©January 2003
Rating: PG
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson
Timeframe: This story follows my earlier stories "Jealousy" and "A Christmas of Beginnings" in continuity.
Disclaimer: Characters herein are owned by DC Comics/Time Warner/AOL. No profit is realized from creation of stories based on these trademarked characters. Not to be archived without permission.
Comments and feedback are welcome to SKHwrite@cranky-dog.com
Parenthood
By SKH
Part Two
I think that Life has spared those mortals much — and cheated them of more — who have not kept a breathless vigil by the little bed of some beloved child.
- Faith Baldwin
Bruce carried Dick and the bag of medications into the house. Once they reached Dick's room, the boy rushed into the adjoining bathroom with an anxious whine, slamming the door behind him. Bruce straightened out Dick's bed, unmade from that morning, and searched through bureau drawers for a fresh pair of pajamas. Found, Bruce tossed the pajamas onto the bed and walked to the bathroom door.
"You okay in there?" he called out.
"Go 'way!" The tearful command was punctuated by the sound of retching.
"Are you sure?" Bruce asked.
"Go 'way!"
Bruce backed off, taking the bag of prescription medications out of the pocket of his suit jacket. He inspected the packages — a bottle of some kind of red syrup, a bottle of Children's Acetaminophen, and a package of some kind of blister-pack pills. Bruce opened the last package, astonished at the size of the pills. He'd be hard-pressed to swallow something that size, let alone expect a child to do so. He took out the instruction insert and read through it.
"Oh, no. No, I can't..." Bruce grumbled, horrified to discover Leslie had called in a suppository medication. He whipped out his cell phone and pressed a speed dial selection.
"This is Bruce Wayne. I need to speak to Dr. Thompkins," he ordered, nearly Bat-like.
"Mr. Wayne, Leslie's with a patient. This is Ellen Garland, the P.A. Can I help you?"
"Ellen, Leslie called in some prescriptions for Dick... I can't give him a suppository! It's just not... not right!"
"Mr. Wayne, I'm sure Alfred knows how to—"
"—Alfred's not here. He won't be back for days! I can't give him this thing, Ellen. Leslie will have to prescribe something else!"
"Mr. Wayne, is Dick vomiting?"
"Yes."
"Then he needs the suppository. Really, Mr. Wayne, it's the best way to administer the meds that will help control the vomiting. This strain of flu is pretty violent in its earlier stages. He'll be losing it from both ends. Dick needs the medications, and you need to keep him hydrated. I suggest Pedialite or one of those sports drinks with electrolytes."
"We have Gatorade."
"There you go! Mr. Wayne, I've got other patients. You can do this — just read the directions."
"But Ellen—" Bruce pocketed the phone with an exasperated sigh.
The bathroom door opened, and Dick, pale and trembling, wobbled out. Bruce helped him out of his soiled school clothes and into warm pajamas. Dick crawled into bed with a sustained moan.
"I hadda throw up in the wastebasket, Bruce," the boy said in a small, ravaged voice. "I was on the potty but hadda throw up, too."
Bruce tucked the bedcovers around the small figure. "Don't worry, chum. I'll take care of it. You rest up, and I'll go get you something to drink. I'll be right back."
After a quick search of the downstairs pantry, Bruce located the Gatorade and the first aid kit, in which he found an oral thermometer. An hour later, after Dick was asleep and fully medicated, Bruce gave the bathroom a cursory cleaning. Preferring to throw the wastebasket away in the garbage can outside, he replaced it with another from one of the guest bathrooms. As for Dick's soiled school uniform, Bruce tossed it into a plastic trash bag and placed it in the laundry room. He had no idea if it was washable or had to be dry-cleaned, but at this point, he didn't care. Dick would likely be out of school for the rest of the week anyway.
Bruce sank into the leather desk chair in his study, glancing at the clock. It was half-past noon. He leaned back, rubbing his hands over the lower half of his face. Bruce sat quietly for several minutes until his reverie was broken by the ringing of the telephone.
"Master Bruce, I wanted to check in and let you know I've made it to Devonshire. I left you a list of numbers here where I might be reached, if necessary. I trust you and Master Dick are getting along well?"
