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Bruce isn’t going to make it out of this alive.
He’s leaning against a tree staring up at the sky when he finally admits it to himself. They’re too far from any town to get help in time. He can catalogue the symptoms of hypovolemic shock, he’s seen it enough times to recognize it. He’s at the stage where transfusion is urgent, and that’s not an option. No matter how tight Batgirl ties his bandages, blood’s still leaking sluggishly from a number of wounds.
Still, glancing over at the campfire where Batgirl—Cass—sits, he knows he wouldn’t change a thing.
“Stupid,” Cass says, poking at their small campfire. Her mask is gone, and her face is streaked with Bruce’s blood. About half of her cape lies nearby, torn into strips. The other half is already on him in the form of tourniquets for his mangled legs and bandages pressing on his chest wounds. “I could’ve handled it.”
“Sorry,” he lies, not bothering to do it well.
She huffs. “You should be.” Cass wipes her brow, only succeeding in smearing blood across her forehead. “I’m gonna have to drag you out of here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to leave me,” Bruce says firmly.
She knows how bad it is. Bruce might not have her ability, but he can see the tension in her body. She’s in denial.
“I’m not going to—“
“Don’t throw your life away trying to save me!”
He knows it’s hypocritical, knows he would be doing the same thing if their places were reversed, but Cassandra is a kid—his kid.
Cass says something then, but he can’t catch it, every involuntary action suddenly seeming to take enormous reserves of energy.
At least he can look at the stars while he dies. Wouldn’t have called that. He always figured he’d die under Gotham’s polluted sky.
Cass lightly slaps at his face with her hand. “Batman, stay with me,” she orders.
He yawns, his eyes drooping closed. He snaps them open again. “I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying,” she snaps back, startling him with her ferocity. “We promised. No one dies tonight.”
He wants to say I’m an exception. He wants to say I would die a thousand times to keep you safe. He wants to say you’re worth it. He wants to say that’s what fathers do, they sacrifice for their kids. But those are all too much right now, his brain recoiling towards the appealing mist of sleep whenever an emotional sentence threatens his energy.
Cass turns back to the fire.
“I’m sorry I didn’t officially adopt you,” he squeezes out.
Cass freezes a moment.
“I don’t know why I didn’t,” he pushes on. “I thought I was protecting you. From the scrutiny, from the judgement, from the risk to your identity. But…”
“It’s okay,” Cass says, gently patting his hand. “You can adopt me when we get back.”
“No, Cass, please,” Bruce repeats, desperation creeping into his voice no matter how hard he tries to relax. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Bruce huffs. “Fine. When you make it out of here—“
Cass opens her mouth to interrupt, but he raises a hand to stop her.
“When you get out of here,” he repeats, “tell Barbara I’m sorry to die in such a weird location. She won’t believe me, but I promise it wasn’t to make her job harder.”
“Tell her yourself. You’re not dying.”
Bruce sighs. “Cass. Please. I know you’re used to…” he gasps for breath “beating impossible odds, but I need you to be…here. Right now. I need you to understand.”
Cass squeezes her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face and leaving tracks in the blood. “Batman. I…I do.”
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, his heart wrenching. “I’m sorry to make you say it. I’m sorry you’re here.”
Cass sniffs, then meets Bruce’s eyes defiantly. “I’m not.”
“Cassie, sweetheart, please do one last thing for me.”
Cass takes his cold hand, squeezing it in her own.
“Promise me you’ll look away while I die.”
“Batman—“
“I’m not asking you to leave me.” He smiles ruefully. “Wouldn’t work in a thousand years.”
“Fuck right,” Cass says proudly.
Bruce chuckles, the low rumbling in his chest shooting an earthquake of pain up and down his torso.
“Just…please, Cassie. I don’t want the last thing I do to be hurting you. Don’t watch.”
Cass studies him a moment, then raises his arm and slips under it. Before he can ask what she’s doing, she’s already hugging him, her arms circling his cooling torso, her head resting on his clavicle.
“Cassandra—“ He protests.
Her hair tickles his chin.
“I need to be able to feel your heartbeat,” she explains, sounding rational and Batmanlike even as she shimmies herself into a better cuddling position. “Don’t want me to look at the wrong time, right?”
Bruce laughs, even though all his exhausted lungs can manage is a sharp exhale. He shifts his arm to tuck her closer to his chest.
He never thought he’d die like this, looking at the stars, holding his daughter. Everything’s swimming, it’s hard to keep hold of anything, where he is or why he’s here or why the trees above him are suddenly a pointillist work slowly dimming, but her warmth and weight is here to remind him she’s here and she’s his daughter. His daughter—
“Cassandra,” he murmurs, all his wonder slipping out in the few syllables. He presses his lips to the top of her head. Her hair is sticky and matted with blood, but it’s not hers, and that’s what matters.
“Batman.” Her voice catches in her throat. She inhales sharply. “Dad.”
As the world dims, as everything slips from his grasp like mist, as he’s drawn inexorably into the deepest of slumbers, he knows he’s dying with a smile on his face.