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When Dick woke, his apartment was freezing.
He blinked blearily over at his bedroom window, wondering if he'd somehow forgotten to close it after he came in as Nightwing. But the window was closed and locked, a layer of glass between him and the snow outside. It should have been keeping out the cold as well.
Pulling his blanket around his shoulders like the cape he used to wear as Robin, Dick stumbled out of his bedroom and into the living room. The windows were closed in there as well, but that didn't change the fact that Dick could see his breath clouding in the air. Frustrated, he went over to the heater and laid a hand on it.
It was, as he probably should have expected, ice cold.
"You've got to be kidding me," Dick groaned, letting his head fall onto the frosted windowpane.
A quick check of the apartment told him that none of the heaters were working and none of the faucets would give him anything but freezing cold water. With another groan, Dick pulled his blanket cape tighter around him and picked up his phone.
"Let me guess," his landlord said, sounding thoroughly disinterested, "you're also calling to bitch about the cold."
"Um." Dick had almost forgotten how much he really didn't like his landlord. "The hot water isn't working in my apartment. None of the heaters will turn on."
"I'll tell you the same thing I told everyone else," his landlord replied, "I'll deal with it when I deal with it. It's just a little cold. You can handle it."
Dick wasn't entirely sure that was legal, but he was entirely sure that he'd get laughed at if he tried to bring that up. "Do you have any idea when it'll be fixed?"
"Like I said, I'll deal with it when I deal with it. If you can't handle the cold, stay somewhere else." The line clicked, and the phone went dead.
For a moment, Dick thought about going back to the Manor. It would be warm there, Alfred always kept it warm, and there would be hot chocolate and a roaring fireplace and movie nights with Jason in a blanket fort and-
And Bruce, arms crossed and eyes disappointed. Even the thought of retreating back to him made Dick feel sick. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like if he actually did it.
He would be fine. It was cold, but he could tough it out. He'd been colder, after all. He'd be fine. He'd layer up, and he'd buy another blanket, and maybe a thicker pair of pajamas. He could afford that, he was pretty sure.
If he dipped into his trust fund, he could afford to get a better apartment with a landlord who would actually deal with problems like this instead of just letting them go...
But he couldn't. If he used any money from the trust fund Bruce had set up, then Bruce would see that as a sign that he could start trying to control Dick's life again, and as long as Dick was using his money, he wouldn't have much of a leg to stand on if he tried to protest. He had to ignore the siren song of the trust fund and stick to just using his own money. He could manage it. He wasn't like Bruce, who'd been rich his whole life; he hadn't been poor, exactly, as a child, but his family hadn't had much money for excesses. He could go back to that. He knew how to do it. He'd be fine.
He went to his bedroom and got dressed as quickly as possible, layering on two sweaters, and then he went to the kitchen and made a hot cup of coffee, thankful that the power was still working even if the hot water wasn't. He could still make hot food and drinks, at least, and that would warm him up. It would be enough for now, and hopefully his landlord would fix the hot water soon. It was fine. He'd be fine.
He wrapped both hands around the warm coffee mug and hoped things would be back to normal sooner rather than later.
Coming back to his apartment after patrolling all night was somewhat of a disappointment when he couldn't take a hot shower or even properly warm up from the cold. Dick stashed his Nightwing suit in the secret compartment in the back of the closet and changed into his new fleece pajamas, then he buried himself under two blankets and shivered until he got warm. He was almost tempted to go out again and find a place that was heated where he could spend some time, but it was just past three in the morning and he was exhausted. He'd sleep, and then he'd figure out something in the morning. Maybe he could even pick up an extra shift waiting tables. At least there would be heat.
He got up at nine after a troubled, fragmented sleep; apparently, it was hard to rest in an apartment where the temperature was barely above freezing. Dick bundled up in a hoodie and a bathrobe, then he called his manager.
"Do you have any extra shifts I could pick up today?"
"I don't think so, but I'll check," his manager replied. "Something wrong?"
"The heat is broken in my apartment," Dick replied, shivering as he started making coffee. "I figured I could do an extra shift, since it's not like I'll be relaxing at home until this is fixed."
"Well, we're all good on staff today," his manager said, sounding vaguely apologetic. "You could go to the library, there's heat there."
The Blüdhaven library was a bit of a dump, but a dump with heat sounded perfect. Maybe Dick could do a bit of research on some of his current cases. "Good idea. Thanks."
"Hope your heat is fixed soon," his manager said before hanging up. Dick put his phone down, then wrapped both hands around his warm coffee mug. The heat seeped into his bones, even more so after he took a sip and it began warming him from the inside out. He'd go to the library after breakfast, he decided, and then stay there until he got sick of it or until they closed, whichever came first. That would give him a warm spot to spend most of his day, and he could even be productive too.
Bruce always told him to be careful when researching in a public library, just in case anyone was able to figure out his secret identity through the things he was studying. But Bruce wasn't in charge of him anymore, and besides, Dick knew how to be careful with his identity. He'd be fine.
A corner of his mind offered up the tantalizing prospect of the Manor, with its warmth and familiarity. But Dick refused to go back. He'd left Gotham to get out of Bruce's shadow, and he wasn't going to willingly step right back into it. And he knew full well that, if he went back, it would be harder to leave again, and not just because Bruce would have more advance warning this time. As much as Dick valued his new independence, part of him longed for home, for his family, and if he gave in to that longing, he wasn't sure he'd be able to gather up enough courage to leave again.
It was fine. He'd stay away from the Manor. He was an adult, and he could make his own choices, and he could live where he wanted. Right now, he wanted to live in Blüdhaven.
He just wished he were living in Blüdhaven with heat.
The library was uneventful, as was Dick's cold dinner at home. He wasn't bartending that night, so he went out early as Nightwing. It wasn't any warmer outside than it was inside, and the insulation on the Nightwing suit was honestly only so-so, but the constant activity helped keep his body temperature up. Dick flipped between buildings and ran along rooftops, and he stopped three muggings and one robbery in the first hour. Blüdhaven needed him, he reminded himself, and that was why he needed to stay there and not go back to Gotham, no matter what.
When he finally finished his patrol, he headed back to his apartment flush with the exhilaration of the night. He'd learned more about a weapons deal that would be going on the next night by the docks, a deal that he thought might give him an opportunity to shut down a smuggling ring he'd been trying to stop for almost as long as he'd been living in Blüdhaven. After he slept, he could spend the rest of the morning preparing for the bust. He had work in the afternoon, then he was bartending in the evening, and then, finally, he could go out at one, when the deal was scheduled to happen. It would be a good day, he thought.
