Chapter Text
The splashes of your shoe scatter water away from the black asphalt. There’s a soft beat that follows you as you sprint through the rain.
A figure lies prone under the bridge.
The beat of your stride stops as you slow to inspect this person — now more clearly a man — lying on the ground.
Your breaths form small clouds of vapor in front of your mouth as you wait for any signs of alertness.
You find none.
Worry worms its way into your chest, and you feel your stomach tingle at the possibility that this man could be dead. You weren’t the kind of person who would do this sort of thing, but something pulled you over here. It felt a little out of control.
Daring to step closer, you see the man’s clothes more clearly as armor and its deep black glows against the darkness. Your knees burn slightly as you crouch to see this man’s face. The pointy tips of his mask glisten as a car drives by.
The Batman.
“Jesus.” The words slip from your lips before you can restrain them. Slowly, your hands reach out to touch his cold, wet face. You lightly slap his cheek and wait for an answer. His face makes a small movement to avoid your touch, and you remove your hand from his skin, thankful that he’s at least alive. “Hey, we need to get you out of the rain.”
He’s starting to try to move his limbs, but a painful moan forms near the back of his throat. You wince. He’s saying something, but his voice is too weak for you to hear. You place a light hand against his shoulder. “You should save your strength. Can you walk?”
His body moves, contorting to give himself enough momentum to get off of the wet asphalt. A hiss leaves his lips and he nearly buckles back to the ground.
“Hey,” startled that he might hurt himself if he collapses, you reach out and wrap an arm around his torso, pulling his weight against you. “Let me help.”
You feel a finer tension in his body in response to your words, but he’s too weak to fight your grasp. You feel a little of his weight shift over to you as he twists to get a leg underneath himself.
He grunts a little but eventually moves to make a stand, and you keep an arm secured around his waist. A growl of determination arches into the night air as he moves his leg to stand. You keep his torso tight against your side as you pull upward, your core engaged to keep the both of you steady.
He’s heavier to brace upright than you expected, and you sway slightly, trying to shift your weight backward to compensate. His arm juts out to wrap around your waist to steady the both of you.
A jolt flies down your side where his arm makes contact with your body, but you try to ignore in favor of getting him out of this rain.
His sudden movement earns an answering grunt from him. You find your footing and stabilize the both of you. A sigh of relief leaves your body. At least you didn’t drop the poor man.
“My car is just that way,” you start, but you feel him starting to pull away from you, trying to walk on his own. “Hey! I don’t know what kind of car you’re driving, but you’re in no condition to take yourself anywhere.” You tighten your hold on his waist and feel a spike of electricity down your back as his face darts around toward yours. His eyes widen enough to see the whites.
You turn your head away from him and start walking towards your car, pulling him along with you. “I’m assuming you want to be able to spend another day fighting crime, right?” You address your grip on his arm, huffing as you trudge along carrying his body weight with you. “You’ll have to actually stay alive long enough to do it.”
His feet twist awkwardly before they begin to fall in step with yours once he realizes he’s being dragged along. He could probably fight off your attempts if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. You’re not sure if you should be worried at his weakness or thankful for his cooperation. “Come on,” you prod him along, readjusting your grip on his side. “I know a place.”
….
Your keys bunch and jangle together as they land on the table next to your door. You can tell he’s becoming more tired; you’ve had to support most of his weight for the last few minutes of getting him to your doorstep. His feet are becoming twisted and his steps are turning lazy.
“Just a few more steps.” The words come out through gritted teeth. Your legs are starting to give out on you. “Just gonna set you on the couch and then you can rest.”
As your foot touches the sofa, you remove your arm from around his waist and let gravity pull him into the plush cushions. A sigh leaves your mouth, and you stand with your hands on your knees for a moment, trying to get air into your lungs. You hear his grunt of exhaustion as he collapses, the impact creating a little bounce in his seat.
You stand up straight to stretch your back and then look over at him. His eyes are closed again, eyeholes filled with nothing but black. You decide it’s probably best not to get his attention for the moment; he’s earned a moment of reprieve.
Through the soft light coming from the window from the kitchen, you can see the small cuts on his face and the knicks in his suit where he’s taken damage. Your hands reach out to trace them before you catch yourself and fold them back against your chest.
