Martha looked at her with a sharp eyebrow, "We know that you are a brilliant child, Penelope Kel Wayne, but it's too dangerous to be on patrol, and besides, people would have questions...Yet you have a point as it's good to have a backup of sorts to defend yourself, in case, even if you are better behind comms and security...What do you think, should we give her a trial of a year with gymnastics lessons, Kel?", glancing at her girlfriend/mate.
"I say we let her. Can't really hurt anything and besides, I would feel much more comfortable, and you would too if Poppy did get herself similar training like Bruce. Just enough to protect herself if something like this could happen again... God willing it doesn't but with this town, who knows...", Kel said as Martha nodded.
"I agree with that training part, for sure. Probably should've gotten you some basic self-defense lessons a year or two ago...", Martha replied with a sigh.
Poppy smiled widely, "Thanks, Mom, Mama! I promise I'll hold up your deal! I'm going to be the best gymnast in the family, you'll see!", and Martha laughed, kissing Poppy's forehead, "Somehow I can believe that, darling. Now, it's past your bedtime, young lady...it certainly has been a long day for you...".
Poppy nodded, "Yes, Mom...", as Kel took her turn to kiss Poppy next on the nose, "You did good, pup. ", as Poppy smiled, and then yawned again. Kel patted Chess's head as she and Martha left the bed, and Martha petted Bandit's head as they reached the doorway, turning around with soft, tender smiles, "Good night, Poppy. We love you...".
"Love you too, Mom, Mama...", Poppy snuggled into her blankets and fell asleep, and then the couple halfway closed the door, leaving the family wing to head to the Cave to keep into comms for Bruce aka Batman for a while longer.
Indeed, the next day, Waylon was understandably upset when he heard the news on the phone when he visited the shack where the Wayne family had discreetly put a phone in over the last few months but was relieved that Poppy wasn't harmed at all.
After school ended, the visits resumed again by the weekends in June and July, with Chess and Bandit taking well to Waylon, and seeing that they are loyal to the Wayne family, especially Kel and Poppy, Waylon was relieved that Wayne Manor got a bit safer with the dogs. The weekly staff was surprised, but after seeing that the dogs are behaving well, and loving to play with Poppy which they knew that she hates to be bored, they went with it.
And then August, it was a week before the anniversary of Caroline's death when something happened on one of the routine hunting trips for Waylon.
Waylon had gotten adept at hunting even at his still young age; it was almost a necessity now considering his appearance and how difficult it was for him to carry out certain day to day activities such as purchasing groceries even if and when the Waynes would wire him money, so hunting was the best alternative for him and one that honestly had little trouble for him. He could be alone with no one to bother him and while it was a bit more work than simply going to a grocer, it felt much more rewarding to him personally.
Almost 17 years old, Waylon is determined to stock up on food for a while, and he also has been considering more often of moving to Wayne Manor, but he isn't absolutely sure as of yet, even if he had been now used to the idea of living in a big area as Wayne Manor and the grounds, thanks to the snow globe and the stories.
He knew that Poppy would turn 12 chronically soon by Halloween, even if she's already starting to look like 13, and still scarily smart at times. But honestly, he wanted to remember his mama first with the anniversary of her death coming up the next week, and he knew everybody is visiting to pay respects again, it's up to him to make at least a dinner that Caroline would be proud of him for and maybe carve something out of one of his hunting hits for Jane as well.
Right now, he's tracking a boar to one of the tributaries of the bayou, enjoying the challenge, as he's learning his surroundings, listening to the sounds, keeping a secure hold on his bow and hocked arrow, never having trusted shotguns much as they made too much noise for him, with his knife on his belt, and quiver on his back, his scent covered in mud and such, and being a very warm day, he is not wearing his usual ripped t-shirt that is used to be a tank top, only wearing his lower clothes.
"Come on, piggy... where are you?", Waylon muttered to himself as he kept moving through the water and muck. It was never clean, but it never really bothered him much. He was trying to keep his eye out for any sort of movements; a wild boar could be quite deadly, even in this terrible terrain.
He froze when he heard the familiar sound of digging, mixed with snorts and grunts, and he treaded slowly and carefully, making sure to keep downwind, and took a slow deep breath as he turned around a tree, staying low, and yep, in the distance is an impressive sight of a prime male, adorned with tusks and such, using the snout to dig for grubs and tubers, and using his hooves to move through the muck.