And it was, at first. He spent the morning getting ready for the bust that night, then he worked decent shifts both waiting tables and bartending. The restaurant and bar were warm, at least. He listened to the police officers around the bar, as usual, but none of them seemed to know anything about the weapons deal going on, so Dick doubted any police officers would show up at his bust. That was fine. He preferred it, actually; it would give him more room to work. It also meant this was something he could do that would make a real change. If the police weren't dealing with this - as they often didn't seem to deal with things, to be honest - then Nightwing would pick up the slack. By the time his shift ended, he was pumped and ready to go.
And at first, the bust went well too. Dick waited until everyone was present and the weapons were about to change hands, then he leapt down with a cheery quip and two sharp blows from his escrima sticks that knocked out the two closest smugglers. The deal dissolved into chaos, and Dick got to work. He fought his way through the group, dodging bullets and punches, and then-
He wasn't sure if it had been purposeful or an accident. He wasn't sure who did it. All he knew was that one of the bullets hit a crate full of explosives, and Dick only had a moment to think this was really, really bad before the world went white.
He came to as he hit the water, and it was only his extensive training that kept him from gasping in an automatic breath as he went under. He couldn't have been out for more than a few seconds, he knew, but he also knew that was long enough for a mission to go south. He tried his best to do a quick check for injuries as he made for the surface, but it was hard to think when he was so cold. The water was freezing, and Dick could hardly feel his hands or feet. Considering he'd been in the water for less than a minute, that was seemed particularly bad.
When he breached the surface, gasping for air, the docks were on fire. He saw one of the weapons dealers in the water near him, apparently unconscious, and swam over to him, grabbing him under the arms and bringing him to shore. When he crawled up onto the dock, he scanned the water, but he didn't see anyone else. It was entirely possible that there were more people in the water - people who were probably drowning now - but Dick didn't know where they were. It was also entirely possible that there were people dying in the fires behind him, but he didn't know where they were either, and he didn't know if he could get them out.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, and it came back bloody. A blow to the head would explain why his mind was so foggy. Combined with the cold, it would explain why he couldn't think.
There were sirens, coming towards the docks. The Blüdhaven police ignored many things, but apparently an explosion of this magnitude was enough to actually get their attention. Nightwing hadn't had much interaction with the police force here, and Dick didn't think this would be a good way to introduce himself. He had to get out of here. He had to go somewhere to clean up his wounds, because God only knew what was in the water, and to warm himself up before he got hypothermia.
He moved more slowly across the rooftops than usual, and he was far less showy than he usually was, but eventually, Dick made it back to his apartment. He opened the window, crawled inside...
And suddenly remembered he had no heat.
Dick let out a long groan, then closed his window. He could tend to his wounds, at least, and he could get changed, and then hopefully he would be warmed up enough that he could just curl up under his blankets and be fine. He wasn't sure how likely that was - his brain was too foggy for statistics - but he'd give it a shot, at least.
Getting out of his Nightwing suit was more difficult than normal, given that it was wet and plastered to his skin, but Dick managed it, wriggling out until the suit was a wet puddle on the floor. He put it in a plastic bag and shoved it in the compartment in his closet, knowing that he should wash it and having absolutely no energy to do so yet. He'd do it later, he reasoned, when he wasn't half frozen and possibly - probably? - concussed. He had more important things to focus on first.
He padded into his bathroom and turned on the sink, then shoved his head under it. The water was frigid, which he knew was bad with how cold he already was, but he had to clean out the wound on the back of his head. After he rinsed it, he poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball and gently cleaned out the cut on the back of his head, cursing under his breath as he did so. The alcohol actually stung less than he'd expected, but he knew that was probably a bad thing. It probably also had something to do with the way he'd dropped the cotton ball twice, his fingers fumbling and numb. They were barely shaking, though, which he was pretty sure was bad. He should be shivering, shouldn't he?
He toweled himself off, drying himself as much as he could, then headed back into his bedroom. He put on the warmest clothes he had, with two sweaters and three pairs of socks and leggings under his pants, and then he huddled under his blankets and did his best to warm up.
He didn't start shivering.
This was bad, Dick knew. He should be shivering. He was cold, he was freezing, and if he was so far gone that he couldn't even shiver anymore...
He had to go someplace warm. The problem was, it was half past one in the morning, and he didn't know where to go. He didn't have any friends in Blüdhaven that he could visit, especially not so late at night, and he couldn't think of any other place he could go.
Well. Except one.
There was a reason he didn't want to go to the Manor, Dick knew, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. It didn't matter, he reasoned as he grabbed his phone and the keys to his bike. He had to get warm, and whatever his reason was, it wasn't worth dying over. Was it? He didn't think it was. He couldn't think of anything related to the Manor that was worth dying over.
And he wanted to go home. He wanted to see Alfred and Bruce and Jason. He wanted to go to sleep in his childhood bedroom, to eat in his childhood kitchen, to laugh with his family in his childhood living room. He wanted to be someplace familiar and comfortable, and there was nowhere else quite like the Manor to make him feel like that.
He shoved his feet into his shoes, pulled on a coat, and locked his apartment door behind him. His bike was downstairs, and while he knew biking would be cold and unpleasant, it would also get him to warmth. He'd manage. He'd been in worse situations, after all. He could sit on his bike and stay upright until he reached Gotham.
After all, he had no other choice.
The streets weren't too busy, thankfully. Dick knew he wobbled into the other lane a few times, but he hadn't fallen off the bike, which was a big enough achievement for him. Gotham was never quiet, but it was quieter at two in the morning. That was normally around the time that Dick would have gone home, back when he was Robin. Sometimes, Bruce would stay out a bit longer, but normally, they'd go home together, to the treats that Alfred would have waiting for them after a safe patrol.
Dick wondered if Batman was out in the city as he drove through it, patrolling with his new Robin. He wondered if Alfred was getting treats ready for them back home.
He lost time, which he thought should have been scarier than it was. He blinked, and he was in the center of Gotham; he blinked, and he was on the outskirts; he blinked, and he was nearing the Manor's long driveway. Maybe he should have called ahead, he thought distantly, but considering that he was already heading up the driveway, it was too late for that. It would be alright.
For a moment, panic struck him as he realized he was heading up the civilian driveway and not going to the Cave, but then he remembered that he was coming as Dick Grayson, not Nightwing. He was supposed to go to the civilian entrance. He had his key - at least, he was pretty sure he had his key - so he could let himself in. Alfred would probably be there, but hadn't he just had a thought about Alfred doing something? He didn't remember what it was. It didn't matter; even if Alfred was busy, Dick could still get in.
