Title: Time Will Tell
Author: DC Luder
Summary: After a tragic injury, Bruce must make the long road to recovery with the help of family and friends.
Rating: T
Infringements: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.
Author's Note: This chapter has been updated from its original version to make it more awesome-er.
^V^
I saw it happen every time I closed my eyes. Every time I tried to sleep.
I saw the gun pointing at me.
I saw Pasqualle's finger tightening around the trigger.
I saw Barbara's face flash before my eyes.
And then it had been darkness as three shots ring out. I had expected fierce pain to fill my body but I was only met with cold pavement. When my eyes had opened, I saw officers running towards me. As I had tried to tell them I hadn't been hit, they had passed right by me and continued on towards the restaurant. They had been running to the dark, caped figure lying on the ground twenty feet in front of me.
Alone, I had somehow made it to my feet before stumbling to him, not out of pain but shock.
He was invincible, my mind had repeated, he can't be hurt…
Robin was kneeling in front of him, pressing his hands on a blood-spurting hole in Batman's chest. Harvey Bullock had ripped a sleeve off of his trench coat and was staunching the flow from a belly wound.
Bright red arterial blood was everywhere.
Please, I had pleaded silently, don't let him die.
I had knelt next to him and found his hand, which was slick with his own blood. His jaw had grown paler with each passing second. Although I had done my best to meet his eyes as he nodded at me, I had been unable to look away from the gaping dark hole on his left brow.
With robin and Bullock doing their best to stop the bleeding, I had done what I could to keep him conscious by talking to him, gripping his gloved hand and towards the end, patting his face. It hadn't been long before his grip on my hand weakened and turned cold.
It was usually then that I found myself shooting up in bed, covered in a cold sweat after reliving the worst night of my life once more.
On some level, I had been thankful that I hadn't dreamed about him being loaded into the ambulance and how the medics had called out orders, namely, "Starting compressions!"
Mentally wasted after that first night after he had been shot, I had forced myself to work a full day in order to keep my mind occupied. After visiting him at the free clinic, I had made my way home, downed a fifth of scotch and then slept fitfully. Upon waking, I had instinctively looked to my hands to see that were clean of his blood.
I had tried to fool myself into thinking that it had all been a dream. That it had just been a delusion of my aged and over-stressed mind. In the darkness of my empty house, I had walked to the kitchen, microwaved a stale cup of coffee and instinctively called Barbara.
No answer.
Before setting my cell phone down, I had noticed that the display had listed a missed call from none other than my daughter. Listening to her recorded, tired voice, I had a list of facts to prove that it hadn't been a dream, "Hey, Dad it's just me… It's a little after midnight, so I figured I'd call the clinic and check in on him for you. Leslie said his vitals are good but his temperature is still high… hopefully the IV antibiotics will kick whatever is brewing… If you go see him tomorrow, let me know, I'll go with you. Love you."
It hadn't been a dream.
It had been a nightmare.
Although he had saved my life numerous times over the years, I had a horrible feeling that he would never be able to do so again. Never return to the war he had taken upon himself. Never see his family or friends again. Never wake---.
I had taken a valium that night, hoping that a numb sleep would keep me from seeing my friend fall once more. But as I had for three nights in a row, I jumped up in bed, the only light belonging to the orange glow of the street lamp outside my window. After catching my breath, I reached for my glasses on the night table and donned them just as the alarm clock shifted to a quarter of five. I nearly reached for my cell phone to call Barbara but feared to wake her in case she had been able to find sleep.
Rather than give into the impulse of rising at such an hour, I reclined back against the pillows, letting my left arm stretch out over the empty space. Sarah had been gone for nearly a year and a half and yet I still couldn't find it in myself to sleep in the middle of the bed.
The only peace of mind I found had been knowing the Joker was never going to see the light of day thanks to his federal incarceration in Virginia, seeing how Arkham had never been able to keep him under wraps…
One less horror to haunt my nights.
