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: 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)
WARNING: I have nooooo medical knowledge. There are likely to be inaccuracies in this story. I hope you can enjoy it despite this.
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.... Apologies for not having replied to feedback for chapter five. I will do so this week.
It is Dick! God, it's him! He's alive!
Grayson's eyes were down, concentrating on each footfall. When the two men were ten feet apart, Dick's head came up. He froze. Bruce, too, came to an abrupt halt. The pair stared at each other equally shocked.
"Dick?" Logic told Bruce that he couldn't possibly be seeing what he thought he was. The fading sun gave Dick an unearthly appearance and left Bruce questioning his senses.
Gradually, a relieved, lop-sided grin appeared on Grayson's exhausted face. "Howdy, Bruce. Just happened to be passin'."
The words catapulted Wayne back to awareness. He leapt forward and grabbed each of younger man's shoulders. "YOU'RE ALIVE!" Bruce's body began trembling uncontrollably as a multitude of emotions fought for supremacy.
"If this is alive, I'd gladly trade if for something else."
Wayne didn't hear the strained and hushed words. He was drowning in his ability to comprehend what he was seeing, hearing and feeling. His hands squeezed each of Dick's shoulders firmly as he tried to confirm that this wasn't some sort of trick. "You're alive!" Bruce grabbed his boy and wrapped him up in his arms, oblivious to the cry of pain that came from Grayson. "My God, you're alive. Thank God!"
Dick said nothing. He just stood there dazed, his arms hanging at his sides. Wayne pushed the younger man away. "Christ, Dick! Where have you been?! What happened?!"
Grayson blinked and stared at Wayne in confusion. "Bruce, I..." It was then that Bruce actually saw his son. Dick reached up to rub his dull blue eyes, grimacing as his hand briefly connected with the dreadful purple and green bruising covering the left side of his face. The ugly bags under his eyes were of Grand Canyon proportion and stood out in stark contract to the horrible grey of his skin tone. "I... Bruce?" Dick muttered bewildered as he reached out and grabbed Wayne's arm to confirm he wasn't looking at a mirage. As he did so, the brown cloak that had been covering the clothes that were hanging on him like a sack, dropped from his shoulder, dragging the shirt with it. The kaleidoscope of cruel bruising that was revealed caused Bruce to draw breath sharply.
"My God." Concern pushed the shock aside. Wayne automatically fell into that timeworn pattern of removing himself from the situation. Just the facts. No emotion. He wouldn't be able to function if he allowed one percent of what he was feeling at the moment to dictate his actions. "Let's get you inside."
"Bruce... I... I haven't slept in days," the exhausted young man slurred. His body shuddered. Dick realized he shouldn't have stopped walking. Now, he would never convince his legs to move again.
"You look terrible," Bruce commented, raising his hand to test Dick's brow for fever.
"Was just thinkin' the same thing about you," the younger man muttered.
Dick felt clammy to touch and his dazed expression advertised that he was only half aware of what was happening.
"Come on," Bruce urged. The pair turned and shoulder to shoulder strode toward the house. Dick stumbled, struggling to maintain his footing as his body set about shutting down. Without a word, Bruce put his hand around his companion's back and threaded Dick's arm over his shoulder. A low moan echoed from Dick and he winced, so Bruce readjusted his hold to make it more comfortable.
"Easy," he encouraged. Wayne could hear the wheezing of Dick's lungs and the quiet grunts of discomfort forced from him with each step. The closer to the house they got, the more Bruce found himself supporting his charge.
"How sick are you?" Wayne demanded.
"Huh? Sick? No, I'm okay." Dick glanced at Bruce and noting the look of disbelief, added "Really, I'm okay. I was... sick, but... I'm okay... now. Just tired. Haven't slept... in three days." Whatever energy he had was rapidly deserting him. His need to push himself on was gone. Dick began blinking. His body was shutting down. Sleep deprivation and exposure were pooling and making it impossible for him to think straight. But none of that changed the fact that... "I made it," he whispered.
"You made it," Bruce confirmed as they entered the house. For a split second, Wayne contemplated taking Dick to the lounge room but he decided to get him upstairs to bed. "Up the stairs."
Dick eyed the staircase and a broad grin spread across his weary face. "You've got to be kiddin'."
