Young Justice -:- Hooked
Author's Note(s): Thank you so, so much to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad that I seem to be getting Bats and the Joker down okay - it's not so much writing the dialogue for them that's the issue, it's getting them to do things without it being out of character (there is a prime Batman example coming up in this chapter... which I'm still not sure about, but its kind of necessary for the plot to go in the right direction)
Apologies to KizzenNekoLuzZeBatgangYJ for the terrible Romanian last chapter... I obviously don't speak the language and I had no idea how wrong Google Translate was - In advance, there is some more gratuitous Romanian at the end of this chap as well which is probably just as terrible... :S
Now, this is the moment where I usually screw up a fic by ruining the ending. I have always been significantly better at writing the 'hurt' part of Hurt/Comfort – in fact I normally skip the 'comfort' part altogether… But not this time! This time I'm done torturing our little bird (physically, anyway…) and we're only half-way through this story! Holy cow, Batman!
But yeah, please ignore me now. Enjoy!
Chapter Four -:- Consequences
Stay in the car.
This is something easier said than done. Though the butler was all too aware of the logic behind the order, and while he wasn't keen to throw himself into one of the Joker's elaborate traps – Alfred did not appreciate being told to wait in the car. Inactivity while the young master waited for their rescue was frustrating to say the least. But he would do as he was told.
He sat in the warm interior of the Batmobile, trying to still his foot which was nervously tapping against the floor. He clasped his hands in his lap, preventing them from performing any annoying activities of their own. It was just not proper to behave in such a manner.
He had already gone through the first aid kit that he had prepared for the Batmobile, confident that he would be able to find anything he needed quickly and efficiently should the need arise. This left him with nothing to do but to stare out of the windscreen at the ominous warehouse. It was no different from the others around it, except for the fact that it had been chosen by the Joker to house the unknown tortures inflicted upon Robin.
And then it exploded.
The force of the shockwave sent the Batmobile skidding several metres, almost rolling it onto its roof. But the armour plating had taken the brunt of the hit and absorbed most of the heat, leaving its lone occupant unscathed beyond a few bruises.
The night was suddenly lit by the bright flames that engulfed what was left of the warehouse. The yellow glare reflected on the polarised glass of the car's windshield as Alfred found himself staring in shock at the death trap that his charges had been in just moments before.
But then his old training with Her Majesty's Secret Service kicked in. He slung the first aid kit over his shoulder as he hit the button on the console that retracted the canopy door. The moment that the night air met the elder gent's face he could feel the extreme heat from the flames... Just what had the Joker used to fuel them?
He choked on the thick smoke that billowed into the air, pressing the sleeve of his jacket against his face to work as a filter in the absence of something more effective. Shrapnel from the warehouse was scattered over a hundred yards away from where it had been pre-explosion, parts of the surrounding structures joining them amongst the rubble. Despite the light from the fire, it was nigh on impossible to see as Alfred clambered over the junk in an effort to find his charges.
He was halfway around the perimeter when he first saw the flashing lights in the distance. The GCPD and the bomb squad that Batman had called were already on their way before the explosion – and now they were practically on top of them. If they found Batman and Robin among the wreckage before he did… If they saw the Wayne family butler where he really had no right to be…
"Master Bruce!" he called carefully, double-checking that there was no one nearby beforehand. He ended up doubled-over in a coughing fit as he swallowed too much smoke, but he forced himself to continue onwards. Up ahead, he could just make out something moving through the haze, and he quickly hurried towards it. A sheet of charred metal lifted slightly, a low groan reaching the butler's ears even over the roar of the fire. Carefully, he helped to lift the rubble pinning the man beneath. "Master Bruce?"
Batman's cape and cowl were smoking, the special polymer otherwise undamaged from the explosion. The vigilante pushed himself up on one arm, the appendage struggling to hold his weight. "Alfred…" he coughed. "Dick…"
The butler understood, quickly coming round to the Dark Knight's other side and lifting the heavy cape. Beneath it was a sight that Alfred would never forget. The broken body of the Boy Wonder lay on his side, covered in blood, with one hand clamped around a hook that was run through his shoulder. Gently, Alfred gathered Robin in his arms and pulled him out from under the human shield that Batman had provided. Exhausted and hurt himself, Bruce dropped to the ground, trying to clear the disorientation from his head.
