But Dick was struggling and whimpering and watching the half-Mack half-Jasper apparition stride toward him with a knife.
"I don't know," Bruce answered, his voice tense. "I don't know how to help."
"Get away from me," Dick mumbled, terror in his voice. "Please, go away."
"It's not real," Bruce repeated. "You're safe."
"He's coming, they're coming," the ten-year-old continued to mumble. "I'm dead, we're all dead, they're coming for us all."
"Nobody…"
"You can't stay!" Dick suddenly yelled. "Run away, it's me. Leave, Bruce, and take Alfred with you. They're coming for me; you'll be safer away from me!"
Batman growled and tightened his grip on the boy. Obviously he was hallucinating but who was he seeing? Which of the many tragedies in his life was he experiencing all over again?
Dick was struggling harder now, attempting to escape so the person he was naming Macsper would come after him and leave the men alone. But it wasn't working, because even if Bruce wasn't Batman, he was certainly stronger than a ten-year-old boy.
"NOOOOOO!" Dick screamed, horrified when the knife was plunged into Bruce's chest. "No," he whispered shakily, "no, I can stop the blood, I can save you."
The boy pushed his hands hard against the man's chest. But the blood spilled over his hands and down Bruce's body, creating a crimson pool on the floor.
"Dick, nobody's bleeding!" Bruce exclaimed. "We're safe, we're all safe!"
"No, don't leave me," Dick whispered as tears began streaming down his cheeks. "Not again, I can't lose again. Please don't leave."
"I'm here, kiddo, I'm not leaving," the man whispered back, his heart breaking from the anguish in Dick's voice.
The ten-year-old suddenly went limp in the man's arms.
"Nonononononononono," Dick mumbled sorrowfully as his body began trembling.
Bruce tipped his head to the right, searching for his boy's eyes. They were dilated, the black of his pupils almost entirely covering the usual light-blue. And they were full of grief.
"Dick, chum, it's okay," Bruce tried again. "I'm here, Alfred's here, nobody's dead and we're all safe. Please come back to me."
"I'm going to call Dr. Thompkins, Master Bruce," the butler stated quietly.
Bruce nodded and guided Dick's head softly onto his own chest.
"It's okay, kiddo, calm down," he whispered in the boy's ear, his tone almost pleading.
"Why does everyone have to die?" Dick asked, his voice muffled and thick with emotion. "Everybody I love…why do they all die? Is it because I'm not good enough…I don't deserve to have someone to love?"
"Hey," Bruce chided gently, "don't ever say you're not good enough, or that you don't deserve something."
"You're dead, you can't tell me what to do."
"I'm not dead, Dick. If I was dead, would you be able to hear my heartbeat?"
There was a long pause. Bruce felt Dick press his ear harder against his chest, searching for the thumping sound.
"No," the ten-year-old stated sadly. "No heartbeat."
Bruce pulled Dick away from his chest and forced him to sit up straight. The boy's eyes were light-blue again, but they were empty. There was no emotion and no recognition.
"Dick!" Bruce said loudly. "Look at me, chum!" he commanded.
Slowly, Dick turned his head and stared straight into the man's dark-blue eyes. Then the emotions came: sorrow, confusion, fear, anger, disbelief, and finally a tiny shred of hope. They danced awkwardly through the light-blue circles, crashing into each other before racing away. The hope, however, stayed.
"Bruce?" he questioned softly, raising his hand and lightly touching the man's cheek. "You're not…dead?"
With a small grin that caused Dick's hand to rest on his jaw, Bruce confirmed, "I'm definitely not dead."
"But…Macsper and the knife and so much blood coming out of you…"
Bruce didn't know what Macsper meant but he now understood what Dick had seen.
"There's no knife and there's no blood, kiddo," he assured the boy.
Just then Alfred re-entered the room.
"Dr. Thompkins wants to see him, sir. As soon as possible."
Nodding, Bruce placed Dick on the floor beside him, stood up, and quickly gathered the boy into his arms again. It happened so fast that Dick didn't have time to register the fact that Bruce had let go.