He blinked, and he was in the garage with no idea how long he'd been there. He reached up to take his helmet off and realized he wasn't wearing one. He must have forgotten to grab it when he left his apartment. That was stupid, he reflected, especially with a head wound. That thought reminded him that he had a head wound, which was probably something he should tell Alfred and Bruce. They should know that, shouldn't they? In case it became a problem?
He tried to get up from his bike, but his limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated. It shouldn't have been hard to just swing his leg over the side of the bike and stand, and yet it was. Dick tripped over his own feet as he did it, and he crashed to the ground next to the bike. He was on his hands and knees, and he knew he should get up and go into the Manor, but the prospect of getting up seemed exhausting. He would do it in a moment, he would, but for now...
He blinked, and there was a boy kneeling in front of him, a boy with tousled dark hair and fearful blue eyes. "Dick?" he asked. "Dick, are you okay?"
"Jas'n," Dick slurred, and Jason's eyes looked even more afraid. "'S cold."
"Dick? Dick?"
Dick knew he should respond, but he was so tired...
"Bruce!" Jason screamed. "Bruce, Alfred, help!"
Ah, that was alright, then. Bruce and Alfred would fix things. They'd make Jason stop looking so afraid. Maybe they could even fix the cold.
Dick was vaguely aware of voices, and he thought he felt someone tap on his cheek, and then he was flying, and then he was gone.
When Dick woke, Alfred was asleep in a chair next to his bed.
He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. He wasn't in his apartment, he could tell that immediately, and after another heartbeat, he realized he was in his bedroom in the Manor. He had an IV in one arm, and there was a frankly absurd amount of blankets piled over him. His head ached, and he was pretty sure he could feel the slight tension of a bandage on the back of his head. And all of this was because...
It took a moment, but the memories returned. The arms deal, the explosion, the freezing water. And before that, his frigid apartment with the nonfunctional heat. And before that...
The night before, concussed and hypothermic, he couldn't remember why he didn't want to come back to the Manor. Now, he knew full well, but it was too late to do anything about it.
He shifted slightly, and Alfred's eyes immediately blinked open. "Master Dick? Do you know where you are?"
"The Manor," Dick replied, his voice rasping. "In my bedroom."
Alfred went through a few more typical questions - the date, the president, how many fingers he was holding up - and Dick could see relief blossoming on his face with every question he answered correctly. "You gave us quite a scare, Master Richard," he scolded when he was finally satisfied. "It's a good thing Master Jason noticed the light coming from the garage when he did."
"Did I scare him?" Dick asked, a hazy memory of terrified blue eyes surfacing in his mind. "I didn't mean to scare him."
"I daresay Master Jason will be alright once he sees that you are," Alfred replied. "It's Master Bruce you have to worry about. I practically had to wrestle him away from your bedside. He sat with you for hours."
"Hours?" Dick repeated, pushing himself upright into a sitting position. Alfred reached out to help. "What time is it? How long have I been here?"
"You arrived at approximately half past two in the morning, and it is currently nearly one in the afternoon."
The rest of Alfred's statement suddenly filtered its way into Dick's mind. "Wait, Bruce was sitting with me?"
"You worried all of us," Alfred said. "Your body temperature was approximately 88 degrees Fahrenheit, and the blow to your head seems to have caused a concussion. This is not the first time you've woken, although it is the first time you've been coherent."
"I didn't mean to worry you," Dick said, a bit feebly.
"My dear boy," Alfred said, resting a hand on his, "I'm simply glad you're alright. We'll have to keep an eye out for any symptoms of pneumonia, of course, but-"
"I'm not staying," Dick interrupted. "I- I need to go back to Blüdhaven. I- Shit, I have a shift at work that's starting at one-"
"I have already taken the liberty of calling both of your places of employment and informing them that you are unwell and will not be coming to work today."
"How do you even know-" Dick cut himself off, shaking his head. "Bruce."
"He has been keeping tabs on you, yes."
"Pretty sure it's called stalking at this point, Alfred."
"You're his son, and he worries about you," Alfred said gently.
I'm not his son, Dick thought but didn't say, because he never adopted me, so now that I'm over eighteen, there's no legal connection between us.
It was alright. Dick hadn't wanted to be adopted at first, and he'd told Bruce, so he couldn't blame Bruce for not adopting him. That feeling had changed, but Dick had never told Bruce that, so it wasn't Bruce's fault, not really.
He tried not to be bitter about the fact that Bruce had adopted Jason almost immediately. Sometimes, he even succeeded. He at least managed not to be bitter with Jason about it.
"I'm not staying," he said again, because arguing about Bruce's stalker tendencies wouldn't get him anywhere. "I'm going back to my apartment."
"You most certainly are not. Your manager told me that the heating is broken in your apartment. You are currently recovering from hypothermia."
"Alfie-"
"I understand that things are tense between you and Master Bruce," Alfred said, softening. "But returning to your apartment in this state would be detrimental to your health."
It was true, and the warmth of the Manor felt so nice. Honestly, just being back in the Manor was nice, except for the looming specter of Bruce. Dick wished he didn't feel that way, wished Bruce could just accept that he could live his own life, but he wasn't sure that would ever happen.
"Please, Master Dick," Alfred said, and the look on his face made Dick's stomach twist with guilt. He didn't want to stay, and he thought that was fair, but he hadn't meant to make Alfred beg.
"Okay," he said, a bit hurriedly. "I'll stay. But just until I'm medically cleared."
"Very well," Alfred said, relief obvious on his face. "Are you hungry?"
"A bit," Dick admitted.
"Then I will prepare something for you," Alfred declared, standing. "And I believe we can do away with this." He carefully removed the IV from Dick's arm and wheeled the stand away from the bed.
"What was in that anyway?" Dick asked, absently rubbing at the spot where the IV had been.
"A warmed saline solution," Alfred replied. "We needed to bring your body temperature up."
"I didn't mean to freak you guys out," Dick said, the guilt returning.
"I know, Master Dick," Alfred said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever happened to you, I'm certain you thought it was for the best. I'm only relieved that you are well."
"All thanks to you, Alfie."
"Goodness knows you've all given me more than enough experience in patching people up," Alfred said dryly. "Now, I'll fetch Master Jason from his room and have him watch you while I prepare some food."
"I don't need to be watched," Dick protested quickly.
"You are concussed and still recovering from hypothermia. I will fetch Master Jason to watch you."
Dick slumped, knowing that arguing was useless. Arguing with Alfred was always useless. "Fine."
Alfred nodded once, then stepped out of the room. Dick could hear him pause briefly as he walked down the hall, and then he heard a different set of footsteps heading towards his room. He hadn't spent enough time around Jason to recognize the sound of his footsteps, but the ones approaching his room certainly didn't belong to Bruce, which only left Jason.
