What You Do To Me: Chapter 03
Chikorita-Trainer1
T
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything else I might make references to.
Author's note: Again, I apologize for the long wait. THIS is the chapter that was the original idea. THIS is what the story is all about. It was just very hard for me to get here.
Worry. Worry. Worry. That's all he could do. Worry. No action could be taken, no information could be gained before morning. There was nothing he could do but worry.
That strange, tight feeling in his abdomen. Feeling like there's something pulling at you from all directions, and balling you up into a little wad in the pit of your stomach. Not feeling sick, but feeling tense. That was all Damian knew.
The ten-year-old had woken up early. Dawn would arrive in an hour or so, but that wasn't soon enough. As soon as they would open, the vet would be called, and an appointment would be made for Titus. But until then, all he could do was wait and worry.
The small bed and cylindrical pillow that Damian slept on didn't allow for much tossing and turning, so for now, the boy was pacing around his room, anchored by the weight in his gut.
What could Titus possibly be feeling? What could have happened to him between playing outside with Damian and Colin, and that evening's patrol? Could he have ingested some foreign object? Could he have inhaled a germ or bacteria that was causing his ailment? No one would know for sure until they took him to the vet.
Damian paced and paced, wanting nothing more than to go to his father's room, wake him from his well-deserved sleep, and cry. But the very notion was unseemly and out-of-character for the little Robin. An assassin, and also, a Wayne, did not succumb to his emotions. No, a Wayne persevered. Sucked it up and dealt with it. Stuck it out until the sun would shine again. At least that's what Damian thought a Wayne was supposed to do.
By the time the sun began to rise, Damian had given up his futile pacing, and got himself down to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, looked around, but then realized he wasn't hungry. Sighing, the boy sat down at the table, and hung his head.
It wasn't long before Alfred came downstairs, ready to prepare breakfast for his masters.
"Master Damian, you're up early," the butler pointed out.
"Couldn't sleep. Been up since four," Damian croaked out, groggily.
"You're worried about Titus, Master Damian?" asked Alfred.
"Yeah," Damian admitted, his voice breaking with tears.
"The vet's office opens at nine. I will give them a call no later than that," Alfred assured him, placing his hand on Damian's shoulder.
"What if it's already too late?" Damian moaned. "What if he can't be cured?"
"Patience, Master Damian," Alfred soothed. "I'm sure this is not the first case of a dog refusing to eat. Surely the explanation will be logical and curable."
Hours passed, and Alfred did indeed make an appointment for Titus to see the vet. Since he had called so early, they got the first appointment of the day.
"Master Damian, Titus has an appointment at 9:45. We'd better get him into the car now, so as not to waste any time."
"OK," said Damian. Titus, at this time, had still not moved from his place on the floor of the Cave. Getting the enormous dog to his feet and up the stairs would surely be a great task.
"Titus, come on, get up," Damian urged gently. Titus lifted his head, groaned, and then laid back on his side. "Please, Titus," Damian begged, now more tears in his voice than ever. Getting down on his knees, the boy edged his hands underneath the Great Dane, giving him a gentle lift.
"NRARRRGHHHH!" growled Titus.
"Please, boy!" Damian cried. Then he began to whimper.
"Titus, come along now, lad," said Alfred, hooking a leash up to the dog's collar and pulling. Finally, the dog rose to his feet, and slunk over to the limo.
"Father, are you ready?" asked Damian.
"Almost," said Bruce, putting his checkbook in his pocket and hurrying to the car. Titus got in, lay down on the floor, and was followed by Bruce and Damian. Alfred took the wheel.
"Don't worry, boy, we're going to get you the help you need," said Bruce, petting Titus's head. But the words apparently did nothing to comfort the dog. He just lay back on the floor of the car and closed his eyes.
"He's in pain, Father. I just know it!" Damian squeaked. Bruce wrapped his arm around his son and pulled him close.
"We're going to find out what's wrong, son."
But that feeling in Damian's gut just wouldn't go away.
"Titus…Wayne?" asked the receptionist at the desk in the vet's office. Damian looked up, and hopped off the chair he was in.
"Come on, Titus," he said gently, pulling the leash a little. Titus, this time, got up immediately and walked into the back room.
"You said he's not eating and won't move?" asked the woman, writing stuff down on a clipboard.
"Unless he's forced," Damian said softly. Bruce followed his son and dog into a small room.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Uh, since yesterday," said Damian.
"What did he have to eat yesterday?" asked the woman.
"Well, dog food. And then some scraps of toast, pancakes, waffles with syrup, and a few strawberries," said Damian.
"OK. Any vomiting, diarrhea, incontinence?" asked the woman.
"No, he just won't move or eat."
"OK. We're going to weigh him, first, if you could just get him up onto the scale," said the lady. Damian led Titus over to a scale on the floor. "Hold him steady, for a minute," the woman instructed as the scale calibrated itself.
"114 lbs, OK," she said. "And he's how old?"
"8 months," said Bruce.
"OK, I'm going to take his temperature, if you can hold him steady, that'd be great."
