The Way Back #10

"Bruce!" Dick nearly stumbled in his haste to reach the other man. One hand automatically pushed his cowl up and back, even as he slid to a kneeling position, slipped his other hand behind Bruce's shoulder blades and gently pulled him into a sitting position.

Bruce's eyes were closed, and, although he was wearing only a short-sleeved top and cotton slacks, his forehead was beaded with perspiration. His breath came shallowly.

"Here," Dick struggled to keep his voice steady. "Easy. It's okay. I've got you. I've got you. It's okay." Bruce had been fine when he'd left. What the hell had happened? Even as he murmured reassurances, he was mentally reviewing the possibilities.

The doctors still hadn't ascertained whether Bruce had fully recovered from the injuries he'd suffered when Arkham burned down. They'd done everything they could, but they had stressed that only time would tell whether he'd fully recover his previous lung capacity. Dick was sure someone had told him the symptoms to look for, but right at the moment, he couldn't remember what they were...or where the inhalers were if Bruce needed one.

On the plus side, Bruce's heart rate was elevated, but steady. Dick figured that they could probably rule out a heart attack.

He was trying not to think of the most worrisome-and most likely-possibility. Wayne Manor's location was hardly secret. Anyone with a score to settle with the original Batman didn't exactly have to look hard to find him. Could someone have broken in tonight?

Bruce stirred in his arms and emitted a low groan.

"I've got you," Dick repeated again, tightening his grip. "C'mon. Let's get you up off the floor."

"Dick?" Bruce's voice was a ragged whisper.

"Right here. It's okay. I'm home. I've got you."

Bruce opened his eyes then. "Dick," he whispered again, his voice stronger this time, "I... knew you'd come."

Dick bit his lip. "I-I've got to get you to the medical bay to see if I can find out what's wrong. Can you walk?"

"Unnecessary," Bruce said.

Dick blinked. Was Bruce-no, he wasn't asking Dick to carry him, so much as presuming that he would. But then Bruce continued speaking.

"Get... antidote... for fear toxin."

"What?"

"Fear toxin an-ti-dote," Bruce repeated. "I tried. But... caught me... unprepared. No time to..." Suddenly he tensed and struggled to sit up straighter. "Dick!"

"I'm right here," Dick said quickly. "I'm just going to get you settled and then I'm going to look for the antidote." He got his other arm under Bruce's knees and rose shakily, grunting a bit at the exertion. Bruce offered no resistance. His head lolled against Dick's chin. Dick noted almost clinically that his skin was cold and clammy. "It's just a few yards," he reassured. "Almost there."

He carefully deposited Bruce on the waiting cot. "Okay," he said. "Just take it easy and I'll be back with the-"

Two massive hands suddenly clamped about his forearm.

"How about I stay here for a bit?"

Bruce relaxed visibly.

Dick hesitated a moment before he spoke again. "Your call," he said finally. "You already know that the fear toxin will wear off by itself about four hours from the time you felt the first symptoms. It won't be a picnic until it does, but once that junk's out of your system, you'll start to feel a lot better a lot faster. Or," he continued, "I can give you the antidote and you'll start to recover in minutes, but the side effects will annoy you for the better part of a day." There was no point in adding that, right at the moment, Bruce probably wasn't up to employing any biofeedback techniques that might suppress the worst of the nausea and the dizzy spells.

For answer, Bruce's grip tightened.

"You got it." Dick glanced about quickly and, spying a low stool a few feet away, hooked one foot around it to pull it closer. "I'm going to love finding out how Scarecrow got in," he muttered. "Almost as much as I'm going to love teaching him why breaking in here falls under the heading of 'very bad ideas'."

Bruce's eyes snapped open. For a moment, Dick thought that there was something he was struggling to say. As he leaned in closer, however, Bruce's eyes screwed shut once more and a tremor seized him.

