August – The Compiled Text Version.
by Smitty (smittywing@yahoo.com) and Chicago (Chicago_haven@yahoo.com)

***

August 19, 0145h

        "NOOOOOOOO!"
        Bruce's head jerked up, startled as much by the tightening of
Dick's hand in his as by the cry.  He looked down at Dick's face, at the
hint of motion beneath his eyelids, and returned the squeeze.  "It's okay,
chum.  I'll cover for you," he murmured, loosening his hold and quickly
crossing the hall to Spud's bedroom.
        Half-forgotten instinct took over when he reached the boy's bedside
and wrapped his arms comfortingly around his adopted grandson.  The
reaction was not what he expected.
        Spud's wild-eyed stare got impossibly wider when he saw Bruce, and
again he cried out, "Noooo!"  He fought against Bruce's hold, kicking his
way back to the far corner of his bed, his attitude one of a frightened
animal.
        "Spud!"
        Babs' voice came from the doorway, and she wheeled forward urgently
with only a glance at Bruce.  Spud rocketed from the bed, giving Bruce wide
berth, and launched himself at Babs, forcing the air from her lungs with an
"oof" as he landed in her lap.  "Spud, it's okay," she soothed, running a
hand over his back.  "Everything's okay."
        "Where's Dick?" Spud demanded tearfully, throwing a thoroughly
frightened look at Bruce.
        "Shh, James," Babs continued evenly.  "He's sleeping in our bed.
You want to see him?"
        Spud nodded, burying his face against Babs' shoulder.  Over his
head, Babs asked, "When did you get here, Bruce?"
        There was less recrimination in her tone than he expected, and
somehow more weariness.  He felt a vague sense of shame.  "A couple of
hours ago," he confessed.  "I didn't want to wake you."
        The excuse sounded lame in his own ears.
        Babs only nodded.  "C'mon, Spud.  Under your own power, potato boy."
        Spud released his hold reluctantly and slid from her lap, his hand
reaching to hold onto the back of her chair.  Babs couldn't hold his hand
and steer herself across the hall, Bruce realized suddenly, wondering why
he hadn't noticed earlier Spud's solution to the problem.  Perhaps because
usually Spud was holding Dick's hand on those rare occasions when his
fierce independence gave way to a desire to be connected to some grown up.
But the gesture was practiced - Spud had allowed himself to be led like
this before.  What other things in the life of this small boy, of his son's
family, had Bruce already missed in the past year?
        He shook off his thoughts to follow mother and son to Dick's
bedside.  Almost as soon as they entered, Spud relinquished his hold on
Babs' chair and ran to Dick.  He turned back to Babs.  "No more breathing
machine?"
        A faint smile showed on Babs' tired face.  "He doesn't need it
anymore," she confirmed, her eyes watching the boy begin to calm himself.
        "I thought -" he looked at Bruce hovering in the doorway - "I
thought that -"
        Babs wheeled beside him.  "Shh, Spud.  I know. It's okay."
        "I'm sorry I scared you, Spud," Bruce said softly, his stomach
churning at Spud's unvoiced thought.
        Spud nodded as if to himself, then walked back around the bed to
approach Bruce.  He stopped a few feet away and studied Bruce, turned to
look at Dick, then back to Bruce.  "I'm glad you're here," he said with the
weight of decision made.
        Then he returned to the bed, this time clamoring up onto the
unoccupied side.  He carefully lay down next to his father, his eyes
focused on Dick's face.  He kept a small gap between Dick's injured side
and his own body, but he stretched out a small hand and rested it on Dick's
bare shoulder.  Had Bruce not been listening so hard, he might have missed
the boy's words:  "It's okay, now, Dick.  Bruce didn't forget you."
        Heart heavy with regret, Bruce could only turn away and hide
himself in the dark.

