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It was late at night. It was early in the morning. It was that time when two days blended together into one, when everything was still and quiet, when the entire world seemed to fade out of existence. Usually, Wayne Manor was not susceptible to such enchantments, its residents being accustomed to staying awake and walking about until the sun slowly woke from its slumber. Usually, the family would either be at the Cave debriefing as they dressed any injuries, or eating some of Alfred’s post-patrol meals as they pointedly followed the butler’s No Bat Talk At The Table rule.
That night, that morning, was not a usual one. Wayne Manor and its family had not had a usual anything for over three weeks at that point. The giant mansion was quiet and the pattering sounds of the rain on the roof and running against the large floor-to-ceiling windows emphasized the stillness of the hour.
Bruce stood in the corridor in the far end of the east wing on the second floor; the part of the manor where most of the family’s bedrooms were located, far away enough from the living and reception spaces and behind enough doors that few guests ever stepped foot in that area of the house. His back was against the wall, his arms crossed. A giant window that overlooked the pool and acres of wooded area beyond faced him. By its side, the door to Tim’s bedroom. The billionaire wore his red sleeping robes, a loose pair of black pajama pants, and black slippers. His hair was disheveled, his jaw covered by a stubble, exhaustion lining his every feature. If he had slept at all in the past three weeks, it had only been for a few restless minutes at a time.
Lightning flashed outside. The thunder quickly followed. Bruce’s eyes didn’t leave the door.
Three broken ribs. A long horizontal cut just above the bellybutton that had to be stitched together.
Ten minutes passed before the door finally opened, quietly, slowly, widely. Bruce’s back straightened immediately. He moved without hesitation, holding the door open as he peered inside for just a moment and was greeted by the miraculous sight of Tim sleeping soundly in his bed.
The sound of the rain seemed louder than ever as Dick maneuver wheelchair out of the room with great difficulty, trying his best not to make a lot of noise.
Left ankle shattered. Right kneecap broken. Both tibia broken, ugly black bruises marking where the baseball bat hit again and again and again and again and—
“Knew you would be waiting for me,” Dick whispered. “Try not to wake him. He’s in desperate need for sleep. All of you are.”
Bruce quietly closed the door. He could not help but smile at the way Dick spoke about Tim as if here still a young child, as if he were younger than even Damian.
“Is that everyone?” Bruce asked.
Dick let out sigh as he nodded. Bruce wanted to kneel beside him, to hold his face with both his hands as he kissed his forehead, his nose, his eyes, his lips, his jaw… As he kissed every surface of his skin until that strange restless ache inside his chest that made his skin prickled was appeased.
“Jason was out like a light hours ago. Damian fell asleep pretty fast too after I went to check on him,” Dick said. “Tim, though… You know how he gets. I’m not sure if my presence helped or just made him feel worse, but he was exhausted enough to just… crash. I doubt he’ll wake up until after lunch.”
“Did you drug him?”
“No,” Dick chuckled, “But I thought about it. Didn’t need to, though. Like I said, he was exhausted. You all are.”
They were, yes. All of them. But the exhaustion had little to do with the lack of sleep, and far more to do with the worry that had plagued their minds and hearts since Dick’s disappearance.
He was here, now, though. He was home. He was home and despite the relief Bruce felt seeing his beloved in front of him, however injured, that strange form of anxiety still bubbled inside of him, just beneath his skin.
“He’s worried about you,” Bruce said. “We all were.”
Dick smiled up at him and Bruce’s heart stuttered inside his chest, his breath catching in his throat. He missed that smile. He missed that smile so much it hurt to look at it now, it hurt to think that he was so close to never seeing it again.
Seven fingers broken. Left radius broken in two places. Right middle finger missing, cut right through.
Cuts from whips that had littered the entire surface of his back. More stitches required.
Broken clavicle. Electric burns to the neck where a collar had clasped far too tightly. Only time would tell if they would scar.
