Chapter Text
This had been a mistake. All of it. What in the hell had he been thinking? He wasn’t a parent - he had no business raising a child, much less throwing him out onto the streets of Gotham in a mask and cape.
“Stay with me,” Bruce pleaded, flooring the gas pedal. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dick was still clinging to consciousness.
“Ba...B… I’m sorry,” the boy whispered. “He just came up behind me and…” Bruce had to work to not scowl as Dick started wheezing.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Bruce said, reaching his hand out, but not making contact. He wasn’t sure if there were a place he could touch that wouldn’t bring more pain than comfort.
Two hours. Dick had been out of his sight for two hours. And in that time Harvey Dent had grabbed the boy, tied him up and gone a few rounds with a baseball bat. No - Bruce knew he had to stop thinking of him as Harvey. Harvey, who loved kids and had worked long grueling hours as District Attorney, fighting for the rights of those Gotham had turned its back on – no. This had been all Two-Face. Bruce winced at the sound of Dick trying to suppress his hiccupping sobs.
“Dick?” he prompted, torn between watching the boy and keeping his eyes on the road. “We’re almost there, all right? Remember what I taught you, breathe in for four, okay?”
“M’sorry I let you down.”
“No, you didn’t let me down, Dick,” Bruce whispered, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. He had let Dick down, not the other way around. He had failed him. And he would do everything in his power to fix this.
He wrenched the steering wheel to the right, tires grinding against the loose gravel of the parking lot. Bruce had barely stopped the car, but he was already throwing his door open. He ran to the other side and, as carefully as he could, pulled the small boy from the passenger’s seat, wrapping the cape tighter around his shaking shoulders.
“Ow-ow-ow,” the boy’s tiny voice trembled.
“My Lord.” Leslie Thompkin’s was beside him before Bruce had even realized the door to her clinic had opened. “Alfred phoned me. What happened?”
“Please, Leslie,” Bruce pleaded. “I didn’t know where else…”
“Less guilt, more answers,” she chided. “Bring him inside to the examination room.”
“Two Face,” Bruce spat. “Baseball bat.”
“This is what I warned you about Bruce!”
“I know…”
“This is exactly why!” She didn’t have to remind him. Bruce remembered her warnings clearly. And now here was her prediction come to fruition; he would gladly take any lectures she gave so long as she could help the boy.
Leslie moved around the room like a woman possessed, the whole time murmuring curses under her breath. Bruce felt every accusation like a slap, but every one of Dick’s shallow cries was a punch to his gut. He stood as far off to the side as he could, watching as Leslie worked. When she talked to Dick, her voice was soft, reassuring. She carefully explained everything she was doing even as he was slipping in and out of consciousness.
“It’s a good thing someone donated the new small CT scanner to the clinic,” she bit out, eyes shifting to Bruce as she wheeled it over.
“Okay, Dick,” she said. “This machine is just going to let me take a look at your chest and stomach. It’ll show me pictures on my screen here.”
Dick’s whimpering acquiescence had Bruce moving forward, dying to comfort him, but Leslie’s sharp look pushed him back against the wall. She kept up a steady stream of words, telling Dick how well he was doing, and that it would all be over soon.
“His arm is broken,” Leslie whispered, her eyes catching Bruce. “Small fractures along his ribs, and a lot of bruising…doesn’t appear to be any damage to his organs though. I hate to use the word lucky in this instance but…” She trailed off, moving to a locked cabinet; pulling the key from her pocket she worked the door open before pulling out a small bottle and freshly wrapped syringe. “He’s going to be in quiet some pain for a while, Bruce.” It was an accusation, one he deserved.
“Br…B?” Dick’s voice wavered between them, his blue eyes flicking open as Leslie approached him with the needle.
“I’m right here, Dick,” Bruce said, moving as close as he dared, least Leslie order him from the room this time.
“I’m sorry…”
“Shhh… it’s okay. Dr. Thompkin’s is going to give you something for the pain.”
“This is morphine,” she said. “It’s probably going to make you very sleepy, Dick. I want you to just give into that, okay?”
Bruce watched helplessly as Dick’s eyes followed the needle. The boy swallowed hard and at the last second turned his head away, choosing to look at Bruce instead of Leslie. He continued to whisper little apologizes until unconsciousness finally took him. Once he was out, Leslie went back to work, cleaning, stitching, and resetting the bones of his arm before working on a plaster cast. It felt like time slowed interminably as Bruce waited for her to be done. She finally washed her hands off in the sink before coming to stand before him.
“You’re a fool,” she growled. “He’s lucky to be alive with the danger you put him in.”
“I know,” Bruce whispered. “It won’t happen again. I’ll talk to him when he wakes up. I never should have…” He trialed off at Leslie sigh, “What?”
“It’s too late for any of that now, Bruce.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you planning on sending him into foster care?” she asked, an eyebrow arched skeptically.
“Of course not! I’m not kicking him out!” Bruce reeled back. Dick had been with him a little over a year now, a part of his life. He would never send Dick away. That boy was his…well… he was his now.
“Then you’ll be giving up your nightly activities?” Leslie challenged, refusing to back down. But Bruce couldn’t see that happening either. Gotham needed Batman and there was still so much he had yet to do. His silence gave him away and Leslie tossed her hands into the air in frustration.
“Then this won’t be the last time I treat this boy,” she said, her voice exhausted. “He won’t give it up, Bruce. Not unless you do.”
Bruce wanted to disagree, but he knew it was useless; she was right. She turned her back on him, moving back towards Dick as the small boy started to twist in his sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked. “I thought the morphine would keep him…” A keen cry from Dick’s mouth cut him off. “Leslie?”
“Damn it,” she cursed. “He’s reacting badly to it. Some people do – we’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.”
Next time. Bruce moved in closer, reaching out a hand to smooth the sweat soaked bangs from Dick’s face. He never wanted there to be a next time.
“What do I do?” he asked.
Leslie shook her head slowly. “Hold his hand, talk to him, be here when he wakes up. He’ll likely be scared and disoriented.” She smiled thinly at him. “I’ll be back. I’m going to see what else I can find to keep him comfortable.”
Bruce nodded, moving for the chair in the room and bringing it closer as Leslie closed the door. With shaking fingers, he reached for Dick’s hand.
“I’m so sorry, Dick,” he whispered. “I let you down. I never should have…I never should have had you out there. I don’t know what I’m doing, not when it comes to this – to you.” Bruce sighed, his eyes looking up to the ceiling. He wondered if this was what all parents went through on some level – if this was how Alfred felt every time he had come home in need of stitches.
Rubbing circles on to the back of Dick’s small hand, Bruce let his mind drift off to what should have been, in a world without the demands of the cape and cowl. How, instead of this, they’d be at home, Dick finishing up his homework, and probably trying to sweet talk Alfred into just one more cookie before bed.
“I’m going to do better,” he promised. “We’ll get better at this, I swear.” And he didn’t know if he meant get better at being Batman and Robin – or better at being a family. Because that’s what they were. Dick Grayson was his family. Bruce hadn’t adopted him, out of respect for his parents, but right now, watching this small force of nature in front of him fighting monsters behind closed eyes, Bruce had never felt more like a father.