*** 

August 19. 0300h

        Batgirl launched herself easily across the alley, bridging the
distance between the two fire escapes and landing almost silently.  She
shifted onto the railing and snaked out a toe, catching it on the lintel of
the nearest window and sending her body after it.  She stood perfectly
balanced on the four inch wide strip of stone for a moment, her fingers
finding the release catch they'd installed.   A quick motion and then it
was easy to slide up the lower pane of the double hung window.  Another
move and she was standing in their living room.
        She stayed where she was, still and listening.  Her hearing tuned
out the various whirs and soft grinds of fans and the refrigerator motor,
focusing in on the sound she wanted - the deep, even breathing of sleep.
Satisfied, she closed and relocked the window and glided across to the open
bedroom door.
        The faint light from the street showed that Tim had barely moved
since she had left him - he still slept curled on one side, the top sheet
pulled up to his chest.  She nodded to herself.
        It had been a quiet night in Gotham, she reflected, cutting back
through the living room to the kitchen.  Three muggings, one prostitute
getting beaten, a small gang border skirmish.  It was probably as quiet in
the 'Haven, although maybe the BPD had already moved on Blockbuster.  She
suspected not - they'd be coordinating some morning sting.
        She opened the fridge for water and saw that the plate she'd left
for Tim was undisturbed.  Made sense if he hadn't woken.  She snagged a
carrot stick from it and then reclosed the cellophane wrapping it.  If he
slept until morning, she would insist they go out for a proper breakfast,
but he might still wake before then.
        Munching contentedly and swallowing more water, she walked into the
bathroom.  A gentle pressure on a tile behind the door folded back a small
section of wall into what passed for a lair in their little apartment.  It
really was just enough space for uniforms and weapons and a corner for the
more powerful computer that networked into the desktop that sat
unassumingly on Tim's desk.  And to change.
        Three minutes later, Cassandra Cain exited the little room through
it's other entrance - the one that led back into the bedroom.
        Tim still slept.
        Smiling faintly, Cassandra set down her water bottle on her night
stand.  She stretched, enjoying the air on her bare skin after a long night
in her suit.  Then she lifted her side of the top sheet and slid into bed
beside her sleeping lover.
        Now Tim did move - not to wakefulness, but toward the warmth of her
beside him.  He nuzzled up to her shoulder, prompting her to wrap a
protective arm around him.  As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if
this was what love felt like.

*** 

August 19, 0930h

        Spud and Dinah sat leaning into one another on the couch, their
eyes focused blankly on the television.  The Sunday morning cartoons seemed
to have a bland sameness about them that kept Dinah from being sure when
one ended and another began.  She had asked Spud a question at one point
about the shows, and he had merely shrugged.  He didn't usually watch these
shows, he'd explained before lapsing back into silence.
        Dinah understood.  It was easier just to sit quietly and draw
comfort form each other's presence.
        Warm breakfast smells wafted in from the kitchen, making Dinah's
stomach growl.  Spud started at the sound, then giggled.
        Dinah leaned back and wrinkled her nose at Spud.  "Something funny,
there, Tater Tot?"
        As if on cue, her stomach rumbled again.
        "Can't you control that thing?" Spud challenged, a smile still
playing on his lips.
        "You mean my tummy monster?  You just be grateful I haven't gotten
*super* hungry yet, 'cuz then -"  Dinah curled her fingers into claw
shapes, wiggling them menacingly and prompting Spud to back away.
        "Oh, no, you don't!" Dinah cried, pouncing on the boy.
        Spud let out a shrieking giggle as he tried half-heartedly to
escape her.  He squirmed as she tickled him until suddenly his own stomach
growled.
        Dinah made a big show of jumping back.  "Who woke up *your* tummy
monster?" she demanded.
        "It's Alfred's cooking," Spud assured her.  "Gets me every - hey!"
        Dinah had used Spud's distraction to pounce again, feeling three
days of frozen tension begin to dissipate.
        Then, abruptly, it rushed back as Spud went rigid, his face
contorting into a mask of guilt and fear as he looked past Dinah's shoulder.  
Dinah 
followed his 
gaze, and, for the first time in almost four days, look
ed into the weary face of her husband.
        "Bruce!" she exclaimed, rising part way on the sofa before
hesitating, unable to read his expression.
        "It's okay, Spud," Bruce reassured.  "Leslie just unhooked the last
machines and she and Babs are getting him comfortable."
        A hint of hope flared in Spud's stricken expression.  "Is he awake?"
        Bruce shook his head, a gesture so heavy that Dinah reached out to
take his hand comfortingly.  "Not yet.  Leslie said it's just about time to
heal, now."
        Spud sank back into the couch, the fleeting hints of happiness
completely lost from his face and his posture.  Dinah put her free hand on
his shoulder and repressed a shudder, noting his expression exactly matched
that of his adoptive grandfather.

