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Bruce grunted as his arm moved into the chain. If he was tracking right, he’d been chained for a little more than a day and half. He wasn’t in danger per se, as his captor had given him water and hunger wouldn’t be an issue for a few more days. But the situation was still unpleasant: his arms were screaming in pain from being hanged, and the Batman suit was growing uncomfortable, as it wasn’t made to be worn for so long.
He wanted a bath, a nice dinner, and his bed. He wanted to reassure Alfred and the kids that he was alright. He wanted to go home. However, the chains were sturdy and he’d been stripped of all his tools: he was not getting out of here by himself.
His only consolation was that Damian hadn’t been with him when he got captured. The kid had had a bad fall a few days ago and wasn’t yet cleared to be in the field. At first, Bruce had felt guilty about the concussion and broken leg, but now he was glad his youngest son was safe in the manor with Alfred.
His thoughts were interrupted by the door of the cell opening and his captor walking in. If the situation wasn’t so dire, he could have said he was impressed with the woman. She was new in the Gotham crime scene, and yet she’d managed to gather a considerable number of handymen to her service in a short amount of time. That, and she captured the Batman. That was bound to make her a name in the underworld.
She stood straight in front of him.
“I want the access code to the Justice League Watchtower.”
So, she was aiming for a bigger fish. Batman snorted. “You’re gonna need more than chaining me and letting me rot here if you want that kind of information.”
Her mouth twisted in a half smile. “I figured this much. I think I need to apologize for being such a bad hote and keeping you waiting. I was just waiting for a little bird to bite the bait.”
Bruce felt his hear skip a beat. There was no way Alfred would have let Damian out of his sight, and the kid wouldn’t be able to escape on a broken leg, but he still had other allies that could be called little bird.
“Bring the small one in.” the woman ordered. Bruce held his breath.
He let it out when he realized the person the goons were bringing in was Nightwing, hands tied with a rope. This wasn’t the worst possible situation, far from it. While Bruce didn’t want anyone in the hands of his enemies, Nightwing was one of the most experienced of his allies; he knew his eldest son would be able to endure a lot. Their captor apparently underestimated the young vigilante, tying him up with only a rope instead of the chains Batman was in. Nightwing wouldn’t have any issue getting himself free from the knot when the timing was right.
The man appeared unconscious as he was tied to the roof, but Bruce knew it could be a show to make the criminals lower their guard.
The woman dusted her hands on her pants. “Alright, dear Batman, you won’t be the one getting tortured today.” She faced them both. “What are the access codes to the Justice League Watchtower?”
“He doesn’t have the access codes of the Watchtower” Batman said, in the most neutral tone he could muster.
Bruce didn’t know if that was true. He hadn’t been tracking Dick’s activities with the League as well as he should have been, and there was a real possibility that, as the leader of the Titans, his son had as much access as Batman had to the Watchtower. But what mattered right now was gaining time. Nightwing hadn’t moved yet.
The woman smiled like a snake. “Oh, I know he won’t answer. He’s got enough muscle relaxant in him to make an elephant kneel down. But rest assured, our friend Nightwing is here, with us, and he can hear and, more importantly, feel everything.”
She caressed Nightwing’s cheek with her hand and the young man twitched slightly but didn’t move anymore than that. She wasn’t bluffing then. That complicated things.
“I wouldn’t count too much on your other allies if I were you,” the woman added. “He came alone, and all of the bats are currently scattered in Gotham. I made sure of it.”
If this was true, which, it probably was, she was good. Bruce had to give her that.
“The only one I haven’t accounted for is the smallest one. Is he getting better after that little jump of his?”
Bruce felt his blood boil at the implication that she had something to do with Damian’s injuries. He saw Dick going a little pale with anger as well. His eldest hadn’t been there for the accident, but Bruce knew him, and he knew that hearing the news was enough to bring back traumatic memories.
“But enough talking. These access codes aren’t gonna give themselves.” She waved a goon. “Give me the scythe.”