Waylon carefully pulled another arrow, resting it in his lap, while hocking his first arrow, judging the distance, narrowing his eyes to distinguish the boar's visible spots among the grass and muck, and watching the wind, he pulled the arrow to his cheek, and then released, landing smack into one of the legs, in the thigh, causing the boar to squeal and grunt, turning around and running away as Waylon nocked his second arrow immediately as the boar came into more clearer sight, heading for the tributary river, and he pulled, quickly following the slowing stride of the boar, and released, and it hit true into the heart of the wild boar, killing it instantly as it fell halfway into the muck, halfway in the water.
He grinned proudly, relieved that his dinner is caught, got up and out of his hiding spot, gazing around to see any sight of sunning crocodiles/alligators, but saw nothing, and went to get the arrows out with his bare hands as he kneeled down, planning to throw the boar over his shoulder like a bag of flour when suddenly, the water came alive with a huge crocodile jumping out, having smelled the blood from the heart shot in the water, desperate for food while being ill thanks to an infection of a exposed wound during a fight with a rival crocodile for his prime territory.
"Woah!", Waylon shouted as he was practically stunned by the sudden attack. This wasn't usually normal for him; he often was able to have a good eye out for most things in the waters, but somehow this croc was able to completely catch him off guard. The first thing on his mind was just sheer survival instinct. Forget the boar, let the croc have it, he just needed to keep himself alive and unscathed.
Unfortunately, the croc's aim was off, thanks to being ill and desperate. It's like a dehydrated or drunk human, much like the mugger who shot Thomas under the influence of alcohol and desperation. So, instead of the boar the croc was trying to get in his frenzy of desperation, hunger, and infected sickness, it went for Waylon.
"Back off!", Waylon cried out as the croc just missed biting down on him, but threw its weight on him, tackling him into the swampy mud. Waylon still was quick in response as he got his knife and started to try and stab at the animal before it would attempt to go in for a second attack on him.
The croc roared and hissed in fury and hunger and pain, whipping his tail furiously as his claws went at him on all fours, while biting at him as Waylon shouted in pain, trying to duck and dodging his head for a few minutes before the croc managed to claw at Waylon's eye as he closed his eyes, trying to push the croc off him, and he jerked in pain, his knife still trying to stab at the croc's vulnerable spots.
He screamed in pain as the crow's jaws locked into his arm, and he opened his eyes, ignoring the bleeding scar into his left eye, and shouted as he jammed his knife into the side of the head with his free arm, into the brain, killing the croc instantly.
Waylon panted as he tried to rest for a moment, dealing the with injuries he had just sustained as he panted. He knew his skin, thanks to his condition, was tougher than fairly normal folks but even a croc's bite was too much to protect him. He slowly tried to fight his way through the pain; he knew he needed some attention to help with his injuries... and he had to get home quickly to contact Gotham and get the family down; especially Alfred.
With a grunt, he shoved the croc's corpse with his legs, freeing himself, and he winced as he slowly got up to his feet, holding his arm, feeling the stinging blood in his eye, relieved that he can still see, as he had closed his eyes when the croc got him there, but it's going to scar for sure.
The cuts and claw swipes on his body from the claws would heal faster, and would definitely fade with help as his skin's tougher around, but his eyes are softer and more vulnerable...
He panted, taking out the knife, gritting his teeth at a muffled yell of pain as he moved too fast with his injured arm, and seeing that his bow got broken, buried in the mud, but the quiver of arrows barely managed to survive the tackle and such, and he lugged the quiver up.
Seeing that his quarry of the wild boar was gone, probably have been knocked away into the river in the tussle and tackle, and got eaten by other crocodiles, Waylon slowly grunted as he headed for his bayou shelter in agonizing pain, knowing that he needs to be hydrated and get a makeshift cast somehow with some bandages in the shelter, but he didn't have a shower in the shelter like the shack has, knowing that he needs to clean and disinfect his wounds.
It's going to be a hell of a long way home back to the shack from his bayou shelter, but he knew he can't expose himself to the bayou with all the predators who can smell blood and the humid, swampy air, as long as he can get home without any humans to see him.
Indeed, it took two hours with struggling to keep to his route straight without getting lost or attacked after having water and some fairly clean bandages at the bayou shelter, but he managed through the agonizing pain and made it to the shack.
He unwrapped the bandages and cursed, "Fuck...", as he saw the beginnings of infection in his arm, feeling sick to his gut from the sight, and he gritted his teeth, putting his arm under warm water as he scrambled to get the phone with his other arm, feeling sore, ill, and so filthy, needing that shower immediately to clean off all the injuries and cuts, but at the same time, he wants his father...
"Come on, please pick up...", Waylon whispered as he called before hearing a ringing for a few moments before an answer. "Hello?", Alfred's voice picked up.
