Authors Note: I dedicate the conversation between Superman and Batman to Megan, aka, Trunksblue. Haha. She, uh, she MADE me include Superman, I swear. Ok, not really. Thanks for laughing with me about the strange parts of my fanfiction SON, lolirl.

Also thanks to Sara, who inspired my cliffhangers because of the stories she writes and sends my way.

"Do I want shelter from the rain or the rain to wash me away?"

Jars of Clay I Need You

MaybeToday

By: The BatThing

Chapter Six: So, Carry Me

The ride to the hospital was in utter and total, unwanted but inescapable silence. A medical assistant in the back kept checking Dick's face, bandaging the boy where he was obviously hurt, and asking if there was any pain. The boy said his elbow hurt him, and so that was taken care of. Nothing broken, just bad bruising the medic said. In fact the worst of the damage was to the boy's face, where it appeared he had been struck over and over again, and from the looks of it – with the gun. Gashes, swelling – the works.

Bruce felt like a worthless idiot sitting in the back, floundering awkwardly when he should be strong. All the socialite could do was to listen to the siren wailing overhead. There was no emergency here, nothing that needed to be attended to right away, no real cause for the sirens. No, this was just an utterly horrible situation that had everyone wishing they could do something to help. But nobody could do anything now.

Bruce kept his eyes averted, only once or twice bothering to look at Dick. Each time he found the boy staring upward, looking washed-out. They had Dick on a stretcher for no apparent reason. No complaint was made though, he lay there, staring up at the ceiling of the ambulance, and hardly ever sparing a glance for anywhere else.

The trip took less than fifteen minutes and when they arrived everything seemed to go into a time warp of sorts. There were detectives, some of which tried to talk with Dick but Bruce told them as kindly as he could to back off, that Dick wasn't up to talking at the moment. Though, as soon as he had made his declaration, Dick decided to speak up.

"I don't really remember what happened. We were waiting for Mr. Ganthers, and he came in all crazy." He had muttered, and slowly and spiritlessly relayed the situation up until he and Greg had heard the three gun shots from the janitor's closet. "I don't remember what happened after that."

"Well." The detective who had announced he was Detective Lucero, looked at Bruce, as if the billionaire would be able to offer the lost information. "Do you remember the ambulance?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember coming out of the school."

Dick nodded.

"Well, Dick, when does your memory start up again?" They were trying to be as polite as they could about this whole situation. They were treading lightly, which Bruce was thankful for. Though, it didn't stop him from hating them for antagonizing the eleven-year-old beside him any less. "What was the next thing you remember? Did you wake up somewhere? Something like that?"

"I don't know."

"Ok, ok. Well, do you remember how you got away?"

Raising his dark blue eyes to meet the detective's own, Dick shook his head and shrugged. He was slouched as it was, hands clutched and hanging between his knees, looking as dejected as the night the young gypsy had lost his parents.

"So you don't remember anything that happened between the time you heard the three shots and the time you walked out of the school?"

Bruce decided to step in then, enough was enough. If Dick didn't want to talk, then they sure as hell weren't going to force him to. And while his main concern was for the boy sitting beside him, a small twinge in the back of his mind wanted the questions and answers to stop for his own personal reasons. He didn't want to know what else had happened, though oxymoronically, he did. Bruce wanted to know so he could end Ganthers in the proper and appropriate manner. "Perhaps the other boy knows more?"

Turning to face Bruce, Lucero gave a short series of nods. "He's been wounded, and currently isn't up to answering questions seeing as he had to go into surgery right away. Apparently during the time that Dick can't remember, Felix Harding was shot in the leg."

Dick didn't seem to care about what had just been said. He kept his eyes turned away from everyone.

"Thank you, Dick, you've been a great help." Lucero smiled, bending down a bit and offering his hand. "Thank you again and again. You were very brave."

Dick didn't return the hand offered.

"Bruce, we need to talk."

Bruce lifted his head at the voice. He knew that voice. Just a few feet down the hall, Clark Kent stood, towering above most others, and looking as normal as he could manage. The thick glasses were on, making him look geekier then anything – and his hair was slicked back in an awkward way. Though, no matter how much he messed with his clothes, his hair – no matter what he did, there was still that obvious kindness.