Alfred allowed him but a moment as his trained eyes studied the boy in his arms. He took in the head trauma, the broken bones, the strained breathing and that godforsaken hook, and knew that he was way out of his depth. He wrapped gauze around the most serious injuries, knowing that he was trying to use a pebble to plug a waterfall.
The flashing lights were getting closer.
"Master Bruce," Alfred said sternly, getting the Dark Knight's attention. One white lens had vanished from the cowl in the explosion, and the butler could see the concussion in his revealed eye. "The police are nearly here. We need to leave."
Batman nodded, and then set about climbing to his feet. He gave no complaints of pain as he straightened out his battered body, and then knelt down to take the boy from Alfred's arms. They both took great care as they situated Robin in a way that would hopefully cause him the least discomfort, his head resting against his mentor's shoulder. "Alfred…" Bruce asked, and then he glanced down at Dick, unable to voice the question.
"His condition is very serious," Alfred answered as he tucked a folded piece of gauze between Dick's head and Bruce's shoulder, using the gravity of the position to apply the necessary pressure. "He is beyond my capabilities, and I'd imagine Dr Thompkins' as well. Perhaps it is time to call for help."
"Let's get to the car," Bruce instructed as they both rose and headed as quickly as they could back to the Batmobile. The wreckage was no easier to traverse on the return journey, and by the time that they reached the vehicle they could hear the engines of the police cars and the crunch of tyres on gravel. Just as Bruce had climbed into the passenger seat with Dick in his lap, the full force of the GCPD came screeching into the clearing. "Go."
Alfred floored the accelerator, causing the wheels to spin uselessly for a second before they shot off like a bat out of hell. The police passed curious glances at the rapidly retreating Batmobile, but thankfully, the inferno threatening to take out the entire dockyard kept them distracted from pursuing. "And where am I going, sir?"
Bruce looked down at the bundle tucked against him, listening to the pained gasps that escaped his ward's lips. "Find the nearest zeta tube."
Alfred nodded in satisfaction and relief, thankful that Bruce wasn't insisting on handling things 'in house' as he usually did. The young master was fading fast even as they sped through the streets – for his sake, they needed the Justice League's help.
Over the roar of the batmobile's engine, Alfred could barely hear Bruce whispering to the unconscious Dick, but he just caught a snippet as he swerved the car past Wayne Tower.
"Please don't leave me, Dickie-bird," he muttered. "Am nevoie de tine."
Even though the Watch Tower wasn't a hospital – it wasn't white, or sterile, or permeated with the stench of sickness – and yet as Bruce Wayne waited for news on his ward's condition, he was still haunted by the same discomfort that hospitals instilled in him.
He had been banned from the medical bay about three minutes after handing over Dick's barely breathing form. Apparently his presence and behaviour was 'overbearing' and 'non-conducive to helping Robin'. With a growl, Bruce had been forced to leave and soon found himself pacing the corridor outside. This lasted maybe five minutes. And then he had tried to leave so that he could channel his anxiety and anger into something more productive.
I.e. pummelling the Joker into a bloody pulp.
This time Clark had intervened, saying those stupid, logical things that couldn't help but diffuse his blind fury just a tiny bit.
And so Bruce found himself back in the corridor, staring at the closed doors between him and his son. It had only been a couple of hours since he had last seen Dick, and he knew that with the condition he was in that there was still several more hours to wait yet. But not knowing – not being able to help, or act, in any way, was driving him mad. All he could see whenever he closed his eyes, was Dick just hanging there, his limbs twisted, his uniform torn… blood. Everywhere.
Fear. Bruce was not familiar with the emotion that made his hands shake and his stomach threaten to give him a second look at his breakfast, but as he sat there, slumped in a plastic chair and just waiting, he began to deconstruct it.
He had never felt anything like it before – not since he was a little boy in an alleyway kneeling in a pool of his parents' blood. He had done everything that he could to become stronger, smarter, braver, so that he would never have to feel that way again. But then Dick had come along, giving him something so very important to worry about – something to lose. Bruce had tried to tell himself that he wouldn't get that attached – to be honest; he didn't think it was even possible for him. Dick had even said at the beginning that he wasn't looking for someone to replace his parents. And yet somehow, they had formed that dynamic anyway.