As quiet as you can make your footsteps, you move over to the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water, considering what to do next. He’s in need of medical attention, that’s for sure, but it’s too dangerous to take him anywhere. You probably have enough to take care of the surface issues and prevent him from dying, but he’ll need to do something about those deeper wounds after he leaves.
Taking a breath to steady yourself, you down the glass of water, swipe a few sweaty strands of hair off of your forehead and slide out of your jacket. Setting it on the back of the sitting chair a few paces away from you, you grab another glass, fill it with water, and find a bottle of ibuprofen.
You walk back over to the Batman and set these objects down in front of him.
“Hey.” You gently call. He doesn’t answer. “Hey, you gotta wake up for me.”
No answering eye opening happens.
You lightly press a couple of taps against his cheek. “Hey, wake up.”
His eyes flash open and lock right on you. They’re panicked, pupils dilated. You keep still to scare him any further. “It’s OK. It’s OK. You’re alright.”
His gaze slowly tracks off of your face and around the room for a moment. You feel his jaw loosen, and you slowly retract your hand. You’re afraid it may have been too soon as his eyes focus right back onto your hand moving away from his face.
He shakes his head, before looking down at the ground. “Sorry.”
You smirk. “No need to be sorry. You just have a bad habit of falling asleep on me.” You turn toward the items on the table and lift up the water cup. Extending it toward him, you’re once again pinned under his direct stare. Your breath hitches before you can continue. “I brought you some water and meds. I’m not really sure what you vigilantes take, but I have stronger things if you need it.”
He looks skeptically at the glass before peering back at you. He sighs, working up the strength to move. Slowly, he extends his arm to grasp the glass from you. His face contorts in pain and you press the glass against his hand so he doesn’t have to move more than he has to.
You nod as he grasps it, letting him pull it back to your chest. You watch to make sure that he can actually raise the glass to his lips, and nod at him when he does. He may be a little worse for wear, but at least his mobility is somewhat intact.
Standing up, you move to go to the kitchen when his voice, quiet and clear, pins you to the floor.
“Where are you going?”
You stop. His voice sounds so vulnerable and unsure, like a child exploring the world for the first time. An ache to comfort rises up before you smoother it, but not completely.
You turn slightly so he can hear your response.“I’m getting some medical supplies. If we don’t treat those cuts, they might become infected.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You can barely sit up without shifting around every few seconds.” You turn around fully, slowly walking back so you can see his face.
His eyes track your moving frame like a hawk tracks a mouse they’re about to kill. His stare is considerably less deadly but just as intense. You cross your arms to bear up some defense against it and hold his stare, narrowing your eyes.
Slowly, his gaze fractures before he looks down, adjusting the cup between his hands. “I can handle it.”
“Look.” You tilt your head to the side to get a better look at him. His gaze still lingers on the ground but as the silence stretches on, it slowly raises till it rests on your face. “I don’t really know who you are under that mask, but what I do know is that you would still be lying on that street if I didn’t come to help you. I’m not trying to force anything on you, but I do want to help you get back on your feet. Is that alright?”
His lips softly part, at a loss for what to say. His neck cranes downward and he swirls the water around in his cup for a moment. “It’s dangerous.”
You chuckle and his eyes snap up to your face, surprise in his features. “You obviously don’t know me very well. I used to work for the government; I was always in danger. Still am.” You crouch down to smile at him more directly, getting a better angle to see his eyes. “What’s a little more danger really going to do to me?”
His eyes are at war. Though they appear steady, you can see all that’s working behind them, how they shift slightly as he’s weighing the options. You see the moment they flip back to reality. He rolls his lips in before nodding. “Alright, but under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Help me solve this case.”
“Why?” You peer into his eyes unabashedly. You’re not backing down for this one. “So you can keep tabs on me?”
“Yes.” The answer comes quicker than you thought it would. From how wide his eyes look, it seems to have slipped out against his better judgment. He clears his throat lightly and continues. “It gives me a reason to stop by and make sure you’re alright.”
The protective edge to his voice and the careful way he talks makes you want to trust him; however, you know you should be smarter. But that’s the problem with him. He makes everything feel so correct and intelligent that it makes it hard to say no.
Lucky for you, you tend to be a pretty smart cookie.
“You don’t really need a reason. You could just stop by every few days. Plus, this may put me in even more danger because they’ll figure out where I live.”
He pursed his lips at your words, turning them over in his head. His eyes scan around your apartment. “We could move you somewhere safer.”
“I don’t want to move.”
