Work Text:
When Bruce can’t get up from his desk to get lunch without immediately sitting back down, he admits defeat.
Sighing, he takes out his phone. He still hesitates after pulling Dick’s contact, but then quickly types:
- Any chance you could spend the night at the Manor?
He only has to wait a few minutes for a reply.
Dick: Gonna be a long day at the office?
Bruce grunts.
- I’m not feeling…
He quickly deletes that and starts again.
- Not really, just exhausting. Slept badly, I guess
It’s not a lie, really.
- I can ask Clark to take Tim and Damian if you’re busy.
This time, Dick calls him, and Bruce has to fight back a groan. He struggles to keep his voice level when he answers with: “You don’t have to say yes.”
Dick huffs. “I’m not saying no,” he says. “I’m just surprised. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m…” Just then, Bruce is hit with a wave of nausea. He hides his pause by clearing his throat. “I’m fine. Really. Just. Extra tired.”
“Extra tired,” Dick repeats. “Right.”
Bruce sighs. “Look, I’ll call Clark…”
“No, it’s fine, I can come over. I just wish you’d tell me the truth.”
“I am.”
“Part of it, maybe. I hope you realize that if not I, Alfred will see right through you.”
“Nothing to see,” Bruce grunts, even as he abandons any idea of lunch.
“Mmhm. I don’t really have anything planned today after lunch with Wally, so I can pick the boys up from school. I’ll let Alfred know. Will you be leaving for home early?”
Dick’s tone is hopeful as well as authoritative at the same time. Briefly, Bruce wonders - not for the first time - just when did his boy grow up.
“We’ll see,” he says as a non-answer, earning a long-suffering sigh from Dick.
“Right. I’ll see you when you get home, then.”
“Mm.”
“A very wise 9-year-old once picked up a very good couch for your office. He can reliably tell you that it’s a good spot for a nap. If you really are just tired.”
Bruce glances at the couch that has been due for an update for a long time, and it does look appealing.
“Bruce?”
“Yes. Well. I have to get back to work.”
“Call us to pick you up, too, if you feel you’ll fall asleep behind the wheel.”
“Hm.”
Bruce hangs up with every intention of really getting back to work.
An hour later he considers Dick’s offer to come pick him up.
He suffers through a few more hours before giving up. It takes him 15 minutes to muster the strength to get up from his desk and make his way to the garage.
His Lamborghini has never driven slower.
It’s not unusual that Bruce sits and eats quietly at the end of the table while his boys chatter away about their days, usually on top of each other and resulting in arguments that Bruce attempts (but usually fails) to solve with a stern grunt. That’s why it’s not surprising that Jason, Tim, and Damian don’t notice that Bruce doesn’t participate in their current debate about which sport is dumber: Hockey or football.
Dick, however, keeps glancing at Bruce while trying to keep a moderate peace between his brothers. It’s obvious that he’s alerted Alfred to his worries as well because the butler lingers next to Bruce a few seconds longer than necessary, something Bruce only notices because Alfred’s been serving him dinner for literally decades.
In addition to nausea that has Bruce pushing his food around his plate, a headache is now also creeping up his neck to the base of his head. It’s a steady pulse of pain in rhythm with his heart, which is beating faster than normal, almost as if Bruce has gone running.
“Are you finished, Master Bruce?”
Bruce blinks up at Alfred, who is eyeing his barely touched plate with unmasked concern. For a second, Bruce considers saying ‘no’, but his stomach turns. “Yes, thank you, Alfred. It was great, as always.”
Alfred is clearly not pleased but takes Bruce’s plate anyway.
“Roast duck is your favorite.”
Dick’s expression is innocent, but his tone is not. So the meal had been a test, then. Now Dick knows for sure that Bruce is not simply tired.
“I had a big lunch,” Bruce replies.
He had not eaten lunch.
“Seven hours ago,” Dick comments.
“I’m fine, Dick. Cut it out,” Bruce says. By now, Tim has clearly caught on that something is not quite right, most likely because he’s not as invested in the current disagreement going on at the table.
Dick makes a face, and had they not made an unspoken agreement to not fight in front of the younger boys, Bruce is sure he’d get an earful. Tim is looking from one to the other, suspicion clear in his expression.
