So I haven't actually read all of the stories around Blockbuster and Chemo yet (life is always getting in the way of comic books :P) so if I get something wrong, let me know. I might not change this story, but I'd like to read cannon at the very least :P
Dick was mumbling furiously, frantically by the time they arrived at the Batcave. Bruce would have almost preferred him throwing up to these heartbreakingly weak cries. Whatever he was seeing behind his eyelids it was torture. The poor kid was unconscious, he shouldn't have nightmares when he wasn't even asleep. "Dick," Bruce begged him desperately as he pulled the car to a stop. "Dick wake up." But he didn't. He didn't even move, other than to whimper.
"Alfred!" he roared as he jumped out the car and tore around it. His heart was beating wildly, erratically, he wasn't even trying to get it under control but it slowed a beat or two when Dick was back in his arms. His son struggles were so pathetic it frightened him. "Alfred please," he groaned, holding Dick out towards the older man who was hurrying towards them both, his own face ash white.
"Bring him up," Alfred ordered.
"He's been throwing up for the last hour," Bruce said worriedly as he felt his boy's stomach muscles tensing.
"Radiation poisoning," Alfred said. "He is in for a very unpleasant few days, but if we can keep him hydrated he'll be all right. Have you checked him over for other injuries?"
"Some head trauma," Bruce explained, surprised to find his tongue sticking in his mouth. He swallowed. "A few lacerations in his arms and chest but other than that, I think he's okay."
"Good," Alfred said. "Then we were lucky."
Bruce lay him down carefully on the table, trying to do it as quickly as possible but also pressing his body close to Dick for as long as he could. When the only thing left to do was set the boy's head down, Bruce regretted it. His stomach lurched nervously as he step away, or maybe it was the whole world, it was hard for him to tell.
Feeling sick Bruce backed up and let Alfred sweep in. He might have moved like a professional, steady handed and straight faced, but Bruce would see he was frightened too – pale, with his lips pressed too tightly together. Weirdly that was comforting to him, that he wasn't the only one so terrified he felt ill.
Minutes passed, or maybe they were hours, Bruce was having trouble keeping track of time. Alfred moved around Dick so naturally, with a kind of practised familiarity, an intimate knowledge of the boy he'd raised. Whatever Alfred was doing, it wasn't quieting the boy fast enough for Bruce. He lurched forward when Alfred had stepped away to wash his hands and laid a hand on Dick's forehead. The fever was lower now, Dick's skin felt the same temperature as Bruce's.
Where had he left his gloves?
"Master Bruce," Alfred said softly behind him. "Are you quite well?"
"Yes," he growled even though his stomach was now thrashing around wildly inside him. When he was reasonably sure Alfred wasn't watching he pressed both his hands around his guts uncomfortably.
It was hot in the Cave, which was unusual. Bruce kept it cool so it was comfortable to wear his costume but he felt like sweat was dripping off of him. He'd lost his mask somewhere else, which wasn't like him. The mask wasn't really a mask, he never just casually dropped it anyway. Dick might do that with his but Dick Grayson and Nightwing were almost the same person. He needed to go and find that mask, but when he took a step away from his son it felt like a vice grip was crushing his heart, and leaving him breathless.
How was it that this never got easier? He wondered to himself as he leaned back against the wall behind him. It wasn't the first time he'd paced around the Cave half Batman, half Bruce Wayne and watched Alfred tending to one of his sons, to this one son. His eldest. He had been through this hell a dozen times and yet this time felt no easier than the last. That didn't seem fair.
Alfred had stopped moving for a moment and was standing close to Dick's head, gently gathering up the boy's hair, which was too long, as usual, and mouthing words too softly for Bruce to hear. He could have read Alfred's lips, but his vision was pulsing too bright, too dark, too bright, too dark. Whatever those words were, they were meant for Dick anyway. He didn't really have the right to them.
Jealousy wasn't something Bruce experienced often, but there was something about the way Alfred had been able to love the boy that pinched at Bruce's heart. Dick never doubted that Alfred cared about him. But Bruce was willing to bet most of his money that Dick didn't feel the same
away about him.
