Sorry I'm slow. Not only am I generally a busy person, my internet's been the worst (I hate Rogers! Also Bell). I will try to be a little speeder. But of course, I make no promises.
Bruce woke up slowly, his head hammering and his vision stubbornly blurry, no matter how many times he tried to blink the sleep out. His stomach was uneasy too and his sheets felt damp. He didn't remember the rest of the day after he'd dragged himself up the stairs to his bedroom, but if how he was feeling now was any indication, it had been a rough night.
Dick's would have been much worse.
He threw off the sheet which was all he'd managed to keep overnight only to find that his feet were so tangled in them he couldn't have stood up at all. His fingers were thick and useless, he couldn't seem to claw his feet free and he snarled at the cloth. He normally would just have ripped off. He wasn't strong enough that morning.
Of course he managed it eventually and the effort left him exhausted.
"Dick," he muttered to himself as he pushed off the bed and stumbled towards the stairs.
Alfred was sitting next to Dick in a chair, leaning his head against his hand, fast asleep. Bruce wanted to smile at the sight of his old friend next to his son, but he wasn't sure he could manage the expression without throwing up more, so he kept his face blank. Normally he could sneak around without disturbing Alfred at all, but his first few steps were loud and clumsy. Alfred lifted his head up.
"Master Bruce," he said, looking Bruce over slowly and carefully.
"How is he?"
"All right," Alfred said, standing up. He looked like he was stiff and Bruce felt vaguely guilty that he'd left the older man to stay up with Dick all day. "He's still very restless, but showing no signs of infection in his wounds. Of course, the radiation poisoning is still making him very ill but I expect he'll survive. How are you feeling?" Bruce didn't answer. Alfred raised an eyebrow and made it quite clear, somehow with just one look, that not saying anything wasn't an appropriate answer.
"Not dead," he muttered.
"I suspected as much," Alfred said. "Would you mind sitting with him for a few minutes while I prepare you something?"
Bruce was sure he could feel his face turning green at the thought of food. Without meaning to the back of his his hand brushed against this mouth. "Alfred I can't eat right now," he mumbled.
"I'm afraid you must," he said. "Not eating will not make you feel any better."
"Couldn't make me feel worse," he answered weakly.
"It could, and you know it," Alfred said firmly. "Now stay with Master Richard for a few minutes and thank God that he's still out, or he'd be feeling worse than you."
Bruce was grateful for that. He'd been in the city for little over an hour and he almost wished he was dead, he couldn't imagine how much worse Dick would feel after several hours of that. "Dick?" he said softly, resting his hand next to his son's. Dick didn't move or say anything.
He watched the boy toss his head miserably once or twice and whimper, but whatever he was saying, it was too quiet for Bruce to understand. What had happened it was more complicated than the single nuclear blast. Something else was troubling his boy, something to do with Blockbuster. Bruce sighed. Why was it always so difficult? Why couldn't he simply take care of his boy and leave the questions until Dick was on his feet again? Why didn't it ever end? He just wanted his son back, not another mystery on his hands. He didn't say anything, mostly because he was reasonable convinced that Dick wouldn't hear him anyway and his own eyes were so heavy. He didn't mean to doze off.
"Master Bruce," Alfred said softly to him. He lifted his head up slowly and rubbed the back of his neck slowly. "I know you don't feel like eating anything, but I've brought you a tray."
"Put it by the computer," Bruce said miserably. "I'll try."
Alfred nodded and disappeared. "I'll be just there Dick," he whispered. "Right there."
The walk over to the computer was draining but it did feel worth it to see the tray that Alfred had left for him. Ginger tea, which he didn't usually like but he had to admit, would probably help his squirming gut. A few pills that he took without hesitation. A bowl of thin broth, which he was only about fifty percent sure he could keep down.
"Batman?" Oracle asked. She sounded extremely agitated.
"Yes Oracle?" he asked wearily, taping the feed up. She looked at least as bad as he felt, pale, her hair in a mess and big raccoon patches under both her eyes.
"Is Dick okay?"
Of course she looked terrible. He had forgotten to tell her, or anyone else for that matter. He covered the new wave of dizziness by grabbing the mug of tea and trying to keep guilt out of his eyes.
"Yes," he said. "He's here with us Oracle, he's going to be all right."