"Hey, Dad...", Waylon said; still always felt a bit odd to say at times even after everything, but he was sure he would get used to it... if he didn't get worse. "Waylon, how are you doing?", Alfred asked as Waylon sighed.
"Not good...", he admitted. "Listen, I need you to get down here like... as soon as possible; I... I'm in rough shape... I got ambushed by a crocodile and he got me... don't worry, I'm not missing an arm or anything, but he did take a decent swipe and bite of me, so I look like real shit... I've already clearly got an infection going...".
Alfred's voice shouted, "WHAT?! Waylon, stay in the shack, do everything you can to stay clean and warm, I'm coming, I promise!".
Waylon replied, "I know you will...I...Dad...in case if I get really bad...I...I love you, Dad...Get everyone here...I...I don't want to die alone...", with a sob.
"You won't, son! I will not fail you, Waylon Jones. I love you too...You're a fighter, don't give up. Now, get that arm and yourself clean and all.", Alfred demanded, and Waylon gave affirmation with a small smile and tears to hear his father say that, "Crystal clear, sir...", before hanging down the phone, and took out his arm from the sink, wincing at the pain, heading for the bathroom to get all the blood, debris, dirt, everything off, attempting to ignore the fear in his heart as he shivered from the shock of trauma in his wounds, feeling ill and rough.
"Come on, Waylon... hold it together...", Waylon sighed. "You'll be alright... just... probably have to fly back to Gotham or something... but... it's just an infection...", he was telling himself as he was trying to relax and do whatever he could at the moment to at least self-treat himself.
Meanwhile, at Wayne Manor, the weekly paid staff was having one of their regular days working around the clock when they saw a most abnormal sight, "Coming through! Watch out, excuse me!", seeing a frenzied and uncomposed Alfred running for Martha's office, fear yet urgent determination in his eyes, pale.
They were taken aback in worry and concern as they knew Alfred was usually composed, calm, and very considerate and open-minded to his orders and to the staff. Of course, there were argued rumors that Alfred has an estranged child, trying to make amends with the child or something, and is split up with the mother of the child yet he never took off his ring, for there is a forbidden room in the family wing that had been redecorated and such, where the staff can't clean except for Alfred, though they couldn't be sure of it.
"Mistress Wayne!", Alfred quickly knocked hard on the door to her office before she finally opened it up to allow Alfred in. "Easy, Alfred, easy... deep breaths...", Martha said as Alfred tried to catch his breath. "What's wrong?", she asked him.
"Waylon... he's... he's in serious trouble... he got... well, he tells me it's not exactly a mauling per sec... but a crocodile inflicted some injuries on him...", Alfred gasped and sobbed in fear and worry.
Martha widened her eyes in worry and horror, raising a hand to her mouth, "Oh, my goodness! Okay, I'll call the airport for our usual private plane and for the airport taxi for a pickup. You give the staff the orders to finish their chores for the day and you go pick up Bruce and Poppy at Poppy's practice, and get back here to put the limo away, so we can take the taxi to the airport. Alfred, we will make it, we will help save him before anything gets worse.", putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder, realizing that this is the first time she has ever seen Alfred in parental fear.
It's one thing to be concerned as a parent, which is a usual thing for her to see in Alfred, but another thing when a child's life is threatened, especially his own son, with the promise to Caroline that he'd be there for Waylon no matter what.
"Thank you... I mean, if anything to get there sooner...", Alfred bit his lip as Martha raised an eyebrow. "You were willing to go by yourself?", she asked him.
"If it was necessary, yes, but if you and the others can make it too... one thing is for sure, we'll have to bring back Waylon, I don't think his injuries are something that he can simply take over the counter medicine and rest... I think things are much worse than he even told me, and he said he already was suffering an infection...", Alfred replied with anxious worry and fear.
Martha nodded, "Right, after the call, I'll dig out some of Thomas' workout clothes including a hoodie for Waylon's sake. It's one thing if he's sick, but he would still be very conscious of his looks if he's still somewhat aware of his surroundings.".
Alfred looked relieved, "Appreciate that, Martha...We better not waste time then. I promised Caroline I'd look after him, and I can't lose him...I can't fail again...", and Kel's eyes glowed through Martha as a low voice rumbled in emotion, "We love Waylon too, Alfred.".
Only mildly surprised, Alfred smiled gratefully, "I know.", before leaving the office, opening and closing the door, to go do Martha's orders, and Martha faintly heard Alfred asking and ordering staff. Kel mentally replied, "We can't fail Alfred. Waylon would need my muscle or Bruce's muscle to help him out of bed and up into the plane if he can't walk.".