*** 

August 19, 0945

        "Well, at least your kidneys are doing something, Dick," Leslie
remarked, replacing the catheter bag hanging discreetly on the side of the
bed frame.  She sealed the used bag and glanced at Babs.  "I'll have to run
a urinalysis, but based on the last batch, I'd say they might even recover
to full function."
        Babs nodded.  "That's good news."  She ran a hand over Dick's hair,
still damp from the washing she and Leslie had given it.  Dick turned his
head toward the contact, his face looking almost as if he might smile.
        Leslie watched them for a moment.  "In fact -  No, maybe tonight."
        "Hmm?" Babs asked.
        "I was thinking we might be able to dispense with the catheter, but
I'd rather see how he does today first.  With his level of responsiveness,
I think we could trust him to control his bladder until someone told him to
let 'er rip."
        Babs snorted.  "That's an image.  It'd probably be more comfortable
for him, though."
        "Or you'll have a wet bed," Leslie pointed out, "but we'll see.
Now I should head back to Gotham -"
        "Oh, at least stay for breakfast," Babs interrupted, looking up
from Dick's face.
        "Well, I planned to, since my ride is cooking," Leslie teased
gently.  "But what I wanted to say is that I need to be back in Gotham for
the day, but I'll be back this evening.  Do you want me to look into some
nursing help for you?"
        Leslie's expression didn't change as Babs' eyes flared at her; she
maintained her cool professionalism.  Babs sighed.  "Not yet," she said
softly, cupping a hand gently against Dick's cheek.
        "Okay," Leslie agreed, "but think about it.  It's time for this
family to try to settle back into normal, or you're all going to be sick."
        Babs ignored the lecture, leaning over a little awkwardly to kiss
Dick's cheek as she slipped her hand into his.  "Alfred's making pancakes,
sweetheart," she said.  "You don't wake up soon, you'll miss them.  You
know how Spud eats.  I'll be back."
        She pulled back then, pausing for a moment as Dick tightened his
grip on her hand.
        "Dick," Leslie admonished, "Barbara needs to eat."
        There was another pause, then Dick's hold loosened and Babs
reclaimed her hand.  Leslie stepped back as Babs wheeled sharply for the
bedroom door, then shook her head as she was left alone with Dick to pack
her medical bag.
        That chore accomplished, she allowed herself a moment at his
bedside as concerned friend rather than doctor.  "She loves you, Dick," she
murmured.  "If you can see clear to come back to us."
        She bit her lip and gave his hand a quick squeeze before heading
out to join the others for breakfast.

*** 

August 19, 1132

	"Bruce?  Bruce, wake up."
	Bruce lifted his head groggily from the mattress and stopped abruptly, 
pain racing through muscles stiffened by hours of sleeping bent nearly double.
	Dinah's hands pressed into pressure points at this neck and the small of
his back.  Searing pain rushed his back, but he was able to straighten.
	"Babs is getting ready to take a nap," she explained, pulling another 
chair in close to his, "and I've put on a pot of coffee.  Why don't you go get
some?  I'll wait here."
	Bruce nodded and stood, feeling his cramped muscles stretch over 
vertebrae. He'd been unfair to her-selfish-the last few days but that could be 
discussed later."Must have dozed off.  Spud?" he asked instead, wondering where 
Dick'spermanent accessory had wandered off to.
	"At church with Alfred and Leslie," Dinah replied.
	Bruce quirked an eyebrow.  "Church?"
	"He asked to go," Dinah told him as if this was normal.  "Said he was
afraid his cross might not be working anymore since he hasn't been to
church since his mother was alive."
	Bruce nodded, having no answer.  If Spud could find some comfort in a 
being Bruce had long since felt abandoned by, who was Bruce to tell anyone
otherwise?  He watched his wife turn her attention back to Dick, fussing
with the covers, and turned go look for the promised coffee.
	The tension in his neck and shoulders was finally starting to ease when he
entered the kitchen and saw Barbara staring at the first page of the
morning's newspaper for the first time.
	She lifted her head, her eyes blazing fire at Bruce.
	"What the HELL is this?" she cried, throwing the newspaper at him.  "How
DARE you!  What were you thinking?"  Her voice was hoarse from exhaustion
and coffee, biting into his already frayed nerves.
	"What?  I-"
	"Don't even TALK to me!" Barbara yelled at him, tears welling in her eyes.
	"You think I wouldn't KNOW?  Goddammit Bruce, he spent eight years, eight
YEARS trying to bring down Blockbuster and you just waltz in here and do it
in a weekend!  How do you think that's going to make him feel?  How could
you DO this to him?"
	Woodenly, Bruce lowered his head to see the headlines splashed across the
paper that had bounced off his chest and hit the floor.  BLOCK-BUSTED!
	"Dick did bring him down," he tried to answer.  "He did all the work-"
"And you got all the glory," Barbara snarled.  "You just decided it was up
and time to dump everything on the BPD.  Yeah, Bruce, you've got everything
under control."
	"No," Bruce fumbled.  "I-"  Suddenly he wasn't sure why he was even
arguing.  After all, Blockbuster was in jail and that was what mattered,
didn't it?  The ends justified the means and Barbara would just have to
accept that sooner or later.
	"What's going on here?"
	Dinah had arrived in full outraged comportment.
	She looked from Barbara to Bruce and back, then stalked to the middle of
the room and crouched to pick up the newspaper from the floor.  She scanned
the stories quickly and threw the paper on the kitchen table.
	"Tell her," she ordered Bruce, staring at him hard with icy blue eyes.
Bruce looked resistant, but he did as he was told.
        "Dick did all the work," he said quietly.  "There was one thing
that tied his information together and that was the money laundering
through the Freesoap Corporation."
	"Dick wanted you to look into their holdings," Barbara agreed, her voice
brittle.  Dinah shot her a warning glance.
	"He looked into it himself.  They were using stock transactions to hide 
it.  The money went in on the fifteenth of the month-if I'd checked on Monday, I
wouldn't have found anything-and would leave tomorrow morning if the police
didn't get the records before the stock market opened.  I waited as long as
I could.  He couldn't do it so I did."
	It lay unspoken in the heavy kitchen atmosphere that Dick might not wake 
up and that Blockbuster might have gone unchecked.
	A small sob turned Dinah's attention back to her friend.  Babs hunched
over, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs.
	"Come on," she suggested, laying a hand on Barbara's shoulder.  "You need
some rest.  You'll feel better after a nap."  She glanced over her shoulder
at her husband as she helped Barbara leave the kitchen and he felt shamed.
He didn't deserve her love.  He didn't deserve any of their love.  But it
was there and it was inescapable.  And he had to make amends.

