Archive of Our Own

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Bruce hadn’t known. None of them had.

They’d been quickly gathered in the middle of the night, hustled out of their homes with only what they could carry on their backs. Bruce had taken with him only the necessities of his wards, his children.

It was lucky it was not yet winter. The roads were cold, but still bare of snow, and the days grew dark quickly, which gave them more time. Soldiers lined the streets, lit torches in hand as they marched along on their patrol routes. Bruce had been slipped a note, in Dick’s handwriting, in code that they’d perfected right before Dick had vanished.

Seeing it that morning, amongst a bouquet that’d been delivered to him with breakfast, slipped into the wrappings from Sherwood Florist, from the fiefdom of Star just a few towns over… it was more sign of Dick being alive than Bruce had received in over three years. He’d clutched it to himself, memorising the words, analysing the lilting handwriting, the paper, the ink, the ribbon it had been bound in, before he’d placed it into the fireplace.

Bruce never wore a dark cloak – it was… unusual, for one of his status to wear a dark cloak when there was no mourning to perform. But for the purposes of tonight, he dressed himself and the children in theirs.

“Where are we going?” Damian was the first to ask.

“I will let you know the moment I do,” Bruce murmured. Damian was small enough to be able to be tucked under his own cloak when they turned corners and ducked from the sight of guards. Who knew it was this difficult to get out of the castle?

“Is… we’re getting Cass too, right?” Tim was an anxious little blob beside him – though in this light, with their garments, they were all blobs. “We can’t leave without her and Steph.”

“They are with Lady Barbara,” Bruce told him. “They’ll be fine. Even if they can’t get out before, Jim’s standing with the castle soldiers will give them protection.”

It wasn’t much, but it was all he could say. He hadn’t seen Cass lately – she’d leave him little hidden messages about the happenings of the rebel faction, the group intending on overthrowing the current rule, but Bruce had last received one of her missives a fortnight ago. If anything, Jason would have more information.

“Are we getting Todd?”

“I know only as much as you both do,” Bruce told Damian, patting his shoulder. “But no. Jason has made his position very clear. He will be able to get out if he feels the need.”

And with Artemis and Bizarro, the strange companions his second oldest travelled with, he had far more protection than anyone else in this family. Bruce shook off the mental image he had of Jason, of the tiny boy who required a story to be read before bed every night and who had hid bread in his closet until it attracted mice, and reminded himself of the man he was now.

Two soldiers passed by them, and Bruce stiffened. He had a half-crafted excuse for what they were doing, if the three of them were caught, but it wouldn’t stand to much scrutiny, especially if they were stripped of their cloaks and their bags, filled with food and a change of clothes – not to mention the weapons they had under their clothing – were found.

They held their breaths as the soldiers walked past them, every inch of Bruce tensing. He could practically feel the light of the torches coming towards them, illuminating their faces—

A shadow fell over the little nook Bruce had shoved the three of them into, and the soldiers passed on. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut with relief, and moved a little to make way for Duke.

“I apologise for being late,” he whispered. Bruce could already see the way that Duke was using his powers to bend the light away from them, keep them hidden away in the depth of the night. “Are we all here?”

Bruce didn’t say anything, just tightly embraced Duke. “Yes,” he said finally, when he felt the other boy awkwardly pat him on the back. “We’re all here. We need to hurry.”

His family was only partially reunited, and yet this was the most they’d been together in one place since this whole mess had begun. And Bruce wished he’d followed Oliver when he’d decided to take his stand, when the Titans had left for the metropolis. He didn’t regret it, except for moments like this when the worry about what was coming consumed him, when the fear not for himself but for the branches of his family that grew out from the trunk threatened to overwhelm him.

But for now, Bruce took in a breath, and stepped out onto the street. “Come,” he said.

Damian was still half hidden beneath Bruce’s cape, Tim between himself and Duke. The light didn’t touch them as they stayed on the outskirts of the streets and took the shortest route into the woods.