The raindrops fell heavily against the windows, the water washing on the glass like a cascade. Bruce and Dick’s eyes were fixed on one another, their gazes not breaking even as lighting illuminated the dark hall and thunder rumbled the manor’s walls.
God, how Bruce had missed him. He had missed him so much he was barely able to think properly while he was gone. Worry had constantly clouded his thoughts, sheer terror at the idea of losing him guiding his every move, driving his every decision.
Find Dick. Bring him home. Save Dick. Bring him home. Can’t lose Dick. Never Dick. Miss Dick. Need Dick. Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick--
Lightning. Thunder. Rain.
Dick was home.
“Where to next? Our room, finally?” Bruce asked. “Unless you want to check in with Alfred as well.”
Dick’s laugh was the sweetest sound as it mingled with that of the pattering rain. It was a song that filled the somber halls of the manor with delight. A song Bruce adored and never failed to bring a smile to his lips. Bruce had always known he would never grow tired of that laughter, but being forced to contemplate a life where he would never hear it again filled him with a longing so deep that it nearly choked him. It also made his heart ache for reasons he could not express right outside of Tim’s bedroom. It made the prickling in his skin worst, the restlessness in his chest grow, the bubbling anxiety feel like oatmeal boiling over.
“As much as I would love to check on Alfred, I don’t think he would appreciate it, and I’m not very much in the mood for a lecture,” Dick paused, his eyes turning towards the window. He smile slipped, just slightly. “I’m… Not ready to go to bed either, though.”
Bruce nodded in understanding. Even as exhaustion cut through his every bone, he didn’t think he would be able to sleep yet. He didn’t want to close his eyes for even a moment, fearing beyond rationality that if he did, Dick would suddenly disappear.
He wanted to hold him tightly and never let him go. Wanted to kiss the nape of his neck, wanted to feel his heartbeat beneath his hand.
He wanted to have Dick as close as physically possible and to keep him like that forever.
“That’s fine. Do you want to go to the media room and watch some TV? Or perhaps I can make us some tea or hot coocoa—”
“You’ll make hot cocoa?” Dick asked, amused.
Bruce put on an exaggerate offended look.
“I can make hot cocoa.”
Dick snorted, “Yeah, sure you can.”
“I can,” Bruce defended himself. “You’ve had it quite a few times, growing up. It’s not as good as Alfred’s—”
“Nothing anyone makes is ever as good as Alfred’s. If anyone says otherwise, they’re filthy heathen.”
“—but it’s still enjoyable.”
Dick laughed again. This time, there seemed to be something to the sound that made it ring more sincere. It brought a smile to Bruce’s face.
He was safe. Dick was safe.
Bruises and injuries to the left cheek. A head injury.
Extreme dehydration. Malnourished. Internal bleeding. Possible long-term exposure to toxins that may have affected the lungs. Long-term damage a high possibility. He might never fully recover.
And that was not even to mention the deep psychological scars those three weeks of pure hell would leave on Dick.
It was a miracle he was still alive. A miracle Bruce felt way too viscerally, the fear still buzzing in his veins making his skin uncomfortable to wear, the lump on his throat refusing to leave.
“As good as both those offers are, I think…” Dick paused. “This may sound weird, but can we go to your study? Please?”
Bruce didn’t hesitate in nodding. He grabbed on the handles of Dick’s chair, and carefully wheeled him down the long winding corridors, following the path which would bring them down to the first floor study with the least amount of difficulty. Neither of them spoke during their small journey, the sound of Bruce’s footsteps and the wheels of the chair both quiet yet commanding. Occasionally, when the lightning struck and the thunder roared, Dick would turn to look outside, his eyes focused, his shoulders relaxing as he grounded himself in the present.
Bruce’s own eyes could focus only on Dick.
He was here. He was home. He was safe.
Three weeks. That’s how long Nightwing — Dick — was gone, captured during a solo assignment. Three weeks since he disappeared, since he failed to come back to the Cave, come back home, come back to them… Come back to Bruce. Three weeks of not waking up to the taste of his chaste good morning kisses, of not seeing his blue eyes light up whenever the entire family was together in one room, three weeks of not hearing his laugh as they swung between buildings during patrol, of smelling his green tea with mint shampoo when they sat side-by-side during weekly movie night, of not feeling his hand in his while they walked down the streets of Gotham together.
