I'm Running Out of Things to Call These

The first two days had actually been quite lovely. Dick had been having a field day flinging himself between tree branches and giving his new guardian heart palpitations. They had burned their hotdogs a little but that was part of the experience, and Dick had laughed at Bruce, who was generally extremely competent, utterly failing to put up the tent. It had gotten put up at last, and staked down to both their satisfaction. All in all, Alfred had been right.

Some of Bruce's fellow elites in Gotham might have been surprised that Bruce and Dick were camping, but not terribly many. Bruce was a medical examiner, and a very good one, so he'd had his fair share of the wilderness --at least, when he was called to remote sites for cause of death determination. It was nice to spend some time in the woods without a crime scene around. All this to say, Bruce was not, by any means, a foolish or even an inexperienced outdoors-man.

The experience level of a camper has little to do with the whims of mother nature, however.

On the second night of their planned three day trip, a surprise storm had swept up. Bruce had heard nothing about it on the radio, and the forecast when they had set out had been clear. Rain pelted down on the tent and by the time it woke both of them they were soaked. The sudden downpour after weeks of fairly dry summer weather destabilized the previously quite gentle slope of the hillside until it became a ghastly river of mud and debris, getting deeper and faster by the minute. Holding onto trees, they had gathered as much gear as they could --their tent had been swept away and they hadn't wasted time chasing it-- and made for high ground.

Six inches of flowing water can knock over a grown man. Bruce had read that once. Dick wasn't a grown man, though, he was a child, small for his age and light like the acrobat he was, and mud was thick and heavier than water. He had been swept off his feet with a yelp and Bruce, moving at the speed of sheer, white hot terror, had grabbed him before he could be swept away. He'd felt the horrible pop as his ward's shoulder had dislocated under his own hands, but he hadn't had the time to fix it when all of the previously gentle hillside suddenly seemed determined to kill them both. Bruce had carried his shaking kid to high ground and found a a hollow beneath a sturdy, rocky outcropping. It was in the lee of the storm and there was even some dry branches left in a neat pile by some previous, farsighted hiker.

Bruce had popped Dick's shoulder back into place and been thankful for the extensive first aid kit he had both packed and, importantly, rescued from the mud. After administering some pain meds and anti inflammatories, they had spent the third day in front of a small fire, drying out and trying to get a message through.

Bruce did his best to keep Dick's spirits high. The kid was...intense at the best of times, but he was handling the whole ordeal with the patience and determination of someone three times his age.

All in all, things hadn't gone truly, horribly wrong, until about sunset of the third day. They hadn't gotten through to anyone on the lightweight radio that, Bruce was sure, was blocked with mud, but they had more than enough food and water still, they had their packs, although no more bedrolls or sleeping bags, and they had shelter. The area they had been in was a popular one for camping and the park rangers would have surely put out a search, as would have Alfred when he saw the news and received no answer from them. The safest thing they could do, was just sit tight.

The rain had even let up. Torrential downpours simply aren't sustainable, and the weather had vasiliated between a drizzle and a steady patter all day, with occasional little rumbles of thunder, or a flash of lightning here and there behind the clouds.

The only problem was the fire, really. It was chilly and keeping dry was imperative, so fire was imperative, and by the end of the third day they had burned through the dry wood. Bruce ventured out, not far, from their shelter to look for any wood that might have been protected, under logs or thick brush and the like. He stayed within sight of their shelter, although if they went much longer without rescue he'd have to look further afield. Nevertheless, he came back with a small armful of wood.

Which was, of course, when the sky had split open once more, this time with light instead of rain, and a bolt of electricity had come down like the hand of particularly vengeful god and split the old tree that sat just outside their shelter.

Bruce's memory was hazier after that. He'd thrown up, sometime after a branch had knocked him bodily to the ground. He'd been dizzy --still was dizzy-- and he'd heard Dick calling out his name in terror and dragging him free of the branches, pulling him away from the massive trunk that had missed him by inches.

Poor kid, he thought. Last thing he needs is to see another person he cares for on the ground covered in blood.