I managed to lay there for fifteen minutes before calling the clinic, hoping for any good news they could offer. Instead, a nurse informed me that Dr. Thompkins had left to transport a patient.
No…
Pushing back the covers, I swung my legs over the end of the mattress before dialing Barbara. After she confirmed my suspicions that they had taken Batman from the clinic, she tried to reassure me by saying that it was a good sign he was sable enough to move. When she suggested that I may still be able to visit with him, I had instinctively shut her down. No matter how close of a friendship I shared with their mentor, his proteges would do anything to protect his secrets.
After hanging up, I carefully set the phone back down on the oak nightstand rather than throwing it against the wall in frustration.
Finally getting to my feet, I pulled on an dark terrycloth house coat before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. Rather than warm up a cup of old coffee, I dumped the pot and washed it out before changing the filter and setting it to start a fresh brew. Barbara had dropped by the day before with groceries, knowing that I had seen the inside of a supermarket in over a week.
I wouldn't be able to live without her.
Sitting at the small kitchen tale, I stared at the back door, thinking of countless late night visits he had made, dropping of evidence, giving insigth to sale cases and leads to crimes he had already solved.
Gotham wouldn't be able to live without him.
^V^
It was dark. I couldn't see. I was lost, I knew it.
It hurt to breathe, to move, to think. Not that I could think that much.
It hurt. I just wish I knew what to do.
It was so dark. I could sort of see. Not much light.
The man was there. He was old. Am I old? No. Just hurt.
Can barely move. Where was she? The woman?
And the young boy?
Was there anyone?
I wish I could have seen, but it was so dark.
He said something, but it was all blurred. I could hear, right?
Maybe I was blind, too.
Where was she? She could help me.
There, she had a cloth. Washing my chest. It was white. No, now it was red...
She looked sad.
I think. So dark.
He made a light appear from somewhere, a soft light.
I could see him better. White shirt, dark coat and pants. A small moustache. A frown.
She was older, too. Blue blouse and tan pants. A smaller frown.
Something burned on my side and I made some sort of noise. A squeak.
They both looked at me and said something. I couldn't understand.
They looked even sadder.
I wished it would be dark again.
So I couldn't see them being sad.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep. Pretend to sleep.
^V^
Shortly after he opened them, Bruce clenched his eyes shut and made small moaning noises. When I called his name softly, he made no verbal or physical response.
Wherever he was, he didn't want to come out.
I signaled to Alfred to remain silent as we stood next to the bed. Once ten minutes passed, Bruce's eyes opened once more, revealing bloodshot whites and dilated pupils. Upon disregarding the bandages, his pale skin and rough jaw made him look like he had simply awoken from a rough night's sleep.
Tentatively, he began to look around, squinting and blinking as if trying to focus his vision through willpower. Given the amount of cranial pressure he had endured in the first twelve hours following the shooting, I had feared damage to sensory nerves steaming off of his brain. Before I could begin to fear him suffering impaired vision, he stopped blinking and began scanning the room.
Alfred put a hand on my elbow, pulling me back a stride.
Bruce's right hand pushed down on the bed as if trying to prop himself up. He barely came off of the mattress before his face cringed in pain, the arm collapsing as he lay back down.
I mused, Respecting his body limits.
His lips quivered before opening to bare his lower teeth. Working his jaw back and forth slowly as if trying to unhinge it, the very tip of his tongue peeked out and then snuck back in. Shortly after, his lips formed different shapes, but not as words.
Going by my limited ability as a lip reader, he said something to the sort of: Able me be ka nun.
Although no vocalization had been made, it was a sign that he was trying to speak.
My entire being wanted to run to him and provide comfort and encuragement, to try and reach out to him any way that would work. Staying in place, just two yards from the bed, I thought back on the panicked terror that had over taken him when he had first opened his eyes a little over an hour earlier.
Although I would be comforted by holding his hand or kissing his bandaged brow, I felt it would only startle him.
Apparently, Alfred felt otherwise.