"Come on," Bruce ordered. They got about halfway before Dick's legs inevitably buckled under him. Bruce caught him and steadied him, the action evoking a cry of pain from the injured man. "Sorry, Dick. Just a few more steps. Come on, Kid. We can do it."
Dick consciously gathered his energy into his legs and pushed on. By the time the pair reached the top, Bruce was all but carrying Dick. He guided the precious bundle in his arms toward a bedroom and assisted Dick to sit down, before crouching in front of the panting man.
Dick blinked and swallowed. "Bruce, I..."
"Don't talk. I'm going to call Leslie. Is there anything she needs to know? You need to tell me what you know about your condition."
"Ummm... I... huh?" He looked so confused... and so ill.
Bruce squeezed Dick's shoulder. "It's okay." Silently, he berated himself. What the hell was he thinking? Dick was barely conscious and he was asking for a condition report! "You need to rest."
"Thanks. I haven't ... slept in... three days." Dick bent to remove his boots, but the effort caused him to lose his balance. Wayne grabbed and righted him and then crouched and dragged the worn old boots off. "Thanks, Bruce. I haven't slept in... ages."
Bruce glanced up into Dick's dazed eyes. He truly wasn't aware of what he was saying. "Come on. Lay back," Bruce coaxed gently.
Dick nodded. "Real tired, Bruce. Sorry. Tell you... everything... later. Haven't slept for..."
"Don't try to speak. Just lay back and go to sleep."
Dick literally fell backwards onto the pillow. Bruce caught him and lowered him the final few inches. Spotting Bruce hovering above him, Dick mumbled, "Bruce... so I made it?"
"Yeah, you made it," Bruce assured the exhausted man as he began to make him more comfortable. He pulled the cloak free and began to unbutton Dick's shirt. As he pulled it apart, Bruce's battle to remain separated from the situation shattered. The injuries that greeted him were horrific. There was a puncture wound high in his chest that had been crudely stitched. The wound itself was probably a result of a rib that had broken and torn through the skin. Dick looked like he'd been beaten within an inch of his life, his skin a patchwork of purple, green and blue.
"God, Dick."
"Are Robin and the others okay?" Grayson asked, as Bruce lifted him so he could remove the old shirt. Carefully Wayne peeled it off, his face revealing how appalled he was by the boy's condition. "They're okay?" Dick repeated.
"We're all fine." As Bruce gently laid Dick down, he again checked the injured man's temperature. He was warm. Clearly the exertion was bringing on a fever.
Dick's heavy-lidded eyes opened fully. "The little girl! I left her!"
Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and patted his agitated son's arm in an effort to calm him. "She's fine. Cassie went out there and got her. We saved them all." Wayne plucked his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Leslie's number.
Dick started blinking again as he desperately fought against his body's insistent demands to shut down.
"Go to sleep," Bruce coaxed, picking up Dick's hand. He held it firmly, his emotions building. Grayson gripped the hand and his dazed eyes shifted to Wayne's face. "It's okay. It's going to be fine, son."
"Bruce... I'm sorry."
"Don't talk," Wayne ordered again. He squeezed the hand he held and nodded encouragement. "Close your eyes and rest. I'm calling Leslie." As he said the words, he was diverted to Leslie's answering machine. "Damn," he snapped, thrusting the phone back into his pocket.
"Huh?"
Bruce patted his boy's arm. "It'll be okay," he whispered. Their eyes locked together and Bruce again nodded. "It's okay."
"I'm so tired," Dick mumbled.
Wayne's lips creased with a half grin as he allowed some of the emotion he felt to surface. "Yeah, I noticed, chum."
"Chum?" Dick sat bolt upright, crying out in pain and reaching for his ribs as he did so. "Bruce, I made it home!"
Bruce gripped Dick's shoulder and carefully eased him back. "Easy, son. Easy." Grayson began to struggle trying to get up. Bruce held him firmly. "Dick, look at me." Dazed blue eyes met bright focussed ones. "You made it home and everyone's safe. You need to rest."
Grayson allowed Bruce to lay him back. He reached a trembling hand up and placed it on his former guardian's arm looking at him as if noticing him for the first time. Bruce, you okay? Despite the fatigue that masked his face, his concern for the man who had raised him shone like a beacon.
