Author's Note: Slightly darker in tone than the usual fare in my work. This time Dick wakes up to find Bruce less than sober. What he discovers is a shocking truth about the man he idolises despite Bruce's assurances it is all under control.

Drunk 4

Dick

I get woken up sometime around two in the morning by what sounds like a swamp monster banging around the house. All I hear is dragging footsteps and every so often there's just a hellacious crash or thud that tells me this creature has taken a tumble to the ground. All I can think is it can't be Bruce. The big guy had to attend another social party tonight at some sprawling old money estate near the river and hasn't come back yet. Alfie and I just figured he'd gone straight on patrol after kick-out. He usually does to let off steam if the night's been particularly unbearable and doesn't bother radioing in to tell us so. We hear all about it in the morning by how many scumbags end up on the wrong end of Batman's fists. So as I carefully get to my feet, I figure I must be dealing with some crazy intruder. Piece of cake for a fifteen-year-old crime fighter with my skills.

I slip out into the hallway and listen just in time to hear another thud coming from the south. I follow it until I find myself confronted with a discarded dress shoe caked in mud lying on the carpet. A quick sweep tells me the guy who was wearing this came from the grand staircase and was a big boy, easily Bruce's size. I trace the footprints down the stairs and into the parlour where I find the other shoe by the door. Front door is open, but only because somebody rewired the alarm system…with a tie-pin. I gently pull it free of the control panel and turn it over a few times. It's got the Wayne family crest on it. I walk outside to see Bruce's Lamborghini splayed sideways to the house with the driver's door still open. This is getting weird. It's almost like…but he wouldn't do that. He just would not do that, not to us. I go back upstairs and head for the big man's room.

When I get there, the door's slightly ajar. I push it open and spot the hulking mass slumped on the bed in a half-foetal position immediately. As I approach the bed, my foot catches on something damp on the carpet. I look down and find it's Bruce's dress shirt along with his suit jacket and tie. I've only taken another couple of steps when the silhouette rears up on the bed and I almost crap my pants.

"Who's there?" A slurred voice demands. I barely speak. It is the big guy. Bruce is…he's…

"Are you wasted?" I ask. The silhouette fumbles with the table lamp, managing to flick it on after several epic failures. A bare-chested Bruce with red-rimmed eyes that can't seem to focus properly regards me from the bed. He's still wearing his suit trousers and belt but nothing else. He frowns.

"Dick?"

"After all the damn lectures, you go out and get slammed? And then you drive yourself back here? Are you totally insane?" I practically yell. What a hypocrite, slamming me for getting tipsy and then going out and getting slammed himself? And then driving? Driving in his condition? His frown morphs into a stern stare.

"I am not drunk, Dick."

"Yeah, not really buying that line right now."

"I have been shot with multiple tranquilisers, all of them at an abnormally high concentration. They are simulating an inebriated state but I can assure you…I have not touched a drop." He tells me with some difficulty in articulating the bigger words. Everything's threatening to devolve into mush. I'm starting to freak out a bit at how spacey he and this whole situation is becoming.

"Why have you been shot with dangerous tranquillisers?"

"Things became…complicated at the party." He informs me whilst flopping back on the bed. I draw in and sit on the side of the mattress.

"Complicated how?"

"A terrorist group infiltrated the party and attempted to kidnap me…with the aid of…of…"

"Tranquillisers, I got it. I take it you stopped them?"

"Evidently."

"And without your secret getting out?"

"It required me to voluntarily take two tranquillisers. Fortunately they hit my arm not my neck or chest." He explains with what looks like a herculean effort to stay conscious. I examine his stupidly sculpted left arm and see two swollen puncture wounds in his shoulder and upper arm.

"Grouping's pretty close."

"They were…proficient at their task." He mumbles.

"So what happened after they popped you?"

"I do not remember clearly, but I am certain it involved disabling the lighting system. The bruising on my knuckles is conducive with having knocked at least four men unconscious." He says before scrutinising his hands. "Perhaps five."

"And you didn't tell me or Alfie because?"

"There was not enough time. Things…got away too quickly." He says. I notice a third puncture mark on his abdomen.

"You've been hit three times. Is that dangerous?"

"Not anymore. I have taken sufficient adrenaline to counteract the effects. I will not sleep for a while, but when I do, the narcotics should be out of my system." Bruce says in a voice that says he is on the verge of being comatose. Enough is enough.

"Right, I'm getting Alfie." I say getting to my feet only for him to clamp a big-ass hand around my bicep. He squeezes my arm softly, something I'm frankly amazed he's able to do in his condition.

"I don't need Alfred to attend to me. You are fine."

"Bruce let go of my arm and let me get Alfie before something bad happens." I say trying to jerk my arm free only for him to lazily yank back onto the mattress. He sits up and puts his free hand on the side of my face, again with a delicacy I've never seen any drunk manage.

