A/N: Thanks for reviewing, jmichallick and OsfortheWin12! :)
Dick opened his eyes, but everything was still dark. He tried to lift his head, but moving hurt so he decided to give himself a few more minutes to wake up. Closing his eyes again, Dick waited for the pain to fade. That's what usually happened in his dreams. And this had to be a dream, because he had never woken up to complete darkness.
Closing his eyes sharpened his other senses. Dick heard water, and crickets, and then a memory raced across his mind. The bus had blown up. That was the only thing he could remember, but it made him realize that he was not dreaming. He was also not on the bus; he was flat on his back on rocky ground.
It was time to get up. There were twelve other players who might need help. A pounding headache shouldn't stop him from searching for his team. Dick opened his eyes again and tried to force himself to sit up. His left shoulder screamed at him and his left wrist refused to obey the command to move.
So, Dick slowly rolled onto his right side and pushed himself up with one hand. It felt like his ribs were grinding together, and a wave of nausea washed over him. Attempting to ignore the pain, and failing miserably, the teenager pushed himself onto his knees. That brought a surge of dizziness, and he almost decided to lay down and go back to sleep. Almost.
Passing out was not an option, because he had teammates to worry about. Dick had to make sure everyone was okay; how he felt didn't matter at the moment. However, he couldn't see anything, which would make searching for his friends much more difficult.
But his decision to refuse to pass out suddenly didn't matter anymore, because his brain overruled his willpower. Dick melted to the ground and fell asleep.
The next time he woke up, it was because a bright beam of light was assaulting his optic nerves. Dick squeezed his eyes together, trying to force the light to recede. It didn't work. A finger landed on his neck, followed by a whisper of encouragement to wake up.
It had been three hours since Dick's failure to get up and find his teammates, although he didn't know that. In those three hours, Batman had arrived at the scene of the accident, grabbed his Bat-flashlight, and begun searching the forest. He had gone in the wrong direction, however, and had started to worry about finding a dead body instead of an injured teenager.
Four minutes into his third hour of searching, Batman had seen the broken pile of flesh that was his ward. Now he was attempting to wake him up, and the squishing of eyes was the first movement he had seen in the six minutes that he had been crouching beside him.
"Wake up, chum, I need to know what hurts."
"Batman, you found him!"
The hero growled. One of the firefighters had followed him, which meant Batman couldn't really comfort Dick. Batman didn'tdocomfort. Dick and Alfred were the only exceptions. And now Dick wasn't going to get any because a dang firefighter had decided to do his job and search for a missing kid.
"Yes," Batman almost snapped, "I did."
The burly firefighter, Andy, knelt beside the motionless body.
"Don't move him," Batman commanded.
"I'm not," Andy replied, rolling his eyes. "I do have medical training. I'm only checking to find out if wecanmove him."
Andy began gently probing different areas of Dick's body, prompting the teenager to quietly groan.
"You're hurting him," Batman did snap this time.
"Which means he can feel things, which is good," Andy retorted, not at all happy with the tone the Caped Crusader was giving him. "His left wrist is broken, and his left shoulder is dislocated. He's not breathing very well…"
"Just check his back and neck," the hero commanded. "We need to get him out of here."
"Will you just let me do my job?!" Andy exclaimed angrily. "He's not breathing very well," the man continued, "because at least two ribs are broken. Dick, can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes for me, son."
He's not your son.
The thought raced through Batman's brain, and he almost verbalized it. But then Dick was attempting to open his eyes, and all the hero's irritation fled as relief flooded into his chest.
"Hi, Dick, I'm Andy. You were in an accident, but I'm going to get you out of here, okay? I need you to tell me if you can feel my finger."
Andy poked Dick in the right thigh and was rewarded with a small nod. He did it again at the calf and then the ankle. The teen nodded both times.
"Okay, good."
Andy moved on to the left leg, then left arm, then right arm, and Dick nodded with each poke. Then Andy gently touched the boy's head, and Dick flinched.
"Sorry," Andy apologized. "I know it hurts, but can you try to turn your head for me?"
Dick acquiesced, and both men were relieved that he could turn it both ways with no hesitation.
"I need you to give me a pain number, son. How much do you hurt, ten being high and one being low?"
The teenager looked confused and didn't answer.
"Do we really have to know a number?!" Batman demanded. "He's obviously in pain and needs to go to a hospital."
"Then go get a stretcher!" Andy commanded.
Both men knew there was no ambulance waiting on the road. The only three available had taken the other boys down the mountain and none had returned. Batman stood up and pulled his Bat-communicator out of his utility belt.
"We need an ambulance at the scene of the bus accident. Dick Grayson found in bad shape. Batman out," he finished before Alfred could say anything that might compromise his identity.
In the Batcave, Alfred immediately called the emergency line and let them know that the fourth teenager had been found. Two minutes later, an ambulance was on its way to the scene, siren blaring as it raced through the city.
"It'll take them at least thirty minutes to get up here," Andy commented.