And maybe that's why Bruce didn't like him.

"Then talk." The billionaire growled. He took in a deep breath, realizing what an ass he was being. He gave his head a little shake, tossing his hand at Clark. "Forget I said that. What do you want to talk about?"

"Not here, Bruce, not here. I don't think this is the place. I know you don't want to leave Dick, but … we really need to talk about something."

As if cueing the perfect arrival, Dick turned down the hall and walked towards the two. His eyes worked from Bruce and slowly traced to land on Clark's figure, and there was the first sign of an emotion since the eleven-year-old had walked out of the school. He looked terrified. "What – what are you doing here?"

"What are you doing walking about?" Clark seemed twice as surprised as Dick about the matter. He looked at Bruce with a frown. "Shouldn't he be – I don't know, somewhere?"

"We were headed home."

"You were going home?"

"Yes. Alfred's on his way as we speak." It was Bruce's turn to look confused. "What?"

Clark held up a hand to Bruce, and turned, facing Dick with a look of grave concern. "Where were you just now?"

Silence.

"Damnit Clark, what's your problem?" Bruce snapped, not sure why he was getting so mad at the Man of Steel for asking a simple question. He couldn't deny he was curious as to the intentions. Dick hadn't been gone too long - said he had to go to the bathroom, and went. It had only been a few minutes. What exactly was Clark getting at? Bruce wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"We need to talk, Bruce."

Dick oddly enough spoke up then. He gave his head a little shake and reached out, taking a handful of Bruce's jacket. "But we were going home." The child shook his head a little more, his blue eyes pleading. "I wanna' go home."

Clark stared at Dick for a few seconds and then looked back at the billionaire. He said nothing about the boy's words, but kept looking at Bruce as if waiting for him to do something about it. After all, who else was going to?

"We'll be right back. You can wait a few minutes here for us."

"No. Don't leave me."

"Ok, ok … you can come with if you like." Bruce wasn't sure how true that promise was, glancing up at Clark he didn't see any affirmation or confirmation. "Clark?"

"No, Bruce! Don't." And then, all the sudden, the eleven-year-old fell to his knees, gagging and holding his gut. For a few seconds nothing happened other than dry-heaves, startling and drawing everyone's attention, and then Dick threw up. A few tears were starting to trace down his cheeks, hitting a few gashes and causing them to sting. Bruce couldn't go with Clark, he couldn't. He couldn't. ahe couldn't because then Clark would tell him, tell him everything.

"Dick?" Bruce questioned, almost demanded, kneeling beside the boy.

He threw up again; unable to stop his gut from spasms, shaking his head was about all he could accomplish.

"If you can't clam down, Dick, we're going to have to get a doctor. Can you look at me?" He was relieved to see the gypsy meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I need to go home."

Bruce wasn't an idiot. He could deduce that Dick wasn't just throwing up from a sudden attack of the stomach flu. No, Dick didn't want him to go talk with Clark, for whatever reason there might be … and there could be hundreds. Clark had saved him, and probably knew something that Dick didn't want anyone to know. So, now it was a battle between giving into the eleven-year-old or going to find out what had really happened to him. Clearing his throat, Bruce managed to make his decision. "Dick, I need to go talk with Clark. You can come with, or you can stay here."

Dick chocked a bit on a sob, shaking his head and now clutching some of Bruce's pant leg. He put his head against the man's shin and began to sob then and there. Simply sitting and sobbing was more then enough to gather a small crowd of onlookers trying their best to act like they weren't watching, but it was apparent everyone was.

A sight to be seen.

Bruce wasn't embarrassed by the outburst, but he didn't enjoy it. Knowing better than to get upset or angry about the matter, considering the situation Dick had just come from, he took in a slow breath. This was becoming more worrisome. Bruce had feared what Clark wanted to say, but now it was trepidation – a dread to hear what Clark had to tell him. For Dick to be acting this way about it, then there couldn't be anything easy to hear. But that was part of the problem. Now he had to know what information Clark had. He had to know what had happened to Dick, to the kid he swore to look after. Sighting a two nurses watching, Bruce signaled a hand in one's direction. "Could you maybe offer a hand?"

