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It was supposed to be a simple mission. Almost too simple to be a three-man job, especially if these three men were as experimented as Batman, Nightwing and Red Robin were.
Get into the boat, put the charges in, wait until the pirates suspect something is wrong with their ship, hide until they reach the shore, where Robin, Black Bat, Batgirl and Signal were waiting for interception. Nice and easy.
No part of the plan had accounted for the three of them having gun shoved into their face, unable to do anything without risking being shot.
If Dick was being honest, the first thing the plan hadn’t accounted for had been the storm. Despite the prevision of a clear evening, the wind had picked up and the waves were crashing strongly on the boat side. Dick could barely hear what the pirates are shooting at him. He could guess, however, that it was nothing nice.
And of course, there was a storm. It was late November in Gotham. Why wouldn’t there be a storm? Dick was annoyed. He was cold and held at gunpoint and annoyed. He looked behind himself, only to be met with the sight of dark, agitated water. Okay. Time for plan B. He still had his charge on him, and it should be enough to rock the ship, even installed from the outside. That would give Batman and Red Robin enough time to gain control over the situation.
He looked at Batman. The two of them had been working together for years. There was no need for words for Bruce to understand Dick’s plan. His mentor shook his head. Well. Too bad Nightwing wasn’t under his orders anymore.
Dick took a step backward, so his back was completely on the banister. The pirate in front of took a step forward.
“Don’t try anything funny!” He yelled over the sound of the storm.
“I don’t like you pointing that thing so close to me, that’s all.” Dick replied in the same tone.
As expected, the pirate only went closer.
“Oh yeah?” he said, provocative, and Dick folded himself backward, just enough to make the man think it wasn’t calculated.
His upper body was above the water, legs still on the deck. He was an acrobat, training since birth to be hyperaware of his own body. He knew exactly when his gravity center would shift, when he would start to fall.
It didn’t mean it was less frightening.
He fell, yelling mostly fake as adrenaline built up in his body. Someone screamed his superhero name on the ship. He didn’t know if it was fake or if Batman was angry he disobeyed. Well. Bruce could yell at him all he wanted once everyone would be safe.
The impact with the frigid water made him see stars. His show meant he couldn’t have positioned himself in a good position to enter the ocean, his back was probably bruised from the impact. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. He turned and started swimming toward the bottom of the boat.
Dick considered himself a pretty good swimmer. But swimming in freezing water with strong current was something else entirely. Still, his father and little brother were on that boat, he wasn’t gonna leave them there. So, he swam. Put his charge on the boat hull, armed it.
And then he was projected far away, his own explosion sending him flying (floating?) toward the edge of the boat.
Lungs burning, he fought his way to the surface, until he saw the familiar hull of the small boat they came in with. He held into it with both his arms, coughing as he emerged from the water. Everything was still shacking dangerously, but he managed to hold on. The small ship he was on was still attached to the bigger pirate ship, so he should be able to climb on it in order to help Batman and Red Robin fighting the pirates. What was supposed to be a seven-person fight would be reduced to three but they could do it.
Just when he was reaching the rope, he saw something above him.
A container.
A container was falling.
On him.
He quickly jumped back into the water, hands gripping the small motorboat. He knew that if he let go, he was dead. He didn’t have enough energy left to swim back to the surface if he went under again. So, he held on.
At some point, he managed to climb back inside the boat, or what was left of it. The motor and the back of the boat had been destroyed, and so had the rope. He didn’t have any way to control the motorboat, or to return to the pirate boat. Even if he could, he couldn’t locate the pirate boat anymore, visibility minimal and sound not more helpful.
Great, just great. He had to play hero and jump to the sea, didn’t he? He had to disobey Bruce with the false belief that everything would always turn out all right for him.
He turned off his thoughts. Survival now, self-blame later. He curled himself on the boat, coughing and splitting seawater. The boat was rocking, a wave going over it from time to time, leaving him soaked with seawater.
Dick shivered violently.
Closed his eyes.
Held on.
And after an unknown amount of time, the sea, merciful, calmed down.
The boat was still rocking, but not as bad. He relaxed his finger from where he had held to the inside of the boat, barely realizing he was bleeding inside his gloves. There were tears on his face, and his teeth were shattering.
Overall, he was feeling exhausted. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not with the cold freezing him from the inside out, and he knew sleeping in this situation would be a bad idea.
He knew his chances. There were too many unknowns in the equation of his survival. Would Bruce and Tim manage to defeat the pirates and bring the ship back to the harbor? Would they come to his rescue? Would they be able to do that before his poor excuse of a boat sank or the cold killed him?
