Disclaimer and notes in part one.
We're reaching the end of this tale. Well, for the most part that is. There are, as of now, 4 chapters (this one included) and an epilogue left. As promised, this will be completely posted by August 17th, have no fear. Thank you for all the feedback thus far in this story.
And now we finally have our young hero's journey back into the world of consciousness, though I wager hell wish he'd stayed out by the end. :-)
Enjoy.
Part Eleven
Jack hadn't moved since Bruce left him with those harsh last words.
You're the one who put him there.
Jack found he couldn't deny that statement; he was the reason his son was laying, near-death on some sterile hospital sheet. He hadn't been able to protect Timothy from himself and his problems. Tim never should have gotten mixed up in any of this. Jack shook his head and laid his forehead down on the soft bed listening to the soft beeps alerting him to his son's heart rate.
The old man took a deep breath and allowed his body to completely still itself. He even held his breath and simple did not move anything. It was as if by not moving he could stop all these terrible things from occurring; somehow his lack of mobility could stop time and stop the forward movement and the clashes that he life had been having. But, he knew it was too late for that. In a sigh Jack released the air in his lungs and raised his eye to stare at Tim. It was much too late.
Looking at his child it still amazed Jack that Tim was even alive. He was so pale. So pale and still. No one could be alive and be so very still for so long especially not his son. Even before his jump into the crime fighting world, Timothy had always been a boy filled with movement. He was never uncontrollable, as a matter of fact as a child Tim was wonderful. But, he was always moving in some way whether it was a tapping foot, a hand gently playing with a small toy, or when he lost all inhibitions and took off running someplace. It used to drive Janet mad that she could rarely get Tim to just standstill, but a part of Jack loved it. It made the boy stand out and Jack always felt his child would excel physically. The ironic part was that he did just not in the way Jack had planned.
But, now, watching Timothy just lay there and not move was unnerving. Jack expected that, at any moment, the monitors would scream and Tim's heart would stop fighting; Tim would stop fighting. A part of Jack even worried that Tim was fighting conscious and didn't want to wake up. It was irrational, but Jack feared his son didn't want to leave the happy state of unawareness he was in and face the world he had grown to hate.
Jack wasn't blind; he knew how unhappy his son had become. He knew what taking away Robin had done to Tim, but he also believed it was for the best. It had to be for the best. After all, once Tim was away from Bruce, away from that nightlife, he would become the normal teenager that he should be. It was only now, during these last few days, the Jack realized Tim had never been normal and never could be. Making him behave like every other teenager was killing the boy.
The man shook his head to clear his thoughts. Everything had gone so wrong. They were suppose to be a family. They were suppose to be happy and live in their little house in peace and serenity. They were suppose to be normal. Yet, Jack realized all his attempts to have his family be a family had failed because of him. Timothy had done what Jack asked and could not be blamed for the way things had presently turned out. Jack again felt guilt stab at him knowing that, in some twisted way, everything that had lead to this moment had been his fault.
Jack hadn't been there when Tim needed a father so he'd turned to Bruce. Jack hadn't been there when Tim needed him to listen so he became Robin. Jack hadn't been there through Tim's course as Robin, so he lied. Jack hadn't been there to save himself from falling into gambling so Tim was kidnapped. And beaten. And shot.
Lowering his head to Tim's bed again, the older man began to weep earnestly. Bruce was right: He had put his son where he was now. Jack allowed himself to cry over all his failings in respect to Tim. He allowed the pain to wash over him and shame to grow inside him. He had never been a father and, when he finally felt like being one, Tim hadn't needed one. Still, Jack shoved himself on his child claiming to know what was best, but the irony was, he didn't even know his son anymore. Tim had grown up without him and moved on.
Jack raised his head and looked at Tim's ashen face. His son didn't deserve someone like him; he deserved and needed someone so much better. With shaky steps, Jack rose from his seat and to one of the medical desks nearby. Taking out a crumbled piece of paper from who knew where, Jack began to write.
…….
Tim woke up to the sound of beeping. It was a rather annoying sound, but the young man refused to open his eyes. He only wished that this entire episode was over and that he was someplace safe. Tim had been through enough and he was tired. So very tired and didn't have the energy to face those men again, all he wanted to do was sleep in a safe place like the Bat Cave.
Wait, Tim thought as a sudden memory came rushing back to him. Bruce standing over him as Batman while he felt himself slip away and conscious leave him. The young man's eyes suddenly jerked open and he was greeted with a very tall ceiling. Not able to believe his eyes, or his luck for that matter, Tim rolled his head to the side paying no heed to the pain the movement caused. Looking to his left, he saw the Bat Computer emitting a soft glow and nearly broke into a joyous laugh.
He was safe.
He was home.
Alerted by the teenager's movement, Alfred made his way to Tim's side. "It is good to see you, young sir." The Englishman smiled and Tim couldn't help but return the gesture.
The teenager opened his mouth to speak a greeting, but found himself parched and unable to do so. How long have I been out, the young man thought while he tried again to speak. Alfred appeared, mere seconds later, with a glass of water.
"I am afraid that you must be quite thirsty." Tim took the offered water and relished in the coolness the liquid gave him as it traveled down his throat. Finding his voice, Tim asked the current question on his mind: "How long?"
The Englishman smiled warmly. "Just a little over three days."
The teenager blinked. Three days. That was a new record for him. "How…"
Alfred cut him off. "Save your strength and relax. I shall alert Master Bruce that you are awake and he will fill you in." The older man placed a cool hand on Tim's slightly warm forehead. "For now, just rest."