*** 

August 19, 1450

	Dinah and Bruce sat across from each other at the kitchen table.  Barbara
was asleep.  Alfred and Leslie had called for an update and upon hearing
there was no change, announced they were taking Spud for a late lunch and
then to find a new pair of baseball cleats.
	And that left Dinah and Bruce to sit together and mull the state of their
relationship.  They just didn't know where to start.
	"Have you been getting enough sleep?" Bruce finally asked awkwardly.
"Eating enough?"
	Dinah smiled into her cup of tea.  She hadn't told him about her breakdown
the day before and didn't intend to.  All he knew is that she'd come back
to the Manor for some rest.
	"If you're asking about the baby," she said, setting her cup down, "it's
fine.  Leslie looked me over this morning."
	"Good."  Satisfied that Leslie had things in hand, Bruce tightened his jaw
again.
	The silence stretched between them again.
	"Bruce?" Dinah started tentatively, but she was interrupted with noise at
the front door.
	"Hey, anyone home?"  Tim's drawn face peered around the door.
	"In the kitchen," Dinah called.
	She exchanged a regretful glance with her husband before Tim and Cassandra
walked in.
	"It's quiet in here," Tim commented.
	He looked better than he had the day before, Dinah realized.  Maybe Bruce
had let him have some sleep the evening before.
	"Barbara's sleeping," Bruce informed him.  He glanced at Cassandra who was
already touring the fridge.
	"Alfred and Leslie took Spud out for a bit," Dinah put in.  "I had him
laughing a little this morning.  He's doing a lot better."
        "That's good to hear," Tim commented, helping himself to a cup of
coffee. There seemed to be a pot constantly sitting in the coffeemaker
these days.
	Cassandra sat at the table with a cold pancake left over from Alfred's
marvelous breakfast.
	"There's syrup on the counter if you want it," Bruce told her, seemingly
unfazed at her food choice.
	Cass just shook her head and tore off a piece of pancake to poke into her
mouth.
        Bruce looked from Cassandra to Tim and back again.  And then back
at Tim.
	Dinah watched this and decided to leave them alone.  It stung, not being
part of the active set of heroes.  The baby, she reminded herself.  Her
miracle baby.  The baby would be better than knowing the secret handshake
of the Batclub.
	"I'm going to peek in on Dick and Babs," she announced, standing and
walking her teacup and saucer to the sink.  "Back in a bit."  She walked
into the hallway and leaned against the wall with a sigh.  Her baby, she
reminded herself, folding her hands over her stomach.  It was a good thing.
Back in the kitchen, Bruce braced himself as he addressed his two junior
partners-two people who had put a lot on the line for him, for Dick, for
the family.
	"I-I wanted to say thank you."
	Tim raised an eyebrow.  Cassandra tore off another piece of pancake.
	"You're welcome," Tim answered cautiously.
	"The last few days," Bruce fumbled, "they were hard on everyone.  But I
made them harder on the two of you.  There was a lot on your shoulders.  It
needed to be done.  All of it.  For Dick.  But you should know that I would
have done the same for either of you."
	"Ignored the family?  Kept everyone out of the loop?  Hid us away from
those who cared about us?"  Tim's words were tinged with bitterness.
	"Got bounty hunter.  Protect family.  Protect city.  Carry work.  Keep
secret."  Cassandra pulled one of Tim's hands from his coffee mug to wrap
around her own and reached the other hand over to Bruce, resting it gently
on his arm.  "Keep going."
	Tim bowed his head, but Bruce saw his hand tighten on Cassandra's.
	Wordlessly, the older man lay his hand on the table, palm up.
	After several moments, Tim reached out and clasped it.

*** 

August 19, 1530

        Babs started awake at the crack of thunder, reaching instinctively
for her husband.  Disoriented, it wasn't until she reached into empty space
and had to flail for balance that she remembered she was on the wrong side
of the bed, and why.  She couldn't make herself turn.
        Another crack of thunder sounded, ringing like a rifle shot, and Babs 
realized that beyond the thunder was only silence.  The power was out.  She 
shivered, relieved that Dick was no longer plugged in to the wall to stay alive, 
even as she heard the emergency generator kick in.
        As the thunder sounded again, suddenly she couldn't bear it.  They
used to make love when it stormed.  She rolled toward her husband, nestling
her head against his shoulder.  She could almost make herself believe that
the way he nuzzled her in response was a conscious reaction.  Almost.
        She felt Dick shudder as another peal of thunder rolled through the
room.  She leaned her face up to kiss his cheek tenderly, trying very hard
not to cry.