Bruce didn’t know what he was going to find there. He had no idea what had prompted Dick to tell him to come, with such urgency. And then there was the letter from Oliver to Clark, placed in Bruce’s hand at the previous ball, telling Bruce to ready provisions and quietly sneak them out of the castle and into the woods.

Bruce had done all of that, sending Jason to deliver them and Duke to keep watch and track who came to collect them. So far, it remained untouched in the little underground storage room.

“You remember the instructions?” Tim murmured.

“Of course,” Bruce said, knowing that Tim was asking purely out of nerves and not from any real desire to confirm the answer. It was difficult for him as well – he’d been close to Dick, close to Cass, and Bruce knew that the decision to remain in court with Bruce while the rest of his companions played their own parts hadn’t come easily to him.

Now that they were out from the town boundaries, it was easier. There would be no soldiers this far out, not unless someone had been reported missing – which was unlikely this soon, or this late in the night. The children seemed to subconsciously lose the tense weight their shoulders had carried all day – all week – and walked freer. Bruce wondered yet again if he should’ve thought about his family, and taken for the woods.

But there’d been things he’d done for the rebels from within. His position was one of rare unquestioning loyalty, as the king had no reason to suspect that Lord Bruce, of the Wayne family whose parents had been killed by bandits, would have any reason to side with anyone but the royalty.

A knife pressed against his throat. “Halt,” a voice said. “Who goes there?”

“I carry missives from the birds of the north tower,” Bruce said, all too aware of the steel that dug into his skin. He wanted to make sure the children were alright, and that no one was holding them like this, but he couldn’t bring his head down to look.

There was a pause, and Bruce thought for one long, long moment that he’d gotten it wrong. And then the blade was removed from his neck.

Bruce’s eyes immediately went to Duke, Damian, and Tim, but they were alright, standing in a circle of swords. Damian’s hood was over his head, but Bruce could already tell he was glaring in irritation at the group currently holding them here.

“Your sacrifice for the bowman in the woods is appreciated,” the one beside Bruce said, and Bruce nodded.

They removed their hood, and Bruce almost laughed. “Of course it’s you,” he said. “You knew who I was this entire time and you still went through all these theatrics?”

Oliver smiled. He looked different from how Bruce remembered him – his goatee had now grown to a full beard, and his head of hair was now tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. The gauntness of his face, and the scar that ran down his cheek, told Bruce that the years hadn’t been easy on him.

“It’s good to see you, Bruce,” he said, and when Bruce offered him a hand to shake, he grabbed him in a wide embrace. “You’re… it’s good you’re here.”

Bruce nodded. “When Dick reached out to me, I had to. And it was becoming unsafe, in the inner circles.” He glanced around at the rest of the group. “Who are the rest of your people?”

“I’ll introduce everyone once we’re inside,” Ollie said. “Come. It’s not far.”

He set off at a brisk walk, keeping to some hidden trail that Bruce couldn’t quite see in the darkness. He kept Damian in front of him, and Tim and Duke on either side of him. Damian practically had to jog to keep up with their longer strides, but Bruce saw how Ollie kept glancing around them, and didn’t ask for him to slow down.

“Here,” Oliver said, and reached into the ground. He waved Tim back when Tim stepped a little too far forward, and then grabbed something from below the leaves and other greenery, and pulled.

Something jumped upwards a few metres away. One of the caped figures stepped inside first, and Bruce could hear low voices as they spoke. And then they ducked their head up, hood down for the first time, and waved them in. Something about him looked strangely familiar – he had light hair, almost like Ollie’s, though his skin was much deeper. He wore a green band around his head.

Bruce went first, and then watched as the rest of his children climbed in after him. The passage was low, and the walls were made of dirt and packed manure. It was quite clear that this was where Clark’s contributions must’ve played a heavy part.

There was one torch up ahead, and Bruce used that to guide his way. When Damian tripped on one of their capes, Duke held out a hand, and the passage grew brighter. Bruce glanced at him, and found his eyes were glowing bright yellow.

“You make a fine lamp,” he murmured, just for something to say, and Duke smiled a little.

“I think…” Tim whispered, “is that Connor?”