Worn out, Bruce starts to get up. Before he’s even completely upright, the world tilts in front of him, and he stumbles, causing his glass of water to fall off the table.
“B!”
“Father?”
Black spots dance in front of Bruce’s vision. He feels a strong pair of hands trying to steady him, but his legs can’t hold his weight and he slumps, forcing whoever is holding him down with him.
As unconsciousness takes him, the last thing he hears is the panicked shouts of his children.
Dick
Bruce’s heart is hammering in his chest as he paces the hospital hallway, waiting for Dick to come back from being X-rayed. Leslie had already ruled out a concussion and had seemed generally quite unconcerned, but Bruce keeps hearing the crash, the shriek, and the image of the little boy surrounded by broken glass is imprinted on his mind. So he paces, waits, and tries to remember to breathe.
The final diagnosis: Cuts and bruises.
“You’re very lucky, Dick. You could have been hurt pretty badly,” Leslie says sternly as she wipes one of the cuts with disinfectant. “Do we agree the chandeliers are not swings?”
Dick nods without looking up from his shoes. He hasn’t said much since the fall, apart from wanting to fly again.
“Well. I recommend a night in front of the TV and some cuddles as treatment. I know you have to ground him, but maybe…”
“Ground him?” Bruce says, blinking. “I didn’t… I’m supposed to ground him?”
Leslie’s mouth twitches. If Bruce is not mistaken, her eyes fill with amusement. “As his guardian, that is of course up to you.”
“That… didn’t even occur to me,” Bruce says.
Dick looks up then. “But I broke the rules,” he says quietly.
“You didn’t know it was a rule,” Bruce replies. “Granted, I thought it was obvious.”
“A child’s mind is a wondrous thing,” Leslie says with a poke on Dick’s nose.
Dick squirms. “Do I have to go to the juvie again?”
Bruce feels almost physically ill. “No, of course not. Dick…” It takes a moment, but Dick finally lifts his eyes to look at Bruce. “I’m just glad you’re not more badly hurt.”
“But the chandelier…”
“...is just a lamp. It can be replaced. You…” Bruce swallows. “You can’t.”
A single tear falls on Dick’s cheek as his body relaxes. It’s so abrupt that he almost falls off the hospital bed, but Bruce is quick enough to steady him. Dick buries his nose into Bruce’s chest, and that’s how Leslie finishes bandaging him.
Dick is half asleep when Bruce picks him up, limbs limp and cheek against Bruce’s shoulder. “He thought I’d give him up,” Bruce mumbles. “That’s… What am I doing? I’m so bad at this.”
“You’re doing just fine, Bruce,” Leslie says.
“But I…”
“You just told him he can’t be replaced. You care about him, a lot. That’s what matters the most. The rest you can figure out as you go along.”
“What if I fail?”
“You probably will,” Leslie says with a half-shrug. “All parents do, sometimes. It’s how you fix it that’s important. Like you did just now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at him. A few moments ago he thought he was going back to the juvenile center. Right now he looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”
Dick does look relaxed, his breath coming out in soft huffs as he falls deeper into sleep. Bruce strokes his back softly.
“As I said. You’re doing just fine. Be careful with that bigger scratch on his arm. Don’t let him get it wet. Spoil him a bit.”
Bruce spoils Dick a lot, to the point Alfred has to step in after a few days ‘so that he doesn’t get used to eating in the living room.’ Bruce still builds him a gym.
It doesn’t take long for the doctors to diagnose Bruce, and Leslie relays the info to Dick and Alfred in a clipped, precise tone.
“We’ve started the treatment, and he is responding well, but this was a close call. A couple of more days and…”
Dick’s stomach flips.
“I have taken the liberty to inform the school that the young masters will not be attending at least for the rest of the week,” Alfred says when Leslie leaves them alone in the hallway.
“Right, yeah. Good. I should call work, too,” Dick says, rubbing his face. “Do you think we’ll be able to get them to go home?”
“If you go with them.”
Dick blinks. “Alfred…”
“I will stay here and will call you with any news. It sounds like it will be a rough few days, so you all better get what rest you can.”
