Work Text:
Dick had known walking into the oncologist’s office that he wouldn’t be getting good news. Really, he’d known the second he saw his blood results and his doctor had referred him to the oncology department at Rabe Memorial Hospital. They’d run a few more tests—blood tests, scans, biopsies—before finally delivering the bad news: Dick has Hodgkin lymphoma, stage IIIB.
The diagnosis is a shock, but it’s not entirely out of left field, and he’d be lying if he said cancer had never crossed his mind. There had been signs. He’s lost weight, he’s been sick a lot recently, he’s found lumps which he now knows are swollen lymph nodes. He’d thought maybe he had mono or something, but he supposes that had probably just been wishful thinking.
His brain is still buzzing with all of the information he’d been given, and the passenger seat is holding all of his pamphlets and discharge papers and a sheet of future appointment dates. But despite the information overload and the detailed plans for the next several months, there are still too many unknowns. He doesn’t know how his body will react to the treatment as far as side effects go—hell, he doesn’t even know if the treatment will work. And now he might have to quit his job, will probably have to put Nightwing on hold. God, he might not even be able to live on his own.
Dick takes a deep breath, tries to recenter himself. He has answers. He has a plan. He can do this.
He leans over the center console and collects the papers, knowing Bruce will want—need—to see them for himself. And maybe that will be easier, having something to give them, not having to tell them everything himself.
Papers collected, he finally opens the door and walks inside. Alfred is waiting for him, opens the door.
“I was debating on if I should come out to check on you,” he says, a warm smile on his face. “How was your doctor’s visit?”
Dick hasn’t told anyone about this. He hasn’t mentioned the biopsies or the oncologist. He’d merely say he was sick and the doctors were running some tests just to make sure everything was normal. It hadn’t been a total lie, and Dick had always planned on telling them. He’d just hoped he’d be able to share good news.
“I have some answers,” Dick says, stepping in and letting Alfred close the door behind him as Dick takes off his shoes. “Is Bruce around? I’d kind of like to talk to both of you.”
Alfred’s face goes blank, and he stares at the thick pile of papers Dick is holding. “He’s in the living room.”
Dick trails behind Alfred as he leads them to Bruce. The fire is on, and Bruce has several books spread over the coffee table. Research, probably.
“Master Bruce?” Alfred calls. “Master Dick is here.”
Bruce looks up for a second, then grunts in greeting before going back to his books. This will be fun.
Dick brushes past Alfred and takes a seat next to Bruce. Alfred follows behind him and takes a seat across from them.
“Well, hello to you too, Bruce,” Dick says lightly, forced smile faltering.
Bruce knows something’s up immediately, and he sets his book down. “What’s wrong?”
Dick clears his throat. “I, uh. I mentioned I had a doctor’s appointment today, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, um, I met with an oncologist,” Dick says, staring at his socks and bending the corner of the top paper. Just get it out, Grayson. “They ran a bunch of tests over the past week, and they told me I have Hodgkin lymphoma.”
Thick silence falls across the room. After a moment, Alfred leans forward to rest his hand on Dick’s knee. Bruce is still as stone.
“I’m starting chemotherapy on Monday,” Dick continues. “Hopefully that will take care of it and everything will be back to normal within a few months.” That won’t happen, even if the treatment does work. He knows this isn’t something that will be without repercussions.
“Where are you being treated?” Alfred asks.
“Rabe Memorial Hospital,” Dick says, looking up at Alfred and taking not of his wet eyes. His heart pounds in his chest and there’s an intense urge to flee.
Alfred nods. “They have very good doctors there.”
“Medical errors happen all of the time,” Bruce says, breaking his silence.
“Bruce, this isn’t that. They’ve done a lot of tests,” Dick says. “And the symptoms match. Here.” Dick passes the stack of papers to Bruce, who dutifully takes them and begins leafing through them.
“How are you feeling about all of this, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, moving from his chair to sit next to Dick on the couch. “This is a lot to take in.”
Terrified, overwhelmed, numb. Dick swallows. “I don’t know.”
“Can I do anything for you?” Alfred asks.
Dick shakes his head.
“You’re always welcome to stay here if you need help,” Alfred tells him. “And I would be happy to take you to your appointments and sit with you. Whatever else you need, we will be here for you.”
“Thanks, I—” Dick cuts himself off. He hasn’t really thought this far. He’d thought about what might need to happen, but not the how. “Thank you.”
“I don’t understand,” Bruce says, setting the papers down. “You’re young, you’re healthy.”
“Obviously, not that healthy,” Dick points out, turning his head to face Bruce.
Bruce looks defeated, lost. His voice cracks when he says, “You have cancer.”
Dick nods.
Bruce closes his eyes, exhales. He opens his eyes and takes the papers again, looking at the treatment plan. He looks back at Dick, meets his gaze. “This will not be easy, but I know you, and I know you can do this. And you won’t be alone.”
Dick nods, bites his lip and tries not to cry. He blinks, and tears run down his cheeks. He tilts forward to rest his head against Bruce’s collarbone, and Bruce wraps his arms around him.
“You’re going to survive this,” Bruce tells him, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I promise you.”
Logically, Dick knows Bruce can’t promise things like that. But it’s hard to argue with Batman, and it’s impossible not to take comfort in his words.
Something washes over Dick, and he knows then that no matter what happens, he’s going to be okay.