The next day – the cafeteria:
Joey had finally been able to do it. He had finally found a chance to slide the pen into the side pocket of Kathy's backpack, a place she would easily see it if she needed to quickly pull out a pen. Now he was sitting on the west side of the cafeteria, carefully watching Dick's table and hoping something would happen.
"Where are my pens?!" Dick exclaimed quietly, frantically searching through his binder and then his entire backpack. "We have to outline everything today!"
Social studies was his next class, and the students were working on world history maps. They had drawn everything out yesterday in pencil, and today's task was tracing everything in pen and then moving on to the timeline.
Kathy was fretting for Dick. He would surely get in trouble if he didn't have the supplies he was supposed to have. Lifting her backpack, the freshman started to unzip it to find a pen. There was one in the side pocket, so she rezipped and grabbed the black pen.
"You can borrow this one," she said sweetly.
Several other friends had been opening their backpacks but everyone froze when Kathy offered her pen to Dick. They knew he would take it – it would be impolite to refuse it – but they kept their backpacks open just in case.
"Thanks," Dick said, sighing internally as he accepted the pen. "I'll give it back to you tomorrow."
Giggling, Kathy replied, "You can keep it, I have more."
Nodding to acknowledge the comment, Dick slid the pen into the side pocket of his backpack, relieved that he wasn't going to get in trouble with Bruce for not having a pen in Mr. Sutton's class.
Joey saw the girl hand the pen to her crush, and he grinned.
Fifteen minutes later, the kids filed into social studies and retrieved their maps from the teacher's desk. Half the class was upset with the substitute for blaming the missing test on Dick, so they ignored the greetings from the man and sat down.
Placing his backpack on the floor beside him, Dick flattened his map and pulled out the borrowed pen. He uncapped it, and an unusual smell assaulted his senses. This wasn't his regular pen, though, so he ignored it and placed the tip on the first line of his map. As he gently pushed down, the tip slid off and ink raced across his map, his hand, the desk, and onto the floor.
"Shoot," he whispered.
"What happened here, Dick?" Mr. Sutton, who Dick hadn't even seen arrive, asked from above him.
"The pen, it broke and…"
"Obviously, young man. Don't you think you should be doing something to clean it up, instead of sitting here making excuses?"
Dick stood up and walked to the front of the room. Angrily, he grabbed the paper towels and universal cleaning agent off the counter by the teacher's desk and returned to his spot. His map was ruined, the ink had thoroughly soaked it and nothing was visible anymore. Ink was dripping off the desk like blood, and the floor had a small pool of black.
Mr. Sutton brought over a trash can, and the first thing Dick tossed in was his ruined map, followed by the pen. Cleaning the desk and floor took almost fifteen minutes, and no matter how many times Dick washed his hands after that, the black ink stayed on like glue.
When everything was as clean as it could be until the janitors could take care of it, Mr. Sutton gave Dick a new paper.
"You're going to have to do most of this at home, Dick," he said. "The rest of the class will finish tomorrow and you need to stay on track with them."
Dick nodded and flattened the paper out. Five minutes later, the bell rang, and the boy sighed in consternation. Folding the paper, he slid it into his backpack and headed for his next class.
The last two classes passed slowly for Dick. His left hand, the one that was spotted with black ink, was itchy and slightly swollen. Minor bouts of dizziness assaulted him at random times, and he had a headache that alternated between pounding against his brain and gently throbbing against his temple.
It affected his concentration, and he was sure that he had just failed the science test in his last class. He was going to get in big trouble, for the second time this week, and Bruce's anger was going to be accompanied by disappointment again.
Determined to admit the incident in social studies and the probable failure of the science test before his teachers could call, Dick waited by the front door at the time Bruce usually arrived home. He had finished most of his homework – during which he had nearly thrown up at least four times – but his map was not yet outlined in pen and he hadn't even started the timeline.
Dick had also washed his hands as many times as he could without causing Alfred to inquire as to why he was doing so. The black spots remained, and his hand was a little more than slightly swollen, but he didn't want to have any excuses for Bruce to immediately disregard so he decided to keep that fact to himself.
Bruce walked in the door and the first thing he saw was the slightly-pale face of his ward. The teen's hands were in his pockets and minute beads of sweat were shining on his forehead.
"My pen broke in social studies and made a giant mess and ruined my map and I have to do it here but I haven't finished yet and I'm pretty sure I failed the science test today and I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't be surprised if my teachers call and I'll accept any consequences you decide to give me even though I didn't try to break my pen – well, Kathy's pen – it just happened and there was nothing I could do about it but the science test is my fault so I'm sorry."
The rambling sentence was difficult for Bruce to follow, but he was Batman so he caught most of it. Instead of reacting to the words, however, Bruce noticed the nearly-imperceptible trembling of Dick's body, and the slightly-dazed look in his eyes, and the sweat that had accumulated so much that it was beginning to slide down the boy's face.
"Are you okay, chum?" the man asked, completely ignoring Dick's jumbled explanation.
"Yeah, why…wouldn't I be?"
Bruce heard the tiny gasp in the middle of the sentence that nobody except Batman would have been able to hear. His careful studying of the boy's body language intensified, and a small ball of concern began rolling around in his mind.
"You look a little pale," the man commented. "Are you feeling sick?"
"Um, no," Dick replied, swallowing the urge to throw up that had just assaulted him. He was not going to give Bruce any excuses, and feeling sick was an excuse.
Bruce watched Dick shift his weight, and immediately realized that the boy had not done it on purpose. The teenager was swaying slightly, and his eyes were now darting around the room. His concern growing, the man set down his briefcase.