"Alfred, Dick has come down with the flu. I've never seen anything like it. It was like turning off a light switch. One minute he was running around, and the next minute he just went down!"
"Oh, my! Poor Master Dick. Have you taken him to Dr. Thompkins?"
"Leslie said she can't do anything about it except prescribe medications for his symptoms. I brought him home from school a couple of hours ago, and he's sleeping now. Poor little guy, this flu is pretty rough on him."
"Bruce, you'll just have to do the best you can. One of the real trials of parenthood is nursing a child through an illness, but I have faith in you, my boy. Oh, I must ring off now, they're calling me. I'll telephone again tomorrow."
By mid-afternoon, Bruce felt he was on top of the situation. He had called his assistant, Margaret, for advice on what to feed a sick child. To simplify things, Margaret arranged for Wayne Enterprises' catering vendor to deliver what Bruce and Dick would need to get through this crisis until Alfred returned. And although Dick woke up sick again and threw up on his sheets and P.J.'s, Bruce handled that, too. He got the boy cleaned up and moved him to his own bed. Then, Bruce swapped Dick's mattress with one from one of the guest rooms and moved Dick back into the boy's bedroom.
With another dose of meds, a little soup, and some Gatorade in the boy, Bruce dozed for an hour at Dick's bedside. When he awoke, Bruce went downstairs and called Leslie Thompkins, filling her in on their progress.
"Keep doing what you're doing, Bruce," she advised. "Try to keep Dick's fever down, keep him comfortable, and just let him sleep. He should start to show some improvement tomorrow, and a few days from now you won't know he was ever sick."
Checking in on his ward again, Bruce found the bed empty and the bathroom door closed. Moments later, Dick emerged looking weary and wasted. Bruce gave the boy a boost into the bed.
"Are you feeling any better, chum?"
Dick curled into his pillows, shaking his head and giving a wordless negative answer. "Nuh-uh."
Bruce felt Dick's forehead, not happy with the excessive warmth. Taking Dick's temperature again showed no reduction. It was still just above 102 degrees. It was also too soon for another round of medication. Bruce handed Dick the cup of Gatorade from his bedside table.
"Here. Scoot over, and drink some of this. Would you like me to tell you about some of my earlier case files? Like, when I first met the Penguin?" Bruce figured a story or two would help to ease Dick's misery. So he spent another hour with the boy curled against his chest, telling him tales of adventures from early in Batman's crime-fighting career. Bruce stopped talking when he believed that Dick had fallen asleep, and he was just about to move carefully off the bed when Dick released a mewling wail and disgorged everything he'd just drunk all over Bruce.
'At least it's all on me and not the bed this time,' the big man mentally groaned. Bruce scooped Dick up and took him back to the bathroom. He helped support his ward while the boy went through the agony of dry heaves. Then Dick spun around and climbed onto the commode, tearful from stomach cramps as the rest of the liquid in his digestive system expelled itself. Bruce wondered if he'd ever put Alfred through this kind of experience when he was this young. If he had, it was beyond his memory.
As evening fell, Dick's fever was holding steady at around 102. For the past few hours he had held down fluids. When the boy was sleeping soundly again, Bruce came downstairs and made a half-hearted effort to clean up the kitchen, tossing away the catering containers and putting dishes in the sink. Bruce stretched the kinks out of his muscles and walked to the family room. He plopped down into the recliner and picked up the television remote. Bruce scanned through the channels until he got to GNN, the Gotham News Network.
"... news crew on the scene of the explosion at Arkham Asylum. For that story, we go to Melinda Diaz."
"Thank you, Bill. Ten minutes ago, Arkham Asylum was rocked by an explosion that damaged the northeast quadrant of the complex. This section holds some of Gotham City's most dangerous criminals. Guards have managed to contain the incarcerated population, and authorities are ascertaining who, if anyone, may have escaped."
In a matter of seconds, Bruce had raced to the subterranean cavern below Wayne Manor known as the Batcave. Donning the Batman's imposing dark costume, Bruce contacted Police Commissioner James Gordon.
"I hope you're on your way, Batman," the Commissioner growled. "Everyone is accounted for except the Joker. Two guards are dead, and we believe a third was the insider who helped stage this breakout."
