So Far So Fast

Chapter Four

1

Sunday, June 3rd --- Wayne Residence, 11:41 AM

Tim really would have gone on sleeping if his father hadn't literally picked him up out of bed and forced him to walk across the floor.

"Dad?" He asked. "What's going on? God, what time is it?"

"It's almost twelve, Tim."

"Couldn't I have slept another hour? Or three?"

"No. No, it's time to get up. Wake Dick up— I've got breakfast ready."

Tim grumbled something that might have been in English. He moved past his father and headed towards the stairs to the loft.

The door opened with a creak, and he went up the stairs with heavy footsteps. He made as much noise as possible. Maybe, if he was loud enough, he'd wake Dick up without having to shake him and stuff.

Oddly enough, when he reached the top of the stairs, he couldn't find Dick. It wasn't as if Dick hadn't gone to sleep, because the looked rumpled. But still...

No sign of Dick in the bed.

Tim turned back towards the stairs, calling out. "Hey, Dad! Are you sure Dick isn't up already?"

Bruce called back, "I'm sure! He hasn't come down for breakfast yet."

He frowned and turned back towards the loft. An idea springing to mind, he checked the window.

Locked.

He catalogued the situation in his head: not downstairs, not in bed, window locked, not visible.

This was really stupid.

He stopped and listened, and realized that he couldn't hear Dick snoring.

He could hear his father rush downstairs. On the ground floor, a door slammed open and then shut. His father pounded back up the stairs to the second floor.

"His motorcycle's in the garage! He's in there somewhere!"

Tim moved to check Dick's makeshift closet. He shoved the screen aside and found nothing. Well, that left one place. Under the bed.

And that was where he found Dick: flattened onto the ground, under his bed.

"I got him! He's under his bed!"

Dick didn't stir.

"Dick! Hey, Dick! Wake up!"

Tim marched to the window and pulled the shutters open. Light poured into the room.

Dick made no sound.

Tim realized, as he bent down to try and tug his older brother out from under the bed, that he couldn't hear his brother breathe.

Dick's hand felt cold to the touch.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." That was the only thing he could think to say. "Dad! Daaaaad! Daaaad! Dick isn't breathing!"

"What?"

"DICK ISN'T BREATHING!"

"I'll be right there!"

And Bruce shoved his way into the room. His legs went like a mile a minute as he practically sprinted up the stairs, and then towards Dick's bed.

His father pushed him out of the way, practically flinging him across the room.

"Dick! Dick! Dick, listen to me, you gotta wake up! Dick!"

He saw Bruce reach for Dick's hand, saw him grasp it and pull Dick out from under the bed. He saw his father start shaking his adopted son, shaking and shaking, and now he was shouting.

He checked his pulse. Shook his head, checked Dick's pulse again.

"No pulse," Bruce said. "Tim, go get the phone and call the police."

And then Dick woke up.

"God," Dick snapped. "It's fucking bright in here."

Bruce, who was still holding Dick's wrist, blinked. "Language."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

"Don't you talk to me like that, young man! I thought you were dead!"

"Whoa! Hold it. I'm not dead. Why would you even think that?"

Tim snorted. "Maybe because you weren't breathing and didn't have a pulse?"

"Are you kidding me? You seriously thought I was dead?" Dick pulled his wrist away from Bruce. "Look, Fath, I'm not dead. I'm talking to you and moving, aren't I?"

"Dick, why can't I feel your pulse?"

"No idea. But I wouldn't worry, if I were you. I feel fine. Heck, I feel great! I feel the best I've felt in fu—freaking years." Dick grinned.

Tim blinked. Something was wrong with the way Dick was grinning. It didn't look all psychotic, the way it had the night before. No, instead it looked...

Had some of Dick's teeth gotten longer? He could have sworn that Dick had actual canines, now.