Ignoring the statement, Batman bent down, slid his arms under Dick, and gently lifted him off the ground. Dick gasped as the movement jolted his injured arm, and Batman inaudibly apologized.
"Fine, I guess we're moving him," Andy stated, irritation filling his voice.
He stood up and followed the strong beam of Batman's flashlight. Fifteen minutes later, they emerged from the forest. The only person there, besides the other two firefighters, was Marshall, head coach of the basketball team. All the other teenagers had been returned to their homes on the second bus that had come to their aid.
"You found him?" Marshall asked, both fear and hope in his tone.
"Yes," Andy answered when Batman remained silent. "He's alive."
"We need to call…"
"Already on its way," Batman interrupted gruffly.
"What are you going to do…"
Marshall stopped talking when Batman answered the unfinished question by placing Dick on the passenger seat of the Batmobile and reclining it slightly.
"Better than the ground," Andy mumbled.
It took the ambulance forty-five minutes to get there, and Dick was beginning to go downhill. His unsteady breathing was now laced with wheezing gasps, and he was having a very difficult time keeping his eyes open.
Andy and Marshall had taken turns yelling at Dick to stay awake, but it was Batman's commanding voice that had made the teenager force his eyes to stay open. The Caped Crusader, who noticed every tiny detail, now knew that Dick's injuries included a concussion. His inability to focus on anything for more than a few seconds and the glazed look in his dilated pupils were more than enough evidence of that.
Batman waited until the ambulance doors closed before climbing into the Batmobile. He thought about offering to take Marshall home, but the coach was already getting into the cab of the fire truck. That was a great relief to Batman, because he needed to get home and become Bruce Wayne as soon as possible. An emergency room employee would be calling the Manor in the very near future.
Without a word or a wave, Batman turned the Batmobile around and shot down the mountain. He flew past the ambulance and wished it was as fast as his vehicle. Batman also wished he could have just taken Dick to the Batcave.
Wishes aren't always granted, and those two were no exception. When the hero arrived in the Batcave, Alfred was talking on the Manor phone. Batman had arrived just in time; the butler was running out of reasons to try to stall the woman on the other end of the phone.
Batman jumped out of the Batmobile almost as quickly as Robin usually did, ripped off his cowl as he strode across the room, and grabbed the Manor phone.
"Bruce Wayne," he said authoritatively.
"Mr. Wayne, my name is Candace, and I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."
The millionaire unconsciously tightened his grip on the phone, dread filling his chest. Dick had been going downhill, but not rapidly enough to be dead. Right?
"Mr. Wayne, are you there?"
"Yes, uh, yes, go ahead," he stammered.
"Your ward, Richard Grayson…"
Bruce absently wondered why she thought she needed to identify his ward by using his name.
"…was brought in about ten minutes ago. He went straight into surgery, but I'm afraid it doesn't look good."
This time the millionaire wondered whyshewas afraid. It wasn't likeherchild was dying in the hospital. Shouldn't he be the one using that word?
Candace understood the silence. Most parents were shocked when they received a call from her. Bruce Wayne was just a guardian, but he was probably at least a little concerned.
"If you want…"
"I'll be there in a few minutes," Bruce suddenly blurted. "General, I'm assuming."
"Yes, Mr. Wayne, but it will…"
Candace stopped when she heard the dial tone.
"It will be a few hours before you can see him," she finished with a sigh as she replaced the receiver.
On the opposite end, Bruce slammed the phone down and strode back toward the Batmobile.
"Sir, you need to go as Bruce Wayne," Alfred reminded him quietly.
The millionaire paused, shook his head, and turned around.
"Meet you upstairs," he replied before running to his Batpole.
Alfred hurried to the service elevator, knowing he wouldn't get up to the Manor before Bruce but hoping to be close. It would be improper for the millionaire to arrive at the hospital without being chauffeured there.
Gotham General Hospital:
"Frickin' egg," Dr. Stan Phillips muttered as he studied Dick Grayson's brain scan.
The crack in his skull was clearly visible. It was a linear fracture, so it was relatively minor. However, it stretched across the entire back of the skull and was thicker than a normal linear fracture.
"Doctor?"
"It's neither thin nor short, but it will heal," the man replied to the nurse who had questioned him. "We'll be lucky if he doesn't go into a coma, though," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Bruce Wayne is not going to like this," another nurse stated.
"Good thing it's not our fault then," the doctor snapped. "He probably ran into a tree headfirst."
"He's from the bus accident?" the first nurse, Janice, inquired.
Dr. Phillips hummed in confirmation as he continued to study the scan.
"No bleeding or other damage," he finally stated. "He's going to have a heck of a headache, though."
"Here's the x-ray," Janice responded, removing one scan from the man's hands and replacing it with another.
Dr. Phillips immediately identified the broken left wrist and fractured left collarbone. The two broken ribs on the left side didn't escape his notice, nor did the thin crack on the left hip.
"If he's not a righty he's going to be one for a while," the second nurse, Max, quipped with a small grin.