Damian got in front of Titus and hugged him around the neck, steadying him as the woman applied the rectal thermometer to the dog's rear end. Titus remained still as this happened.
"OK, he's got a bit of a temperature," she said.
"What's wrong with him?" cried Damian. Bruce put his hand on his son's shoulder, trying to calm him.
"Not sure yet. Can you keep him steady, I just want to listen to his stomach," said the lady. She put on her stethoscope and began placing it around different parts of Titus's body.
The room was quiet as she performed this, and then she said softly, "OK. I think we're going to do some X-rays."
"Why? What's wrong?" cried Damian.
"Damian, shh, it's OK," said Bruce, taking Damian into his lap as the woman led Titus out of the room by his leash.
"Father…!" Damian whimpered as his dog left the room.
"They'll find out what's wrong, she knows what she's doing," Bruce tried to assure his son.
After what seemed like a restless, fidgety eternity, the woman came back into the room. Without Titus.
"He has bloat," she said quietly.
"What?" Damian asked, not knowing what that was, but fearing the worst.
"It's fairly common in large breeds," the lady explained. "It occurs when the dog eats a big meal, and then immediately goes out running or playing. The stomach, because it's not protected by the rib-cage, can get bounced around and kinda tangled up in itself. It basically forms a knot, causing obstruction. And it is fatal, so we need to get him into surgery right away."
Damian's eyes widened in horror. "What?!" he cried.
"We can get him prepped immediately, we just need you to sign the paperwork."
"What paperwork? What's happening? Father…!" Damian began to panic.
"It's alright, Damian. I just need to authorize the procedure and write the check. It's fine. Don't worry."
"I'll be right back with the form," said the woman.
"I…I…" Damian almost began to hyperventilate. "I need to get some air."
Walking back out into the waiting room, and then turning back and forth, looking for the bathroom, Damian was sweating and reeling, almost felt like he was going to pass out. Fortunately, he found the bathroom, which was a single-person facility, locked the door and leaned against it.
This is my fault! he thought. This is my fault! Colin and I fed him from the table and then immediately took him out to play! That's how it happened! We should have waited! This is my fault! I killed my dog!
Trying desperately to get a hold of himself and the situation, Damian trembled as he walked over to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. Drying off with a rough paper towel, he couldn't stop shaking before there was a knock at the door.
"Damian? We can go," said Bruce.
Damian opened the door and pushed right past his father, not wanting to be seen in such a state. The child maintained his stoicism until they got in the car again, and then he burst into tears.
"Alfred, could you give us some privacy?" Bruce asked gently.
"Of course, sir," said Alfred, hitting the button to raise the barrier between the driver's and back seats.
Damian wailed in fear and sadness for a few more seconds, before Bruce intervened.
"Damian. Damian, listen to me. Stop it. Stop it right now."
Damian gasped and held his breath, before protesting.
"F-father…?"
"I mean it. Not another sound. I want you to stop crying this instant."
Damian was so confused and shocked at this order that he couldn't say another word. He just fell silent and stared at his father as more tears cascaded from his eyes. Before he could ask another question, Bruce continued.
"It's not a good feeling, is it?" he asked. Too afraid to answer, Damian remained silent. "You're shaking, your nose is running, you feel like you could shatter at any second, right?" Damian nodded. "Your heart feels like it's being clenched in a vice. You can feel it pounding, but you still feel like you're not getting enough oxygen to your brain, yes?" Another nod. "You feel like everything in your entire world is spinning out of control, and there's absolutely NOTHING you can do about it. You feel weak, powerless, sad, scared and angry all at once. Because someone you love is in danger. Someone you love is suffering, in pain, and you can't do a thing to help them. It's unbearable, right?"
"Father, please, what are you-?"
"This. What you're feeling RIGHT NOW," Bruce began, giving his son a stern look. "…is what you do to me. This is how I feel ALL THE TIME. When you disobey me. When you run off and attack someone. When you disappear without telling me where you're going, THIS is what I feel. What you're feeling right now. Only I don't have the luxury of crying to let it all out. I have to keep it all inside. I can't just break down and sob. I have to keep it together. Otherwise, we're all lost."
Damian sniffed and looked down.
So he wasn't allowed to cry? Is that what his father was trying to tell him? He wasn't allowed to be scared or have feelings?
But then his father touched his shoulder and drew him in close.
"Do you understand, son?"
Damian nodded.
"OK," said Bruce, rubbing Damian's back as if to give him permission. "OK."
Damian burst into tears again, and this time, Bruce was all too willing to allow it.
"Let's go home, Alfred," he said. The barrier was lowered and the butler complied. It pained Alfred as well to hear Damian sobbing for his beloved pet. But both men knew that crying was the only way he would ever feel better.
By the time they got home, Damian had practically cried himself to sleep. The fact that he had not slumbered much the previous night, on top of this ordeal, had exhausted the poor boy. Bruce carried his son upstairs and laid him, not in Damian's bed, but in his own. Tucking him in, kissing his forehead, Bruce knew now that Damian understood.
This is what you do to me, he thought.
END OF CHAPTER 03
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