*** 

August 19, 1716h

        Tim sat in the garage.  The back door was open, letting in a storm
cooled breeze that swept away the stale air.  They'd opened all the windows
in the house, too, turning off the air conditioner in favor of the scent of
rain.  To get rid of the hospital smell, Dinah had commented.
        Everyone was here, now - Alfred and Leslie and Dinah and Bruce and
him and Cass and of course Spud and Babs.  And Dick.  Dick was physically
present anyway.  And sort of there mentally.  But not all the way back.
Not by a long shot.  Leslie's pleased announcement that Dick could control
his bodily functions and respond to commands had been too much.  Too much
joy for so little a sign of consciousness.  Tim had slipped away at the
first opportunity.
        So now he sat with the bike.  Or what was left of it.  It seemed a
fitting metaphor.
        Bruce had taken care of that detail.  Tim didn't know how he'd
snuck through Babs security array and gotten the bike back to the cave, but
he had seen the tell-tale marks the length of the cave exit.  Bruce must
have dragged it behind the Batmobile, damaged it almost beyond recognition
following the specs that Babs and Dinah had put together.
        Babs hadn't questioned it when Tim arrived in the guise of a tow
truck driver, bearing the mangled machine on the bed of a Larson's Towing
and Wrecking truck.  She'd only directed him to stow it in the garage where
it now lay, all but forgotten.  A broken symbol of a broken life.
        He heard the connecting door to the house open and shut, then Cass'
voice said, "Hey."
        He looked up wearily.  "Hey," he replied.
        She, too, was looking at the bike.  "Dick will be mad."
        Tim nodded, a lump in his throat.  If he ever woke up.
        Cass seemed to read his unspoken thought.  "He will be," she insisted.
        "Cass," he began hopelessly, but he couldn't voice his argument.
Why kill someone else's hope?
        She walked up to him and stood in front of him, blocking his view.
Her eyes were determined.  "He will be," she repeated.
        He averted his eyes from hers.  "We have to get back to Gotham," he
reminded her, changing the subject.
        "Tim."
        Her tone forced his eyes back to her.  He realized that she, too,
looked tired, and that he really had no idea how this was affecting her.
They'd barely had time to talk since Dick had been hurt.
        "Dick is still there," Cass said firmly, her eyes searching his.
"I see him."
        Tim shook his head.  "Cass, what if he's not?  What if -"
        "I see him, Tim.  He will wake up when his mind can understand his
body."
        Tim sighed.  "I hope you're right."
        "Stupid Tim," she said in disgust.  "I say goodbye to Spud, then we
go.  I drive."
        Tim nodded his acquiescence, not prepared to argue.  It wasn't
until she had disappeared back into the house that he realized that she
hadn't left out a single word when she talked about Dick.