Bruce had been Dick's pseudo-parent and mentor for four years now; he wasn't naïve or dumb enough to think that he hadn't become attached and protective towards the boy – but it wasn't until the moment when he had almost lost him that he realised just how much Dick meant to him.
Pure terror had practically crippled him from the first prickle of paranoia that warned him that something was wrong, to the horror of finding Dick so… so broken. Even now, as the adrenaline wore off and the fight for his son's life was taken out of his hands, he could feel the fear like a physical presence weighing down on him. How could one boy mean so much to him, without him even realising that it had happened? How could he have ever put something so precious, so frighteningly fragile in harm's way?
"I'm such an idiot," Bruce muttered under his breath as he dropped his head into his hands.
"I'm not going to argue with that," Superman retorted from where he had just materialised beside the brooding man, making Batman actually jump. It was a testament to Bruce's messed up state that he hadn't noticed Clark's arrival – the red and blue wasn't exactly stealthy. "But is there a particular reason for that sudden epiphany?"
Bruce glared at the Metropolis reporter as he took the seat beside him and joined the waiting room vigil. They sat in silence for a good five minutes as Bruce point blank refused to answer the question. Apparently, according to Alfred and Dick, Clark was as close to a friend that Bruce had – but that didn't mean that he was just going to suddenly confide in him about his insecurities. As far as he was concerned, they were colleagues, not friends. Batman didn't have insecurities. He didn't fear anything.
At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
Eventually, Clark sighed. "You can talk to me, you know. It won't make me think any less of you to know that you are actually human underneath the cowl."
Bruce ignored him, instead focusing intently on the double doors as if he would suddenly develop x-ray vision. And then it occurred to him that he was sitting next to a Kryptonian that had both that and super-hearing. Taking a moment to level his tone, he asked "Can you tell what's going on in there?"
Clark glanced in the direction of the operating theatre, and hesitated. Bruce narrowed his eyes at the reporter through the white lenses of the cowl. "It's… it's going well. Robin's okay. He's… he's still alive."
That wasn't overly reassuring. Bruce glared more intently at the Boy Scout to try and drag out some more details. But somehow, amazingly, Clark seemed immune. "So, what actually happened?" he deflected, avoiding the Dark Knight's gaze and concentrating on the décor. "You never really explained anything beyond 'the Joker'."
Bruce contemplated not answering; he didn't particularly want to relive the events of the past day and a half, and he knew that once Clark knew the whole story that he would want to help even though the Joker was purely his villain. Maybe it was because he was exhausted, or maybe he had just fulfilled his quota of stoicism avoiding the original question. Whatever the reason, Bruce found himself talking. He told Clark everything, from the Arkham breakout to finding Robin in that damn warehouse. He kept it professional, succinct – trying to put as much distance between himself and his fears, but Clark studied him as if he could read between the lines.
"No wonder you wanted to go after that maniac," Clark murmured once Bruce was finished, his hands clenched into fists as if he was plotting revenge on the Joker as fervently as Bruce was. He climbed to his feet, looking toward the operating theatre for a moment before turning back to the Dark Knight who was watching him closely. "We'll get him, Bruce."
"No," Bruce said forcefully as he stood as well, standing toe-to-toe with Superman. "Joker is mine."
"We can't just let him run loose in the city!"
"Then you should have let me go after him earlier," Bruce countered darkly, grabbing Clark's arm to stop him from flying off half-cocked. "He's expecting me to be hunting him down right now. He'll be hiding for a while – that's the only reason I let you talk me out of it."
Clark met Bruce's eyes, probably using the x-ray vision to meet his blue eyes through the cowl. "We both know that's not true," he said forcefully. "You know that I'm right – that you need to be here for Robin. That's why you stayed. It's got nothing to do with the Joker."
"I don't need you to fight my battles."
"He went after Robin, Bruce," Clark replied, his eyes once again flickering to the waiting room doors and the emergency surgery taking place beyond. "He isn't just your kid – he's important to all of us. No one on the League is going to just sit back and ignore him when they find out…"
Bruce had never truly realised just how endearing his boy wonder was to everyone he met. Dick just had that way about him, he didn't even try to make people like him – they just did. Every member of the Justice League that knew his identity; and even those that didn't, they were all protective over Robin. Clark was right. The moment that they found out… he'd have an army of metahumans rampaging through Gotham, despite Batman's strict rules to the contrary.