"I'm fine. Close your eyes."
"You diveinafterme?" The words tumbled into each other and it took a while for Bruce to decipher the question.
"Started to, but Catwoman pulled me back."
"Knew you would." Dick blinked and his face twisted with anxiety. "You... look like hell, Bruce."
"Now that's the pot calling the kettle black." Bruce forced a grin, but his worry was rising. Dick wasn't coherent. His thoughts were almost random. Wayne couldn't be sure if it was a result of fatigue or brain injury.
Grayson grinned. He could read Bruce like a book despite not being fully lucid. "I'm okay. I was sick. Hell spat me back. The devil himself wasn't prepared to take on your wrath."
Bruce swallowed. "Thank, God," he whispered. The need to hold his son overwhelmed him. "Dick..."
Grayson sighed deeply and smiled wearily. Bruce returned his boy's smile. His heart was galloping - a combination of concern and relief.
"Wasn't sure... if I would... make it," Dick attempted to explain.
"Enough."
Dick swallowed and nodded. Again, he began blinking. "Gotta sleep, Bruce. Tell you... later. Can't... think straight..." Dick's eyelids crashed, his body shuddered and his arm slipped from Bruce's arm. In that instant, he was sound asleep. His chest began to rise and fall evenly.
Wayne stared at his boy. He was alive! He was in a hell of a state, but he was alive. Gently, Wayne reached for Dick's arm and placed it on the bed. He had asked for one minute - by some miracle he had been given a second chance. "Dick, I..." A lump the size of a fist formed in his throat. Again he was overcome with the need to hold his son; however, that wasn't what Dick needed. His boy needed a doctor. Bruce pulled his phone out again and this time rang the hospital. As he did so, he considered an ambulance, but there would be too many questions and at the moment Bruce didn't have any answers. Dick Grayson and Nightwing could not reappear at the same time.
As the thought crossed his mind, Bruce began to reprimand himself again. Was his secret identity more important than Dick's health? No, it wasn't. It was the first time Bruce had ever thought of it in those terms. Protecting Batman and all he stood for had been more significant than any one individual in Bruce's mind… until now. The last ten days had shown him in no uncertain terms that he could survive without Batman… and that Gotham could survive without the Dark Knight, but Bruce Wayne had realized that life was all but unbearable without his family. Over the years he and Dick had drifted apart, argued and even come to blows, but none of that changed the fact that Bruce loved his son.
The phone rang in Wayne's ear. When it was answered, Bruce first asked if Dr. Leslie Thompkins was in attendance.
"Yes, sir, she is, but she is in surgery at the moment. May I take a message?"
Bruce frowned. "I need to speak to her immediately."
"That isn't possible. We have several doctors here who..."
"NO! I must speak with Leslie!" The volume of his voice caused Dick to stir. Bruce reached out to his boy and patted his arm. "Easy, son."
Grayson muttered something but didn't truly wake. Bruce returned to his call. "Look, it is absolutely essential that I speak with Dr. Thompkins. Please..." Wayne continued to plead his case, his temper gradually rising.
VVVVVVVVVV
Bruce shifted a heater into Dick's room. The air was gradually cooling with the coming of evening. He glanced up at the clock. It was only one minute after the last time he had looked. Time had a habit of passing slowly when one was in a rush and quickly when one needed more time. Wayne had convinced the nurse at the hospital to speak to Leslie the moment she came out of surgery. The woman had assured him it would be no more than fifteen minutes and Bruce had agreed. Dick was resting comfortably, so the extra minutes shouldn't threaten the injured man's condition.
Dick. Wayne turned and stared. Where the hell had Dick been for the last ten days? Sick obviously. Really sick, by the look of him. Bruce waited for Dick's chest to rise and fall. There was no movement. Wayne's eyes narrowed. In two steps he made it to the bed. Relieved, he noted Dick's ribcage rise. The injured man's breathing was slow and even, though there was a wheezing sound coming from Dick's lungs, remnants of whatever illness he had suffered.
Am I just dreaming all of this? Overcome with terror, Bruce crouched down beside the bed and tentatively reached for Dick's clenched fingers. The millionaire's large hand encircled Grayson's calloused fist. Dick stirred. His eyelids flickered and parted a quarter of an inch.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
"Bruce?"
"Shh."