The man obeyed, and soon she had a big scythe in her hand. She swung it easily, twice. Bruce didn’t know what material it was made of, but the scythe cut the Kevlar of the Nightwing suit as if it was butter, leaving two clean and bloody cuts. Methodically, the woman removed the part of the ruined suit to expose Dick’s skin. She then gave her scythe to the nearest goon and, to Bruce’s horror, ordered: “Whip.”
“You won’t get anything from torturing him,” Batman said, voice flat.
She smiled. The sound of the whip reverberated in the room. Dick’s body moved with it, unable to do anything to protect himself.
Bruce felt sick.
“You won’t get anything from torturing him,” he repeated.
Another whipping sound. Bruce gritted his teeth. Said nothing.
“Alright then,” said the torturer, before whipping her victim one more time.
Bruce repeated to himself, like a mantra, that Dick wouldn’t want him to give her anything.
The whipping continued. After a while, Bruce couldn’t take it anymore.
“You won’t get anything from torturing him,” he repeated. How could he make her focus shift from Nightwing to him? If he begged her to hurt him instead, it would only comfort her in her methods.
“He’s no one to me,” he lied, hoping his technique would somehow work. “Just another orphan I picked up to train him to fight crime. It will be bothersome to lose him, but overall, I don’t care. I’ve got dozens of replacements at home.”
The words felt wrong in his mouth, and he regretted them the second he said them. The woman didn’t seem to believe him for one second. Dick, however, went one shade paler.
He thought, after all this time, that Dick would understand the lie, that he wouldn’t believe one of the words that had been said.
He thought his son knew that Bruce’s love was a given, that Bruce saw Dick Grayson before seeing Nightwing. That Nightwing, for all his talents, was insignificant before Dick Grayson.
He thought…
He thought wrong, apparently.
He knew that, in that exact instant, nothing the woman in front of him could ever do would hurt Dick as much as his words did.
He closed his eyes.
The whipping sound continued.
Bruce repeated to himself that Dick wouldn’t want him to give any information. That giving her access to the Watchtower wouldn’t guarantee the end of the torture.
He forced himself to drift far away. To get his mind away from the room. Away from the repetitive sound of leather hitting flesh. Away from the hurt that woman was causing his son. Away from the hurt he himself had caused.
He didn’t know how much time passed before the whipping sound stopped.
Bruce slowly opened his eyes. The sight of Dick’s back made him gag. The torturer seemed unphased.
“We’re not going anywhere like this, and the muscle relaxant will soon be inactive,” she said, annoyed. “Bring me the bath.”
Before Bruce could think about what had been said, or ask any questions, two goons walked in, rolling a bathtub between them. It was filled with a troubled liquid. Bruce hoped it was salt water and not something more dangerous. They placed it below Dick, and the woman, in one smooth movement from her scythe, cut the ropes holding his child to the roof.
Dick started thrashing the second he hit the water.
Bruce started yelling at the same time.
And then a lot of things happened at once.
One of the windows broke, a red and brown ball of pure rage entered the room and several gunshots were fired.
Before Bruce could blink, all their enemies were on the ground and Dick was out of the water, coughing in Red Hood’s arms.
The young vigilante took his communicator.
“I got them. I need the Batmobile to my location, and prep medical, with Dr. T if possible.” He was quiet for a short time, probably waiting for the answer, before saying. “Robin. You were right, calling me. Neither Red nor Black would have made it in time.”
“This is impossible!” yelled the woman on the ground. “I made sure all the bats-”
She was stopped by a foot to the face. Her neck made an awful cracking sound, but Bruce didn’t care about unnecessary violence at that point.
“Oh yeah?” asked Jason. “Count better next time.”
He put his jacket on the floor and lay Dick gently on it, murmuring something Bruce couldn’t hear. He then rushed to the woman, took the keys in her pocket and ran to Bruce.
“She wasn’t even close to all the bats,” he muttered under his breath, “Huntress is still in Gotham and I’m sure Catwoman could have saved you if we asked nicely. Hell, Harley and Ivy would have saved you if Oracle asked.”
Bruce fell on the floor and Jason didn’t spare him another glance, running back to Dick.
“I’m gonna carry you,” he said, more gently than Bruce thought was possible with a voice modifier. “This is gonna hurt. I need you to try and move as little as possible.”