Three weeks of not knowing whether he was dead or not. Three weeks of anxious searching, of following as many leads as they could possibly find, of almost no sleep as they tried to bring him home. Three weeks of feeling like his heart had been carved out of his chest, of feeling hollow, like a reanimated carcass whose only thoughts were desperate screams for the one who gave him life.
Three weeks of Dick being subjected to the most horrendous form of torture that caused him to flat-line twice while Alfred and Leslie operated on him after Bruce and the boys finally managed to rescue him. Three weeks followed by nearly four days of waiting until those blue eyes opened, until they heard his voice, until they knew for sure they were not going to lose him forever.
Three weeks of curling into himself on a bed that now felt too big for him, crying as he breathlessly ached to hold the love of his life in his arms.
Three weeks of feeling more alone than ever.
Three weeks where he saw what a world without Dick Grayson would be like.
By the time they arrived at the study, the thunders had grown louder with proximity, each crash rumbling through the old walls of the manor. Bruce didn’t bother to turn on the lights as they entered the room, quietly wheeling Dick towards the window seat that was closest to his desk.
Without waiting for him, Dick, with some difficulty, moved himself into the seat. The lightning flashed outside and illuminated his figure. Bruce watched him as he rested his head against the cool glass. The rain pattered outside, Dick’s gaze fixed on the little droplets that tapped against the window.
“I used to come here a lot, you know? When you weren’t here,” Dick said without looking at him. “Be it if you were out on a mission with the League or… Or out on a date and I needed to be somewhere to nurse my young broken heart. Whenever I missed you, whenever I felt like I needed you but could not have you… I would sneak in here. It was like being with you even if you weren’t with me. I guess… I guess I find this room comforting, still.”
Another flash of lightning. Another roaring thunder that made the manor tremble. The rain continued on.
Bruce knelt by Dick’s side and gently took one of his hand, grabbing the younger man’s attention as he did so. That restlessness inside of Bruce screamed, demanding more… Begging for Dick.
Lightning. Dick was here. Thunder. Dick was home. Rain. Dick was safe.
And Bruce… Bruce was here, too. They were both here, together again.
“I am here right now, though,” Bruce said. “I’m here, Dick. I’m here with you and I’m not leaving you. Not ever.”
Lightning illuminating the room. The thunder made the manor shake. Rain pattered on the window. Dick tried to smile, but his lips were trembling instead. With what little strength he had, he pulled Bruce by the hand towards him.
Bruce didn’t hesitate to follow the command. He closed the distance between them, awkwardly though carefully wrapping his arms around Dick’s torso. Dick let go of his hand to curl his good arm around Bruce’s shoulder, bringing him closer, lifting himself off the seat just slightly, fully leaning against Bruce, trusting the older man to carry his weigh.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. Still, fragile, precious… For a moment, everything felt alright and not alright at all. Bruce felt like something that had been coiling inside of him since the moment he learned of Dick’s disappearance was suddenly released, his chest swelling while also feeling so incredibly empty with relief.
Lighting. Thunder. Rain.
Dick was here. Dick was home. Dick was safe.
Dick was in his arms again and Bruce felt like he was going to cry.
In his embrace, Dick let out a shuddered sigh, nuzzling into the crook of Bruce’s neck. He started shaking, slightly at first, as if he was holding himself back, then more and more as Bruce’s hold tightened around him. All the tension he’d been holding since he woke up melted away in a raging flood.
Bruce pressed his lips against Dick’s temple, inhaling deeply, trying to find comfort in the antiseptic smell that still clung to him, replacing the usual green tea with mint that he had so grown to love so much. He wished he could pull Dick even closer, so that every inch of their bodies was touching, so that no inch of their bodies would ever be apart again.