Before I could stop him, Alfred stepped towards the bed, taking a seat on the edge before smiling down at his charge. Bruce had jerked slightly at his sudden appearance, but surprisingly relaxed after a jerking nod. As his lips began to move without coordination's once more, Alfred replied to the silent babble. As he listed off the injuries, I felt my eyes grow hot, thinking how it was as if it was just another morning, Bruce waking after being injured on the streets.
"There we are, sir, no need to suffer on the account of a rumpled pillow," Alfred commented before puffing up the pillow behind Bruce's head.
Bruce moaned, let his head roll to the side, his eyes finding me before he moved his lips again.
Alfred continued his one way conversation, "Ah, yes, I'm afraid your injuries were quite severe, Master Bruce… Dr. Thompkins has been most kind in devoting her time to putting you back together."
He then stood to his feet, straightening out his sweater before announcing he was going to fetch materials to clean Bruce up with. From the bed, Bruce had watched Alfred walk away, straining his neck when he could no longer see him. His breaths became heavy and forced, and rather than let him become upset, I took action.
"It's all right, Bruce, he'll be right back…" I said softly, before stepping up to the bed, "Far be it for Alfred to let you start the day unwashed."
Bruce studied me intently, pursed his lips together and then offered another twitch of a nod.
Acknowledgement, I hoped, rather than a neurological tic.
Alone with him, I gently sat on the bed, setting my hand out next to Bruce's but not touching. Somehow, I managed to hold my smile as he looked up at me, without any hint of recognition in his eyes, "You gave us quite a scare, Bruce… One that I hope you won't be repeating any time soon."
His lip twitched and I found myself laughing out loud at the familiar gesture, even if it hadn't been intended. He wasn't out of the woods by any means but perhaps it was a sign, the first of many in what would no doubt be a very long, painful road to recovery. One that, judging by the last three days, his Family would be there to support, step by step.
Alfred emerged from the bathroom with a hand towel, and two small bowls, one with warm water the other with shaving cream. Rather than his customary straight razor, I noticed that he had brought a safety razor. "How modern of you, Alfred," I commented.
"It will have to do for the time being… Once we get you sitting upright, sir, it will be back to tradition."
Another lip twitch.
I rose from the bed and proceeded to clear the night stand for Alfred to use. Pushing the lamp to the far corner, I collected the prepared IV bags and sterile packets of catheters, needles and syringes and set them on the nearby chaise. Returning, I watched on as Alfred tentatively wiped Bruce's face with the warm cloth before removing the oxygen cannula. Surprisingly, Bruce remained still, his eyes transfixed on Alfred's hands as they moved over him.
Clean shaven, hair brushed and face, neck and arms washed, Alfred rose from the bed once more, "Dashing to the last, Master Bruce."
"Deh."
It was the first sound he had made outside of hyperventilating and it was music to my ears.
^V^
There had been such concentration in his eyes that I had found myself thinking back to observing him practice katas or weight lift inhuman amounts in the Cave's training bay. Although, rather than physically testing himself, Master Bruce was trying himself mentally.
Leslie and I looked down at him as his head rolled to the left and then to the right. After another thirty seconds of silence, he uttered, "Guh."
Rather than simply stare down at him, dumbfounded, I resumed sitting on the edge of the bed, squeezing his thick forearm with my hand, "Is that so, Master Bruce?"
"Duh," he said before looking up at my face.
I felt Leslie's hands grasp my shoulder before I replied, "Yes, sir, I can hear you."
"Da. Duh. Aaa. Duh."
"I would beg to differ, sir, it certainly isn't your normal waking hour but for others it is quite normal to be awake shortly after dawn."
A wave of confusion washed over his face and his lips twitched, "Duh."
As Master Bruce forced his head back against the pillows, I glanced up at Leslie, smiling at her shocked look of disbelief.
Looking back to Master Bruce, he had relaxed his form although his face tightened before saying, "Uh… uh… uhm."
I felt a wet drop on the back of my neck as Leslie's tears began to roll down her cheeks. I turned to offer her my handkerchief but she declined it.