"You're stupid," Jason declared as he entered the room.
"Sorry if I scared you," Dick said, ignoring the insult. "And thanks for calling for Bruce and Alfie."
"You didn't scare me," Jason said derisively. "You're stupid. I've stayed in places without heat tons of times, and I never got hypothermia."
"So have I," Dick replied, remembering some of the frigid nights back with Haly's. "It wasn't the lack of heat that caused the hypothermia, it was the explosion that threw me into the harbor."
Jason wrinkled his nose. "Gotham Harbor?"
"Blüdhaven."
"Ew, that's even worse."
Dick sighed. "Tell me about it."
"Does Alfie know you went in the harbor? Cause he cleaned the cut on your head, but if he knew it got Blüdhaven Harbor water in it, he'd probably hold your head down in a bucket of disinfectant for an hour."
"I'm pretty sure he won't drown me in disinfectant, but thanks for that image. And I haven't had a chance to tell him yet, so unless it was on the news or something, he probably doesn't know."
"Breaking news," Jason deadpanned. "Local dumbass falls in the harbor, thanks to a terminal case of stupidity."
"Does Alfred know how filthy your mouth is?" Dick asked. "And I didn't just fall into the harbor. I was trying to stop an arms deal by the docks, and then there was an explosion."
"Local dumbass in a mask falls in the harbor, thanks to a terminal case of stupidity and an explosion."
"Your sympathy is overwhelming."
Jason rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot. If you want sympathy, don't do dumb stuff."
"I've actually picked up on the fact that you think I'm an idiot, since you've told me about ten times since you came my room," Dick said dryly. "But it's not like I did any of this on purpose."
"You're still an idiot."
Dick sighed deeply. "Fine, okay, I'm an idiot. If I agree, will you shut up about it?"
"What has Master Dick done to make him an idiot?" Alfred asked as he entered the room with a tray.
"He fell in Blüdhaven Harbor," Jason said immediately.
Alfred set the tray down in front of Dick. "Is that so?"
"I disinfected the cut on my head before I came over here, so it's fine," Dick added quickly. He was pretty sure he'd disinfected it. Hadn't he? Yes, he must have. He wouldn't be so out of it as to forget to disinfect an open wound that came into contact with water from Blüdhaven Harbor. He knew well how gross that was.
"The bandage requires changing anyway," Alfred said. "But you may eat first."
"Thanks, Alfie," Dick said, picking up the spoon and starting to eat the soup Alfred had brought. It was tomato, which had always been a favorite of his, and Dick had no idea how Alfred had whipped it up so fast. He'd stopped trying to figure out how Alfred managed to do everything Alfred did, though, so he just ate the food without question. The bowl wasn't too big, but Dick never wanted to eat too much when he was concussed.
Alfred swooped in to take the tray once Dick was finished with the soup. "If you would lean forward, Master Dick..."
Dick obligingly leaned forward, letting Alfred carefully peel the bandage away from the back of his head. "The wound no longer seems to be bleeding," he reported, "but I will replace the bandage anyway, if you don't mind. I'd rather you not get blood all over the pillowcase if it reopens again."
"Whatever you think is best," Dick replied, then he hissed as Alfred pressed a disinfectant-soaked cotton ball to the cut. Alfred cleaned it thoroughly, then taped a new bandage into place.
"There we are."
"The sheets are gross even if they don't have blood on them," Jason remarked. "Dickhead fell in the harbor. That's nasty."
"Language, Master Jason."
"I'm just calling him by his name!"
Dick rolled his eyes. "Kid, if you think you're being unique, you're about eighteen years too late. People have been making those jokes my entire life."
"They don't have to be unique to be accurate," Jason retorted.
"Why don't you go back to your book, Master Jason?" Alfred suggested. "I shall sit with Master Dick."
"You don't need to sit with me," Dick protested quickly. "I'm probably just going to fall asleep again." It turned out that being concussed and hypothermic took a lot out of a guy, because Dick was already feeling tired again.
"I'm afraid I intend to hover at least a while longer, Master Dick," Alfred replied dryly. "But you are welcome to sleep, if you are tired."
"If Dick's just gonna sleep, I can read in here," Jason suggested. "If you have stuff to do, Alfie."
"I may take you up on that, but for now, I have nothing pressing that requires doing," Alfred replied. "But thank you for the offer, Master Jason."
Jason nodded, looked down at his feet, blurted out, "I'm glad you're okay," and rushed out of the room.
"Aww, I knew he liked me," Dick said, lying down.
"Master Jason will not admit it, but I do think he would enjoy seeing you more often," Alfred said, his voice slightly pointed.
"He could visit me in Blüd," Dick suggested halfheartedly.
"Master Dick, if I had it my way, no one from this family would ever step foot into a city like Blüdhaven."
"It's not that bad," Dick tried. Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fine, I'll visit Jason more often. And you, since you'll never visit me in Blüd, apparently."
"We would all enjoy seeing you more often," Alfred said. "We miss you."
Dick smiled slightly as he closed his eyes. "Miss bribing me to get down from the chandeliers?"
"Hmm, perhaps not that particular aspect, but I do miss your presence in the Manor."
"Sorry, Alfie," Dick mumbled.
"You need not apologize, dear boy," Alfred said, and Dick felt a hand gently squeeze his shoulder. "Only come home more often."
Dick meant to say that he would, but he wasn't sure if he got it out before he fell asleep.
Before he was even fully awake, he recognized the presence beside him as Bruce's. He knew Bruce's breathing, he knew the little noises he would make when he was reading, and he was very familiar with waking up from an injury to find Bruce at his bedside.
Normally, it didn't make his chest clench like his chest was clenching now.
He kept his eyes closed and did his best to feign sleep. He wasn't sure if Bruce would fall for it, but-
"I know you're awake, Dick."
Apparently, he wouldn't.
"I saw the news," Bruce continued. "Massive explosion at the docks in Blüdhaven. They're still trying to figure out the exact casualty numbers, but no one is unscathed and at least one person is dead."
Dick's stomach twisted as he slowly sat up. "Bruce-"
"Do you have any idea how dangerous and reckless it was to go into an arms deal without doing the proper research on it first?"
"I did the research!" Dick protested. "I knew what I was doing! I've been looking into this smuggling ring for months."
"Then how did this happen?" Bruce asked, and something about his disappointed tone just cracked Dick right down the middle.
"I don't need to explain myself to you," he hissed, preferring anger over hurt. "I'm not your partner anymore. You made damn sure of that. I don't owe you anything."
"You're still here."
That one hurt more than Dick had expected. "Then I'll leave. If you don't want me here-"
"Don't twist my words."
"How am I twisting anything?"