"Bruce!" With his free hand, he opened one of the pouches of his utility belt, fumbled inside for a moment, extracted a small piece of foil-backed blister sheet and punched two pills carefully into a paper cup on a nearby stand. He then turned the cold-water tap on the sink behind him and partly filled a second cup. "Here," he said holding out the cup with the pills. Bruce's eyes opened a fraction. "It's just antihistamine," Dick said quickly. "It'll help you sleep the worst of this off."

The older man frowned and started to shake his head.

"Do me a favor," Dick said wearily. "Don't argue. Just... please. Take them. It'll make both of us feel better."

Bruce eyed him searchingly for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he took one hand off of Dick's arm and reached for the cup. The water followed.

It was almost an hour before deep regular breaths told Dick that Bruce had finally fallen asleep. And it was almost another twenty minutes before Dick carefully pried Bruce's other hand off his arm and wheeled the cot into the 'secret' elevator that they'd installed when the manor had been rebuilt following the Cataclysm. It took him a few seconds before he remembered the access code that would bring the elevator car up to the master bedroom.

Awareness returned slowly, several hours later. First, Bruce became cognizant that he was lying on Egyptian cotton, and that there was a flat sheet made of the same fabric covering him. Tentatively, he worked one hand loose from under the covers and let it rest on the satin comforter. He was in his own bed. He could feel sunlight on his face and hear the birds chirping outside. There was a breeze coming in from outside, bringing with it the scent of hydrangea to mingle with the aroma of freshly brewed apple cinnamon herbal tea.

He didn't want to open his eyes. If he kept them shut, he could imagine, for just a while longer, that the nightmare of the last two years hadn't happened. If he didn't open his eyes, then he could let himself believe that Alfred had brought the tea-even though, the traitorous, pedantic part of his mind pointed out, Alfred would have brought coffee-Blue Mountain Arabica, most likely. And with that thought, his mind came back, reluctantly, to the present. Despite his best efforts, his eyes opened slowly to reveal Dick straddling his desk chair. "Hi," he said faintly.

"Hey." Dick smiled, but there was an odd tightness underlying his expression. "Feeling better?"

Bruce nodded. "Much." He levered himself into a sitting position and reached for the teapot.

Dick immediately started forward. "I've got it." He poured him a cup. "I hope cottage cheese with fruit is okay," he said with a gesture toward the plate on the tray. "I would've done pancakes but they don't reheat so well."

"That's fine," Bruce said as he reached for the tea. "Thanks. I'm... well aware that finding me in that state couldn't have been pleasant for you."

Dick thrust the plate at him. "You weren't exactly living it up either," he said.

Bruce frowned. Just like the smile, there was a faint undercurrent of tension in Dick's voice. Most likely, he reflected, due to earlier events. "Thanks," he said again, as he picked up the spoon.

Dick nodded. "You know," he said quietly, "after I got you to bed, I went over the cave with a figurative microscope and fine-tooth comb. I checked and rechecked the security arrays. Now, I know they've been tampered with before, which would explain why they didn't register any intruder... but I found something downstairs that's," he reached into his pocket, "not so easy to explain. Namely this." He drew out the syringe. "Any idea what was in it?"

Bruce set the spoon down. He seemed to sink back into the mattress. "I presume you ran the necessary tests."

Dick's voice stayed steady, but the tension strayed closer to anger. "Yes. But I asked you. Do you know what was in it?"

Bruce eyed him searchingly for a moment. "In all likelihood? Fear toxin."

Dick nodded. "Exactly. At first," he continued in a monotone, "I figured it was Crane, or Strange, or someone else with a grudge. Then I found this." He lifted a clear plastic bag from the desk. The remains of a second syringe were inside. "That's the antidote. The really odd thing is... both syringes are from the same manufacturer: Hamilton Technologies. That's high-end, top of the line, and, more importantly, the interiors are coated with a special preservative that retards deterioration. So whatever's inside has a significantly longer shelf life. Also, unlike a lot of the ones being manufactured today, they're glass, not plastic-which explains why the one with the antidote shattered. But then, I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this-considering that HamTech is a Wayne subsidiary and one that you're very familiar with. Seeing as they provide the bulk of the apparatus you've stocked in the cave labs." He shook his head. "There was no intruder last night, was there?"