"I'll be there as soon as I can, Commissioner," Batman assured him.
But there was one small problem, and he was sleeping upstairs.
"Dick, I need you to wake up, chum. We're going to Dr. Leslie's clinic," Bruce said softly, lifting the sleeping boy into his arms. Dick roused and squirmed, then blinked in confusion when he saw who was holding him.
"B-Batman? Bruce? What's wrong?"
Bruce sat the more alert and questioning child on the bed. "You need to slip into these sweatpants, Dick, and the shirt, too. I'll get your coat from downstairs. And you'll need socks and shoes." Bruce disappeared, and Dick could hear his footsteps recede down the hall. Dick slid off the bed and put the sweatpants and shirt on over his pajamas. He walked unsteadily to his closet and got out a pair of slippers, then pulled some socks out of the dresser drawer. He was in the bathroom when Bruce returned with his coat. When Dick was finished, Bruce — Batman, for he had now pulled the cowl up over his head and face — helped him on with his heavy parka. Gloves and knit hat came out of the pockets and went onto the boy's hands and head.
"Okay, let's go, chum," said Batman, picking the bundled boy up. "We're going for a little ride in the Batmobile."
"The Batmobile...." Dick repeated in awe.
Entering the Thompkins Free Clinic by a private door, Batman carried Dick inside and made his way to Leslie's office. The cries of sick children in the lobby and examination rooms echoed through the clinic's halls. Batman put the boy down, saying "go sit in Dr. Leslie's chair, Dick. I'm going to tell her we're here."
Batman emerged from Dr. Thompkins' office in time to catch Ellen Garland by the arm as she walked down the hall. The startled woman gasped, then relaxed, pulling out of Batman's grip.
"Where is Dr. Thompkins?" Batman rasped, pulling Leslie's office door closed behind him.
"Exam room three. Are you injured?" she asked.
"No. I need to speak with Dr. Thompkins, though. I have a serious emergency, and I need her help."
"Okay, give us a couple of minutes. Wait in her office, and I'll tell her you're here." Ellen rushed up the hall as Batman slipped back into Leslie's office.
Dick was curled up asleep in the desk chair, resting his head — pillowed by the hood of his parka — on the chair's arm. Batman waited uneasily, monitoring police transmissions through a receiver in his cowl. The Joker's deadly trail continued into Gotham City, as the madman indiscriminately, whimsically, assassinated anyone who got in his way. Batman had an idea of where he was headed. He suspected the Joker had left a stash of money and weapons hidden in one of his secluded former lairs and was making his way into the heart of the city to reach it.
The office door opened, and a slight, silvery haired woman in a white lab coat walked in. Closing the door behind her, she surveyed the "parcel" Batman had brought her.
"Oh, no. No you don't, Bruce," Leslie Thompkins whispered harshly. "That boy is sick and needs to be home in his own bed. My staff and I are on our third straight shift, and the traffic through this clinic hasn't stopped since early this morning. This whole city's got the same flu Dick has, and some people are much worse!"
"Leslie... the Joker has escaped. There's no telling how many people he'll slaughter on his rampage. The death toll is up to four now! I have to stop him!" Batman explained.
Dr. Thompkins shoved the Caped Crusader in the chest. "You have to take care of your child, Bruce. This is what parenthood is all about — making choices! Let the police worry about the Joker. That's their business! Yours is that little boy over there. I can't believe you dragged him out of bed to bring him down here!"
The Batman stepped forward, looming imposingly over the petite physician. Through clenched teeth, he rasped, "The police don't stand a chance. I'm the one who can stop Joker from murdering innocent people."
Leslie's eyes narrowed at the Batman's deliberate attempt to intimidate her. "You listen to me, Bruce Wayne," she hissed angrily. "I stood up in court and swore that you could be a fit parent for this child. If you can't do that job, I swear to God I'll see that Dick goes to a family who can!"
"NO!" shouted Dick. He scrambled off the chair and rushed to Batman's side. "Don't say that, Dr. Leslie! Bruce is tryin' real hard! He may not be the best parent yet, but he's the best teacher and the best Batman!"