"You're not ready to do this on your own," Bruce said flatly. "This whole thing proves that."
"Well, you're not letting me do it with you anymore, and I'm sure as hell not stopping, so I don't really have another option!"
"You're reckless-"
"No more reckless than you!"
"You're young-"
"You didn't have a problem with my age when I was nine and you made me your partner, why are you suddenly getting cold feet when I'm eighteen?"
"You have other options-"
"I don't care! I don't want to go to college or be a normal teenager or do whatever it is you think I should be doing. I want to be a hero. I want to help people. I want to be Nightwing."
"You're not ready for this."
"I've been a hero for nine years. I think I'm ready, and honestly, I don't care if you don't. You're not my partner, and you don't get to tell me what to do anymore. I'm an adult. I can make my own choices."
"You're making the wrong ones."
"You don't get to make that decision. And again, I don't care what you think."
Bruce sighed heavily, wearing an expression that clearly showed he thought Dick was being unreasonable. Dick wanted to scream.
"Alfred will want to know you're awake. Dinner will be in half an hour. If you're not feeling up to coming downstairs, I'm sure Alfred will be willing to bring you up a tray."
Dick wanted to retort that it didn't matter, that he'd be leaving now anyway, but he'd promised Alfred he wouldn't go until he was cleared, and he honestly wasn't sure he'd be able to get all the way back to Blüdhaven on his bike without crashing. "Fine," he bit out instead. "Don't worry, I'll stay up here so you don't have to eat dinner with someone as young and reckless and stupid as I am."
Dick saw Bruce's jaw work for a moment and braced himself for yelling or, even worse, some cutting comment that would strip him to the bone, but instead, Bruce just swept out of the room. He left the door open, and Dick saw a shadow on the hallway floor and fought the urge to groan.
"Come in, Jay."
Jason peeked his head into the room. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Dick said, summoning up a weak smile. "I'm sorry you have to listen to me and Bruce arguing like that."
"'S fine," Jason said, scuffing his foot. "He doesn't hit you or anything, so it's not too bad."
It broke Dick's heart that that was Jason's basis for something not being too bad. "Still. I wish you didn't have to hear it."
"Do you think..." Jason refused to look up. "If I did a bad job at being Robin..."
"No, Little Wing, you don't have to worry," Dick assured him immediately. "Bruce and I have our issues, but he loves you. He's so proud of you, as Robin and as Jason. You never have to worry about him... kicking you out, or firing you, or anything like that." He tried for a smile and immediately stopped when he felt it it come out as a grimace. "Besides, he adopted you, so I'm pretty sure he's stuck with you now."
"Even if someday he doesn't want me anymore?"
Dick really had to try to shield Jason from his and Bruce's arguments more. "Come here."
Jason looked up at him, suspicion in his eyes. "Why?"
"Because I'm sad, and you're sad, so I want to give you a hug."
Jason looked at him a bit warily, but he approached and let Dick enfold him into a hug. Dick was careful not to hug him too tightly, all too aware of the way Jason would lash out when he was restrained. He tried to keep his hands from shaking and mostly succeeded.
"You smell like the harbor," Jason said, and Dick choked out a surprised laugh. "You really need to shower."
"Yeah, I probably do," Dick agreed. "Not sure I can stand up that long, though."
"Then take a bath," Jason replied. "Just don't drown in it."
"Thanks for the concern," Dick said dryly. "I'll do my best."
"I should probably shower too, now that I've got your harbor grossness on me," Jason said. Despite his words, he made no move to go anywhere, so Dick made no move to let go of him.
"Dick?" Jason said after a long moment. "If B does kick me out, could I live with you?"
Dick barely resisted the urge to tighten his grip on Jason. Instead, he buried his face in Jason's hair and took a slow breath to stave off tears.
"Of course, Little Wing. You're always welcome in my apartment, for however long you need. But I really don't think you need to worry about that. Besides, Alfred probably would actually quit if Bruce kicked you out, so Bruce would come begging for you to come back pretty fast."
"Assuming he didn't die immediately without Alfred."
Dick snorted. "He'd be on his last set of clean clothes and he wouldn't have eaten in days. The Manor would be a mess."
Jason giggled. "He'd probably burn it down. He'd try and use the microwave and the house would blow up."
"There's a reason Alfie banned him from the kitchen," Dick agreed. "He's useless with any sort of household tasks. Did I ever tell you about the time he flooded the laundry room?"
"He flooded the laundry room?" Jason asked in horrified awe.
"Alfie was on vacation and Bruce decided to try his hand with the washing machine. I was only nine, and I was the one who had to fix it."
"Why was he even using the washing machine?"
It took Dick a moment to remember, to be honest. He could remember having to scramble into the room and figure out how to turn off the washing machine, and he could remember helping Bruce mop up the floors, but the reason why Bruce had tried to use the washing machine in the first place...
"Oh," Dick said faintly as the memory slotted into place. "My Haly's hoodie was dirty."
"Your what?"
"You know I used to be in the circus, before Bruce took me in?" Dick asked. Jason nodded, and Dick continued, "After my parents died and I had to leave, Mr. Haly gave me a hoodie with the circus's logo on it. I wore it all the time. But I'd tripped at school that day, and I got mud and dirt all over it. I was scared that it was going to stain, so B tried to wash it."
Why had he forgotten that? All he remembered was the mess, but the only reason Bruce had made the mess at all was because he was trying to help. He'd fumbled it, as he often did, but he'd been trying.
And after, Dick suddenly remembered, when they'd been cleaning up, they'd splashed each other and laughed, and then Dick had showed Bruce how to wash the hoodie in the sink, as he'd been intending to do anyway. It had been a fun day, overall, even if Alfred hadn't been nearly as amused when they told him. When had Dick forgotten about all that and focused on the mess Bruce had made? When did his current feelings about Bruce start poisoning his memories of their time together?
"Rich people are useless," Jason declared, entirely unaware of Dick's inner turmoil. "But I guess B was trying. In his own, useless way."
"He was," Dick said, burying his smile in Jason's hair. "He always tries."
"He's still stupid, though."
Dick laughed. "Yeah, he can be pretty stupid."
Jason squirmed a little, and Dick let go of him immediately. He was surprised Jason had stayed so long, honestly. To his surprise, Jason didn't go far, just turned so he could look at Dick.
"Do you think you and B will ever stop fighting?"
Dick sighed. "Honestly, Jay? I don't know. I hope so, but Bruce can be really stubborn. And if I'm being fair, I know I can be kinda stubborn too. And I'm not going to stop being Nightwing. So if Bruce can't stop fighting with me about that, then..." Dick shrugged. "I'd like to stop fighting with him, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to start doing everything he says, even if I don't agree with it."