Bruce let out a long breath. "The easiest way," he murmured, "to work rationally through Crane's attacks has always been to acknowledge my fears and to move on. It occurred to me that in recent months, I might have been dealing with a fear which I refused to admit or acknowledge, not even to myself. In order to determine whether this was, in fact, the case, I decided to expose myself to the serum. I did take precautions," he continued. "I had the antidote nearby, in case my tolerance for the substance had deteriorated over time. I also timed the experiment to coincide with Jim's absence as, in the event that the experiment did not proceed as intended, I deemed it wiser that he not be the one to discover me. I also waited until you radioed that you had finished patrol and were on your way home, so-"

"So that I could be the one to discover you," Dick cut him off. He struggled to keep his temper. "What was this big fear anyway?"

"I'd suspected," Bruce whispered, "that it would be returning to Arkham-"

"So you decided to set things up so you'd face it one way or another?" Dick interrupted again. "Because you know that if it had been anyone else who found you and heard that story, then-"

Bruce leaned forward. "That's why I made sure that it would be you who found me."

"You made sure." Dick stood up and took two quick furious strides to stand at the foot of the bed. "You. Made. Sure! I came home and found you lying on the... I thought for a minute that you were d... You trust me enough not to turn you in, but not enough to fucking tell me what you were planning? You... My G-d. You fucking planned the whole thing. You let me put myself through hell wondering if I'd missed some blind spot in the security systems. Kicking myself for not calling in someone to keep an eye on the grounds. And it turns out you just wanted me out of the house so you could pull this shit?" In a sudden rage he lifted the desk chair and held it high over his head.

Bruce said nothing. Instead, he closed his eyes, gave a faint nod, and sank back against the pillows.

For a moment, Dick stood, nearly frozen. His arms were trembling and there was a horrifying burning feeling in his eyes. "Fuck," he said, slamming the chair down with enough force to set it rocking as it landed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" His voice grew rougher with each expletive until the last came out sounding like a sob. He spun around and bolted from the bedroom slamming the door behind him.

Bruce watched him go, fighting a stinging sensation in his own eyes.

This time, Dick was able to lose himself in the rhythm of his pounding. With every punch he threw, he felt a bit more of his anger cool. Although his jabs still connected forcefully, he became aware that his pulse was slower, his breathing steadier. At the end of fifteen minutes, he gave one last swing, grabbed a bottle of water from the supply locker in the corner, and turned around to go back upstairs.

Bruce was sitting on the edge of the leather couch in the study, waiting for him.

Dick sighed. Then, surrendering to the inevitable, he took a seat-not on the couch, but on the nearby ottoman. Without saying a word, he uncapped the water and took a long swig.

Bruce watched him. Then, "Jim called. They... there's been a delay."

Dick nodded. "I know. Babs phoned earlier." He sighed. "I already let the office know I'll be telecommuting for the next day or two." He kept his tone flat. He knew that he couldn't stay angry forever, and in truth, he didn't want to. After the stunt Bruce had pulled, though, Dick wasn't quite ready to act as though all was forgiven. If you act like it's nothing, he'll treat it the same way. And what just happened? Was not 'nothing'. Roy had given him that advice long ago, in reference to a different matter. It felt equally appropriate today, though. He kept talking. "Batgirl and the Titans can handle the city." At least, Harrier and Wonder Girl could.

Bruce exhaled. "Then," the relief was plain on his face, "you... you aren't..."

Dick shook his head, unsmiling. "I'm here for the duration."

If Bruce noted the coolness of his tone, he chose to ignore it. "Good."

The silence stretched awkwardly between them. At last, Bruce cleared his throat. "I was in the attic the other day." He studied his fingernails with apparent interest. "I... well. The incident with the portrait set me to thinking about the past. In my teens I'd asked Alfred to pack away most of the old photo albums. Actually," he admitted, "I'd instructed him to burn them. Thankfully, he refused."