Alfred is right, Dick knows, but the idea of leaving feels so wrong it makes his heart pound in his ears. Alfred reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, hard.
“You heard the doctor. We got him here in time.”
“He’s not out of the woods yet.”
“No, but he is not actively dying either.”
“Anymore.”
The word comes out more bitter than Dick thought it would, and it surprises him. Alfred, however, just hums, apparently understanding where Dick’s resentment comes from, even if he might disagree for it to be justified.
Dick clears his throat. “Guess we should let them know what’s going on.”
“We should.”
The boys react as differently as their personalities indicate. Jason curses and curls into himself while simultaneously trying to look like he doesn’t care. Tim takes out his phone and mumbles something about research. Damian declares that ‘father will be up and well by tomorrow morning’.
None of them want to go home.
“We’ll all go. Alfred will stay here,” Dick says. He tries to use the same no-arguments tone that Bruce does when his sons are stubborn, but it doesn’t quite have the same immediate effect when Dick himself is not quite keen to leave.
Surprisingly, it’s Jason who says: “Come on, rugrats. Goldie’s back can’t handle these benches and I need my beauty sleep.”
“Thank you,” Dick whispers as the four of them start to make their way to the hospital’s parking lot.
Jason just huffs.
Jason
Bruce is helping Jason put on his sweater when Dick comes in. Jason blinks, looks from him to Bruce, and back again in such utter surprise that Dick kicks himself.
“What are you doing here?” Jason finally asks.
“Alfred called me.”
“Okay, but what are you doing here?”
“My brother’s in the hospital. Where am I supposed to be?”
“Work?”
“I told them my brother’s in the hospital,” Dick says. “Believe it or not, they were pretty understanding.”
Jason frowns. “Why do you even care?”
Ouch.
“Okay. I guess I deserved that,” Dick sighs. “I’ll come by more often, I promise. Because I do care.”
Jason shrugs, which causes him to wince. The cast around his arm is bright red.
“So what happened?” Dick asks.
“Got beat up by some clown,” Jason answers. “It was stupid. I let him jump me. I’m getting sloppy.”
Bruce makes a sound that makes Dick glance at him, but his face is a stoic mask.
“Did they catch him?”
“I have Gordon on it,” Bruce grunts. “Are you coming home with us?”
Dick decides this isn’t the time to protest the word ‘home’. “Yeah. I have my bike, though. I’ll follow you.”
“I want…”
“Not with the cast,” Bruce interrupts Jason. “You can ride with him once you’re healed.”
“Dad mode, activated,” Dick says with a low voice, imitating a robot. Jason’s mouth twitches while Bruce’s only response is a ‘hn’.
At home, Dick and Jason park themselves in the movie room with a bowl of popcorn. Bruce locks himself in his study to ‘make sure the police are doing all they can’, but Dick has a sneaking suspicion there’s more to it than that.
He confronts Bruce about it once Jason has nodded off.
“You okay?”
It’s almost 11 PM, and Bruce is still behind his desk with the laptop open.
“Fine.”
Dick sighs. “I’m a grown-up, Bruce. You can tell me the truth.”
“It is the truth.”
“I don’t believe you,” Dick deadpans. “You are seconds away from calling 911 every time we even sneeze. No way are you fine right now.”
Dick waits patiently as Bruce has a mental argument with himself. Then, finally, Bruce pushes the laptop away and leans back in his chair.
“We argued.”
“And?”
“And that’s why he was there. At the warehouse where… he was attacked.”
“Ah, right. So you think this is your fault.”
“It is my…”
“You found him, Bruce. It’s because of you that he’s not…” Dick swallows. “That he’s okay. Relatively okay, at least.”
“I should have followed him sooner,” Bruce says. “Had I waited a few more minutes…”
“But you didn’t. Jason needed his space, and you knew that. What you didn’t know was that some psycho would beat him up.”
“This is Gotham.”
“It’s still pretty messed up that someone would do that to a child,” Dick says. “Jason doesn’t need you to blame yourself. He needs you to dote on him, to hover over him until he’s annoyed with you. He needs to know you’ll do that even after you’ve argued.”