He got his arms below Dick and scooped him up. Dick moaned, a small and sad sound that made Bruce think maybe his son wasn’t fully with them. He immediately ran to them, raising his arm in order to help.
“I got him. The Batmobile is waiting,” said Jason, coldly. His tone might have been the result of the stress, but Bruce felt there was something else.
“He had his comm on him,” said Jason, tone flat, when they reached the vehicle. Bruce closed his eyes. So, all his children had heard what he said.
The ride to the cave was silent beyond Dick’s labored breathing and Jason’s small words of comfort. Bruce couldn’t find it in himself to go next to them. Every fiber of his body urged him to take care of Dick, but something yelled that he didn’t have the right to. Not when he had caused part of that pain.
He didn’t move when Jason left the car, still carrying Dick. He didn’t move when Alfred and Leslie helped him to a stretcher. He didn’t move when Jason had to restrain Damian from following after them. He didn’t move when he heard the sound of Cass’s and Tim’s bikes arriving in the cave. He didn’t move when he saw his children’s worried faces.
But when the first scream was heard from the infirmary, when Jason had to open his arms to nestle all his younger siblings in them, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He took the Batmobile and drove away.
“She’s being treated at Gotham General for the gunshot wound and the head injury, but don’t worry. The charges against her are strong, and she doesn’t have many allies here. She probably won’t come near you again.”
Batman stood in front of Gordon. He knew he could trust the man, but he needed the Gotham justice system to do its job.
“Are you sure? She hurt two of my allies already.”
The commissioner took a drag out of his cigarette. He had a sad look on his eyes.
“Two of your allies? Batman, let me tell you something, father to father. When my little girl was having the worst night of her life, laying in pain in a hospital bed and learning that she wouldn’t walk again, I wanted nothing more than to make that damn clown pay. But it wasn’t what she needed. She needed me to be with her, to support her. Maybe that’s none of my business, but are you sure you’re where you’re needed most right now?”
Bruce gritted his teeth. He didn’t need a moral lesson.
“You’re right,” he said. “That’s none of your business.”
And with that, he was gone.
Alfred was singing when Bruce reached Dick’s room. It was such a rare sight it made Bruce’s heart tighten. The older man gave him a look when he noticed him, but finished his verse. One glance in the room showed Bruce that Dick was on his side, hands limp, and Damian had curled up in his brother’s stomach, his casted leg on a pillow.
Alfred closed the door on his way out, dissuading Bruce from going into the room.
“You were detained for almost two days, let me look at you,” he asked.
His father figure seemed to have gained ten years, and Bruce didn’t have it in him to protest.
“Are you going to give me a lesson too?” Bruce asked once Alfred had given him a once over and some food.
The butler sat in front of him. “Do you need me to?”
Bruce looked at his food. “I said horrible things.”
Alfred didn’t say anything.
“I hurt him.”
The older man nodded. “You did.”
“The other children are probably angry with me.”
Alfred nodded again. “Master Jason fully intended to punch you in the face the second you walked back into the manor. He settled for going into Mistress Cassandra’s room with all the other children. Including Miss Stephanie, Miss Harper, Mister Duke and Mister Cullen, who made the road to spend the night with his sister and her friends. Master Damian seems to have escaped his siblings, though.”
Bruce sighed. “Thank you, for taking care of them.”
“You’re very welcome, sir.”
Bruce looked at his food once more. He let some time pass before he admitted: “I don’t know how to fix this.”
Alfred gave him a knowing smile. “Isn’t that the curse of all parents? You tried to do something to protect your son but ended up hurting him in the process. You need to fix your mistake, but right now…” he put a hand and his shoulder. “…you need to sleep. Apologies can wait until morning.”
When Bruce reached Dick’s room the next morning, he could hear the sound of a recorded voice reading. Sure enough, Tim and Cass were in the room, and Tim was playing an audiobook on his tablet. All three of his children were quiet. Dick seemed only partially awake, Tim was working on something and Cass was making a braided bracelet, her face squinting with concentration.