"B does care about you, though," Jason said, picking at the blanket. "He's always checking the news from Blüdhaven, and he gets this look on his face whenever he talks about you."
"And I care about him too," Dick agreed. "But I'm also an adult, so I'm going to make my own decisions. Bruce needs to understand that."
"Maybe I could talk to him," Jason offered.
"No, Jay, you shouldn't get in the middle of this," Dick said quickly. He wasn't going to poison Jason and Bruce's relationship. He may have already done some damage, which he regretted, but he refused to do any more.
"I just..." Jason looked down at the blanket. "Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway."
"Even if Bruce and I are fighting, you'll still always be my Little Wing," Dick said with a soft smile. "I promise."
Jason ducked his head, clearly trying to hide his expression. Dick let him do it and didn't try to peek at his face.
"I'm gonna go see if Alfie needs help with dinner," Jason said after a moment, getting up from the bed. "Are you, uh, are you okay? Alone, I mean?"
"I'm fine," Dick assured him. "Go help Alfred."
Jason nodded and left the room. Dick leaned back on the pillows with a sigh.
He wished he hadn't come back. He felt almost guilty thinking that, because he knew how happy Jason and Alfred were to see him, but his confrontation with Bruce had been everything he'd been afraid it would be. If he hadn't had to come, if he'd stayed in Blüdhaven, then maybe they could have put it off a little longer.
Then again, given how both he and Bruce could be, putting it off would probably have just made it worse.
Dick groaned and pulled his covers up over his head. He wasn't the one who had done something wrong, so he wasn't going to be the first person to apologize. That was Bruce's job. And yeah, maybe apologizing wasn't Bruce's strong suit, but he was a grown man, he could figure it out. Dick would wait until he did.
He hoped he wouldn't be waiting too long, but he knew he probably would.
Alfred brought him up a tray for dinner, which Dick had expected, but it had three plates instead of one, and Jason followed behind him with a folding tray table tucked under each arm. "What are you guys doing?" Dick asked as Jason set the tray tables down next to his bed.
"What does it look like, dummy?" Jason countered.
"Master Jason and I have decided to keep you company while you eat," Alfred said, ignoring Jason's remark entirely.
"So... is Bruce eating downstairs by himself?" Dick asked, trying not to feel too much vindictive glee.
Alfred sniffed. "If he is, he has no one to blame but himself."
"Pretty sure that's British for 'yeah he is, cause he sucks,'" Jason translated helpfully.
"Thanks, Jay," Dick replied sarcastically. "You guys do know you don't have to do this, right? I'm fine up here by myself."
"Perhaps, but both Master Jason and I would like to spend time with you," Alfred replied. "Of course, if you would prefer to eat alone, we can leave."
"Speak for yourself," Jason grumbled. "I carried those tables all the way up here, I'm not bringing them anywhere else."
"If you guys want to stay, I'm not going to kick you out," Dick said. "But I'm really fine."
"Also gross," Jason added. "Alfie, you need to make him shower or something."
"Perhaps after dinner, if Master Dick is up to it," Alfred said serenely. "For now, I believe it's time to eat."
Dick pushed himself fully upright in bed and started eating. Just like with lunch, Alfred brought him up a smaller portion than usual. Dick honestly wasn't sure if he could eat the whole thing anyway, but he had the feeling Alfred would tut at him until he did.
Alfred and Jason both settled themselves on the side of Dick's bed, eating their own food. Jason still shoveled his food into his mouth like he thought someone was going to take it away from him, which made Dick's chest go tight every time he saw it. This time, it also made him feel a bit nauseous, so he resolutely looked away. Meals were always difficult for him when he was concussed, and he wasn't going to do anything to make it worse.
Unsurprisingly, Jason was the first one to finish his food. He toyed with his fork for a moment, then declared, "Is anyone else gonna talk, or should I?"
"No one technically needs to talk," Dick said, just to be contrary.
Jason rolled his eyes. "Okay, so we'll all sit here in silence. Wow, great idea."
"Do you have something you wish to share?" Alfred asked.
Jason shrugged. "There's auditions for the school play coming up. I'm thinking about trying out for something. Nothing big, just in case stuff happens and I have to drop out, but maybe a small role. Might be fun."
"You'd be good at it," Dick said. "You're definitely dramatic enough."
Jason scowled at him. "As if you can talk. We've all seen your stupid costume."
"Hey, my costume is great!"
"Your costume is stupid and dramatic."
"Jay, we're all stupid and dramatic. Alfie excepted, of course."
"I was an actor once," Alfred remarked mildly. "I could rustle up a bit of drama, I'm sure."
"You were an actor?" Jason demanded, looking at Alfred with wide eyes. "Really?"
"Indeed," Alfred agreed. Dick smiled, leaning back on his pillows. He'd heard these stories before, and he and Alfred had even bonded over the thrill of performing for an audience. He wasn't surprised that Jason didn't know, though; he didn't think Alfred talked about it much. He'd only told Dick because, a few months into his time at Wayne Manor, Dick had done a dramatic flip off a table, struck a pose, and then burst into tears at the thought of never performing again. Alfred had told him the story to cheer him up, but he hadn't heard much about it ever again.
Jason immediately began peppering Alfred with questions about his acting career and what else he'd done before becoming the Wayne family butler. Alfred answered calmly and primly, but even he couldn't stay entirely proper in the face of Jason's excitement. Dick could see the smile twitching at the side of his mouth.
"You did Shakespeare plays?" Jason demanded. Dick grinned; Jason had been a regular Shakespeare fiend recently, ever since his English class had read Romeo and Juliet. "Can you do a monologue for us?"
"Oh, no, I couldn't," Alfred demurred.
"Come on, please?" Jason begged. "Just one? Dick wants to hear it too!"
"Dinner and a show would be nice," Dick teased.
Alfred sighed. "Just one, then."
Jason cheered. "Do your favorite!"
Alfred took a deep breath, then began, "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!"
Dick didn't recognize the monologue, but he could guess at the context from what Alfred was saying. It didn't really matter anyway; the way Alfred performed made him feel like he was there, like he was standing at Caesar's funeral and listening to Alfred mourn the man and tell them, with no great effort towards making them believe it, that surely Brutus was an honorable man. If he thought he was enjoying it, though, it was nothing compared to Jason, who was leaning forward with wide eyes and wonder on his face.
"My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar," Alfred finished with a flourish, "and I must pause till it come back to me."
"Wow!" Jason cried, applauding wildly. Dick joined in, and to both his and Jason's delight, Alfred stood and did a little bow.