Despite Dick's resolve to remain aloof, he found himself nodding. "And?"

"I didn't find the albums. I did, however, locate a box containing some of the books I'd read-or had read to me-as a child. Thinking back now, there was one volume whose message I... perhaps... should internalize a bit more thoroughly. I think that you may have already outgrown it by the time you came to live here, but, are you familiar with... with..."

Dick leaned forward unconsciously. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that Bruce was embarrassed.

"...Bartholomew and the Oobleck?" Bruce finished.

Dick nearly burst out laughing. "I may have read it a time or two," he finally deadpanned.

Bruce closed his eyes. "While I doubt that an apology from me will achieve dramatic results on the level of that of the King of Didd, I'd have to be wilfully blind to not realize that you're entitled to one." He took a deep breath. "I made a foolish error in judgement. I further compounded it by not considering the effect that my action would have on you. You didn't deserve to find me as I was... earlier. The fact that I engineered matters so that you would was..." he broke off. "Saying 'I'm sorry' really won't be enough," he choked out. "I know that. It's just that I don't know what will."

Dick got up from the ottoman, walked over to Bruce and placed one hand on each of his shoulders. "When I got back this morning and saw you lying there," he said softly, "I thought I'd lost you. I don't ever want to face that again." He pulled Bruce toward him fiercely. "You hear me? Not ever. And especially not because of some stupid experiment." He relaxed his grip and crouched down to Bruce's eye level. "Don't pull this kind of garbage anymore, Bruce. I mean that. I don't think I can take it."

Bruce hugged him back. "I know. And... I was wrong."

"You got that right," Dick sniffed.

"No. Not... well, yes, the experiment. But I was wrong about the results, too. Look at me." He waited for Dick to comply. "I don't want to return to Arkham under any circumstances, but that isn't my greatest fear. My greatest fear," he pulled Dick closer, "was one I thought I would see realized when you stormed out of my room earlier." One day, perhaps, he would appreciate the irony. Not today, though. "I... was unsure whether you would consider the cave to be sufficient distance between us..."

Dick's embrace tightened. "For crying out loud, Bruce, what's it going to take before you finally accept it? I'm here. You haven't lost me. You won't. Sure, I'll get angry sometimes, and once in a while, it might even be for a stupid reason... or for no reason at all. I may curse you out. I might even take a swing at you outside a training session one day, though I'll probably apologize for it later. But you will not lose me."

Bruce nodded even as his own embrace tightened in turn. "I think that these results may be dramatic enough after all," he murmured.

Dick couldn't help it. He started to laugh. The effect proved contagious.

Bruce was sitting at the computer, a manila case folder open before him. He glanced up as Dick entered, made eye contact, and returned to the computer.

Dick's eyebrows shot up. Coming from Bruce, that was practically a hearty handshake and a slap on the back. "How goes it?" he asked.

Bruce sighed. "Do you recall the Lucia Agostini case?"

"No," Dick said with a frown. "Should I?"

"Not really. She disappeared seventeen years ago. They found her remains washed up on the riverbank about six weeks later. The evidence suggested foul play, but no suspect was ever charged."

"Mmmm..." Dick read over his shoulder. "Twenty years old... they're sure the bruising couldn't have happened some other way?"

"That's part of what I'm trying to determine," Bruce said, as he made a notation in the file. "The coroner's report was inconclusive as to the estimated time of death. Apparently, the water temperature..." He looked up. "Also, the person who filed the report failed to mention that around that time, she'd been seen on the town with Tony Bressi, but she'd terminated the relationship only a week before she vanished. That could be because he wasn't a suspect."

"Or it could be because Tough Tony had his hands in a lot of cops' pockets at the time," Dick nodded. "It's worth following up. Um... I wanted to ask you..." He hesitated. "Around eleven tonight," he said, "I need to use the cave."

Bruce frowned. "You don't need permission for that."