*** 

August 19, 1945h

        He supposed that it was dark because he hadn't opened his eyes.  He
was in no hurry to do so. The dark was warm and comfortable, and dim memory
told him that it had not been so comfortable for a while.  He felt himself
smiling as he lay still, unwilling for the moment to move any other muscles.
        He opened the range of his hearing, listening beyond his immediate
space.  He could hear the clinks of silverware on plates in the distance,
and something smelled wonderful.  Dinner time, he thought, slowly
registering the low murmur of conversation.  They had company?  Why hadBabs
let him sleep through company?  Must've been a tough night.
        Should he open his eyes?  The dark was so soothing...
        Yes, he thought, time to open his eyes.  He felt too floatily
unfocused in the dark.
        It took a moment for him to really see or make sense of what he was
seeing.  The light in the room was faint, like twilight through thick
curtains.  His eyes focused on a vague blur slightly above him and to his
right.  A balloon?  No, an IV bag, he registered suddenly.  His face
creased into a frown.  Must've been a really tough night.
        Was he badly injured?  He hesitated.  Best not try to move just
yet.  Just a little turn of the head to continue looking around the room.
His neck muscles protested vaguely, as if he had jerked around suddenly at
some earlier point.  What had happened?
        His eyes widened as they fell on the rack of medical equipment now
rolled away from the bed.  Cardiogram, respirator - how long had he lain
here?  He had no memory of being hooked up to such equipment, but it would
not be here otherwise.
        Unless - a panic-stricken thought occurred to him.  Babs!  But no,
his subconscious reassured him almost instantly.  Babs was okay.  Or at
least, she wasn't the reason for this equipment.  He relaxed and squinted
at the IV tubing hooking into his arm.  No, whatever had happened had
definitely happened to him.
        He noted as he looked down at his body that his left arm lay on top
of the blankets, heavily bandaged.  Not splinted, just bandaged.  He
stretched his awareness and felt the weight of similar bandages all along
his left side, wrapping around his torso.  He must've run afoul of
something, he mused.
        Carefully, gingerly, he began to test small muscle groups, curling
his toes, shifting his leg, wiggling his fingers, working up from his
extremities to his core.  Everything seemed to be in working order,
although a deep full body ache was beginning to make its presence felt to
his consciousness.  Yep, definitely ran afoul of something.
        He found himself momentarily distracted by another whiff of
something wonderful from the kitchen.  He felt - not exactly hungry - but
something like hungry.  "Well, Grayson," he thought to himself, "I think
it's time to see about getting up."
Pushing aside a sudden sense of misgiving, he began to tighten his
abdominals to pull himself into a sitting position.  His sudden gasp seemed
to correspond to a clatter in the kitchen, and he lay back in the pillows
suddenly drenched in a cold sweat.  For a moment, his brain seemed numbed
by pain, and it occurred to him that there must be a heavy painkiller in
his IV drip that he had not felt a warning against trying that maneuver.
What he had felt as he tried to sit up had only just been short of searing.
Now, however, the vague body ache of before had concentrated into a
torso-wide ribbon of pain.  He waited as it subsided.
        "Don't use your abs this time, Grayson," he chided himself when the
pain had subsided sufficiently for him to contemplate rising again.  He
moved slowly, using his arms and legs to lever himself around with a
minimal amount of bending in the middle.  Eventually, he was able to use
the IV stand as a support to pull himself to his feet.
        He stood gasping for air for a long moment, fighting nausea.  His
legs held, however, as he clung to the bed and IV stand for balance.  A
really really tough night, he decided, feeling a familiar cracked rib ache
amidst the other pains of his body.
        Once the nausea passed, he gave himself a moment to inspect
himself.  The bandages on his torso were hidden by a loose pajama top.  He
needed his right hand to maintain his grip on the IV stand, and although
the fingers of his left hand were unbandaged, any effort at coordination of
the limb or digits prompted painful protest from both.  "Guess I can't
peek," he thought.
        More sounds penetrated from the kitchen, and Dick looked down at
his pajama clad form.  "No hope of changing," he decided.  "Just have to go
out like this.
        With painful, shuffling steps and the aid of the IV stand, he moved
himself into the hall and towardthe kitchen.  As he got closer, he began to
make out individual voices.  Barbara and Spud, of course.  Another woman's
voice - Leslie?  And there was Dinah telling Spud to take his plate to the
sink.
        Dick smiled softly, finally able to see into the room enough to
watch Spud move away from the table and look toward the hall...  There was
a sudden shattering sound as the plate Spud carried fell to the floor.
Dick, having moved forward another step, saw all the heads at the table -
Bruce? he registered in surprise - swivel in the direction of the sound.
Then Spud was tangled in his legs and Bruce was at his side, supporting
Dick as he nearly toppled under the force of Spud's desperate hug.
        "Easy, James," Bruce chided gently.
        James? Dick wondered, leaning gratefully against Bruce's strong
arms.  "Hey, everybody," he said weakly, smiling through vision too blurred
to make out the expressions on the faces of his family.
        Spud took a step back, his face twisted with angry tears.  "You
were going to leave me!" he suddenly screamed, but the hint of violence in
his body language was immediately contained in a tight embrace from Leslie.
She looked up into Dick's bewildered expression as she tried to calm the
sobbing boy in her arms.  "You are really going to regret this jaunt when
that painkiller wears off," she said sternly, although her voice sounded
more happy than angry.
        "Dinah, can you get me a wheelchair?" Bruce asked gently, still
easily holding Dick.
        Dick shook his head.  "I'm-"
        "No, Dick," Bruce stopped him.  "You've given us quite a scare, and
you shouldn't be on your feet yet."  His tone, like Leslie's had a strange
lightness to it.
        Dick stared at his mentor for a moment, then shifted his eyes to
where Barbara still sat at the kitchen table.  She had turned her
wheelchair in his direction, but she had not moved.  Dick's vision cleared
enough to register what she was doing.  She was crying.
        "Babs?" he asked uncertainly, fighting Bruce's hold to step toward
her.  "Barbara?"
        "Here you go, Dick," Dinah interrupted, wheeling a chair behind him
and holding it as Bruce settled his son into it.  Once Dick was seated, she
laid a hand on his shoulder, and Dick could see a kind of relief in her
eyes as she looked at him.  But his wife still sat crying.  As did his son,
now passed from Leslie to Dinah's comforting arms.  What had happened?
        Suddenly Leslie was in front of him, studying his face intently,
asking him to track her finger, then listening to his lungs and inspecting
his IV.  Dinah had taken Spud to his room, and Dick could not see where
Bruce had gone.  "We almost lost you," Leslie explained softly.  "You've
been mostly unconscious or incoherent for more than three days."
        Three days!  Dick stared incredulously at Leslie, at the same time
remembering the search for Spud and the rooftop battle with the bounty
hunter, the unexpected appearance of the long blades.  "Is Spud-? Tim?" he
asked in sudden alarm.
        "Tim's fine," Bruce's voice reassured, unexpectedly coming from the
kitchen side of the hall.  "He's coming back here in the morning.  He's
covering my patrol tonight.  Spud-"
        Suddenly Dick felt soft fingers twine in his and turned to see
Barbara's tear streaked face.  "Spud is scared," she said, looking
earnestly into her husband's eyes.  "And so was I," she whispered.
        Ignoring the protests of his bandaged arm, Dick reached for his
wife and held her in an awkward embrace as she wept.  Bruce and Leslie
quietly stepped away, allowing the couple a private moment.