"How do you remember the whole thing?" Jason demanded. "I mean, I can remember some lines from plays, but I don't think I could do a whole monologue like that."
"The last play I performed in was a production of Julius Caesar," Alfred replied. "I played Marc Antony. I suppose it rather stuck around in my mind."
"Have you never asked Alfred to read to you?" Dick asked. "He does all the voices and everything."
"I know how to read by myself," Jason retorted, but it was definitely halfhearted.
Dick shrugged. "You're missing out. Alfred used to read to me when I was sick."
"Master Bruce did as well," Alfred said mildly. "You could even manage to convince him to do the voices as well."
"B would do the voices?" Jason asked, sounding surprised.
"I'd have to beg a bit, but eventually, yeah," Dick replied. He laughed at the memory. "I remember this one time when I asked him to read a book with a princess, and I made him do the most high-pitched voice for her. I laughed so hard I almost threw up."
"As I recall, that was when you had stomach flu," Alfred said dryly. "You threw up many times, regardless of Master Bruce's voice."
"Yeah, but it was still funny."
"Do you think he'd read to me?" Jason asked, something a bit tentative in his voice.
"I am certain he would," Alfred replied before Dick had a chance to. "Master Bruce is perhaps not always the best at showing how much he cares, but he does care, very deeply."
And that bit, Dick knew, was meant for him.
"You know what, Jay's right, I should shower," he said, perfectly aware that it was an obvious attempt at changing the subject and not particularly caring. "It'll probably make me feel better."
"Make you smell better," Jason mumbled under his breath.
"Very well," Alfred agreed, taking it in stride. "Master Jason, would you bring the tray back down to the kitchen? The tables can stay in here for the time being."
"Sure," Jason agreed, piling up the plates on the tray. "Want me to wash the dishes too?"
"There's no way he's going to let you do that," Dick said dryly. "Alfie only ever let me wash the dishes if I beat him to them."
Jason shrugged. "If I'm bringing them down, I'll beat him to them."
"You needn't wash the dishes, Master Jason," Alfred replied. "Merely bringing them down to the kitchen is more than enough."
"Okay." Jason picked up the tray carefully and left the room, focused on balancing the plates like his life depended on it.
Dick watched him fondly, then looked back at Alfred. "I can probably shower by myself, but, uh, would you mind..."
"I will remain within earshot," Alfred promised. "Would you prefer a bath instead? It might be easier."
"Little worried I'd fall asleep in it," Dick admitted. "I think a quick shower is a better idea."
"If you're certain. Do not hesitate to call if you require assistance."
"I know," Dick agreed. "Thanks, Alfie."
"Of course, Master Dick."
Dick was a bit wobbly as he got out of bed, but his legs were steady enough underneath him to make it all the way to the bathroom. He had to sit down on the toilet seat when he was getting undressed, but that was mostly because he didn't think he could balance well enough to get his pants off. He hated how concussions messed with his sense of balance; that was something he usually prided himself on. He knew from experience that the symptoms would lessen until they disappeared, but they were still fresh enough to be strong and disorienting.
Once he was ready, Dick got in the shower and turned on the warm water. It did feel good to stand under the spray, even if it took way too much energy to stay standing. Dick showered as quickly as he could, knowing he probably only had a limited amount of time before his wobbly legs gave out.
He was right. He managed to finish showering and put on some pants, but before he could finish getting dressed, his legs decided they'd had enough. He barely managed to turn his collapse into a somewhat controlled fall, but he still hit the ground harder than he would have preferred. It was loud enough that a moment later, he heard a concerned, "Master Dick?"
Dick sat on the floor and tried to push back the tears that suddenly wanted to make an appearance. "I'm fine, Alfie."
"Are you certain, sir?"
"I'm okay," Dick promised him. He would be. He just needed a moment, then he'd get up and go back out to the bedroom. Just a moment...
"Master Dick," Alfred said, his voice loud enough that Dick knew he had to be right on the other side of the door, "I believe you've overdone things slightly. May I come in?"
Dick leaned his head back against the wall and blinked furiously. "Yeah."
Alfred entered the room and knelt in front of Dick. "My dear boy," he said quietly, cupping Dick's face with his hand, and Dick realized he'd lost the fight against tears. "Let's get you up and in bed, shall we?"
Dick nodded and let Alfred pull him to his feet. He did his best to support himself as they headed back to the bedroom, but he knew Alfred was the one supporting most of his weight. He let Alfred set him down on the bed and maneuver him into a shirt, and he let Alfred tuck him under the blankets, and the whole time, he couldn't stop crying. He wasn't sobbing, it wasn't loud or dramatic, there were just tears streaming down his face and there was nothing he could to to stop them.
"Do you think he'll ever stop being mad at me?" Dick finally whispered as Alfred brushed his hair out of his face.
Alfred's hand stuttered on his forehead. "My dear, dear boy," he whispered, "you must know that Master Bruce loves you very much."
"He can love me and still be mad at me," Dick replied, his heart sinking at the non-answer. "I just- I don't want to fight with him, Al. I really don't. But he's so mad at me every time, and it's easier to be mad back."
He didn't mention what the other option was, but given the look on Alfred's face, he knew.
"Master Bruce is a very stubborn man," Alfred said quietly. "But I am certain he will come to his senses soon. And he will always love you."
Dick rolled over and pressed his face into the pillows, hoping it would stem the flow of tears. "I think I'm gonna try to go back to sleep," he told Alfred. "Thanks for the help."
The touch was soft and barely there, but Dick thought he could feel Alfred kiss the top of his head. "Of course, my boy. Sleep well."
The tears didn't stop, but eventually, Dick fell asleep anyway.
When Dick woke up, he immediately wished he could fall back asleep. He knew it was Bruce in the chair next to his bed, and he couldn't, he couldn't. Not for the second time that day, not when he was still so tired and wrung-out. He couldn't listen to Bruce tell him about everything he'd done wrong and how much he was throwing his life away. He couldn't do it.
"Dick?" Bruce said gently, and Dick figured he probably wouldn't get a choice in the matter.
"If you're here to yell at me again, you can skip it," he said, not opening his eyes. "I know what you think of me. You made it pretty clear earlier. I don't need to hear it again."
"Dick," Bruce said, sounding pained. "Dick, I... Would you look at me?"
Dick took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Bruce didn't look angry, but Dick knew how good he was at hiding his emotions. Normally, Dick could read him anyway, but that didn't mean he always could. That didn't mean he'd be able to do it now.
"I'm not here to yell at you," Bruce said. "I... I know I've been a bit..." He stopped, frowning, and restarted. "I think you misunderstood me earlier."