“Connor?” Bruce frowned a little, trying to recall why the name was familiar. Clark had a child called Conner. “Ollie’s son?”

Ollie appeared beside him as though out of nowhere. “He is,” he said to Bruce. “But first, I need to take you to yours.”

That got all of their attentions like nothing else. “The Titans are here?” Tim demanded. Damian was a still statue beside Bruce. Duke, who’d only known Dick in passing, said nothing.

Ollie hesitated. “Bruce, I need to speak with you. In private.” He waved at Connor, and he came forward.

“Your companions are here too,” he said to Tim. “My sister is with them as well.”

“Kon and Cassie and Bart?” Tim’s eyes held a naked hope that was almost painful to look at. “What about—”

“They arrived last week.”

“Damian,” Bruce said. “Go with your brothers. I’ll be there shortly. I promise, you’ll get to see Dick.”

It took a long moment, but Damian finally nodded, and Bruce followed Ollie.

Oliver took him straight down a set of stairs. The air was cooler in here, but a warm breeze was being circulated through the place, as though artificially somehow. Bruce should’ve paid more heed to it, but all he could think about was where Dick was.

And then Ollie whirled around, right outside a curtained door. “The Titans came here last night,” he said, speaking very fast. “I know the details from Roy, and Donna. They were on a raid. Their intel was bad – Dick stayed back to give the others more time to escape. This was about a week ago. They only got him out two nights ago, and they arrived here like this last night.”

Got him out? Bruce tried to draw in air and ask the questions he needed answers to. “He’s alright, though?”

Ollie hesitated, and that was when Bruce’s heart sank. “In those cities, the Titans are a known gang of outlaws,” Ollie said quietly. “He was flogged publicly before they could get him out.”

There was a faint ringing in Bruce’s ear. He couldn’t quite comprehend all that he was being told. In his mind, all he could see was Dick the way he’d been when he’d first left home, young with all these ideas in his head about how he could do more for the country, for its people. Bruce had cursed figures like Clark and Diana and Oliver, blaming them for placing ideas in his head, for introducing like-minded people to him.

Now, he was devoid of anger. All he wanted was… “Can I see him?” The words came out far more measured than he’d expected.

“Wash your hands, and remove your cloak.” Ollie pointed at a basin in the corner of the room. “There’s a high risk of infection. Lilith and Raven are with him, trying to keep his pain levels as low as possible.”

Bruce nodded.

“I’ll… collect your sons.” With that, Oliver left.

Bruce didn’t waste time. He methodically scrubbed his arms up to his elbows, and placed his cloak and rucksack and all his weaponry – save for the small knives in his boots – on the little side table. And then he took a deep breath and stepped through the curtained doorway.

He didn’t know what he expected on the other side. Despite what Ollie had just told him, in his mind he still expected Dick – infallible Dick – to be sitting upright in bed, and greet him with a wide grin.

Instead, the air was tense. Candles lit up the room, flickering as he entered. There were four figures in there – Raven and Donna, Bruce knew, and he assumed the third person was Lilith. His eyes then dropped, almost unwillingly, to the figure on the bed.

All he could see were strips of bandages, stark against dark skin, blood seeping through them. A head of hair, braided to keep it out of the way. Dick’s lower half was covered with a sheet; Bruce didn’t know if there were any other wounds hidden there.

Donna stood up when he walked in. “Bruce,” she nodded to him. “He’s better now. With the healers that Ollie has here, he’s… he’ll survive.”

Bruce stared at her, wanting to blame her, or blame the Titans, or even Oliver, but he couldn’t. He’d understood that the day Dick had walked out of his life, and into this new one. But that didn’t make it easy.

“How many times?” he asked. He didn’t know why he wished to know, just that statistics were floating through his mind. It was difficult for seasoned soldiers, who were used to pain, to withstand or even maintain consciousness up to twenty. Thirty was the number of lashes one received for leaving one’s post.

Fifty five, the age of the current reign, was the number one received for acts against the crown.

Bruce didn’t want to think about Dick lying there, in full view of crowds, his blood draining into the soil. It was a wonder he was alive.