*** 

August 19, 2002

        "Oracle to Robin and Batgirl."
        Tim froze on the rooftop, glancing anxiously at Cassandra.  It
wasn't the computer voice.  It was Babs.  "Go ahead, Oracle."  He kept his
tone crisp.
        "I have someone here who wants to talk to you."  Her voice sounded
broken up, and Tim braced himself.  What news was so bad she couldn't give
it to them herself?  The moment's silence seemed to stretch forever as he
held his breath.
        Finally, another voice came on.  "Hey, guys, what's shaking?"
        "Dick!"  His voice was terribly weak, but it was, unquestionably, Dick.
        "Back among the living, thanks to you," Dick joked faintly.
        If Tim were not in the Robin suit, he might have cried.  "Don't
even," he admonished.  "It's so good to hear your voice."
        There was a bit of shuffling noise, and then Babs was back.
"Sorry, Tim, Cass - I'm cutting him off.  But we'll see you tomorrow?"
        "You know it," Tim agreed buoyantly.  "Robin out."
        Beside him on the roof, Batgirl shook her head.  "Told you," she
said pointedly, but underneath her full mask, he could tell she was smiling.

*** 

August 19, 2120h

        Bruce paused at the basement door.  He felt childishly reluctant to
go downstairs and had felt that way ever since they'd moved Dick up to his
own bedroom.  It was as though the basement was haunted with the last
vestiges of pain that wracked the house and Bruce wanted nothing less than
to go wallow in that.  He'd promised Barbara he'd bring up the IV stand
though.  He'd never shirked from a difficult job before and he wasn't about
to start with something so - insignificant.  He opened the door and trudged
down the stairs, automatically listening for the staccato click of his own
quiet footfalls on the concrete stairs.  He heard something else instead.
Something rasping and metallic.  His pace increased and when he hit the
bottom, what he found made even the Batman pause.
        Spud sat on the floor with a pair of kitchen scissors, determinedly
slicing apart a Nightwing suit.
        "No," Bruce gasped hoarsely, closing the distance between the
stairs and the little boy in record time.
	"Spud, no!"  Bruce dropped to his knees on the concrete floor, barely
registering the pain and shock of the impact that ran up his thighs as he
scrambled first for the shreds of the ruined suit then for the scissors in
Spud's hand.  "Spud - Jim - James," he fumbled.  "No, you can't do this."
        "But I have to," Spud protested.  "If I don't cut up all his suits,
he'll go back out and he'll get hurt again, or WORSE!"  Spud's lower lip
trembled and his 9-year-old resolve wavered in the face of Angry Adult.
        "No -"  Bruce's strong fingers pulled the scissors from Spud's
small hand and cast them to one side.  They skittered loudly across the
floor, the sound echoing.  "You can't," Bruce said, quietly, his own eyes
stinging with tears for the first time in 35 years.  "I tried, I tried,
James, I did it too!"  He took the little boy by the shoulders and looked
him in the eye.  "I tried to stop him, too.  I made him stop being Robin a
long, long time ago because I was afraid he'd get hurt, too.  I was wrong.
He thought I didn't love him anymore and he became Nightwing.  We can't
take Nightwing away from him, James.  If we really love him, we can't take
Nightwing away from him."
        "But - but -"  Spud started, helplessly.  His eyes spilled over
with frightened tears.
        "I know," Bruce whispered fiercely, crushing the boy in a bear hug.
"I know."  His tears escaped now, washing hot and bitter down his face.
        Together the sat on the cold concrete floor, rocking gently and
crying for the man who had given them both a family.