He couldn't allow that. They didn't understand the city. And they definitely didn't understand the Joker.
"They're going to have to," Bruce growled back. "No one is going after the Joker except for me. It's my city. My psychopath! You don't know how to deal with…"
"You think I can't handle one crazy person?" Clark interrupted with an incredulous eyebrow.
"The Joker is…"
"Bruce," Clark cut-off sharply, his head cocking to one side as he listened to something that Bruce couldn't hear. The Dark Knight watched carefully as Clark threw one final look towards the operating theatre. "Stop. You need to be here. Dick… Dick's really going to need you… as a father figure, not a vengeful vigilante. Stay. Wait. Look after him. And just this once, let me take care of the Joker."
Bruce looked past Clark's shoulder at the waiting room doors. "What is going on in there? Tell me."
Clark shook his head regretfully. "Just be there for him Bruce."
And with that, the Man of Steel walked away, leaving the Dark Knight to his silent vigil.
Four days. Five hours. And twenty-two minutes.
That's how long Bruce had been sitting by Dick's bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of his tiny chest beneath the blankets. The constant beeping of the heart monitor and the whispers and clicks of the machines had become the soundtrack to Bruce's days and nights; reassuring enough in their consistency to lull him into the handful of short naps he had taken since this nightmare started.
Gradually, the number of wires and tubes attached to the Boy Wonder had lessened, confirming that his condition was improving even though he still looked so pale and small – swamped by the bandages and casts that seemed to cover every inch of him. Dick had so many fractures and breaks that it was a miracle that he wasn't in a full body cast. Bruce couldn't even hold his hand – his right arm was firmly pinned against his side to prevent the intricate surgery done to his shoulder coming undone, and his other hand sported two dislocated and one broken finger.
It had been so damn close – the trauma, the internal bleeding, the infection from the rusted metal of the hook – and that was only the things that Black Canary had begrudgingly admitted. Bruce knew that she and the others weren't telling him about so much more. Something about him not needing to know all the details… that it wouldn't help him to know just how much damage the Joker had caused.
Bruce shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter so that he could lean forward and brush a stray lock of hair away from his son's eyes. Dick only had half of Robin's messy bangs left – the left side of his head had had to be shaved for the surgery to reconstruct his fractured skull. Every time Bruce imagined the patchwork of stitches beneath the white bandage his gut would clench painfully. He had been warned that maybe… that there was a possibility… that Dick might be… different if he woke up.
When. When he woke up.
"Bruce…" Dinah murmured as she entered the room and studied the Dark Knight. She had changed out of the corset and fishnets that usually made up the Black Canary uniform, going for a more casual look. "You should take a break. Maybe go to your room and get some sleep…"
Bruce gave her a look that made her trail off as she realised it was completely pointless. He had lost the bat suit as well, knowing full well that he wouldn't be leaving that room, and only those who already knew his identity even knew that he and Robin were in the Watch Tower. He watched as Dinah checked the machines, jotting down Dick's stats on a tablet computer and adjusting the IV. She looked down fondly at the Boy Wonder, resting a hand on one of the few un-bandaged parts of his chest.
"How is he?" Bruce asked, just about managing to keep the apprehension out of his voice.
"He's getting stronger," Dinah replied with forced confidence. Bruce easily saw right through her, seeing the worry raging behind her light smile. "We've started easing back on the sedatives and painkillers. Hopefully he should wake up in the next few days."
Bruce glanced down at his son's small frame, cataloguing the myriad of injuries buried beneath the layers of gauze and sutures. Dick was saved from feeling the pain while he was blissfully unconscious. When he woke… when he could feel it… Bruce never wanted to see the agony that he had witnessed in Dick's blue eyes that night ever again. "Are you sure… Is he ready for that?"
Dinah chewed her lip for a moment, trying to buy herself a moment to think through her answer. But there really was no nice way of putting it. "He's a tough kid, Bruce. He's getting better every day. But we won't know how bad… We need him to wake up so that we can assess…"
"What are the chances that he has…?" Bruce couldn't bring himself to say it, any more than Dinah could.
Dinah sighed heavily, that single exhale speaking volumes. "Honestly? You can't hit someone around the head that hard without there being… consequences. It could just be some mild amnesia, or it could be something more serious; there could be psychological repercussions, speech or movement problems… regression… But Bruce, this is just guesswork. We won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up."