The joke fell flat – this was Bruce Wayne's ward – and Max's smile disappeared.
"Sorry," he muttered when the doctor shot him a quick glare.
"Let's fix what we can and deal with the rest later. Max, find us a room," Dr. Phillips commanded.
"Room two is ready," Max replied. "George and Scott are taking him in now."
Dr. Phillips raised his eyebrows in surprise, then gave a short nod and began walking toward room two.
"How did you get a room ready so fast?" Janice whispered to Max as they followed the doctor.
"One of the other players that was brought here was taken to a regular room half an hour ago. Stacy had just finished cleaning when this kid was brought in. Lucky break, especially since he belongs to Wayne."
Janice nodded as they entered the lobby just outside surgical room two. All three began scrubbing, anxious to begin. Because the sooner they started, the sooner they would finish. Hopefully that would be before an angry Bruce Wayne arrived.
Bruce had just arrived, although he wasn't angry. He was extremely worried. Candace had said, "…it doesn't look good." The millionaire took that to mean Dick was close to being dead. And he wasn't sure he could handle that.
Dick was…well, Dick had figuratively saved him. Batman had been heading down a dark path, one that even Alfred couldn't pull him from, and then a nine-year-old bright ball of energy had tumbled his way into their lives.
The boy had been scared at first, not knowing that Bruce didn't have any idea of how to express any emotion except anger. But he soon learned the difference between the sounds of concern and anger, and he figured out how to react accordingly. Bruce hadn't known it at the time, but Alfred had later pointed out that Dick had spent his first few months at the Manor attempting to make Bruce smile at least once a day.
"He was good at it," the millionaire murmured as he sat down on a chair in the waiting room, the memories racing through his mind making him smile again.
Then Dick had become Robin and began literally saving Batman's life. That was when Bruce realized that the boy had no sense of self-preservation. One time Robin had actually thrown himself in the path of a bullet that had been heading for Batman. That was the first time Leslie Thompkins had met the young hero. It had certainly not been the last she had seen of him.
Dick was so young – he was only sixteen! Bruce often wondered if he had made the right choice, bringing an eleven-year-old child into Batman's life of darkness and pain. But Dick had been determined to help, and the only way to keep him relatively safe was to allow him to join the crusade. The millionaire also wondered why Commissioner Gordon and Chief O'Hara had so easily accepted that a kid was fighting crime, even going as far as making him a duly deputized agent of the law. At twelve!
It was ironic, really. Dick was dying because of a bus accident, not at the hands of a villain bent on revenge. This was not how either of them expected to leave this world. Fighting crime every night had its disadvantages, and the possibility of dying was just part of the job.
"Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce looked up and noticed the clock on the opposite wall. He was startled to see that two hours had passed since he had arrived at the hospital. An older man was approaching him, and the millionaire stood up.
"I'm Dr. Phillips," the man said, extending his hand. "Richard Grayson is currently under my care."
Bruce reciprocated the gesture but remained silent. It was a bit unnerving to the doctor; usually relatives were instantly asking about the patient. Then again, Bruce Wayne was just a guardian.
"Well, uh," Dr. Phillips cleared his throat, "he is currently asleep. Richard has a linear fracture along the back of his skull, but it should heal on its own."
"Should?" Bruce asked hesitantly.
"There is always a possibility that fractures won't heal themselves," the doctor said, determined to remain patient. "The crack is a bit thicker than these types of fractures usually are, so it will take longer, but I'm confident that it will heal. As will his wrist, collarbone, ribs, and hip."
Shock flashed across Bruce's face at the list of injuries. Dr. Phillips noticed and decided to explain.
"Your ward…"
Son.
Bruce corrected the man in his head.
"…was in the bus accident."
"I'm not an idiot, doctor," the millionaire snapped. "I know why he's here."
"Yes, of course, my apologies," Dr. Phillips responded soothingly.
"I would like a full report of his injuries," Bruce lightly demanded. "Please," he added.
"In addition to the skull fracture, he has a fractured collarbone, broken wrist, two broken ribs, and a thin fracture on his hip. All on the left side of his body. I'm fairly certain that his body took on a tree, and the tree won."
If Bruce hadn't been so worried, he might have chuckled at the words. It was something Dick would have said while trying to explain away minor injuries that weren't really minor.
"He hasn't been awake yet," Dr. Phillips continued, "but most likely he also has a concussion. That's the one thing we're worried about right now."
"The fact that he might have a concussion?" Bruce asked when the doctor paused.
"No."
"The fact that…" Bruce prompted.
Dr. Phillips shifted his weight as a frown creased his forehead.
"The skull fracture might lead to a coma. The crack runs the length of his skull, which I've never seen before, so there is a good possibility of that."
"But he's alive," Bruce responded.
"Yes, and he will heal in time."
"Thank you. When can I see him?"
"He's being moved now. A nurse will come get you when he's settled."
Bruce nodded and sat back down. As the doctor left, the millionaire put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into the cradle made by his hands.
"Please don't go into a coma, chum."