The nurse nodded and stepped timidly forward. "Of course?"

"No! No!" Dick shook his head, giving Bruce a heartbreaking look that stalled the man for a few seconds. "Don't, no, don't!"

"Just for a few seconds, Dick." Bruce promised. He started to move away from the boy, motioning for Clark to follow, when Dick got up and ran after him. "Dick, go wait with the nurse, ok? Please."

"Hi, Dick. My name is Mark Willimas." The nurse hesitantly offered. He reached out and took the boy's shoulder, trying his best to smile. It soon fell when Dick wrenched out of his grasp and grabbed back at Bruce, managing to catch hold of his guardian's arm. Bruce pried the boy away again and exhaled when Dick simply reattached.

"Dick, listen to me, ok? Clark and I need to talk. I need to hear what Clark is going to tell me. I need to."

"Nothing! He doesn't need to tell you anything! Why c-can't we just go home. I want to go home now!"

"I know you don't want me to know, but I need to. I promise, nothing bad will happen if you go with the nurse. It'll only be a minute, and then I'll come back. A minute." Bruce pulled away again. "Dick?"

Dick shook his head, gasping for air between sobs. "You can't know! You cuh-can't!"

Nodding to the nurse, Bruce moved away. Mark timidly grasped Dick's arm, wishing that he hadn't been around to be assigned this mission. It wasn't going to be easy – holding back a sobbing kid that had just gone through something so emotionally distressing that he was throwing up. Glancing back at the nurse that had been with him, he motioned for her to help. She moved to stand beside Dick and started to talk to him, a futile attempt to calm him down.

"He'll be back in a few moments, sweetie." She cooed.

"NO!" A scream, bloody murder, Dick struggled against the hand's holding him back. Seeing that he wasn't going to be thwart Bruce into not going with Clark, the eleven-year-old began another reel of dry heaves, falling to his knees. Though, even that didn't detour the billionaire walking away from him. "BRUCE!" His mentor had gone away with Clark, and would soon hear what Dick didn't want him to hear. "BRUCE!"

The nurse was as his side, putting her arms around him, feeling her own heart break at the sight. The whole hospital had heard about the attack at the school, and they all could easily recognize who Bruce Wayne was. "He'll be back, you're ok."

It was a chance to hide away, and Dick took it. He buried his face in his hands and hid on her shoulder, sobbing away and away. "Bruce! Bruce! Bruce!" He didn't stop calling out the name.

"This had better be good." Bruce growled as they turned the corner, leaving Dick. He could still hear the cries and even occasional screams, each one telling him to go back and bring Dick home. What was he doing? For a moment he stopped and began to turn when Clark gave him a look.

"You need to hear this, Bruce."

"Why is he crying like that? He doesn't cry like that." Taking the lead, Bruce led them out of the hospital and made the way through the parking lot. "Is this fine?"

"I suppose?"

Bruce just stared at him, waiting for a real answer.

"It's fine. Ok. I just wanted to tell you what I saw. I figure you don't really know what happened in there. I didn't assume Dick would, I didn't think he would … I, um, that he would tell you right away. But you should know." Clark ran a hand down his face, glancing at the concrete below his feet for a few seconds. He didn't know how to say what he wanted to. There wasn't any way he could just say it easy like – no, this was going to be hard no matter how he did it.

"Clark. Hurry."

"Well, I found the one kid, Greg, first. He was pretty scared, stuck in a janitor's closet with a hurt leg and all, who wouldn't be at his age?" How like Clark that was, learning and remembering the name of a boy he rescued, a boy that he probably would never see again. "He told me that I needed to save his friend, Dick – and that the teacher took him and was going to kill him. So, naturally I told Greg to wait and went to go find Dick. He wasn't hard to find, actually – just a few classrooms down the hall. I got there as fast as I could Bruce, you know that. I just, I just wish I could have gotten there faster. I know you were counting on me."

