DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters. Nightwing and all of his friends belongs to DC comics. I'd be a happy woman if Dick belonged to me...but no such luck. I have not made any profit out of writing this, so please don't sue me. It would not be worth your while.
Author Comment: This was the third Dick Grayson story I ever wrote.
Thank you to my wonderful beta, Jean whose comments force me to examine my writing. There are a number of spelling, grammar and punctuation differences between Australia and the USA... please forgive me for writing with an accent. (g)
Special Thanks: Thank you to all those people who have left such wonderful feedback. Some of you haven't left your e-mail addresses so I haven't been able to thank you. I just want you to know that your kind words mean so much. I'm in your debt.
Dick stared out directly in front of him. He was standing on the edge of a large body of water shrouded in a white mist. There was absolutely no sound around him. None. The stillness was unreal... eerie. He realized that he was completely alone. Turning to glance behind him, he could see only emptiness - nothing real or distinct was evident.
VVVVVVVVVV
Batman pulled his cowl into place and jogged back toward the hidden entrance that led to the grounds above. His mind replayed his partner's face and he reflected on the message he'd seen there.
Get him.
That was exactly what Batman intended doing. He would get him - by God he would get him!
A thoughtful frown formed on Batman's lips as he reviewed the events methodically. The sniper had gained access to the Manor with the security company Lucus had hired. He had waited until the fireworks started before making his attempt, knowing that it would mask the shot. Perhaps he had even organized the fireworks himself for no one on Wayne's staff had authorized them. The assassin's goal would have been achieved if not for Nightwing who had taken a single bullet low on the right side of his chest.
Here, the detective paused. His partner was okay he assured himself. Nightwing himself had cleared Batman to pursue the investigation - yet, there was a prickling deep down inside the Dark Knight that he couldn't ignore. Batman's thoughts snagged, his controlled emotions beginning to bubble and boil. He cursed. He couldn't afford this. He needed to pursue his investigation now while all of the clues and facts were fresh, but still his mind refused to let go. Batman's thoughts churned as he fought to consciously override the strange throbbing that had invaded his chest.
Nightwing would be okay... Alfred was with him... Nightwing would be okay... Medical help was only minutes away... Nightwing was okay... He'd called Leslie... Nightwing was in good hands... Leslie would be at the hospital waiting... Nightwing would be sore, but he was okay. He was a fine solider... one of the best Batman had ever known.
I'm okay.
That look alone convinced Batman his concerns were unfounded.
Get him.
Wilfully, Batman pushed every other thought aside. His training enabled him to shut the other parts of himself down. All forms of emotion where literally turned off allowing logical thought free reign. If Batman was to do his job and fulfil his partner's request, then he needed to be completely focused on the job at hand. Nothing would sway him from his objective. Nothing. The sniper would not escape. Gotham City's Dark Knight would make the paid assassin see the error of his ways and reveal his employer - the person who wanted Bruce Wayne dead. Only once Batman had apprehended this mystery person would his job be done. Only then would he allow himself the luxury of reacting as others would.
Until then, no other thought would be permitted to penetrate his mind... and yet, despite his best efforts and years of experience at zoning out, the burning in his chest remained.
VVVVVVVVVV
There was a slapping sound. Oars striking water. Out of the dense mist appeared a small wooden boat. Dick stared at the tiny craft and at the oarsman.
"Hello," the man called. He was old - wizened - but surprisingly strong for his age. Despite being quite close, Dick couldn't really make out his features.
The young man just stared, no conscious thought forming.
"Well, come on, young fella. It's time to go."
"Go?" Dick asked. His voice sounded hollow and it seemed to echo in the overwhelming silence.
"I'm here to pick you up. Come on."
Dick glanced at the emptiness that surrounded him. Puzzled, he stepped into the small boat.
"What's your name?"
"Dick Grayson."
"I'm the oarsman."
"Where are we going?"
"Well, that depends on you."
VVVVVVVVVV
The ambulance pulled in at the hospital with a police escort and two dozen members of the media all desperate for a photograph. News had travelled like quicksilver, though details were sketchy. Flashes flickered in the night as men and women with microphones jostled for position. Uniformed police appeared and forced the baying crowd back.
"Bruce Wayne's been shot?" one reporter asked another.
"No. Apparently, someone from the crowd jumped in front of him!"
When the doors of the ambulance burst open, Alfred, who had remained at Dick's side as the paramedics took over the EAR (Expired Air Resuscitation), searched for one face. To his overwhelming relief, it was there.