His stomach flung itself up towards the back of his throat. Bruce took a few steps closer to the sink, groaned, curled up and vomited into it. By the time he'd spit a few times and caught his breath there was more bile climbing up into his mouth.
"Master Bruce!" Alfred said worriedly, setting a hand on Bruce's shoulder.
"Leave me alone," Bruce spat at him. "Dick."
"Sir," Alfred wheedled. "You are just as susceptible to radiation poisoning as Master Richard." Bruce sighed, or tried to sigh while gagging, which mostly just hurt. His knees felt like they were knocking together and he would have sworn the world around him was melting but he levelled his tone.
"Not the first time I've had radiation poisoning, won't be the last," he ground out between his teeth. "I'll be okay if he will be."
"Very well," Alfred agreed reluctantly.
The next few hours were hard for Bruce to piece together. He remembered it being miserable, draping himself over the sink and being slammed with physical discomfort as the radiation worked its way through him and overwhelming concern for Dick who he knew was experiencing the same thing on a much more serious scale. At some point during the night he must have sank to the floor. He woke up there, one arm very numb because he'd left his hand griping the edge of the sink somewhere above him.
"Alfred?" he croaked as he rose slowly to spit into the sink a few times. "How's Dick?"
"Probably feeling a great deal better than you," Alfred said. "He'll live, although he's very weak and he'll be in and out for the next few days I imagine." As though Dick heard them he thrashed a little, whimpering and straining against his sheets. "He's been like that for hours," Alfred said softly. "I don't want to give him more pain medication or sedatives at the moment either, given his current condition."
Bruce closed the distance between them in a few strides, but even that exertion left him feeling breathless. He was much weaker than he'd realized.
"Son?" he asked gently, setting his hand on Dick's hair, afraid that his own fever would bring Dick more discomfort if he put his hand on the boy's skin. "Son what do you see?" But Dick didn't wake up, just went still.
"Sir, his condition is stable," Alfred said quietly. "Far be it from me to advise you on such trivial things as your health, but might I suggest to take this time to rest. I promise to fetch you if anything about Master Richard's condition changes."
"I should go back to Bludhaven," Bruce said.
"It's almost noon now sir," Alfred said. "Surely you will be waiting for sundown, which gives you several hours of sleep if you go now."
Sleep was desperately appealing and given that he'd been winded crossing the Cave, it wouldn't be safe for him to be out on the streets anyway. Still Bruce was reluctant to leave the Cave, to leave Dick, to leave this case. Alfred didn't say anything of course, just waited patiently behind him but Bruce could feel eyes boring holes in his back, which ached.
Actually all of him ached.
He did need to rest.
"Batman," Dick begged. "You still? Don't you? I'm sorry."
"Dick?" Bruce asked urgently but he didn't open his eyes, just tossed his head back and forth agitatedly. "Dick, I'm right here. Settle down son."
"Sorry," he whimpered.
"He's been apologizing all right," Alfred said heavily. "To you, to me, to the Teen Titans, even to his parents. Whatever has happened, he blames himself for it."
"How could the bomb possibly be his fault?" Bruce asked but of course, he knew the answer. Even if Dick hadn't planted the charges, he hadn't gotten there fast enough to disarm them either. It wasn't his fault, but he could blame himself for it anyway. Alfred must have read his mind, because he didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"Everything's bad," Dick moaned. "Blockbuster."
"Shh, son," Bruce said quietly, as he frowned. He'd known that Blockbuster's death had something to do with Nightwing but he hadn't looked into the details. Why was his son thinking about a dead villain now? Why had his son gone to that particular apartment building for a man named Westbrooke? All questions he'd need to answer. But not just then. "Rest easy Dick," he said quietly. "You're safe now." He turned to Alfred. "I'm going to bed for a while," he said, watching Alfred's carefully schooled expression. "Wake me up if anything changes."
"Of course sir," Alfred agreed.
Bruce glared, but he had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that it wasn't one of his best.