Master Bruce had resumed to repeat, "Uh… uh…" until it had given way to wet coughs. I quickly moved to help him sit more upright, forcing pillows lower beneath him in order to support the weight I could not. After a hoarse bark, dark red phlegm was expelled from his mouth, covering his chest.
As Leslie retrieved gauze to clean him with, I patted his back gently until the coughs gave way to slow breathing, "There there, Master Bruce… no doubt anyone would have struggled to expel that."
"Mostly mucous…" she commented before stepping to the bathroom to dispose of it. Returning, she added, "No doubt it was from the pleural effusion, stagnating in his bronchioles." Retrieving her stethoscope, she listened to his deep breaths as they entering his trachea, passed through the bronchi and at several points within the lungs.
"Prognosis?"
"Breath sounds are much better…" she nodded before hanging the device around the back of her neck, "Well done, Bruce."
As expected, she went about taking the remainder of his vitals, double checking the numbers broadcasted on the monitors the old fashioned way. As she flashed her pen light over both of his eyes, noting that the left was still sluggish, he blinked rapidly in protest.
Taking after my lead in using normal conversation with him, Leslie apologized, "I'm sorry, Bruce, it has to be done."
He blinked at her again and then looked to me, licking his lips with an effort unworthy of the task. I nodded and he returned his gaze to her shocked face.
After selecting an otoscope from the collection of instruments she had moved to the chaise, she proceeded to check his ears, at which he shook his head, "Nah. Den."
"Oh, quit complaining and hold still," Leslie smiled sadly.
Regarding me once more, I seta hand on his forearm again, "Doctor's orders are not to be ignored, Master Bruce."
Turmoil danced behind his eyes as confusion washed over his face once more, as if his greatest hero had turned out to be nothing but a fantasy.
…How can you pass up Zorro?
…I'm not the swashbuckling type, young sir.
The night he had lost his parents, he had also lost innocence as two thunder cracks sounded in the dark. A young Master Bruce had returned that night not lost in the sleepy stupor of happiness from a night at the movies, but in the zombie-like trance of traumatic shock. Morbidly, I mused that it while he had lost his chance at a normal life through tragedy, perhaps this latest event would grant him a second chance… perhaps.
"He seems comfortable," Leslie commented as she pocketed the otoscope and penlight in her smock top, "I think Dick was right, him waking up at home would be more welcoming, even if he doesn't know where… where it…" her words faded as she crossed her hands over her chest.
I rose to my feet in order to set my hands on her elbows, "Leslie, he is alive and relatively well… both of which by any means are miracles… whatever obstacles lie ahead, we will muster through them."
Her eyes found Master Bruce's face, "I hope so."
He remained dormant for a time, staring off into nothingness until I sat down beside him once more. Mumbling, he lifted his right arm off of the mattress nearly two inches before letting it fall once more. When I said his name, he showed no sign of hearing me and proceeded to tilt his head back and dragged his right hand over his abdomen, reaching for mine.
Grasping it softly, I ignored how cold and clammy his palm was, "Very good, sir."
His lips twitched again, this time smirking for a second before returning to the frown.
More jargon fell from his lips, nothing more than a mixture of maons, consonants and vowels. As Leslie and I continued to converse with him, he responded by trying even harder.
I smiled to see that concentration began to overcome the confusion on his face.
^V^
Alfred and Leslie had stayed in Bruce's bedroom, alone, for the entire day.
I had made six trips up to the third floor, taking the steps two at a time both going up and down. Each time I had knocked on the door, I had been met with the same reply: No, I couldn't come in.
Barbara had returned to Gotham a little after noon but where the former Batgirl seemed enthusiastic about the developments, the current had been solemn and woeful. Having spent the three previous days being able to sit by Bruce's bedside, it had been torture to not be able to look at him for a minute. I had a feeling Cassandra was going to take her frustration out on some unsuspecting criminal.