“Okay, then I come to you. I have tech that makes it harder for people to know where I am.”
You sigh, chuckling to yourself before you look back into those glowing eyes. “What makes me worth all this, Bat? I’m just someone who picked you up in the street.”
This statement earns you the first smirk you’ve seen out of him. “There aren’t many people who pick others off the street.” His eyes slide to yours with amusement and something a little deeper you refuse to decipher. You’ll have time to figure this game out later.
You reach over to grab the medicine and hold out the bottle in front of him. Tentatively, he wraps his hand around the bottle, fingertips lingering against yours for a moment before retracting them.
It’s a brave move, especially coming from him, and you smile softly at the gesture.
Awkward, but well-intentioned.
“Take these.” You command.
….
“I can clean these,” you point toward the cuts on his face. “If you’d be OK with that. Or, if you’re uncomfortable, I can leave these things here and you can take care of them yourself.”
His eyes linger on the supplies for a moment before he closes his eyes. You can’t see his eyebrows, but by the way he’s squeezing his eyes shut, you know they’re squished together.
When he opens them, they look more exhausted now, weaker. His gaze doesn’t cut into yours as it did a second ago. You scan around his face and down his torso looking for more places with blood that needs to be taken care of before your eyes return to his.
His eyes feel like they never leave your frame.
His gaze livens up for a second, however, and you see his mouth move to make a sound. “Would you be alright with…?” his eyes look around his face, gesturing to his cuts without arms. “I’m, uh, it’s hard for me to move.”
“Yeah.” You say the answer a little too quickly for your liking. You take a breath and slow down, busying your hands with grabbing the cleaning swabs. “Yeah, not a problem.”
He nods and leans back, watching as you prep the table.
“OK,” you bring your cleaning swab up to his face. “This might sting a little.” Shifting a little closer, you lean close enough to where your nose is almost touching his face. “Is this too close? I can get another angle.”
His eyes peer intently into yours.
For a second, you’re convinced he might lean in to close the gap. Your breathing restarts when he nods and breaks eye contact. “It’s fine.”
You steady your hands again before you nod in reply.
That’s the first time he’s looked away.
“Ready?” His eyes close, and he shakes his head in agreement.
A hiss leaves his lips as you dot the disinfectant along his cuts. “I’m almost done.” You can see his hand twitch and his jaw clench.
You quickly pull the swab away from his face and set it on the counter. You grab the Neosporin and readjust so you’re right near his face again. “Doing alright?”
“Yeah.” The word is tight and his chest rises up and down in agitation.
“OK, I’m going to apply this healing swab and a couple of band-aids and you should be all set.”
He doesn’t answer, but you don’t expect him to.
You finish your work quickly and let your fingers linger on the last band-aid, tracing it along his cheek, making sure there are no gaps. “Looks good. It should heal in a few days, as long as you’re careful.”
He leans into your touch as you draw your fingers against his cheek. His eyes are closed, as they have been the past few minutes. When you draw your hand back, his eyes peel open and lock on you.
You can only stare back for a moment before you move to put your supplies away. Something is starting to warm somewhere that’s dangerous to your agreement. You can’t feel this way about the Bat; that’s truly risky. “You’re welcome to stay here for the night.” You say in passing, forcing yourself to stand. “You need the rest.”
You only look back down at him again after you’ve said what you need to. His stare rests on you, and you feel another little jolt. “Thank you.” He answers. It feels like he’s talking about more than your offer of hospitality, and you nod in response.
“I’ll get you a few blankets and a pillow.”
By the time you return, he’s still, his chest flowing up and down rhythmically. Gently, you lay the blanket over him and place the pillow on his lap.
You smile to yourself once, watching how peaceful he looks when he sleeps.
Whatever just happened, whatever the pack the two of you have made, you vow to honor it as best as you can, at least to prevent him from being hurt like this ever again.
…
When you wake up in the morning, he’s gone.
In his place lies a small device and a hastily scribbled note.
Use when in danger.
You turn the black device over in your hands.
What a way to say thanks.
You set the device down on the table and move to fix up your apartment before you have to leave for work. There’s no way you’d ever need that thing, but you appreciated the gesture.
….
He gets the beeping red light on his screens a week later.
A jolt of fear shoots through his stomach.
Without a second thought, he scrambles to put his suit on and turn on his motorcycle.
Hang on, just hang on.
Please be alive when I get there.