Bruce nodded sullenly, not trusting his voice to work properly anymore. Dinah checked everything over one last time and then headed for the door, pausing briefly to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. Once she was gone, Bruce slumped back in his chair and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He refused to acknowledge the moisture collecting in his tear ducts, putting it down to his exhaustion rather than the fear and helplessness that had haunted him from the very beginning.
It would be another three days before Dick woke up.
He made several attempts before then, but each time the pain would drag him back to oblivion before he could open his eyes. A few times he had tried to speak or move, but between the drugs and the head injury he was far too out of it to be coherent or even realise that moving was a really bad thing to do.
The first time that Dick had muttered nonsensical words, Bruce had feared the worst. He had been too stunned to physically react as his son had spoken and quickly succumbed to sleep once again. Internally, his thoughts had been racing at a thousand miles per hour, the apparent confirmation of brain damage making him run through various scenarios – each one more horrific than the last.
It had been Barry of all people, who had managed to talk some sense through the maelstrom of panic taking place behind Bruce's impassive mask. He had explained that most people are a little doolally when trying to break out of an induced coma – something that should have been obvious to the World's Greatest Detective. But to be honest, Bruce wasn't thinking like Batman right then. He was thinking like a father.
And so he had continued his vigil, watching and waiting for his son to wake for real.
It started with a twitch of Dick's right eye. The pace of the heart monitor quickened slightly, making Bruce lean forward expectantly. Dick's breathing grew shallower as he tested his healing body with the occasional spasm of various appendages. A low groan of pain escaped his lips unbidden as he gradually, finally opened his eyes.
"Dick…?" Bruce ventured quietly. Hesitantly.
Dick took a long blink, his gaze sliding slowly from the ceiling to settle vaguely in Bruce's direction. He blinked again, the haze clearing a little as he licked his dry lips. "Brsss?"
The Dark Knight could have jumped for joy. Dick recognised him. His ward still knew who he was. He had been so afraid that he wouldn't – that this relationship that he had only just realised had developed could have been erased. But it hadn't. Dick remembered him. Bruce choked a little as answered. "Y-yes, Dickie. It's me."
The corner of Dick's lip twitched as if he was trying for a smile. And then his eyes trailed off, his brow furrowing in confusion as he took in their surroundings. "Unde suntem?"
A stab of panic caught Bruce right in the gut, but he forced his voice to sound calm. "I'm sorry?"
Dick gave him a dubious look. "Unde suntem?" he repeated, a little slower this time as if worried that he was slurring, rather than speaking another language.
"Dick… I don't understand…" Bruce said softly, trying so very hard to keep the anxiety out of his tone. He refused to jump to conclusions as he had before. There could be a perfectly valid explanation. It didn't mean that… that…
"Ce vrei să spui?" Dick asked, completely perplexed.
"You're speaking Romani," Bruce explained. His grip on his son's wrist got a little tighter as he tried to temper his rising panic. "Can you speak English for me, Dickie? Please?"
"Eu vorbesc engleză," Dick replied with an eye-roll. Bruce just looked at him, waiting, hoping that his son would realise the truth. The pace of the heart monitor grew a little faster as Dick gave a frustrated groan. "Eu vorbesc engleză!"
"Can't you hear yourself?" Bruce asked.
Dick squinted at Bruce as if wondering if his mentor had finally lost it. "Nu înțeleg ce naiba esti… vorbesc… despre …" his voice trailed off as the realisation began to dawn. The beeping from the machines became even more erratic as the Boy Wonder started to hyperventilate. "Ce…? De ce nu pot eu…?
"Shhh, Dickie," Bruce hushed as he stroked his son's hair to try and calm him down. He tried not to look at the bandage on the side of his head, instead focusing on the piercing blue of Dick's eyes. "It's alright… you're okay… everything is going to be fine…"
At least… he hoped so.
A different kind of cliffhanger for you :P
TRANSLATIONS: (Courtesy of Google Translate – Romanian)
Am nevoie de tine: I need you
Unde suntem?: Where are we?
Cevrei să spui?: What do you mean?
Eu vorbescengleză: I am speaking English
Nu înțelegce naibaesti… vorbesc… despre…: I don't understand what the hell you're… talking… about…
Ce…? De cenu poteu…?: What…? Why can't I…?