"Here is what I need you to do. Go into the kitchen and make me a strong coffee then come back. Trust me please."

"Fine, but you have to sit there like you are until I get back, no napping."

"Agreed."

I get him his coffee and find him still sat up in bed. He's managed to drape his dressing gown over his shoulders in the time it took and he looks a bit more lucid. I hand it to him and sit down on the edge. He takes a few measured sips, rubs down the length of his face and looks at me. "Here. You must be cold." He puts his dressing gown over me. When I refuse, he insists. I guess it was cold running around in just my boxers. "Thank you for doing as I ask."

"I still think we should get Alfie. I've never seen you like this."

"I told you I have taken the correct dosage to…"

"Counteract the effects, I know, you told me. But you're totally hammered: how do you know you managed the right dose or even the right drug?"

"There are preloaded syringes in the Lamborghini. The solution in them is calculated to counter the effects of one tranquilliser. To be safe, I only administered two, not three." He assures me taking hold of my shoulder and pulling me over to him whilst taking a larger swig of his coffee.

"And how do you know it was adrenaline you took, not a poison antidote or anticoagulant?"

"Adrenaline is colour-coded red. My balance and speech centres may be uneven but my colour cones are fine." I can't keep pretending this is normal anymore, not even for him. I look him square in the eye. "How did you get like this?"

"As I explained, a terrorist group…"

"Not tanked up, I get that. I mean how are you functioning like this? We've taken down hardcore drug-addicts and alcoholics before and none of them function at the level you are right now. The way you construct sentences and your awareness of what's going on is ridiculous, but even that's nothing compared to what you managed downstairs. You can barely drive in a straight line but you can rewire the house's whole alarm system with a freaking tie-pin? How did you get like this? What did you have to do?" I say, starting to suspect his abilities under such powerful drugs is not something you can explain simply by saying 'he's the Batman'. It doesn't wash like everything else. He considers carefully before squeezing my shoulder.

"Obviously…there were…sacrifices required to train my mind…many months of delirium brought on by increasing dosages of sedative compounds and tranquillisers to hone cognitive function…until I could function effectively no matter my…condition or lack thereof." He tries to dance around the big issue, but it's pretty obvious to me just what the hell that all means in the grand scheme of things. I nod my head in understanding even if I can barely believe what he's telling me.

"You deliberately doped yourself up to adapt to being like this? Did Alfie help you?"

"Alfred was not aware of my experiments. For the nine months I conducted my tests…"

"Nine months? Nine months of taking drugs? Were you crazy or just stupid? "I say heatedly. I feel like my head's beginning to spin slightly. His jaw tightens.

"Likely both. It was not without complications…"

"Like addiction?" I throw the word straight in his face. This time he clenches his jaw but nods as well.

"Yes, but in the following two years, I returned to normal operations independent of drug use."

"Those two years you were trying to get clean…were they your first years as Batman?" I ask praying to God I'm just spit balling here and it's not conceivable this man would risk life and limb when high as a kite. His voice is as cold and hard as a tombstone in responding.

"Yes."

"You went out onto the streets to fight crime…as a drug-addict? Did you not think it might have been better to get clean first?"

"It could not wait. With the way the city was, I had no choice but to act."

"And how long had you been off them by the time I rolled into the frame?"

"Seven months. I have been clean since then."

"Until now." I offer bitterly.

"Fortunately my body can cope with the sudden influx. It will not lead to a relapse." He says and even though it's slurred and struggling under the weight of the concept it describes, his voice is sincere. I can hear it clearly. Still, I have doubts. Bruce always taught me to question the price of sincerity, no matter who it came from. I shrug.

"How can you be sure? You're not going to remember this."

"But you will. So know this: I will never engage in any activity that endangers your welfare if I am not sober and clean. I will not ever risk you seeing me like this again. I love you too much to ever accept such a scenario as ordinary. This situation was unavoidable but it was the first and last time it will be so. Do you believe me?" He asks taking his hand off my shoulder and shifting away to give me space. It's one of his old methods to avoid coercing me. He knows if he puts an arm around me like that, squeezes my shoulder like that and then asks the question, I'll want to believe him more and the pressure will possibly make me cave. Always the detective even under sedation, even under the threat of losing my trust, the impossible man who, despite everything he has achieved in life, values my opinion of him more than anything else. I collect my thoughts and speak candidly.

"I believe in you. I always will. But believing everything you say would be a mistake." I tell him getting to my feet. "But, whether it was the tranquillisers motivating you or not, thanks for telling me the truth immediately. It means a lot." I add taking off his gown and setting back in his lap. He looks up at me and offers a pained smile.

"We have no secrets from each other, Dick."

I smile back but shake my head. "That's just not true. Goodnight Bruce. Enjoy amnesia."