“Hmm.”
“Okay, look, I haven’t exactly been the best brother in the world, so I can stay for a few days before returning to work. We’ll figure out this family-of-four thing together.”
“That’s my fault, too,” Bruce says.
“What is?”
“That you haven’t been here.”
“Well, we’re absolutely not getting into that right now,” Dick says. “We can have that fight later.”
“I don’t want to fight,” Bruce replies. “I’m sorry, Dick.”
He sounds so tired that Dick almost lets him off the hook right there and then. It would be a band-aid on a gunshot wound, though, not the final solution to the underlying issues. “I know,” he ends up saying. “Me, too. We’ll talk later. For now, we need to focus on Jason. And to get some sleep.”
“I still have…”
“Bruce.”
After a short staring contest Bruce - to Dick’s surprise - gives up. “You’re right,” he says as he gets up. “You usually are.”
“Glad you’re finally realizing that.”
Bruce chuckles. He hesitates when he reaches out for Dick’s shoulder, but Dick doesn’t move. The strong squeeze feels warm and familiar. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“I’m happy I’m here, too.”
Dick does have to go home after a few days, but at least he knows Bruce is taking his advice to dote on Jason relentlessly.
‘He’s so annoying, tell him to back off!’
‘Nope. Enjoy it. I’ll be back this weekend.’
‘Can you please dislocate your shoulder or something? Then maybe he’d give me a break!’
Dick laughs out loud. ‘I’ll try.’
(Ironically enough, he does dislocate his shoulder a few weeks later.)
“You knew.”
Dick looks up. Tim’s standing in front of him, hugging his elbows. He looks very young and vulnerable, but Dick knows he can’t lie to him. “I knew he wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
Tim nods, slowly. The expression on his face makes Dick feel like he failed the whole family, which makes anger spike in his gut. He tries his best to suppress it.
He can be angry at Bruce once he’s feeling better.
“What is he doing here?”
Damian might sound hostile, but Dick feels instant relief at the sight of Clark.
“He’s here to take you home,” Dick says, to the immediate protest of his brothers, but he’s already standing up and ignoring them. He practically collides with Clark and deflates, his forehead dropping on Clark’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Clark mumbles, patting Dick’s back. “How is he?”
“Stable.”
“And them?”
“Tired.”
“What about yo…?”
“I am not going home!”
Dick sighs and turns to see Damian standing in the middle of the hallway with his hands on his hips. He’s so tiny, but he looks so stubborn even Clark will have trouble with him.
“You are not Father! You cannot make me!”
“Are you telling me that Bruce could?” Dick asks, as a feeble attempt at humor. Damian only scowls. “You are kids. You are not staying the night here.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hey!” Clark exclaims at Jason’s short remark. “Dick’s right. He’s just looking out for you.”
“It’s fine,” Dick says. “It’s fine, just…”
“I am not going!”
“Damian…”
“All right, up we go,” Clark says, lifting Damian to his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Damian’s shriek turns more than a few heads. “I will carry you two out, too,” he tells Jason and Tim. Tim seemingly succumbs to his fate and starts walking toward the exit. He dodges Dick’s attempt to squeeze his shoulder, which breaks Dick's heart a bit.
That leaves Jason.
“Alfred could probably use help in the kitchen.” Jason shoots Dick a glare ugly enough to sour milk. “Would you honestly rather stay with me?”
After some more staring, Jason finally gets up and follows Tim. Damian is still struggling against Clark’s hold when Dick kisses his forehead and gives Clark a grateful smile.
“I can come back,” Clark offers but Dick shakes his head.
“Alfred will need all the help he can get to keep these three home,” he says. “Thank you, though.”
“If you say so,” Clark says. “But I’m just a phone call away.”
“I know.”
“And do call if there are any changes.”
“Of course.”
With a nod, Clark turns and starts making his way out with Damian hanging off his shoulder (“PUT ME DOWN!”). Dick watches them until they disappear around the corner, and then lets himself fall like a rag doll onto the benches. His entire body feels like Jell-O.
Someone brings him a cup of coffee. Probably Leslie, but Dick’s too out of it to take much notice.
He settles in for a long night.
Tim
“Where is he?”