"Oh thank God," she said, leaving back in her chair and closing her eyes. "Is he all right?" she asked, when she opened her eyes. "God, are you all right? You look terrible."
"We'll both survive." Bruce couldn't be bothered expanding on that, mostly because several other alerts had popped up on his computer screen and he was feeling incredibly nauseous. Blockbuster too, he would have to look into that. "What do you have on the bombing?"
"Not much at this point," Barbara said. Her tone was professional again, like she'd never been shaken. "But I've got eyes all around the city, every contact I've got available is there. The radiation is making communication difficult and then obviously there's some concern about the safety of anyone who goes in. I assume you're familiar with that."
"Yes," Bruce growled. "What can I do?"
"Honestly, maybe you should just take the night off," she said. "You look like hell."
"Thank you." His voice was low and rumbling. "Have you heard from Superman?"
"Not in the last little while," she said. "He was in touch about six hours ago. He looked about as bad as you, but I'm sure he'll be on this feet again in no time. He was asking about Dick. If I can't get in touch with him, I'm sure that he'll get in touch with you. But unless you hear otherwise from him, I think you should sit the night out. I'll let you know everything that happens."
"Fine," he said. He would look into the Blockbuster situation and rest for the night. Realistically, it was all he was physically capable of anyway.
"Wow really?" Barbara asked. "You must be feeling really bad."
"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered. "Just keep me up to date on anything that's going on."
"Of course," she said. "I'll let you know when I have anything."
"Barbara," Bruce asked quickly, before she could hang up. He had to start somewhere and she was as good a place as anywhere. She and Dick were close, she probably knew him better than he did.
"Yeah?" she asked, frowning. If she thought it was weird that he was using her first name, she didn't say anything.
"Have you talked to him recently?" Bruce asked. It felt strange to be asking her, once the words were spoken out loud. Like he was prying into something personal, private that existed between this woman and his son.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Since the Blockbuster incident, have you talked to him much?" Bruce asked.
"Not really," she said reluctantly. "Whatever happened, he didn't want to talk about it but it messed him up badly Bruce. He was different with me, with everyone. And then he hired himself out as a thug? I don't know what happened, but I'm worried. I've asked him about it but we didn't part on the best terms ever and I'm not sure he really wants to talk to me. What's going on?"
"I don't know yet," Bruce said. "Thanks."
"Okay well let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you Oracle."
So Oracle didn't know either. Bruce sighed. Well, he would have to do all the ground work himself.
The soup smelled wonderful suddenly and before he could stop himself he'd swallowed a few mouthfuls. After the last of it had trickled down his throat he began to regret it as his stomach churned but he swallowed and began his research into the night that Blockbuster died.
"Well done sir," Alfred said, startling Bruce out of his daze.
"What?" he asked.
"You've eaten all of the soup I left you," he said. "Have you learned anything?"
"Lots," Bruce growled, but he didn't expand on it.
He wasn't sure he wanted to. Blockbuster had been shot and Dick had been in the building at the time. Obviously Dick hadn't shot him, Dick would never pick up a gun and fire it into someone's brain, not ever. But he must have seen whoever shot him. He must have been hurt or distracted or unable to get there in time.
Or that was what Bruce wanted to think.
But that didn't make sense either, not completely. If Dick was hurt he would have heard about it, Oracle would have mentioned it. No one was arrested at the scene, so Dick couldn't have been fighting someone else at the time. He had left on his own, he must have because there wasn't an mention of Nightwing in the police report. No, whatever happened to stop Dick it was probably his own choice.
How could he tell Alfred that?
He wished he didn't know either.
His hands started to shake. His son, his son should know better than this. He had always been very clear about things like this with Dick growing up. Witnessing a murder and not stepping into to stop it made you just as guilty as the man who pulled the trigger. How could Dick have forgotten that?
For a very short moment, some inner voice of doubt whispered "what did you do wrong?" but Bruce barely heard it.
"Is everything all right?" Alfred asked worriedly.
"I need to get dressed," Bruce declared abruptly. His mind was racing, he was lacking clarity of thought, his heartbeat was too fast and he still felt sick. Becoming Batman wouldn't change any of those things, but he was completely overwhelmed as Bruce Wayne. If he was just wearing the cowl everything would feel different. He would feel different.