His throat was dry from the salted water he had swallowed, but he wasn’t worried about dehydration. Hypothermia would kill him long before he could start to feel the effect of the lack of water. His uniform was designed to keep him warm, but even Bat tech had its limits.
He curled up a little more on the boat. Might as well try to save as much heat as possible, maximize his chances.
Something fell on his face gently. Then on his neck. He looked up.
It was snowing, he realized distantly, like that didn’t reduce his already not good chances. Despite himself, he smiled. It was beautiful. The first snow of the year, and on the ocean.
The snow went around him, enlacing him like a cold, deadly lover. He let himself go in its arm.
The snow was good, he decided after some time. He wasn’t cold anymore. He was just numb. A lot of things didn’t matter anymore.
He might have thought he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so numb, so far away from himself, except he could.
He was dying of hypothermia, and yet he felt still warmer and more alive than that night, all these years ago, and the weeks that had followed it, at the juvenile center and at the manor, too big, too empty, too cold.
Too different from the circus.
Someone had put a coat on his shoulders, on that night, at the end of everything. Before the beginning. The coat was too big, he remembered, he did little to protect him from the cold.
He wanted his parents, and, back then, Bruce hadn’t been his dad.
Now… now it was complicated. Bruce was his father, in every sense that mattered, and yet, sometimes, he felt as if he could still give him up. As if every mistake Dick made could be the last. That he would disappoint Bruce one last time. He could deal with Nightwing not being Batman’s partner. He didn’t know if he could deal with Dick not being Bruce’s child.
Something on the back of his mind told him it didn’t matter anymore. Another that Bruce always mattered.
The snow was pretty.
There was a noise from the sky, he realized. Something. Wind. A helicopter.
There was a helicopter above him.
That should fill him with… something. But what he mostly thought was that it was hiding the snow.
And then, someone was on the boat with him. The boat rocked with that person’s weight. Dick moaned. Couldn’t they just let him sleep?
“Chum? Are you with me?” Said the person and oh. That was Bruce.
Dick blinked, tried to talk. Found out he couldn’t. He blinked again.
And… he wasn’t on the boat anymore. He was in someplace loud and why was he naked?
The confusion was lifting out a little and Dick found out he hated being in the helicopter, with nothing but a survival blanket on him.
He must have let out some sort of indication of his distress, because the next instant Bruce was next to him. Hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch him. Right. No fast movement or body rub for someone hypothermic. Also, touching someone in an unknown state of confusion who just woke up naked maybe wasn’t the greatest idea.
“Shh, you’re fine, you’re all right.”
Dick wasn’t really sure about that. He was still unable to move, confused. He blinked and…
He was on fire. He screamed as every part of his body made itself known. Or he tried to scream.
“What’s going on?” said someone far far away, voice panicked. A child. This was someone important, he knew that. This child was important to him. He didn’t want his kid (or was it his little brother?) to be that scared. But he couldn’t remember why.
He couldn’t think past the pain.
Was he in the air earlier? He wasn’t anymore. That was bad, because the air was home. The ground was bad. The ground was death. The sea was bad too. He didn’t want to drown.
So, he screamed.
The next time Dick woke, though he had no actual memory of falling asleep, he could hear the rhythmic sound of a heart monitor. He blinked, and realized he was in the medical area of the cave. Next to him, looking older and more tired than ever, was Bruce.
“Hey.” He said, glad his voice was working again. He was still cold and shivering, but at least he could feel his body. More than anything, he was tired. He felt like he just ran for several weeks and aged forty years. His muscles and joint were hurting.
“Hi” said Bruce, voice low. He ran a hand through Dick’s hair. “You’re really with me this time?”
“Aren’t you gonna yell? I disobeyed you.” He said instead of answering. He half expected Bruce to start lecturing him right now. Better get it over with. But to his surprise, his father just sighed.
“Do you want me to yell? Would me yelling stop you from doing it again?”
He looked as tired as Dick felt, but for different reasons. Dick pulled his hand out of the covers to take Bruce’s. He did his best impression of a smile.
“Probably not.”
Bruce sighed. Again.
“You should eat. Your blood sugar was a little low last time I checked.” He said, factual.
Dick sat up slowly on the bed, groaning when the position change made his world spin. He battered Bruce’s hovering hands away.
“I’m good. Does the low blood sugar thing mean I can have an extra share of Alfred’s cookies?”
That actually got a smile out of his dad. Finally.