She had picked up the hobby from Barbara, and she was currently making a red and black one. Bruce could spot a blue and golden one on Dick’s arm. He often heard that Cass and hemself were similar but she always found ways to show her love without words. Bruce wished he had that kind of skill.
He cleared his throat when the chapter ended, and three pairs of eyes turned toward him.
“Dick? Can we talk?”
Dick hummed. Cass squeezed his hand and Tim said something too low for Bruce to hear before leaving the room.
Bruce moved a chair next to the bed and sat. He took some time to think before asking, “Can I take your hand?”
Dick nodded and Bruce took his hand, gently stroking it. He asked again, “Are you in any pain?”
Dick closed his eyes. “Whatever you want to say, just say it, please.”
Bruce sighed. Here came the hard part. “Dick, I’m sorry.”
Whatever his son had been expecting, an apology wasn’t it. “Bruce, you don’t have to…”
Bruce squeezed his hand. “No, listen to me. I’m sorry. What I said… you know this was a lie, right?”
“I know, and you really don’t have to…”
Bruce squeezed his hand again. “But you believed it, for a moment, back there, right?”
Dick didn’t deny it. “It was just… pushing on my insecurities and I was already hurting and…”
“No.” Bruce shut him up. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have said that. And I shouldn’t have led us to a situation where you could believe it. So, now, I need you to listen to me.”
He took a deep breath. “I love you. I don’t say it often. I don’t say it as much as I should. But I love you, and nothing will ever change that. You’re my son, and it took me too long to realize it, but you are. Taking you in was the best decision I ever made. Maybe not for you, but…”
Dick took a breath and Bruce stopped him with his hand. “No. Let me finish. I don’t know what would have happened to you if I didn’t. We’ll probably never know. But I know you helped me, in more ways than one. And I need you to know that if you ever wanted to stop being a vigilante, I wouldn’t think any less of you. You’re much more to me than what Nightwing can give Batman.”
Dick opened his mouth. Then closed it. “I don’t… want to stop being a vigilante.”
“Then don’t. But know that no matter the choices you make, my love is a given.”
And, to his absolute horror, Dick started sobbing. Without thinking, in a way he learned when he had an eight-year-old child in his care, Bruce started wiping the tears.
“Shh… it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s… fuck.”
Dick let out a wet laugh. “It’s probably the painkillers, messing with my emotional filters,” he said between tears. “Sorry, I know you’re not good with tears.”
Bruce could have yelled in frustration. “This isn’t about what I’m good with. What should I do? Do you want a hug?”
Dick laughed again. It was the most beautiful thing Bruce had heard in a while. “Are you actually offering? I want a hug, yes. That would be nice.”
“Alright. Okay.”
He slowly lowered himself on the bed, embracing Dick with as much care as he could. His son still winced at the movement, and for a second Bruce thought he did something wrong, but the next moment his child’s head nestled onto his shoulder and he just let himself melt into the hug.
They stayed like that in silence, before Dick started talking again. “You know you should say what you just said to me to the others too, right?”
Bruce stroked his hair. “Right now, I’m taking care of you.”
Dick hummed. “Jason did amazing last night. Took care of the small ones and everything.”
In any other situation, Bruce might have felt a hidden criticism, but Dick was just physically and emotionally drained, speaking his mind off.
“I’m not sure how he would take congratulations from me,” Bruce said, honestly.
“He’ll appreciate it,” Dick deadpanned, as if Bruce didn’t have a complicated relationship with his second eldest. “He started a bet on who, between Dami and I, would be able to walk without help first,” he added. Again, this might have been a deliberate way to change the topic, but Bruce suspected it was more a thing his child thought about.
Bruce grunted. Dick snorted in his shoulder.
“This is stupid because Damian can walk on his hands. I taught him.”
Bruce grunted again. “Are you sure this is a useful life skill you should teach your siblings?”
Dick hummed.
“Is swinging from the chandelier a useful life skill too?” Bruce asked before feeling the smile on his shoulder.
“I’m gonna sleep,” said his son instead of answering. “Will you stay?”
Bruce held him tighter. “As long as you want.”
Bruce let himself close his eyes, comforted by his son’s warmness and regular breathing.
When Tim returned to the room a few hours later, he found them both asleep.