Bruce said nothing, his arms crossed across his chest like a shield. He held his head up, attempting to stare down at Clark, which was virtually impossible considering the difference in height. Though, he took no notice, simply listening to the muttering and stuttering as the story unfolded slowly and painfully.

A sigh and Clark shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them, staring directly at Bruce – man to man. "I saw before I got in the room, heard before I got in the room. That man … that man was hitting Dick across the face, yelling at him. He was telling him to – to stop s-struggling, that Dick should do as he was told. He was, um, he was touching him. I don't think he got very far, Bruce."

Bruce gave a gasp, turning away at the realization that he hadn't been breathing. Using a hand to steady himself against the car, the unmasked Dark Knight nodded, glaring across the lot. "What's that mean Clark?"

"It means that I don't think he got far. I know that doesn't mean much to you, considering it's not fact … but it's what I think." Silence for a few seconds and Clark took a tentative step forward, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I-."

"Don't touch me, Clark." Without even so much as a thank you, Bruce turned and went right back into the hospital. To his utter shock, Dick was still calling out for him. Not near as loud, just a simple and occasional mutter between the tears, but he was still at it. Kneeling down, Bruce frowned deeply, looking between the two nurses who had stayed loyal to the boy. "Dick? I'm back."

Dick didn't leave the nurse's shoulder. He knew Bruce knew the awful truth now. There was no going back. There was no chance that he could ever hide it.

To be continued …

kokomocalifornia: Why can't I spell california, I don't know if I even spelled it right that time, gah. Oh well, you know what I mean when I attempt to spell it. Thanks for the review, and thanks for being cool about the Superman ordeal. Apparently people didn't hate it as much as I thought they would, lol.

Kanny: The Bruce and Dick moment is totally for you, lol, every sentance. Infact, we'll say you wrote it, that's how much I'll dedicate it to you, lol. Yeah, I was hoping to convey some sort of love expressed by calling Clark, I just didn't get it out too well. At least you got it, haha. I bet others did too, I just wasn't sure how well I managed. Oh well, lol. And man, I'm dragging my feet with this fiction, I need to get back and pumped with it. I'm on chapter nine, and slowing down - or well, ten, with nothing written for ten. I must finish before summer starts, otherwise it's hopeless. Keep your fingers crossed, haha. I don't want a two month break, that'd suck. And you write fictions?! What's your penname? I want to see this!!

Steelelf: TZ is toonzone - some place I used to hang and pretend to be cool when I was like, 13 years old. LOLIRL, wow, time passes. Anyhow - I'll figure out how the heck I recognize your penname, maybe somebody else has it or something, or maybe I just dreampt it once. I dunno. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. I'm glad you're enjoying it and the cliff hanger. That was inspired by a friend who is awesome with cliff hangers. Thanks so much!

StateofMatter: Good point, I didn't think anyone would really catch that Bruce caring enough to call Superman, but you and kokomocalifornia both mentioned it. I'm pleased, lol. I didn't even really catch it until I was reading it through again, I was like: "Ha, that's why he called Superman - not cause it'll make the fiction easier to write." This is true. And honestly, I hope Bruce can help Dick too, when Dick gets hurt he ususally goes all Bat-ah-la-mode, or something. I noticed that in the comics, and now I'm noticing it in my fiction in later chapters. I really hope Bruce helps, lolirl. Great news, huh? Thanks so much!

loppylouise123: never sent me any email saying when I got a review, it made me mad. I wanted to tell someone, so you get to hear the news. Thank you for listening, lol. Yeah, Superman's ok I guess - sometimes. I'm learning to like him a little more with time. My brother adores him, just because of the movie that came out. The movie, bleh. Oh well, in order to force a love of Superman onto myself I've given my computer a Superman wallpaper. It isn't really working, but I'll give it another week.

Johanna: I loved writing the part about Bruce being a coward, I don't know why. I'm glad you mentioned it. It was fun looking in the thesouritouslible or however you spell it, finding all the words. It was good fun, lol. Thanks for reviewing, and I like your name. I named my American girl doll, back in the day, Johanna when I went to go play with my friends. She was actually Kirstien, but when she hung with the other dolls, she was Johanna.