Accepting defeat, Cassandra and I had lured Tim into the Cave to spar and workout for the afternoon, before outlining patrols for that night. In Bludhaven, I generally drifted through the boroughs looking for trouble, but in Bruce's city, I couldn't help but play by Bruce's rules.
Before suiting up, I had decided to run upstairs one last time, hoping to talk some sense into Alfred, or at the very least kick the door down. As I walked quickly down the corridor leading to the master bedroom, I spotted Alfred just stepping through them. When he caught sight of me, he offered, "MAster dick… I'm afraid he's resting at the moment."
"If he's sleeping, he can't see me, Alfred. He won't---."
He interjected, "Master Dick… he is resting, not sleeping. After the trials he has faced, he needs as quiet and peaceful of an atmosphere as possible."
Somehow, I kept myself from punching the wall before replying, "Alfred, I just want to see him… just for one second… We're leaving for the city soon… if something were to happen while we were gone…"
He paused before me, reaching out to set a hand on my arm, "He will be here, well rested, upon our return, sir. I assure you."
I could have easily knocked Alfred down, barged into the room and had my way.
But not in defiance of a Pennyworth promise.
Returning to the Cave, Cassandra and Tim had already suited up, Tim already sporting his domino mask while hers hung between her shoulder blades. Before they could ask if I had been able to see Bruce, Barbara's tired face came over the main monitor.
"What is it?" Robin asked instinctively.
"Signal, although nothing is on the scanners… I think… I think Dad just wants to talk to you," her eyes found me courtesy of the image she was receiving.
I nodded, "We'll be there in twenty."
After she signed off, I turned to walk over to the costume vault, my gut already churning at the thought of which mask I would be wearing that night. Although I had stepped in for Bruce before, it still never made putting the cowl on in his stead any easier. I suited up as Robin and Batgirl proceeded to check the fuel on the Mobile. Since Batgirl had left her bike in the city, she had planned on sharing shotgun with Robin. An uncomfortable fit but it was only fourteen miles.
Wearing everything but the cowl, I took a moment to look at myself in the waist high mirror of the vault. After days with no sleep, my eyes had been paired with dark circles and my skin had taken on a slight pallor. I had two days worth of scuff on my jaw and eyes that were borderline bloodshot. Pulling on the mask, all of Bruce Wayne's problems were forgotten so that Batman would be able to focus on his work.
With the cowl in place, Batman stared back at me, although his problems were also Dick Grayson's.
The ride into Gotham had been silent with even the police scanners offering little activity. Then again it was barely seven-thirty, the night was far from over. Reaching police headquarters, I nearly told Batgirl and Robin to wait in the Mobile, but then decided to invite them along. Strength in numbers.
Gordon was standing beside the Signal, his back to us as we landed soundlessly. A strong breeze passed by, bringing life to our capes, drawing his gaze towards us. Robin perched on the edge of the rooftop. Batgirl standing stoically, arms crossed over her chest.
Then the last figure, a man wearing a bat-like cowl and a long jagged cape.
"B--- Batman?" he stuttered in disbelief, before realizing the man that stood before him wasn't his best friend.
"Yes, Commissioner." Among the many skills I had had to perfect under Bruce's tutelage was ventriloquism and voice acting. Although I had a fairly good handle on his growl, it still wasn't perfect, especially to those who knew him well.
"You can tell me, you know. I can handle the truth," Gordon looked at me, forcing his gaze to be stern, "I deserve that much, I think."
After looking over my shoulder and nodding at Batgirl and Robin, I turned back to the commissioner, "Your office."
He opened his mouth to speak but then reluctantly nodded, about facing to the rooftop's service door. Rather than follow him, I waited for my masked comrades to make their descent back down to the Mobile before leaping off of the rooftop myself. With mastered ease from years of practice, I landed on his window ledge, let myself in and situated myself in the far right corner.
Gordon walked in two minutes later, not even bothering to seek me out in the room before shutting the door and asking, "Is he dead?"
I had been caught off guard by his bluntness. In fact, it was at that very moment that I realized I had no idea what I intended to tell him about Bruce's condition given how little I knew. If Leslie was right, if Bruce had lost everything, then the Batman that Gordon knew, the one he had worked alongside for years, was dead.