"Leslie!" The doctor stepped up into the ambulance, patted Alfred's arm and started shouting instructions to the other medical personnel. She had received updates from the ambulance officers, which had enabled her to have everything ready at this end.
"Leslie?" Alfred asked, reluctantly releasing his grip on Dick's hand as his grandson's stretcher was pulled from the back of the vehicle and whisked away, the ambulance officer still blowing air into Dick's lungs. "Leslie?" Alfred repeated.
"It's bad," Thompkins stated, seriously. He deserved the truth. She didn't want to raise his hopes. The vitals that had been reported to her were shaky. It was going to be an up-hill battle.
The look of raw agony on Alfred's face pulled at Leslie's heart. She knew how much he loved Dick. The grey-haired doctor hugged the elderly man briefly and then raced off after her patient. Alfred stepped out of the ambulance and stood outside the hospital for several moments before following, Leslie's words ringing in his ears. It's bad.
Alfred already knew that. He'd never seen so much blood, and over the years, Alfred had seen his fair share. He'd stitched up Bruce, Dick, Jason and even Tim more times then he cared to count. He'd lived though Bruce's broken back and Tim's infection with the deadly virus and each time he'd thought things couldn't be worse. How wrong he'd been. This was worse. Nothing could be worse than this. If Dick died as a result of a gun... as a result of saving Bruce's life, Alfred would lose both of his boys. Nothing was surer.
VVVVVVVVVV
"Mask!" Leslie ordered. A nurse handed one to her and the medic placed it over Dick's nose and mouth, the automated pump taking over the job of forcing air into the unconscious man. Briskly, the doctor dismissed the paramedic who had kept Dick alive until now. "Transfusion. He's 'O' negative. We'll need X-rays. A couple of his ribs are broken by the look of it." She was move with great speed and yet her actions were calm.
"Are you a doctor?" one of two surgeons asked, entering the ER.
"Dr. Thompkins," Leslie stated, placing a stethoscope to Dick's chest. "I want a brain scan and..."
"With all due respect, doctor, we'll take it from here."
Leslie glanced across at the ID badge worn by the speaker. "No, Dr Moffit, you won't. I have been doing this since before your mother was born."
"You know the protocol, doctor," Moffit stated, arrogantly, despite the protests from the physician he had entered with.
Leslie's eyes hardened. "This is my patient! I will be the primary on his case. If you don't like that, get the hell out of here, Sunny Jim!" Thompkins turned to the startled nurses. "Get him out of these clothes and where the hell is that blood?!"
"Let me help you doctor," the other physician offered, dismissing Moffit and starting the transfusion.
Leslie nodded her thanks. Moffit stormed from the room.
"How much do we know?"
"Three bullets. Two still in him. He's not breathing, but has been resuscitated since independent respiration stopped. Massive blood loss," Leslie informed the other doctor, using a light to examine Dick's pupils.
"He a friend?"
Leslie nodded. "I've known him all his life," she whispered, pausing for a moment to study Dick's deathly pale face. "And I'm not going to lose him!" she snapped, returning her full attention to directing those around her. "Is that 'O' negative? Nurse, why aren't these clothes off him, yet? Where's the scanning equipment?! Those bullets have to come out now. Come one, people. Move."
VVVVVVVVVV
Dick felt strangely calm. Calm was a feeling he knew was wrong, but he couldn't remember why. Something told him he was supposed to be concerned and yet, the tranquillity around him was impossible to deny.
He noted that the oarsman was studying him intently.
"You seem to accept all of this without question. Most of my passengers are far more inquisitive."
"I feel like this is right."
The oarsman nodded and continued to propel the primitive boat over the still water. "You are one of the few who has prepared himself for this journey."
"What journey?"
"The journey after life?"
Dick frowned. "I'm dead?"
The oarsman paused in his rhythmic rowing. "Not quite. I've picked you up so you are on the way."
Dick struggled to remember what had happened. "It wasn't the Joker, was it?"
"You must know by now that your friends will never allow that to happen again."
"My friends?"
The oarsman inclined his head toward the bank that they were pulling away from. Dick glanced back. The shoreline was no longer empty. He could see people standing there. Leslie was the clearest. That puzzled Dick.
"She is fighting to save you," the oarsman stated simply as he resumed his stroking.
"Where's Bruce?"
The oarsman smiled, gently. "Further back. Behind the others."