“He was to receive lashes until he died,” Donna said. Her face was steely, and it reminded Bruce of her sister. “But we had insiders.”

Where were your insiders when he was first caught? Bruce wanted to ask, but he wouldn’t – couldn’t – bring himself to say anything more. He quietly took a seat in the chair beside Dick’s head, crouched close.

Here, he could smell the salves that they had no doubt spread over the wounds. Bruce’s father had been a physician, but Bruce had seldom seen anyone come to him for treatment for wounds from whips. The political climate during his father’s time had been… different. Many said that the deaths of his parents were the start of the tipping point, though Bruce didn’t like to think of it like that.

Dick’s hair had been short when he’d gone with the Titans. Now, it was at least half down his back. Bruce carefully brushed away the wisps that had escaped the braid, and got a glimpse of Dick’s face.

He’d always looked serene in his sleep, despite how much he moved. Now, Dick slept like the dead, and the only indication that he was breathing were the miniscule exhales he made against the mattress.

Bruce would’ve brought a pillow. Bruce would’ve brought—

But it didn’t matter what he would’ve brought, because at that moment, they were helpless. They couldn’t go back, and even if they could, it wasn’t safe for them to do so. Whatever Dick needed now, they would need to gather from the various supplies that Bruce knew the resistance had all over the country – his own little underground storeroom included – and looting or trading.

At that moment, thumping footsteps sounded just outside. Donna stood up, hand flying to her sword, just as Bruce turned around.

He’d been expecting his children, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the way Damian’s mouth fell open at the sight of Dick, the way Tim staggered backwards, backing up into Duke who grabbed his shoulder and held him steady.

“Oliver told you?” he said.

Tim shook his head. “I—the other Titans found us.” He was staring at Dick, and for the smallest of moments, Bruce had the urge to shield Dick from their gaze.

“You washed your hands?” he said, mind going to all the other ways Dick could still die, though the three of them nodded immediately.

“I will step outside,” Donna said. “He needs his rest.” With that, she slipped past the curtains.

Bruce stood up, and went over to his sons. “He’s going to be alright,” he said, voice low. “They say he’s going to survive.”

“Yeah,” Tim responded, “but what about… mobility and…”

Bruce closed his eyes. He knew what Tim was thinking, knew it from the way Damian wouldn’t look at the small pile of Dick’s belongings in the corner. In his mind’s eye, he could still remember the first time he’d seen Dick, that first tragedy that had bound their lives together, a small child swinging from a trapeze when the circus performers had come to the castle.

He’d been saved that day, yes, but Dick had been destroyed in the same way Bruce had been. He’d had no choice but to take him in, already feeling the way he was drawn to the child whose life paralleled his so terribly.

They wouldn’t know how bad the damage was yet. They wouldn’t know for another week or so, until the skin around it healed enough, until they could figure out what medicines they had access to. If this were the castle, then they could take him to Healer Thompkins, who had – in Bruce’s knowledge – more experience with whippings than his own father had.

But they couldn’t, because Dick was a wanted man across the country, and bringing him to the castle was a death sentence. It had been well publicised that Bruce’s eldest two wards, Richard and Jason, had died – they’d both done that to protect Bruce and the rest of their siblings. He couldn’t legally bring in Dick under his own protection, either.

“He’s going to be fine,” Bruce repeated yet again, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Come. We’re going to see what Oliver has in store for us here, and let Dick have some peace and quiet. You know how he gets about his sleep being ruined.”

They didn’t, because Dick and Jason had been the only ones who’d fought about that. By the time Tim had come around, Dick had settled into the role of the eldest brother. Damian knew him as an agreeable second parent, when Bruce had been called away to service. Cassandra and Duke knew him as a distant figure, only really having heard stories from the other boys – and in Cass’ case, Barbara – to fill in their memories.

Bruce had prayed and hoped and pleaded every night for his family to be reunited again, all under one roof. He supposed he should be grateful that Dick was still alive, but all he felt as he crouched there for another moment, holding Dick’s hand, was a rising fury in his gut, and the promise for vengeance.