*** 

August 19, 2140h

        Dinah descended the stairs in search of Bruce.  Barbara had sent
him to get an IV stand twenty minutes ago and he hadn't reappeared yet.
She heard snuffling noises and hastened her progress down the stairs.
        "Bruce."  The words were barely a whisper.  Her big, fearsome
husband was huddled on the floor, crying.  Spud was clinging to him, crying
just as hard.  She crossed the floor, almost in a daze, kneeling beside
them and slipping her hand across Bruce's broad shoulders.  "Honey…"
Belatedly, she noticed the scraps of the Nightwing costume strewn about the
floor.  What had happened down here?
        Spud sobbed brokenly into Bruce's shoulder, hiccuping in between
fits of tears.  Dinah ran a hand through Spud's hair, then the other
through Bruce's, pulling his head against her shoulder.  Surprisingly, he
let her.  His large form heaved with shaking sobs.  Bewildered, Dinah
wrapped her arms around both of them and let them cry against her until
they both were silent.
        She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bruce's forehead, then tilted
Spud's face toward her.  It was red and splotchy from the tears and the
force of his sobs.  "You ready to go upstairs?" she asked him quietly.
"You want to say goodnight to Dick and Babs before they go to sleep."
        Spud nodded, wiping his nose with one hand.
        Dinah squeezed Bruce's shoulder and he eased away from her.  She
rose, holding out a hand to Spud.  "Tell Alfred it's time for us to go
home," she ordered Bruce gently.  "I'll be out as soon as I can."
        Bruce nodded and watched her as she led Spud up the basement steps.
Then he followed.

*** 

August 19, 2158h

        Dinah made Spud wash up and brush his teeth.  He looked much better
once he'd cleaned up and only the red burn on his eyes marked his crying
jag.  When he'd changed into his pajamas, Dinah knocked on the door to Dick
and Babs' room.
        "Come in," Barbara called.
        Spud opened the door himself, and padded to the bed.
        "Hey, buddy," Dick greeted him.  "I'm sorry I scared you."
        Spud didn't respond, but went to Babs and leaned against her arm.
She gave him a squeeze and kissed the top of his head.  "You  going to be
all right tonight, little man?" she asked.
        "Do you want to come up with us?" Dick asked, still too drugged to
be really stung by Spud's snub.
        Faster than anyone would have thought possible, Spud was in the bed
with them and under the covers.  He curled up to Babs' side and snuggled
down.  The door clicked and Babs looked up to see that Dinah had left them
alone.  She smiled to herself and turned out the light, settling down with
her family.

*** 

August 19, 2206h

        Dinah found Bruce waiting in the living room with her bag.  She
linked her hand in his and together they went out to the waiting limo,
making sure the door was well-secured behind them.

-fin-

*** 

August Credits:

"August" was conceived and written by Smitty and Chicago.

It is part of the Potatoverse, a futurewhen story launched with Smitty's
"Small Potatoes: Coming Home."  It uses both original and DC Comics
characters.  DC characters were used without permission but also not for
profit.

The Potato Executive Committee is:
Smitty (HBIC)
Chicago
Kerrie Smith
Recceanna Valour
A.j. (Archivist waves!)
Phoenix
Kerithwyn Jade
Terry Palmer

Postmistress:  Terry Palmer
Advertising Campaign:  Terry Palmer
Advertising Copy:  Smitty and Chicago
Art Director:  Kerrie Smith
Technical Bike-Smashing Advisor:  Kerrie Smith

Posted in real time to Kicking-n-Byting, August 15-19, 2001.

Cast in order of appearance (and who owns them)

Graham (Filb) Filbert......................Smitty
Richard (Dick) Grayson/Nightwing...........DC Comics
Alfred Pennyworth..........................DC Comics
Barbara (Babs) Gordon Grayson/Oracle.......DC Comics
James (Spud) Grayson.......................Smitty
Bruce Wayne/Batman.........................DC Comics
Tim Drake/Robin............................DC Comics
Machete Assassin...........................Chicago
Dinah Lance Wayne/Black Canary.............DC Comics
Wallace (Wally) West/The Flash.............DC Comics
Dr. Leslie Thompkins.......................DC Comics
Clark Kent/Superman........................DC Comics
Chilsom....................................Chicago
Dr. Joseph Bengali.........................Chicago
Jocelyn....................................Chicago
Maya.......................................Chicago
Donna Troy/Troia...........................DC Comics
Kyle Rayner/Green Lantern..................DC Comics
Roy Harper/Arsenal.........................DC Comics
Toni Moretti/Argent........................DC Comics
Jesse Chambers/Jesse Quick ................DC Comics
Victor Stone/Cyborg........................DC Comics
Garth/Tempest..............................DC Comics
Cassandra Cain/Batgirl.....................DC Comics
Senonca Jones..............................Chicago
Amy Rohrbach...............................DC Comics
Hank Hogan.................................DC Comics
Michael (Mutt) Hogan.......................DC Comics
Ma Hogan...................................DC Comics
Cecilia (Cissie) Jones/Arrowette...........DC Comics
J'onn J'onzz/Martian Manhunter.............DC Comics
Arthur (Orin) Curry/Aquaman................DC Comics
Doris......................................Chicago
Lois Lane..................................DC Comics
Captain Phillip Addad......................DC Comics