"Did you hit your head on something, chum?" he asked, taking a step closer.
"No, why?" Dick whispered.
"You look dizzy, too, so I just want to make sure you're okay."
Bruce laid a large hand on the much smaller forehead. It was sweaty, but not feverish.
"'M fine, no ex-cus for fall, uh, fail. Sry," the teen mumbled.
Dropping his hand, Bruce wrapped his arm around Dick's waist just as the boy's knees buckled. He guided them into the living room and sat them down on the couch.
"Alfred," he called as he pulled Dick's hands out of his pockets.
The left one almost didn't come out, and Bruce widened his eyes, alarm dancing through them, when he finally pulled it out. It was red and swollen, with large black dots scattered on it. Black lines that looked like snakes were beginning to travel up his arm, and now the teen was wheezing.
"Welcome home, Mas…"
Alfred gasped when he saw Dick's condition.
"Good heavens, sir, what happened?!" he exclaimed.
"I don't know, has he been like this all afternoon?"
"No, Master Bruce, I would have noticed and said something!"
"Fiiiiiiine, no 'scuzes," Dick slurred. "'M fiiiiiiiine. Godda do worrrrrld maple, uh mapple, uh, mappy…?"
Dick couldn't remember the exact word, but knew he needed to finish it – whatever 'it' was – before school tomorrow.
"Master Bruce, I think we need to take him downstairs," Alfred said quietly.
Bruce nodded and stood up. Dick fell listlessly back against the couch and continued mumbling about being fine. Shaking his head, and knowing Dick wouldn't be able to get there by himself, Bruce scooped the teenager up and strode toward the entrance to the Batcave.
Three minutes later, Dick was lying on a medical cot and Batman was taking a sample of his blood. Alfred covered the now-shivering boy with a heated blanket and encased his left hand in ice in an attempt to reduce the swelling. That was a mistake, the butler realized when the black snake lines began traveling faster up the boy's arm.
Quickly, Alfred removed the ice and placed the cold hand under the warm blanket. Batman, meanwhile, glared at the chemical names that were showing up on the blood analyzer machine. He recognized none of them, but at least they knew Dick had been drugged. But at school? How did someone go about drugging a teenager at school?
"We need a counter-attack, Master Batman. The lines, which I'm assuming are poisonous, are almost up to his shoulder."
The statement startled Batman, and he quickly returned to Dick's side.
"I don't see any needle marks. How did it get in his bloodstream?" Batman asked, frustration outlining the question.
"I don't know, sir, but we need to do something about it quickly. If it gets to his heart…"
"It won't," Batman interrupted, although concern was very evident in his voice. "We'll find a way to stop it. He'll be fine."
But the black lines continued to flow and, upon reaching his shoulder, shifted onto a downward path toward Dick's heart.
"You need to bleed it out, sir," Alfred advised softly.
Batman didn't move, so the butler swiftly gathered what they would need. With quiet precision, Alfred gently sliced open Dick's left shoulder. Blood mixed with a black liquid began flowing from the wound. Batman automatically reached for a towel to staunch the flow, but Alfred held up his hand.
"The black has disappeared from his hand and the swelling is going down," the butler commented. "Wait it out a little longer, sir."
Dick's face grew paler than it had been before as the life-sustaining liquid spilled out of his body.
"Get a bag of blood, Master Batman," Alfred ordered.
Batman still didn't move, so the butler tried again.
"A bag of blood, sir, and do it now!" he commanded loudly.
Jumping into action, the hero rushed away and almost-instantaneously returned with the requested item.
Dick hadn't moved since they had laid him on the table, other than the consistent shivering, and his wheezing had turned into jerky sniffs with too much time in between them. Alfred covered the teen's nose and mouth with an oxygen mask and impatiently waited for the black liquid to disappear from the boy's bloodstream.
Batman had swept a sample of the blood mixture into a cup and slid it into the blood analyzing machine.
"It's…ink," he stated, confusion in his voice.
Dick's words floated through the man's head: "My pen broke in social studies…"
"Social studies again," the Caped Crusader murmured as he unconsciously folded his arms across his chest.
"Sir, wasn't the detention in social studies?" Alfred inquired from his spot at Dick's side.
Batman murmured a yes and then began to slowly pace.
"An incomplete test that he claimed was 'lost' and a broken pen," he said thoughtfully, attempting to find a connection.
"Perhaps, sir, you should go check his pens while I hook him up for a transfusion. As soon as this da…darn ink is gone."
The last sentence was whispered to himself, but Batman still heard it. Things were really bad if Alfred swore, which he nearly had. Taking the older man's advice, Batman raced away to find Dick's backpack.
He returned to the Batcave less than ten minutes later.
"There were no pens, anywhere," he said to his butler.
Alfred looked up in surprise.
"Master Dick always keeps at least four pens in his binder at all times, sir. Did you check his entire backpack?"
"Yes, of course," Batman replied impatiently. "No pens. Plenty of pencils and highlighters, but no pens."
"Then perhaps Batman should check the school before the janitors begin cleaning up, sir," Alfred stated wisely.
"But Dick…"
"Shall be taken care of, Master Batman. I am rather experienced at this sort of thing."
He didn't want to leave, but he knew Alfred was right. Any evidence needed to be gathered before it could be cleaned up and taken away by an unsuspecting janitor. So, Batman strode to the Batmobile and climbed inside.
"Don't let him bleed out, Alfred!" the hero called as he started the engine.
The Batmobile disappeared down the tunnel as the butler sighed and rolled his eyes.
"As if I didn't know that, sir," he commented to the air around him.