The suggestion of sleep from Alfred was too powerful for Tim to ignore and he closed his eyes drifting back into the unconscious he had just come out of. The butler watched his charge for a few silent moments, feeling a sense of relief at his waking. Things would be better now that the youngest Master was awake. Taking a quick look at the IVs, Alfred walked to the console in order to alert Bruce.
…….
Alfred did as he said he would, and found Bruce sitting in his office looking over actual Wayne Enterprises information. Regularly, although not religiously, Bruce would make certain his company was still on the path to success. After all, Batman and company's equipment didn't come cheap. When the butler opened the door, Bruce looked up.
"Master Timothy has woken up." Since the shooting, Tim's health had stayed relatively good and both men assumed his unconsciousness was still due to the loss of blood. They were remarkably lucky, though, that infection had not set in.
Bruce stood from his work. "How is he?" He asked as he moved out of the room with Alfred following behind.
"He appeared awake and coherent although utterly exhausted. A little warm to the touch and I believe a slight fever may have set in. Everything else, relatively speaking, is fine."
Even if the young man had been lucky and avoided infection, his injuries were still very grave and it would be weeks till the bullet wound healed properly. As for the leg, with Tim awake now, work could be done with it but, as of now, the prognosis still looked dismal; the injury appeared too blunt, too abrasive, and too long ago for proper healing to still be an option. Both men, however, kept that thought to themselves.
Alfred and Bruce moved to the Cave and found the young man asleep having taken the Englishman's suggestion to heart. Bruce looked the teenager over and already noticed an increase in coloring. The two men went about their check-up in silence. Although the stress seemed to lift from the Cave there was still a black cloud that hung over the sickbay. It had been three days since Bruce and Jack Drake had faced off alone in front of the unconscious teenager. Three days since they'd found a note left for Tim by his father. Three days since Jack Drake had walked out on his sick son.
Neither knew what they were going to say when Tim asked where his father was. Or what they could.
…….
It wasn't until later that night that Tim re-awoke. This time disorientation didn't come to him and the young man sighed contently. He still hurt, very much so, but there was a sense that it didn't matter because he knew he was in the best hands imaginable and that eased his mind. Looking around the room, the teenager smiled to see Dick sitting with a laptop situated on his lap typing.
"Hey, Dick."
The typing ceased and the older man looked up with a smiled that mirrored Tim's. Dick closed the computer and made his way to the teenager's side.
"Hey, Bro. How ya feeling?"
"Sore." Tim answered with a smile and watched Dick nodded knowingly. "And tired."
Dick rubbed a hand over the younger man's head, messing his hair. "I know how ya feel." And he really meant it and, sadly, anyone in the Bat Family could say the same thing and also mean it. "You gave us quite a scare." The older man removed his hand and let it fall at his side. "Don't do that again," he said in all seriousness.
Tim, knowing he had no doubt scared a few years off of Dick's life (and his own!) shook his head. "Don't worry, I'll leave the getting shot to Bruce."
Dick laughed. "Good."
The two men fell into silence after that. There were many thoughts and questions rushing through Tim's mind, but he could hardly focus on any of them due to the drugs that coursed through his system. His detective mind also worked furiously trying to piece together the events that he remembered and how he ended up where he was. The best he could do, though, was: I got shot. I passed out. I got mended. And I woke up. It wasn't to greatest detective work he had ever done and left a lot more to the unknown than the known.
Tim was uncertain of so many things. He wanted to know where his dad was. He wanted to know how he was. He wanted to know what happened to Mic and Hal. He wanted to know how long he'd been out. But, most importantly, he wanted to know what this whole thing was really about.
As if reading the bubbling questions, Dick spoke up. "Easy there, kiddo. You'll have your chance to ask questions, but right now you just need to rest."
The teenager smiled. "You're good," he said and the older man smirked.
"I learned from the best," Dick said with a knowing smile. "For now, just go back to sleep."
Tim nodded, but didn't close his eyes. He needed to know one of the answers to his questions. "Where's my dad?" He asked and noticed a flash of…something pass over Dick's face.
"He's out." The older man answered and instantly Tim knew he was being given the run-around. Dick knew Tim knew this as well and felt unease grow in him. There wasn't anything he could say that would satisfy the teenager's curiosity and, in the end, would only make things worse. Dick had been filled in by Alfred that Jack had left and would not be coming back anytime soon. Knowing it was none of his business, Dick kept questions to himself understanding that he would know if Tim wanted him to know.
Tim carefully watched Dick's face and could see uncertainly and apprehension written all over it. He, too, had learned from the best and knew when to push and when not to push. This was a time not to push so, begrudgingly, Tim nodded knowing the Dick understood he was unsatisfied with the answer.
"Okay," the teenager said and gave his older brother a small smile. "Let him know I wanna see him if I'm asleep."
There was an unsaid challenge to Tim's words that Dick recognized. He was calling his bluff in as innocent a way as possible. The older man only nodded finding himself unable to utter another lie to the younger man.
"I'll get Alfred to come and fix you a nice dinner." Dick said as he made his way slowly out of the sickbay. Tim didn't give an affirmative or negative answer, but just watched the older man leave. Although he was determined to stay awake for Dick when he came back and press him a little more, Tim found he was unable to stop his eyes lids from closing and, before he knew it, he was asleep once more.
TBC…