They were in the helicopter ten minutes later and landing in Metropolis twenty minutes after that. Clark, having heard from Alfred again, was there to greet them. He ushered them into his car and headed straight for the clinic.
Bruce didn't even stop in the waiting room. He walked through and strode to Leslie's office, depositing a still-trembling Dick on the couch and sitting down beside him.
Leslie didn't waste time. She was instantly beside them, checking his eyes and vitals while listening carefully to Bruce's description of the incident.
"Okay, Dick," she said when the man had finished. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
"I don't remember," he responded after a short pause.
"I think you do," she replied, noticing the hesitation in his eyes.
"Leslie," Bruce warned, an edge of disbelief in his tone, "do you think he's lying?"
"Look at his eyes, Bruce," she stated sharply. "Do you think he doesn't remember?"
The usually-observant Bruce had been so focused on trying to calm the shaking of Dick's body that he hadn't even noticed the flash of guilt. Dick immediately dropped his eyes to the ground. And Bruce just as quickly lifted the boy's chin with his finger.
"What happened, chum?"
"I don't know," the ten-year-old said softly. "One minute I was staring at my soup and the next minute you had a…a…"
"A what?" Bruce lightly demanded.
"Macsper, he, um, he put a…what's it called? Um…you use it with butter and it's sharp? I mean, it must be sharp because there was blood pouring from your chest."
"A knife?" Leslie supplied.
"Yeah, that's it. Sorry, I forgot."
"No need to apologize," she stated with a smile. "What else did you see?"
"And what's a 'macsper'?" Bruce added.
"Oh, well, the guy who…you know…um, half of him was Mr. Mack and the other half was Jasper."
The sentence was nearly inaudible and fear was woven through the words. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Bruce would have laughed. Only someone like Dick would combine two names like that.
"Dick, I'm going to do some tests, if that's okay. We don't have to go anywhere, I'm just going to check your brain."
"Okay," the boy replied softly.
"Tell me something that happened yesterday."
"Um, Bruce told me I could have brain damage…"
"He what?!" Leslie nearly shouted, sending a dark glare in the man's direction.
"You didn't…" Bruce began.
"Why do you think I told you outside?!" the woman demanded.
Bruce glared back but didn't answer. She was right, of course, and he hated being wrong.
"It's okay," Dick interrupted the glaring contest. "What else?"
Returning her focus to the boy, Leslie continued, "Okay, tell me something that happened last week."
"I forgot Bruce and Alfred."
"Last month?"
"She slapped me."
"Last three months."
"I turned ten," he stated with a small grin.
"Six months."
"Christmas."
"What about it?"
"We kind of, um, skipped it?"
Leslie glared at Bruce again.
"But it wasn't his fault," Dick quickly added when he noticed the look.
"Okay, the last year."
"He shot the wires and they died," the ten-year-old whispered sadly.
"I'm so sorry, Dick," Leslie murmured sympathetically. "What's the earliest thing you remember from your life?"
"I was born at a very early age," the boy replied with a small grin.
A chuckle escaped from Bruce and Leslie shook her head in amusement.
"Um, I almost got stepped on by an elephant."
Both adults raised their eyebrows in surprise.
"I was two, I think, and one of the elephants was sick. He didn't want the medicine because he didn't like shots so he ran away from the doctor and straight at me. Mom and Dad were flying so they couldn't get to me. And that's how Jerry the clown got three broken ribs."
"He grabbed you and received a kick to the chest?" Bruce guessed.
Dick nodded then said, "See, I can remember stuff!"
"Yes," Leslie agreed, "I think this was an anomaly. It might be a combination of how tired you are and how many things have happened to you. I think everything overwhelmed you for a moment. How are you feeling now?"
"Better and, um, I think I know why," Dick confessed.
"You know why what, chum?"
"I might know why this happened."
This time both adults looked slightly confused.
"I am tired," he began. "Tired of wondering if my brain is going to work right, tired of always seeing concern in everyone's eyes and knowing it's my fault…"
"It's not your fault," Bruce interrupted but Dick held up his hand.