Dick turned to face the elderly man who seemed to know what was going on. "I don't understand."
"You are dying. This is your final journey. Look at the bank in front of you."
Dick strained his eyes to see across the distance. He could distinguish another group of people but they were a long way away and he couldn't make them out. Then something caught the young man's eye. A pink dress. That pink dress! It was the only thing he could remember his mother wearing when she wasn't performing.
"Mama?" he whispered.
"She's waiting for you. She's been waiting a long, long time."
Before he knew it, Dick was on his feet. The boat began to rock wildly.
"Sit down!" the oarsman ordered. "You must not fall into the water here."
Slowly Dick sank back into the boat. "Why?"
"This is the Lake of Lost Souls. You have lived a good and fruitful life and thus you have earned a ride across it. Those that don't - those whose souls are unsavable - I don't come for, and they end up lost in the lake forever. The lake is filled with the doomed spirits of both the living and the dead. If you fall in here, your soul will join theirs and be lost in limbo."
Dick strained to see the woman in the pink dress. "You're taking me to be with my Ma?"
"If that's what you want."
"I still don't understand."
"The decision is yours, Dick. Life or death?"
VVVVVVVVVV
Inside theatre 4, Leslie and the other surgeon, Alex Schneider set about removing the two missing bullets.
"Blood pressure's dropping," the anaesthetist informed the doctors.
Leslie glanced up at the screen that was monitoring Dick's vitals. "Come on, Dick. Hold on." She returned to probing for the first of the bullets. "Keep me informed."
"There it is," Schneider stated.
"Yeah, I see it. It nicked his lung. We need to drain them."
"I'm on it."
Leslie's brow furrowed as she carefully explored further, finally getting hold of the slug. "Got it."
"Breathing's becoming irregular."
"Come on, Kid. You can do better than this," Leslie chastised, dropping the bullet into a dish and then beginning her search for the second. "How are his lungs?"
"I'm almost finished draining them. I'll stitch the hole and then do some of the internal stitches needed."
Leslie lifted her eyes and sent a message of thanks. The younger doctor smiled. "We'll get him through this."
"BP is dropping again."
"It shouldn't be," Leslie snapped. "How much blood has he been given?"
"A full bag. He's not trying," one of the nurses commented with great experience. She'd seen it before. Sometimes, people wanted to go.
Leslie shot her a look of undiluted rage. "You don't know anything about this young man!"
"Sorry, Doctor. It's just that..."
"I need some suction."
The medics returned to work, Leslie quickly locating and removing the second of the bullets - all the while the nurse's comment echoed in her heart.
VVVVVVVVVV
"The decision is yours, Dick. Life or death?"
Dick's brow creased with confusion. "You mean I'm allowed to decide? I didn't think it would work that way."
"For some it does. Others are killed outright."
"Like my parents."
"That's right. Some, like yourself, are strong fighters and it is up to you if you wish to go back and battle for your life."
Again, silence filled the air. Only the rhythmic sound of the oars interrupted the unreal peacefulness. "Well? What do you want, Dick?"
Dick couldn't take his eyes off the figure in the dress. He wished he could see her face. He longed to have her arms around him.
"You want to see your mother," the oarsman stated with certainty.
"Yes."
VVVVVVVVVV
Abruptly, the monitors began beeping.
"BP moving into critical."
"We need to close him now!" Leslie ordered, her voice rising sharply.
Lights began to flash on the life support machines. "Breathing is erratic," the anaesthetist reported. "He's getting further away from us. We're losing him."
"No, we're not. Get me some adrenaline."
"Adrenaline?! You can't inject him with adrenaline after what you've already given him," Schneider argued.
Leslie thrust her hand out, her expression leaving no room for negotiation.
Reluctantly a nurse handed Thompkins a large needle which Leslie pumped directly into Dick's heart.
"Doctor!" Schneider cried. "I'm not prepared to take any responsibility for this."
"Come on, Son," Leslie pleaded with Dick quietly. "I can't do this on my own. You've got to start fighting." For several moments all waited. "Come on, Dick."
Abruptly a warning alarm sounded. "Heart has stopped."
"Get me the paddles. NOW!" Leslie shouted. She placed the objects on the young man's chest. "Clear!" A massive burst of electricity zapped through Grayson's body.
"He's still flat lining," Schneider testified.
"Again!" Leslie shouted. "Increase the charge."
VVVVVVVVVV
© June 2004 Aussie Nightwriter. : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to DC comics. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.