And now, now it was noonish, because the sun was high above the branches of the downed tree that now trapped them in the rocky alcove. It hurt to look at the light, and Bruce closed his eyes again, concussion throbbing. His ankle was swollen and would take no weight, so he couldn't even try to help shift the tree. Every ten minutes, by the time on Dick's waterproof digital watch Bruce had gotten him specially for the trip, Dick raised an almighty racket, yelling and rustling the branches of the tree trapping them, in the hopes that he would alert a search party.

Bruce had almost thrown up again when he'd tried it, so he and Dick had agreed it would be Dick's job. Bruce could still feel the dried blood crusted in his hair and on his forehead from where the branches had hit him.

It itched.

Bruce was thankful for once for what Dick called his 'paranoia'. They still had plenty of protein bars and had collected enough rainwater that they didn't have to ration their water too severely, especially since Dick still had a portable filter in his pack, although the backup had gotten lost. The comfort began to ebb, however, with each passing hour, especially as Dicks shouts got more desperate and, increasingly, hoarse.

"Chum," Bruce croaked out. "C'mere, bud, give it a rest for a while."

"I can't Bruce! You're hurt and what if somebody comes by and they don't hear us?"

Bruce patted the ground beside him and Dick slumped against his shoulder. "It's okay, chum," he said. "Search and rescue never do just one sweep. They'll see the signs of where we went and if they pass us by tonight they'll come back in the morning tomorrow and hear you then, okay?"

Dick gave him a look that said it was definitely not okay, but he sipped water and said nothing.

"We'll hear them probably before they can hear us, Dickie, okay?"

"Okay," Dick said. He tucked his scraped knees up and wrapped his arms around them, leaning more heavily against Bruce's shoulder.

They dozed like that as night fell, sitting upright, although Dick gradually slumped further until he ended up mostly in Bruce's lap. Bruce didn't mind. He gently shifted Dickie so that his injured shoulder wouldn’t have pressure on it and put his hand in the kid's hair, which was a wreck of tangles and mud.

His concussion throbbed again. He needed a CT scan, and his ankle was definitely broken. He'd tried to splint it as best as he could, but the break was right at the joint. He'd almost certainly need surgery. They had to be rescued tomorrow.

Tomorrow dawned to the sound of rustling and grunting.

Bruce hadn't heard anyone calling out for them, and for a second he drew a bleary-eyed Dick closer to his side, pressing them against the rock of the outcropping.

Then he saw, through a gap in the branches, a hand.

It was the most beautiful hand he'd ever seen.

"We're here," he called out, regretting it as his head throbbed, but beside him Dick startled awake and scrambled towards the tree.

"Wait there, I've got to get a chainsaw," called a voice, deep and strained as the man on the other side tried to dislodge the tree, but still somehow reassuiting and friendly.

"You're leaving us? You just got here," Dick said, a frantic undertone to his voice.

"It's okay, bud," said the voice on the other side. "I know right where you are now, I'm just going to get the tools I need. Can you tell me your name?"

"I'm Dick - Richard. I'm Richard Grayson, and I'm here with--"

"Mister Wayne," the voice said, sounding relieved. Thank goodness, we've been searching for both of you since the storm hit. Mister Wayne I'm told you're a medical examiner, can you tell me about any injuries you guys might have?"

"I had to relocate Dick's shoulder. I have a concussion and a broken ankle, but we'll be alright until you can get a chainsaw," Bruce called out.

"Good, okay. Dick, Mister Wayne, my name is Clark, I'm from Search and Rescue, and I'm going to help you. As soon as I can I'll get lots of people here, or get you to lots of people, whichever is faster, but first I have to get you out of here. To do that, I need my tools--"

"Like your chainsaw?" Dick asked.

"Yes, my chainsaw is going to do the heavy lifting. Its in a truck that's only a short ways away, okay? Do you or your dad--"

"Not my dad," Dick interrupted again. That had been a sticking point, Dick didn't want a new dad so soon after losing his own. Still, Bruce's heart melted a little when he continued, "I am his kid, though."

"Okay, do you or your...do either of you have a watch? Or can you count the time?"

"I've got a watch," Dick said.