"I tried to make everything go away," the boy continued. "I tried to focus on blocking everything out but then I kind of just floated away."
"Floated away?" Leslie asked.
"Yeah, it sounds dumb. But everything faded except for my soup, which turned into Macsper and murdered Bruce. I don't know how you came back to life," he ended, glancing at Bruce.
"The whole thing was a hallucination, chum. I didn't die."
"Can I take a nap?"
Bruce glanced at Leslie, who nodded then glanced at the door.
"Sure, kiddo. I'm just going to talk to Dr. Thompkins for a minute so you lay down and rest. I'll be right back."
"Okay," Dick said with a small yawn.
Bruce helped him lie down then stood up and followed Leslie out of the room.
"Well?" the man asked as the woman closed her office door.
"He tried to force himself to heal and it backfired," she replied simply. "Now that I know that, I'm no longer concerned."
"You're…not concerned?!" Bruce quietly shouted in disbelief. "He just had a hallucination about somebody killing me!"
"He's going to be fine, Bruce," Leslie stated calmly. "He's stressed and terrified and worried. He needed some kind of confirmation that his brain was doing okay; his subconscious provided it."
"So you're saying that because he's hallucinating, he's fine."
"I'm saying he's going to be fine. He combined two people he doesn't like…"
"Is afraid of," Bruce corrected.
"…into a different creature and gave it a name. He knew you were in danger – you said he told you to take Alfred and run away – but not because of anything you had done. They were coming after him and you are an extension of him, therefore you were in danger.
If his brain was actually damaged, Bruce, none of that would have happened. He wouldn't have been able to name it the way he did and you probably wouldn't have even been in the hallucination."
"So because he made up a name and saw me, he's going to be fine," Bruce stated incredulously.
"I know it sounds ridiculous. Bring him back in two days for his appointment. Don't be surprised, Bruce, if you see some rapid improvement. Now he knows what happens if he tries to force it. He's an intelligent child, I doubt he'll do that again."
"Rapid improvement," Bruce repeated, disbelief still evident in his voice.
"Think of it like a reboot."
"A…reboot," the man sighed as he shook his head.
"His brain needed a reboot, he accidentally supplied it in a way that wasn't very fun for him."
"Is there a 'fun' way to reboot a brain?"
"I don't know, I've never had to do it. And you can let him sleep without waking him up."
"I can?!"
"He rebooted himself…"
"He's not a robot!"
"I was trying to put it in terms you would understand."
"I'm not stupid, Dr. Thompkins," Bruce said stiffly, anger outlining his voice.
"I agree, Mr. Wayne. But you are also not a doctor. I thought it would be easier on us both if I skipped the medical jargon."
Bruce immediately deflated with a short nod. He opened the door and strode over to the couch. To their surprise, Dick was wide awake. His mouth was moving and his eyes were flicking from side to side.
"Dick?" Bruce asked, crouching beside him. "What are you doing?"
"Counting the dots on the ceiling."
"Why?"
"Because I feel like it."
Behind Bruce, Leslie grinned. The ten-year-old was, either knowingly or unknowingly, flexing his brain muscles. Dots, like the ones on the ceiling, were being connected and gaps were being closed. He was going to be fine.
"Well, Dr. Thompkins said we can go home."
"Okay."
Dick sat up and winced.
"Headache?" Bruce asked, not missing the reaction.
"No, collarbone," he admitted.
"Have you been wearing your sling, Dick?" Leslie asked.
"Yes! I took it off before lunch, though, and then this happened so I didn't really think about putting it back on."
"Understandable," Leslie replied. "Put it on when you get home, okay?"
Dick nodded and Bruce helped him stand up. They both thanked Dr. Thompkins then went to the waiting room. Clark, having heard the entire conversation between Bruce and Leslie, was grinning.
"Ready?" he asked.
Both Bruce and Dick nodded so off they went. A little less than an hour later they were back in Wayne Manor. Clark had already talked to Alfred and the butler encased Dick's arm in the sling as soon as they walked in the door.
