Chapter Text
Dick Grayson sits in the quiet hospital room, elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The colorful balloons, get-well-soon cards, and toys that adorn the shelves, brought by well-meaning friends and colleagues, now seem ridiculously out of place. Mocking him for what he had lost. For what he had failed to protect.
The annoying sounds of machines have stopped a while ago. All you can hear is his breathing, although he wishes that would stop too. He wants to stop thinking. Stop feeling. He's been here for a while now. Maybe an hour, maybe less, maybe more. Dick stopped counting. Everything else has become irrelevant.
Heavy footsteps entered the room, and a hand landed on Dicks' shoulder. He didn't bother to find out who it was.
"Dick, it's time to go." It was Bruce. His voice was soft yet controlled, trying to sound level but failing anyway. "They have to take him now."
Dick couldn't bear the thought. He couldn't voice it out either. So he shakes his head and hopes Bruce gets it.
Bruce sighs and squeezes Dick's shoulder. He then moves towards the bed beside Dick. His hand lightly grazes the bedsheet and moves towards the small mound in the middle. A colorful blanket with cute cartoon animal print completely covers a tiny, unmoving body. Only a small tuft of hair is visible at the top. His hand feels for a smaller hand shape under the blanket, and he squeezes it. The other hand landed on top of the hair.
Bruce thought he knew pain so well. And once again, the universe has taught him he was gravely mistaken. Peter, Dick's son. His grandson. He was taken from them too soon. He was so young and innocent. Everything they are fighting for was for a future Peter will never see. They failed him. Peter doesn't deserve this. They don't deserve him.
"I'm sorry," Bruce whispers into Peter's ear. He runs his hand through the soft brown curls one last time and places a kiss on top of Peter's head. Bruce lets it linger as if offering a silent prayer. While there is still warmth in his little body and Bruce can still pretend Peter is just asleep.
Bruce returns to Dick's side and places a kiss on top of his head as well. "I'll be outside," He tells Dick. Bruce squeezes his shoulder again before leaving the room.
As soon as Bruce is gone, Dick lets out a shuddering breath. One would think he was crying, but he has run out of tears. He feels numb. He still doesn't move from his position despite Bruce telling him it's time to go. But he doesn't care. He's not ready to let go. He can just stay in this room for the rest of his life, and he knows Bruce won't let them take his baby from him. Not until he's ready.
Time moves once again. How long? Dick doesn't care to know. He's too busy trying to dissociate. But then he hears it. A moaning sound coming from the bed. Dick must've been successful in dissociating because it only made him think of morbid facts about death. How he can think clinically about what happens to a body once it dies. The body will eventually release everything it once kept in when alive. Gases, for instance, sometimes pass back up the mouth, giving the illusion of breathing and even creating sounds. It's quite funny how morgue technicians and morticians would scare themselves shitless when they encountered this the first time.
But then, there was a whimper.
Dick flinches at the sound; it has become second nature for him to react to every sound of discomfort coming from his son. It sounded different from the first sound, though. But his ears are probably playing tricks on him.
Dick straightens up and wills himself to face the bed. Just when he thought he had no more tears to shed, he couldn't help but burst into sobs at the sight of his lifeless baby. He reaches over and places his trembling hand on top of the covers. He can feel the shape of those tiny hands that once held on to him at every chance he got now lie motionless under the sheets.
"I'm so sorry, baby," Dick said through tears as he moved closer to his child. "I'm sorry. Daddy couldn't protect you."
Dick buried his face in his hand as he continued to cry and apologized over and over again. He placed his other hand over the tuft of hair that was peeking through the blanket. And that's when it happened.
The head moved, leaning into the touch.
Dick froze, and all the air escaped his lungs.
"I'm losing it," Dick breathlessly mumbled to himself.
He was almost afraid to do it, but Dick slowly lowered his hand and gently pulled down the blanket to reveal what was underneath. He gasped at what he saw.
It's still the same pale, bruised face. But this time, Peter's face is scrunched up in pain. His lower lip is trembling, and tears are actively flowing and staining his cheeks. And more importantly, his chest is moving. He's breathing. Labored and shallow, but still breathing. REAL breathing. Dick let out a nervous, incredulous laugh and kept repeating, I'm losing it, I'm losing it. And yet he couldn't stop staring in wonder at what he was witnessing.
Then the whimpering started again, and Dick snapped out of it.
"H-Help... He- he--lp," Dick gasped out, barely audible. He was frozen in place. He couldn't look away from Peter. Couldn't run out to get help. It's like he's in a haze he didn't want to escape from, because if he did, it would all be over. And this will prove to be his mind playing tricks on him. But Dick knows he needs to do something.
Because if this is real, then...
"H-help. B-Bruce. Help!" Dick cried out again. Louder with each try.
"DAD!"
===========================
The first person Bruce saw after exiting Peter's room was Tim. He was in the same position he left him in a while ago, sitting on the hallway couch, staring blankly ahead. He was slumped so low he was practically horizontal. He has half a mind to scold him for his bad posture, but he doesn't have the energy to do so.
"Have you heard from Jason?" Bruce asks after sitting down next to Tim.
Tim only shrugs in response. Jason stormed out after... Well, after. He's likely out there somewhere, taking it out on some wretched soul. Bruce should probably call him to come back... Probably.
Across Peter's room is Damian's. The privacy curtains in his room's glass walls are drawn open at his demand. He's still confined in bed, thankfully. Damian has been glaring daggers through the glass walls the entire time. As if he could somehow telepathically open the closed curtains in Peter's room through sheer anger and determination. It's almost absurd how murderous he looks while surrounded by the colorful trinkets his school friends gifted him. But Bruce knows that after Dick, Damian is taking it the hardest among his kids. The only reason he's not out there with Jason, broken bones be damned, is because of Alfred guarding his bedside. Small mercies, he supposes.
Bruce was so lost in thought he hadn't even noticed it.
"Hey, did you hear that?" Tim asked, suddenly sitting up straight.
"Wha-"
"DAD!"
Bruce was instantly on his feet, running back to Peter's room, fearing the worst. He saw Dick leaning over Peter's body and shaking like a leaf. He thought Dick might be having a panic attack or mental break. His focus was all on his son. He placed his hand on Dick's shoulder, mentally and emotionally preparing himself to help his son process his grief.
That's when Bruce's attention shifted to the bed, and his eyes widened in shock. Peter, who had been declared dead a while ago, was very clearly alive!
"Oh shit!" Tim, who had followed Bruce, exclaimed. He then immediately ran out of the room. Soon after, Bruce and Dick were dragged aside to make way for the medical staff who rushed in.
"Is... Is this real?" Dick asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
Dick's tear-stained face was pale and sweaty. His eyes were transfixed on the bed where the doctors and nurses were tending to his son. Bruce had to hold on to Dick's arm and shoulder for fear he might collapse at any minute.
"Yes, this is real," Bruce assures him.
"This is totally happening. Fuck!" Tim lets out a nervous, almost hysterical laugh. He rubs his face in his hands while rambling. "Not the first time in history someone was mistaken for having died. Just recently I read about this lady who woke up at her own wake in a coff-" Tim stopped after Bruce gave him a warning glare. "*cough* Right. Sorry."
Dick chuckled and promptly passed out.