"Great, buddy. I want you to look at your watch. I will be back in under twenty minutes, okay? That's how long you have to wait. Only twenty minutes."

"I'm setting a timer," Dick said, but Bruce heard the relief in his voice, and he bet Clark could too.

"You do that, we'll see how much I can beat the estimate by, okay? Ready...set...time me!"

Bruce smiled to himself as he and Dick heard the sounds of someone sprinting away. "If he's really bringing a chainsaw, we should move back, chum. Can you give me a hand?"

"You look like you need a foot," Dick said, grinning a little wanly at Bruce and helping him claw his way up the rough rock to a wobbly standing position. They limped to the furthest point from the entrance, which really wasn't very far, and settled in to wait.

"Three minutes down," Dick said. He tucked his arms around his knees again and stared resolutely at his watch.

Bruce rubbed his back. "I'm proud of how brave you've been, Kiddo." Dick just shrugged in return, eyes locked on the faintly glowing face of the watch.

"Four minutes down," he said at last.

Bruce joined him in his vigil. Dick diligently spoke every change of the minutes into the air, even though both their eyes were locked onto the watch.

In the seventeenth minute, Clark arrived again.

"Hey, y'all still doing okay? Dick, how was my time?"

The voice of Clark-from-Search-and-Rescue was Bruce's new favorite sound. He barely even sounded out of breath, too.

"Seventeen minutes and...forty-nine seconds."

"Hey that's pretty good! Now, I've got my chainsaw, but its going to be loud and its going to spray some wood chips around. Can you both get as far as possible and face away from the tree for me? See if you can cover your faces."

"We got it," Bruce said, mouth feeling dry even as relief flooded through him. He tucked Dick between him and the rock wall, both of them facing away, and he said, "Go."

It really was quick. Clark wasn't taking the whole tree apart, he just needed to get a space to get through. The chainsaw whirred and Bruce felt bits of wood scatter near them. For a second it paused, and then the chainsaw roared once more.

"Alrighty," Clark-from-Search-and-Rescue called into the sudden silence. "I just gotta haul this chunk of wood away and then I'll get y'all outta there." Bruce turned to look. There were two neat cuts through the trunk, taking a slice out of the middle. He could see light through each cut, it was disrupted as, outside, Clark moved around.

"I've got to use a hatchet for some leverage, okay? I promise I'm not going to go all 'here's Johnny' on you."

Dick turned confused eyes on Bruce. He waved it away, "a movie, I'll explain later." He raised his voice, "Go for it, we're fine."

There was an almighty thwack and a grunt from Clark as he, apparently, sunk a hatchet into the huge slice of the tree. Then, slowly, it was dragged back. Now Bruce could see, between the rock overhang and the trunk, dark, curly hair and a suntanned forehead. There was a wobble from the piece of the trunk as Clark removed the hatchet, then it was slowly rolled away.

It occurred to Bruce that he probably looked like some sort of mud monster because, backlit by sunlight, standing between the cut tree, was the most attractive man Bruce had, possibly ever, seen.

Clark-from-Search-and-Rescue was probably six foot four and had a shoulder to waist ratio that, frankly, Bruce wasn't sure wasn't the result of his concussion because there was no way a man that good looking wasn't on a movie set. Sure, he didn't have the absolutely chiseled, artificial build, there was some softness over his muscles, visible through his gloriously thin white t shirt under his open red SAR jacket. His jeans were straining over thick thighs and his curly hair was wild, hanging into his eyes as he huffed and puffed and dragged the piece of stump the rest of the way free of their exit.

"Awesome!" Dick said, relief barely contained in his voice. "Let's get outta here, Bruce, its kinda cold in here."

"Yeah bud," Bruce said, wincing as he hauled himself up the wall of their shelter. "I bet Alfred will make you as much hot chocolate as you want when we get home." He stood as best as he could, but dizziness swept him and he stumbled, falling onto his bad ankle. He would have hit the ground if Clark hadn't lunged forward. Instead of a face full of gravel, Bruce found himself with his face pressed against Clark's warm chest, big arms holding him up and preventing him from putting weight on his injured leg. Bruce was gently lowered to the ground.