Dark thoughts flooding my mind, I replied quietly, "Yes."
He took a moment before turning to face me, his lower lip quivering.
Dropping the growl from my voice, I let the lie unfold further, "It... It happened earlier this evening. He went into cardiac arrest... But he was still comatose so... It was painless."
He suddenly seemed unsteady on his feet but as I reached out to him, he stepped back, taking a seat on his desk, "No..."
"Dr. Thompkins believes that in the event he had ever woken up. It would have been a life of vegetation. Not a life for him. Maybe, this is better..."
Tears began slipping over his rough cheeks, and yet the only comfort I could offer him was, "I'm sorry, sir."
When his eyes found me, I felt as if he was looking right through the cowl and brave front I was barely maintaining. It was like he was seeing the once youthful vigilante behind the guise, the young boy who did back flips on the edge of the roof while he had talked to my mentor…
Finally, he reached up and wiped his face with his hand, "No, son. You're right. Maybe it's better if he..."
Despite the fact that I knew Bruce was alive, the realization that the man he once had been no longer was, I felt my eyes grow hot and wet.
"So, you're going to come back to Gotham?"
"Yes."
Gordon was one of the strongest men I knew, and yet seeing him so emotionally weak…
Before making my way to the window, I paused in front of him, accepting his hand as it settled on my shoulder, "Good. This city will always need you, Batman."
I nodded curtly, "And I'll always... be here."
Upon returning to the Mobile, I was surprised to see that Batgirl and Robin were still waiting for me. Even though the hour was early, there was plenty of ground to cover, especially between the three of us. Still trying to recover from confronting Gordon, I avoided their intent looks of inquiry while I unlocked the hatch.
"Well?" Robin finally asked.
"Well, what?" I growled before facing him.
"What did you tell him?"
There was an eerie moment before I replied, "I told him he was dead."
"Why'd you do that?" he yelped. I would have smiled but I was wearing the wrong mask for displaying amusement.
I waited for Batgirl to protest as well, but naturally, she remained silent.
Robin stepped forward, ready to demand an answer of me but I beat him to the chase, "We need to accept the fact that the Batman, the Bruce, the whoever you want to call him is indeed dead. He isn't going to magically remember everything and go back into the life he had. He isn't going to be the same. Ever," I paused, invading his personal space by looming over him, "Do you got that? he's not alive for anyone else. No slip ups, no goofs, no nothing. Only you two, me, Alfred, Leslie and Barbara can know the truth."
After they both nodded, slow with shock, I continued while trying to suppress some of the growl in my voice, "What we need to do now is support him in his recovery, but we also need to make sure that the city is taken care of. We all know how much that meant to him…"
"Oracle know, tell father?" Batgirl asked softly.
"No, she'll keep it to herself. She respects Bruce enough to lie to her father. She's done it before---"
A beep emitted from the comm. link, grabbing our attention. It was followed by Barbara's angry and tear-stricken face. "Damn you, Dick. Why didn't you call me? Why the hell---?"
"Calm down."
"Calm down? He dies and no one tells me and you want me to calm down?"
"He's not..." I started.
She snapped back, "What? He's not dead?"
"No."
"Then why the hell did my father just call me in tears?!"
"I had to, I'm sorry."
"What do you mean you had to?"
"He's not ever going to be the same, you know that---."
Barbara cut me off again, "You don't know that! You know what my father said? 'I killed my best friend.' So I hope your master plan is worth it enough to break my father's heart."
Click.
With Batgirl and Robin still staring up at me, their faces even more shocked than they had been a moment earlier, I told myself I had done the right thing. A brief and harder grief was better than tormenting oneself with wonder and false hopes. What difference would it make if Gordon thought his close ally was dead in more than just spirit? The man behind the mask was a vessel, one that was there to carry out the war on crime no matter what.
As he had said, Gotham would always need Batman.
And he would always be there.
^V^