"What part of it did I misunderstand?" Dick asked, his voice coming out more exhausted than confrontational. "The part where you told me I was reckless, or the part where you told me I'm doing everything wrong, or the part where you told me I'm throwing my life away?"
"I don't think you're throwing your life away," Bruce replied. "Although I do think you should go back to college."
"That's not your choice to make," Dick retorted.
"I- No, that's not what I'm here to talk about. I... I don't think you're doing everything wrong. I do think you can be reckless, but-"
"Is there a point to this?" Dick demanded, his heart clenching. "I thought you weren't here to yell at me."
"I'm not."
"Prove it, then."
Bruce frowned, the sort of frown he always wore when a conversation wasn't going the way he wanted it to go. "I spoke with Alfred."
Dick's stomach swooped with some mix of bitterness and anxiety. "And what did Alfred say?"
"Alfred said I've been being an idiot," Bruce said plainly. "Apparently I'm incapable of communication."
Dick gritted his teeth. He hadn't expected Alfred to go behind his back like that, but in retrospect, he wasn't actually that surprised. Alfred had always been meddlesome. He always did it with the best of intentions, but Dick wished he hadn't done it this time.
"I don't think you're throwing your life away," Bruce said again. "I don't think you're doing everything wrong. I do worry that you're reckless, but that's only because I don't want you to get hurt."
The words were the ones Dick wanted to hear, but he couldn't shake the fear that this was all too good to be true. "Are you just saying this because Alfred made you?"
"Alfred didn't make me do anything," Bruce replied. "He may have given me a push, but... Dick, seeing you in the garage like that was terrifying. I thought I was going to lose you. For a moment, I thought I had lost you. And even when we got you upstairs and started warming you up, for a while we weren't sure..." Bruce shook his head, his face haunted. "I can't lose you, Dick."
Dick had never meant to scare Bruce like that, but he couldn't help but remember what happened the last time Bruce thought he might have lost him. "That's what you said after the Joker shot me, and then you took away Robin."
Took away my family colors, my name, and gave it to another boy. Took it away like it was yours to take in the first place, like it wasn't mine.
"When the Joker shot you, I panicked," Bruce admitted. "I was worried that I could lose you if you kept going out as Robin, but I lost you anyway by trying to stop you." Bruce swallowed, looking like he'd rather be doing anything else other than having this conversation. Dick tried not to take it personally; Bruce always looked like that when he was forced into a conversation about feelings.
"Alfred said you wanted to go back to your apartment when you woke up. He also told me your apartment doesn't have any heat and hasn't for at least a few days. You only came here when it was an emergency, and I'm not even sure you did that in your right mind."
He hadn't, but Dick wasn't going to say that. He felt like saying anything aloud might break this spell, might wake him up from this strange dream where Bruce was saying all the right things, all the things Dick had wanted to hear for so long.
"I... I don't want you to feel like you can't come here. This is your home, Dick. I... I don't want to lose you."
Part of Dick wanted to accept all of this, to take what he was given and be grateful for it. It was more than he'd expected, after all, and at least it was something. But Bruce's words hadn't gotten to the heart of the issue. He didn't want to lose Dick, but that didn't necessarily mean he'd change to keep him.
"Every time I come home," Dick said quietly, "you tell me I'm doing the wrong thing. I'm not going to stop being Nightwing. I don't care if you don't like it. It's my choice." He didn't add if you don't want to lose me, you have to accept that, but he was pretty sure it was heavily enough implied that Bruce could pick up on it.
"I... I understand," Bruce said, which was more than Dick had expected. "I can't stop you from doing what you think is right. I never could. I couldn't stop you from being Robin when you were nine, so I was foolish to think I could stop you from being Nightwing at eighteen. And... Alfred told me I was being an idiot there too. He doesn't like that I go out as Batman, but he still supports me in it. I should do the same for you."
Dick did his best to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I'm going to stay in Blüdhaven. I'm not moving back to the Manor. I'm starting a life of my own, and I'm not giving that up."
Bruce's face didn't outwardly fall, but Dick could read him well enough to know what he was thinking. He wasn't done, though.
"But... I already promised Alfie I'd visit more. And... I won't start a fight if you don't."
The smallest of smiles began to play at the corner of Bruce's mouth. "That sounds fair."
Dick smiled back. Even an hour ago, the thought of smiling, especially at Bruce, was alien. Now, nothing could have felt more natural.
"I missed you, B."
He wasn't expecting a real answer, but Bruce must have been feeling emotional too, because his smile widened, just the teeniest bit.
"I missed you too."
"Bruuuuuuuuuuce! Tell Dick to stop being annoying!"
"Annoying?" Dick repeated, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. "I want to spend time with my little brother, and I get called annoying for it?"
"You're sitting on me!" Jason protested, which was an exaggeration. Dick was draped across Jason's lap, yes, but it was only his head and shoulders that were on Jason, which didn't count as sitting on him. "And you won't let me read!"
"Dick, stop terrorizing your brother," Bruce said dryly from the desk on the other side of the library.
"Ugh, but I'm bored," Dick groaned. There wasn't much he could do, after all; his temperature was back to normal, and he wasn't feeling as tired as he had before, but he was still concussed enough that reading gave him a headache, and his balance was compromised enough that training wasn't a good idea either. There was only so much time Dick could spend doing nothing before he went stir-crazy, and he'd passed that limit long ago.
Bruce sighed, then he came over to the couch where Dick and Jason were sitting. "What are you reading, Jaylad?"
"I'm trying to read Frankenstein, but someone is being annoying," Jason grumbled.
"How far have you gotten?"
"Like, two pages. Again, because someone-"
"It is my god-given right as your older brother to be annoying," Dick declared.
Bruce sighed again. "Sit up, Dick."
Dick groaned but did as he was told. Bruce sat down on the couch between them, then he gently pulled Dick down so that his head was in his lap instead of Jason's. Dick had to admit, it was an improvement. Jason had knobbly, uncomfortable knees, and Bruce ran his fingers through Dick's hair.
"Can I read aloud for you?" Bruce asked, holding out a hand for the book. "I'll start at the beginning, and we can all read together."
Jason's eyes widened a little, then he shoved the book at Bruce. "Sure, yeah, whatever."
"You have to do all the voices," Dick insisted.
He felt more than heard a chuckle vibrate through Bruce's chest. "Sure, chum. I'll do the voices."
Dick closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of Bruce's hand in his hair. A week ago, he'd thought he'd lost this forever. He'd never been happier to be wrong.
"Letter one," Bruce began, his voice a comforting rumble. "To Mrs. Saville, England. St. Petersburgh, December 11th. You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings..."
And if Dick fell asleep before Bruce even got through the first letter, his head in his father's lap, it didn't seem like anybody minded.