"I made it?" he asked dazed.
"Yeah, you made it."
"The others okay?" Dick began blinking as fatigue urged him back to oblivion.
"Everyone's fine."
Grayson's eyes shot open. "The little girl?!"
Bruce reached for his shoulder. "Settle down. She's safe."
"I left her."
"Cassie got her."
"Thank, God... are you okay? You... look like... shit."
"Look in a mirror lately?"
Dick sighed and grinned. "I've got an excuse. I haven't slept... for days."
"How do you feel?"
"'About as... good as... you look." He was losing the battle to stay awake.
"Don't fight it, son. Are you thirsty?"
Dick shook his head. "No. Could use... a drink, though." Wayne grinned as relief swept over him. It wasn't brain injury he decided. Complete exhaustion was stealing Dick's ability to fully comprehending what was being said to him.
Bruce released his boy's hand and moved off to collect a glass of water. By the time he returned, Dick was sound asleep. Bruce placed the glass on the small table and then sat down in the chair beside the bed. He felt at ease.... worried on one level for it was clear his boy had been through a lot... but also at ease. He didn't know what had happened to Dick, but that wasn't important. Dick was home. That was all that mattered. For the first time in days, Bruce felt certain that everything was going to be alright. He'd sent a text message to Robin. "Come to Manor, now. Need your help." Hugo Strange may decide to make a return visit and while Strange alone wasn't a concern, Bruce couldn't be certain that he wouldn't hire some help. Wayne had no intention of taking any risks with Dick's life. An over-reaction it may be, but Bruce was beyond thinking of anything but his injured son.
Wayne's stomach rumbled. He felt hungry - famished, in fact. When was the last time he had eaten? Days ago. Cassiehad sent some apple pie, hadn't she? Bruce patted Dick's arm and rose to his feet, his eyes flicking to the clock. The nurse had another seven minutes before Bruce Wayne went on the warpath.
"Dick, I want to start the fire downstairs." The fire would help to warm the air in the chilly house. Dick couldn't afford to be cold. "I won't be a minute." Wayne was fairly certain that Dick couldn't hear him but he didn't want to take any chances.
VVVVVVVVVV
Arsenal followed Robin across the rooftops. The teenager was agile but lacked the fluidity Roy was used to seeing from 'Robin'. Grayson had been an acrobat without peer...Grayson had been the most incredible man Roy had ever known. Cries from below drew Roy's attention. Gotham was out of control. Batman's apparent death had been a red flag to a bull for every criminal in the city.
"According to Oracle, we're only about..." The beeping of Robin's communicator distracted him. Arsenal welcomed the pause. Tim was setting a rapid pace and leaping from building to building was not something Roy enjoyed. Arsenal glanced down at his watch and shook his head. He honestly didn't know how Tim and Dick did it. Work all day and then work all night.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arsenal caught sight of Robin's face, the limited light from the street lamps below illuminating it. The teenager was staring wide-eyed down at the words that had appeared in the screen of his small communicator.
"Something wrong?" Roy asked.
Tim lifted his face and handed the communicator to Roy.
Arsenal shrugged. "So the big black bat needs help. What of it?"
Robin blinked as he tried to assimilate the message. "He doesn't usually... I mean... Usually I just get orders. 'Report to the Manor, now'. That sort of thing. It isn't like him to..."
"Kid, I'm happy to help you, but if you think I'm going to submit to listening to any of the self-righteous garbage that comes out of Batman's mouth..."
"No, Roy. Please," Tim pleaded. "Something must be wrong. Really wrong if he's admitting that he needs help."
Arsenal studied the younger man's eyes. His anger began to boil again as an image of Dick's face appeared in his mind. Dick looking distressed and trying to hide it from his friends, but he never could. Not from Wally, Donna and Roy. They knew him too well. There had been times when Roy had seen Dick on an emotional roller-coaster because of something Batman had said or done... like replacing him with a younger child. How could anyone be so cold-hearted? Bruce had replaced Dick both as his partner and as his son. It was the latter that had hurt Dick and left Roy fighting for control... control had never been Roy's closest friend. In that instant, Roy's rage morphed into hatred.
"Alright, kid. Looks like I get to take care of my business sooner rather than later."
PART SEVEN COMING SOON
© August 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.