"I need to use the cave to train someone else." The words came out at a rush. Dick explained briefly about Kid Devil. "Just the training area. And the showers, afterward, of course."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Based on the news report, I would agree that the boy needs some instruction. Again," he shook his head, "you don't need my permission."

Dick sighed. "For crying out loud, Bruce," he said softly. "This is still your house. I wouldn't bring anyone into it-especially not on costumed business-without your okay." They'd never actually discussed it, but Dick had, at times, wondered whether Bruce had ever realized that legally, Dick was now his guardian. He could stop wondering now. He paused. Then, seeing that Bruce wasn't going to reply, he went on. "Okay. If you're alright with it, I'll give Eddie a call, then."

Bruce nodded. "Fine."

As soon as the elevator doors parted, Bruce could see that the two hadn't finished their session yet. Rather than disturb them, Bruce opted to head for the surveillance center around the corner. He could watch from there until the area was free.

It didn't take Bruce long to see the flaws in the youth's technique. Dick had the boy-Eddie-using a wooden practice sword, as long as a katana but twice as heavy.

"It's not a baseball bat, Kid Devil," Dick was saying. He held a practice sword of his own as he stood facing the youth. "Right hand on the hilt, left hand on the butt-plate."

There was an audible gulp. "Sorry, Di-I mean, Batman."

"Don't apologize," Dick said. "Just practice. Again." Then, "Too much force. You're swinging it like a club. If this were a real blade, you'd never cut anything this way."

The two sparred without speaking for several minutes. First Dick thrust and Eddie blocked, then they switched off. Then...

"Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiai!" Eddie jumped, and charged forward, sword extended.

Dick immediately stepped to one side. As Eddie's momentum carried him forward, Dick delivered a stinging swat to the youth's posterior with the flat of his blade. Overbalanced, the younger fighter let out a yelp as he fell face-first to the mat.

Dick took a step forward, stooped slightly, and set the blunted point of his sword against Eddie's neck. "I told you not to rush things," he said mildly.

"I thought I had it," the teen responded.

Dick withdrew the point. "Really?" He chuckled, but there was no malice in it. "Eddie, this is your first lesson. You've only been at this for an hour. Save the martial arts movie stunts for when you know what you're doing."

Eddie winced. "I thought I did know." He stumbled to his feet.

"Yeah, I figured."

A small answering smile played around the teenager's lips. "Sorry I messed up."

Dick cuffed his shoulder. "It happens to the best of us and it happens to the rest of us. Shall we pick this up the night after tomorrow?"

Eddie blinked. "You mean it? But... I can't even hold the sword right."

"Hence the need for practice." Dick sighed. "Look. Nobody expects you to nail everything from day one. Except maybe you-and that's a bit unrealistic. But if you're willing to work at this, then I'm willing to work with you."

"And if I keep messing up...?"

"That's what training is for. Down here, there's always a second chance. Out in the field, not so much. But I have a feeling you already knew that." He waited for the youth to nod. "Okay." He opened the locker and pulled out two bottles of water. He tossed one to Eddie. "Rehydrate," he ordered. "Then, hit the showers. I'll show you out once you've changed back to civvies. Slowly!" He cautioned, as Eddie began gulping the water down.

"Sorry." He finished the water and trotted off in the direction that Dick had pointed. Dick shook his head and sipped at his own. He hadn't exerted himself nearly as much. He smiled to himself and turned. He nearly choked on the liquid in his mouth when he came face to face with Bruce. He swallowed hastily.

Bruce had changed into training togs: track pants and a T-shirt. His eyes met Dick's, mutely questioning.

Dick took a deep breath. "Down here," he said softly, "There's always a second chance."

Bruce exhaled noisily. Dick fought to keep his own expression serious as he continued, "Nobody expects you to nail everything from day one. Except maybe-"

"No," Bruce interrupted, "Not even me."

"Okay," Dick said. "Good. But you're willing to work at this?"

"Yes."

"Great," Dick grinned. "Then I'm ready to work with you. But... first thing in the morning, okay? I'm a bit wiped out..."