Never again. Never again would Bruce allow Dick to be taken from him. Never again would he spend three weeks away from his beloved. Never again would he spend a day without waking up to the taste of his kisses, without feeling their fingers interlocked together, never again did he want to spend a night in his bed without with his one and only love safely in his arms and the sounds of Gotham’s thunderstorms lulling them to slumber.
Dick was here. Dick was home. Dick was safe. They were together.
“You’re alright,” Bruce whispered into Dick’s hair. “I got you… You’re home, Dick. And I’m here with you.”
“Bruce,” Dick’s voice was but a whisper as he spoke, breathy, shaky. “God, Bruce…!”
“I’m here,” Bruce whispered. “I’m sorry it took us so long to find you.”
Dick shook his head, but didn’t pull back.
“Not your fault,” he whispered. “You came as quick as you could.”
“It wasn’t quick enough,” Bruce said. “But I am here, and you’re home. They can’t hurt you anymore, Dick.”
Bruce pulled back just enough so he could tilt Dick’s head to face him. There was a gauze on his left cheekbone, some band-aids wrapped around the top of his head, his lips still split. Dick’s blue eyes were filled with unshed tears, the yet the younger man still tried to smile.
Bruce leaned forwards. He pressed their lips together, desperately. Dick let out another shuddered sigh but did not pull away. His hold on Bruce tightened, his good fingers curling, scratching as he pulled Bruce closer.
“I missed you,” Dick whispered in between kisses, whispered as his small button nose nuzzled against Bruce’s cheekbones. Tears were falling down his face, his eyes closed as Bruce continued to kiss every bit of skin, every inch of Dick’s face he could find. “I missed you so much. I missed you so so much…! God, Bruce…!”
Bruce maneuvered them so that he was now sitting on the window seat and Dick was on his lap. Even in his desperation, even in his mindless desire to keep Dick as close to him as possible, even as his body cried in relief at finally being able to feel Dick’s skin against his own, he still had enough sense to mindful of his injuries.
Dick was panting and sobbing as Bruce kissed his tears away. Their chests were pressed together. Bruce could feel Dick’s erratic heartbeat against his.
“I love you, B,” Dick’s voice was a broken whisper. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Love you so much. So, so much…”
“Never stopped thinking about you. Never once.”
“I searched everywhere, I promise.”
“I knew you would come.”
“I would never stop searching.”
“I missed you, B”
A choked sob, another kiss. Lightning and thunder and rain. Dick’s warm breath against his skin, the taste of his salty tears, the feel of his injured hands buried in his hair, their hearts beating together as one.
The flash of light. The shaking of the house. The pattering at the window. It all fell into the background as they opened their eyes and locked gazes. Tears were rolling down Dick’s cheeks. He smiled even as he sobbed, and then pressed a lips to each of Bruce’s own eyes.
Bruce hadn’t realized he’d been crying too.
“I’m home,” he said, breathless.
“You’re home,” Bruce repeated, one hand moving to gently cup Dick’s uninjured cheek.
Dick leaned into the touch. He moved his head slightly to kiss the palm of Bruce’s hand, breathing in deeply as he did so. Bruce felt his heart sing, the skin of his hand tingling.
Lightning. Thunder. The sound of the raindrop pattering against the window never ceased.
“You’re here,” Dick said.
Bruce leaned forward, capturing his lips in a tender lingering kiss. Still mindful of Dick’s injuries, he touched their foreheads together. His eyes refused to look at anything but Dick.
“I’m here,” he reassured him.
“We’re together,” Dick said.
Bruce nodded, “Together.”
Dick’s smile was watery, small, but in that moment, it was like having a thunderstorm after months of living through the longest drought.
“I love you, Bruce.”
“I love you too, Dick… More than you can ever imagine.”
The lightning flashed. The thunder roared. The rain picked in force.
Dick was here, Dick was home, Dick was safe. Their hearts beat together as every inch of their bodies touched.
Dick was here.
Dick was home.
Dick was safe.
Dick was in Bruce’s arms and Bruce was never letting him go again.