"Careful there Mister Wayne, I gotta get you back in one piece," Clark was saying. "Dick, why don't you take my jacket, you look like you could use it, and I'll be plenty warm, I'm gonna have to carry your d-your guardian."

Bruce was about to protest that he didn't need carried, but the evidence was right there. Also, well, Dick looked perfectly cozy in Clark's red windbreaker, but Bruce was a little cold too, and Clark was still right there and radiating warmth. Not just the physical kind, either. He smiled at Bruce, showing dimples and kind, blue eyes as he gently examined Bruce's ankle and then cautiously prodded at the wound on Bruce's temple.

"Well, mister Wayne--"

"Bruce, please, anyone who rescues me and my kid in the middle woods gets to call me Bruce."

"Well, Bruce," Clark said, making Bruce shiver with his playful tone. "You might know better than me, but I think your forehead wont scar, you'll be right back in the spotlight, but I imagine you'll need to be on concussion protocol, and your ankle sure looks bad. I think the best course of action for us all is for me to carry you, and Dick will walk along with us. SAR is just up the hill a bit more, it'll probably take us ten minutes, but its faster if we go up than if we get all the medics down here and then make everybody go back up."

"I'm all yours," Bruce said simply. He was fascinated to watch a faint blush form across Clark's nose. He might not be alone in his appreciation. Given the mud-covered and probably smelly state of him at the moment, it might indicate that Clark had bad taste but, well, it couldn't hurt to turn on the charm.

"I'm not sure I've ever been carried bridal style before," Bruce said, as Clark, yes, cradled him in his arms exactly as described. "I don't mind you being my first."

"Just happy to please--help! I mean help, Mister Wayne."

"C'mon Clark," Bruce said, wrapping his arms around Bruce's strong shoulders -sue him, he was a new parent to a traumatized kid and even before that he didn't have time to date, he was going to enjoy this. "Didn't I ask you to call me Bruce?"

"R-right, of course, uh, Bruce. How's that feel? Doesn't hurt your leg too much?"

"Feels great," Bruce said, and he delighted in the tiny shudder that ran through Clark's chest.

The climb up the hill was slow, Clark taking care not to jostle Bruce or outpace Dick, who was visibly tired but in good spirits now that they were saved.

"So, Clark," Bruce said, making conversation because, despite holding an entire adult man in his arms, Clark barely seemed out of breath. "What do you do when you aren't on search and rescue? You're a volunteer, right?"

"That's right," Clark said, smiling, although not taking his eyes off the trail. "Almost all of us are volunteers. My day job is in journalism, I work for the Daily Planet."

"Amazing," Bruce said. "You know, I know I have stocks in the Planet, maybe I'll have to visit the offices, take a tour, if all the journalists are like you."

Clark laughed, "well, not exactly like me, no, I'm the only country bumpkin there, but, uh, I'd love to show you around sometime."

"It's a date," Bruce said, smirking. "But, well, I feel like you have me at a disadvantage."

"I do?"

"Oh yes, here we are, all close, and you know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Oh! I'm Clark Kent, at your service, Mister Wayne."

"Clark Kent," Bruce said, and, just to make sure Clark was getting the point, he added, "cute."

Clark's blush spread to his ears too.

"Well," Clark said, to Bruce's dissapointment. "Here we are, I've got to turn you over to the EMTs now." They'd arrived at thetrailhead at the top of the hill and it was bustling with first responders and people with radios.

"Just going to hand me over, huh? I guess you SAR guys don't get to follow things to the finish."

"No, hardest part really, once you've done all you can you don't always get to know how it ends," Clark said.

"Well, considering all you've done, this time you should," Bruce said.

"I'm not sure I understand--"

"I'm offering my number, Clark. My personal phone number. For you to call me."

Clark beamed at him setting him gently on the stretcher an EMT was rolling there way. "I would love that, Bruce." Dick began getting checked out beside them and Bruce quickly scribbled his number on a scrap of paper he begged off one of the medics. Clark took it with a beaming small and began walking away, then he turned."You guys can just return the jacket when I give you that tour," and winked.

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