Leslie looked down at the boy, at his fever-bright eyes and flu-weakened stance, and softly explained, "Dicky, you shouldn't be out of bed, honey, especially not out in the cold night. You could become sicker, like some of the children who have come to the clinic."
Dick looked at Leslie with an expression of determination. "But... I'm not so sick anymore! And if Joker kills anyone else because Batman... Bruce... has to stay at home with me, then it'll be MY fault they died. And I don't want to be the reason somebody died!"
"It wouldn't be your fault, Dick," said Batman. "It would be the Joker's."
"It would be my fault if you weren't allowed to stop him because of me!" Dick exclaimed, fixing his eyes on his guardian. He grasped Batman by the arm and held onto it defensively. "And don't say you're gonna take Bruce away from me, Dr. Leslie! I won't live with anybody else but Bruce and Alfred! They're the only ones who understand!"
"Bruce," said Leslie, looking the cowled man in the face, "it's your choice, but Dick can't stay here. I'm sorry. We're overrun and understaffed, and I've already spent too much time away from my patients, children sicker than yours due to lack of care and heat in their homes."
Batman bent down and picked up the boy. "Let's go, Dick."
"Where?" the boy asked.
"Home."
The Batman exited by the private door and was gone.
Inside the Batmobile, Batman secured Dick's safety harness and started the car's powerful engine. He pulled away from the Thompkins Clinic.
"We're not really goin' home, are we?" asked Dick.
"Yes."
"But we don't have to. We can go get the Joker now."
"We are going home, and you are going back to bed. I won't risk having you taken away, Dick."
"What do you do with your car while you go chase the bad guys, Batman?"
Batman cast a glance at the boy. "Park it."
"So... park the car... with me in it. I'll stay in the car, and you can go get the Joker. You can leave the heater on, and I'll just go to sleep here. I won't touch any of the controls or even listen to the radio."
"Leave you in the car alone? Chum, I believe there are laws about things like that."
"And there's no laws about wearin' a mask and beatin' up bad guys when you're not a real cop?"
"Don't go there."
"I'll be okay. Bruce, I don't want anyone else to get hurt. I know you're the only one who can stop this guy. An' I won't tell if you won't tell. Please?... partner?"
The last time Batman had put the Joker away in Arkham Asylum, the maniacal clown had pulled off a robbery of an arena the night of a well-publicized boxing match. As a diversion, he had murdered the two main-event fighters by poisoning their water supplies. In the ensuing pandemonium, the Joker stormed the box-office and made off with several hundred thousand dollars in ticket and legal wager receipts, all cash. The stolen booty had never been recovered after the Joker's arrest, and the Batman was certain the madman was now on his way to claim his long-awaited payday.
The Batman had narrowed the possible locations of the stash to three places he had known the Joker to hole-up on occasion. He had placed motion detectors at each one as well as tiny transmitting monitors. And now he was receiving activity at one of the three locations.
The Batmobile pulled into an alley a block away from the Joker's lair. The Batman reached behind the seats and took a few items out of storage compartments, handing them to Dick.
"Here's a bottle of water. And if you feel sick to your stomach, use this bag. You don't get out of the car for any reason. You got that?"
Dick nodded his head obediently.
"If you have to pee, do it in this container. This thing here is a communicator that will reach me, but only in a life or death situation. You understand?"
Dick nodded again.
"Okay. The heater is on. When I leave the car, I'll set the locks and security system, including the shields. You'll still be able to open the door from the inside, but you won't, will you?"
Dick shook his head.
"Your seat reclines with this button here. Here's a blanket... now take a nap. I'll be back... when I'm finished."
The door slammed, and Dick heard a series of clicking noises as the car's shielding fell into place. The windows and windshield darkened as louvered panels covered them. Dick could still see out through slits between the louvers. Everything became very quiet, and the alley's only light came from the moon high above.
Dick looked at all the little illuminated knobs and buttons and display panels, but he didn't dare touch anything. For all he knew, he'd hit an ejector button like in the James Bond movies and go flying out the top of the car. He was sure Batman's car had an ejector seat because it was the coolest ride in the world, but Dick wasn't about to touch stuff to find out. Before long, weariness overtook him, and Dick fell sound asleep.
[ End Part Two ]