“Would warm soup and tea be acceptable? I’m afraid you need more sustainable food than cookies.” Said a voice from the end of the cave and Dick turned to see Alfred, a tray in his hands. Sometimes, it felt like the man had a sixth sense and knew everything that happened in the manor.
It was only when the smell hit him that he realized how hungry he was. Soup sounded like heaven.
“That would be amazing, thanks, Alfred.”
The older man put the food in front of him and gave him a found smile.
“I’m glad to see you awake and talking, my boy.”
Dick hummed. “Is everyone okay?”
“The pirates were apprehended…” started Bruce before Alfred gave him a sharp look, forcing him to stand back.
“Your siblings are all unarmed. It was, however, difficult to make them leave the infirmary. They are currently playing a board game upstairs but were quite worried. Perhaps, Master Bruce, you could go to inform them that Master Dick is awake.”
Bruce opened his mouth. Closed it. And went upstairs. Dick laughed.
“Are you angry with him or something?”
“Not at all, I just thought you might go a meal without hearing about your night activities.”
Dick smiled and took a spoonful of soup.
“Thanks.”
Alfred didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. Dick felt so weak he was afraid he would throw soup on himself with every spoonful. That, or fall asleep right in the bowl. His hairs fell on his face. They were dry but seemed freshly cleaned.
“Did someone wash me?” he asked, feeling stupid. Alfred nodded.
“I gave you a bath to warm you up and remove the seawater on you. You were conscious, but not really with me, so you might not remember it.”
Dick hummed. He had absolutely no memory of the event.
“Thanks, Alfred. I’m sorry you had to…”
“Nonsense.” Cut the old man. “There is no shame in needing help. Still, I would have preferred you to be fully aware and able to understand what was going on.”
Dick nodded. He knew Alfred did what he had to do, but he could understand that washing him without his consent might have felt like a violation.
“You’re right. Thank you.” He repeated. He ate in silence after that, careful not to go too fast. Sleep was pulling him when Alfred removed the tray from him. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Alfred sent him a sharp look.
“There is no shame in needing help.” He repeated. There might have been a reproach to Bruce hidden in that sentence.
“If you don’t mind,” he added, “I would like to listen to your heart and lungs. Then we can remove the heart monitor, and Master Bruce can help you upstairs where you would be able to sleep in a real bed. I believe you also mentioned cookies?” he asked with a spark in his eyes.
Dick smiled, sitting up so his grandfather could examine him.
“I would like that, yeah.”
Dick was finishing his cookies when Bruce came back downstairs. His father stopped in front of the cot.
“Still awake.” He said proudly, making a V-sign with his fingers. He wouldn’t stay that way for long. Bruce let out a warm chuckle.
“Are you ready to go to a real bed?”
Dick took a breath. Let it out. Gathered his courage.
“Can I… um… Could I sleep in your room?”
That owned him another indulgent smile. He felt all but nine at the moment. Sure, sleeping in Bruce’s room wasn’t exactly rare, but he usually didn’t ask to be put in it. To lighten the childish demand, he put his hands up, like when he was a kid and wanted Bruce to carry him.
And, to his surprise, Bruce bent down, enveloped him in the blanket like a burrito, put one arm on his leg, the other on his shoulders and pulled. Dick immediately started squirming.
“What? No, Bruce, I was joking. You’re gonna hurt your back, don’t…”
“You’re not that heavy.” Cut his father. “Have you been eating properly?”
Dick didn’t answer, instead burying his face into his father’s shoulder to hide his embarrassment. He let the warmness and the respiration dull him into unconsciousness. He heard voices, asking if he was okay, and Bruce said something, chest vibrating, but Dick was too far gone to hear it.
When he woke up, he was in his father’s bed. He could feel Bruce’s breath on his neck, the man asleep. Curled up on his arms lay Damian, and he wondered for a second if he innocently cuddled him or if the kid climbed up. Damian had been scared, he remembered, though he wasn’t sure where that memory came from.
“Hey.” Said a voice above him and he raised his head to find Tim on the headboard, working on his computer. “You scared us.”
Dick grimaced.
“Sorry. I would hug you but I’m kinda in a Wayne sandwich right now.”
There was a soft laugh, next to Tim, and he could see Duke, his phone on his hand. The newest addition to the family showed him the piece of technology, explaining.
“I texted Jason. He will be angry if we have a rest day without him.”
Dick smiled and hummed. Sure enough, he could hear Steph and Cass talking and laughing in hushed voices toward the end of the gigantic bed. He was sure Alfred wasn’t far either.
Dick closed his eyes.
He wasn’t cold anymore.