"Guess what, Alfred! Dr. Thompkins said you guys don't have to wake me up at night anymore!" Dick exclaimed happily as they walked into the living room.
Alfred looked to Bruce, who nodded.
"Care to explain, Master Bruce?"
"Dr. Thom…"
"She said I rebooted my own brain!" Dick interrupted excitedly. "Something about overwhelming it or making it too tired and so it restarted itself."
His entire face lit up with a proud grin, his light-blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
"How do you know that?" Bruce asked suspiciously.
"Bruce," Dick stated, his voice somewhat exasperated, "did you really think I would just lay down and wait for you guys to finish talking about me?"
"You were at the door," the man said with a slight grin.
Dick nodded as he sat on the couch.
"And the counting?"
"I guesstimated the total amount of dots and was counting backwards to make my brain work harder. She said I'm going to be fine, Alfred!"
"Master Dick, that is wonderful news!"
"We still need to keep the appointment, though," Bruce reminded them.
"Why?" Dick asked. "She just checked me out!"
"Because that is what she told us to do," the man replied as he, too, sat down.
"Since when do you do what you're told to do?" the ten-year-old asked with a grin.
"Since it involves a medical condition that I'm not capable of diagnosing."
"Wait, what?!" Dick exclaimed. "Did you just admit that you're not capable at something?!"
With a slight glare at the boy, Bruce replied, "I am not a doctor, Dick, and possible brain damage is not something to mess around with."
Dick glared back so Bruce added, "Brain damage that you obviously don't have."
"Are you really going to let me sleep the whole night?"
"Yes, but I'm still going to stay, just in case."
"When's the last time Batman went on patrol?"
Bruce sighed. Batman hadn't been on a full patrol since Dick had returned to Wayne Manor. It was difficult to patrol an entire city when you needed to be home to wake someone up every four hours. Bruce trusted Alfred, but he also wanted to be there for Dick.
But Dick's question hadn't been "full" patrol, so Bruce answered, "Last night."
Rolling his eyes, the ten-year-old clarified, "Full patrol, Bruce."
"Last week," the man admitted. "The night before you came home."
"So if anything has happened, it's my fault," the boy murmured.
"No, Dick, it's not your fault. You can't control…"
"The only reason you haven't gone is because you have to wake me up. So, in a way, it is my fault. Why didn't you have Alfred do it?!"
"Well, he's a little too old to patrol – no offense, Alfred," Bruce responded with a smirk.
"Not patrol!" Dick said with a laugh. "Wake me up!"
"Because you were hurt, badly, and I was worried about you," the man said soberly.
"Now you don't have to worry anymore, though, so you can go tonight."
"I could, yes."
"But you won't."
"Dick, Dr. Thompkins said you're going to be fine but that doesn't mean I can stop…"
"Observing my every tiny movement?" Dick finished cheekily. "Come on, Bruce, it's not like I'm going to be flying through the city like Superman. I'm going to be here, at home and in bed. Nothing is going to happen because I rebooted my brain…by myself!"
"Still…"
"Has Batman ever rebooted his own brain?" Dick asked, adjusting the subject slightly.
"Well, no, but that's…"
"Not at all different," Dick interrupted. "We both have brains, we've both had concussions – well, I assume you have since you're Batman – but I'm the only one who has reset myself. I'm like Batman, doing something that nobody else can do!"
"No," Bruce stated, "you're not."
"But…" the boy began and then paused.
"What?" the man asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
"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. We're done with this conversation."
"Fine," Dick mumbled as he stood up. "I'm going to my room…"
"To sulk," Bruce finished with a slight grin.
Grumbling something indistinguishable, Dick walked out of the room and up the stairs. He needed to find a way to convince Bruce to allow him to help, because suggesting the idea hadn't helped at all.
Note: Taking a cue from the always-awesome Rollerparty (who named Jasper and Matilda "Jastilda"), Dick combined Mr. Mack and Jasper - Macsper. ;-)