"Are you going somewhere?" Alfred asked.
"I don't know yet," Bruce said. "How is he?"
"We had a rough patch a few hours ago, but I believe he's doing better," Alfred said. "Master Bruce, what's happened?"
"Nothing," he said. "I'm just restless. I might go out to stretch my legs a little, that's all."
"I see," Alfred observed rather dryly. Bruce glared at him as he pulled the cowl over his head.
He was still the same person, he was still furious and terrified and sick and tired. The Batman couldn't take that away of course, but it was comforting somehow. The lenses over his eyes, the weight of the cape, when he was wearing them he was more grounded somehow. He took a deep breath.
"I'll just go into Gotham," he said, looking at Alfred and feeling a little guilty. "Where's Tim?"
"He came in while you were asleep. He was in Bludhaven with the Birds of Prey I believe, for most of the night."
"Is he all right?"
"Yes," Alfred said. "I checked him over when he got back. He had enough sense to stay well clear of the blast zone. They're being careful."
"Good," Bruce nodded approvingly. He did not regret running into the city to find Dick of course but he certainly didn't want to Tim to have to live through radiation poisoning either. "Don't wake him. When he comes down, tell him to take the night off."
"He won't," Alfred observed.
"Try," Bruce said. "And then," he raised his hand to silence Alfred as the radio in his cowl buzzed to life.
"Superman to Batman." Clark sounded about as good as Bruce was feeling. He turned and strode away from Alfred.
"How are you doing Clark?" he growled, although that choice of words surprised him.
"I'll be fine," he answered. "You found Dick?"
"Yes."
"And he's alive?"
"Yes."
"And how are you feeling?"
"How's the city?" Bruce demanded instead of answering. Alfred, Barbara, they were human. If they saw that he was sick they would nod sympathetically and shut their mouths. Well, Alfred probably wouldn't do that, but still he would back off once he'd given Bruce everything he needed. Clark Kent with all his god like powers didn't understand illness very well. He would probably try to fix it.
"There's no one left," Clark said. "Most people have been shipped off to hospitals to treat their burns and radiation. Clean up crews are working but it'll be slow. I'm doing the best I can to help with that. All in all, the death toll will be close to a million dead, and probably another half a million who will die in the next few days."
Bruce sighed, but in the darkest corner of his heart he was surprised that so few had died, and immeasurably grateful that his son wasn't one of them. He sighed. "Clark," he said heavily. "Have you been in talking to Dick much lately?"
"What do you mean?" Clark asked, but for someone who maintained two identities, he was a terrible liar. He already knew what Bruce meant, Bruce could hear it in his voice.
"Have you been in regular communication with my son over the last few months Clark?" Bruce growled at him.
"Not as much as we used to be no," he admitted reluctantly. "Why do you ask?"
"I want to know what happened with Blockbuster," Bruce said, being extremely careful to keep his tone level and not let his anger work its way into the sentence. "Did he talk to you about it?"
"No Bruce," Clark said. "And it was after that that things got... worse with him."
"Worse how?" Bruce ground out. He had an overwhelming urge to punch something. He needed to get out of the Cave, he needed to find a few heads to knock together before he talked to Dick.
" That was about when he started working for a crime boss for one thing," Clark explained. "But he was just different. More reckless, less kind. He didn't smile as often, he started spending more time on his own. I don't know what to tell you Bruce, it was like something was eating him up inside. I tried to talk to him about it but he's a hard man to get through to sometimes. I wonder where he got that from?" Bruce clenched his teeth and started to pace towards the Batmobile. "And now you're glaring at me," Clark added.
"You've been very helpful Clark," Bruce snarled at him.
"Would you like me to come to the Cave and,"
"No," Bruce said cutting him off. The last thing he wanted now was Superman hanging around, a shiny beacon of perfection, highlighting the taint. "The city needs you more than I do."
"Right. Then I'll talk to you later."
"Great."
He could hardly think for the anger burning in his chest. Whatever Dick had done, he hadn't told anyone about it, and he'd let it drive him to recklessness and dangerous action that was risking everything. How could the boy be so foolish?
Slowly Bruce drew a steadying breath. He just needed to get out for a few minutes, clear his head, break someone else's and then he would be able to think clearly about it. Just a few minutes.
"He's awake Master Bruce."