“Bruce…”
“Where is he?”
“Bruce, please sit down first, I…”
“Dick, I swear, I will plow through this hospital if…”
“They had to remove his spleen.”
That makes Bruce pause. “What?”
Dick takes a deep breath. Only then does Bruce notice the dark circles under his eyes and how pale he is. Kicking himself, Bruce guides Dick to sit down.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know all the details. Apparently, some kid brought a knife to school and started threatening one of the other students. Tim stepped in to help. The kid stabbed him.”
Bruce has to fight back a gag. “How bad?”
“He lost his spleen , Bruce,” Dick says. “Leslie said he’ll be fine, though. He can survive without a spleen just fine, he’ll just need to take a low dose of antibiotics basically for the rest of his life. And we’ll have to be more on alert if he gets sick with anything.”
Bruce shakes his head and puts his hand through his hair. He forces himself to focus on the moment and not spiral into planning how he’ll bring on the consequences on everyone who he deems to be responsible for the fact that his son is in a hospital without one of his organs.
“He didn’t want us to call you.”
It’s heartbreaking that it’s not surprising. “He didn’t want to bother me.”
“Yeah. He’s already made all sorts of plans on how the whole antibiotics thing will be the least inconvenient to you.”
It’s as if someone puts a cold hand around Bruce’s heart and squeezes.
“I tried talking to him. But he’s hard-wired to think that his job is to behave and stay out of the way.” Dick’s voice breaks. “I hate the Drakes, Bruce.”
“I know,” Bruce says gently. “I’ve got it from here. You should go get some sleep. Are you okay to drive or should I call Alfred?”
“Alfred actually dropped me off. But I don’t want to bother him, I’ll just take a cab. Let me just come say bye.”
It speaks volumes of how tired Dick really is that he doesn’t protest Bruce’s suggestion to get rest. He gets up with a groan and they make their way to Tim’s room together.
The boy is so tiny in his huge hospital bed. That alone makes Bruce’s stomach turn, and the wires and monitors do not help.
“Hey, buddy,” Dick says when the soft sound of the door prompts Tim to open his eyes. “Look who’s here.”
“Bruce?” Tim croaks, his voice barely above a whisper. Dick offers him a little water with a straw. “But… I don’t… I’m fine, you didn’t…”
“Tim,” Bruce cuts Tim off. “You’re much more important than anything work-related. In fact, there are exactly two things that I consider to be even as important as you.”
“The Lamborghini and the Mercedes,” Dick says, causing Tim to let out a short laugh, though it still sounds a little wet and slightly hysterical.
“Very funny,” Bruce says. “My point is, you could never be a bother, okay? You boys are my priority number one.”
“You…” Tim starts. “You were in California.”
“And I’d come home from Japan if I heard you got hurt,” Bruce says. “I’d have them build a plane for me if there were no flights.”
“An A380?”
“Whatever would get me home fastest.”
“Told you,” Dick says. “We sort of, kind of love you a goddamn lot, Timmy.”
“We really do,” Bruce confirms.
Tim lets out a shaky breath. His fingers wrap around Bruce’s hand, and his expression becomes less guarded.
“Now that Dad’s here, I’ll go catch a few Zs in an actual bed. I’ll be back tomorrow, though. I’ll bring Jason,” Dick says, leaning down to place a kiss on Tim’s forehead. “Our little hero.”
“I’m not little,” Tim protests through a yawn.
“Mmhm. Sweet dreams.”
Tim is asleep before Dick has even left the room. Bruce settles into the plastic chair next to his bed and uses the hand Tim isn’t holding to stroke his son’s hair.
“I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he says quietly to the sleeping boy.
Tim sighs in his sleep.
Bruce wakes up slowly, but surprisingly alert. He’s instantly aware that he’s in a hospital and based on the light in the room, it’s late afternoon, which means he’s been there for at least 24 hours.
He groans.
“B?”
Alert or not, Bruce only then notices Dick. Dick gets up from an armchair tucked in the corner of the room and sits back down next to the bed.
“Hey,” Bruce croaks out. Dick helps him have a sip of water. “Hey,” Bruce repeats.
“Hey,” Dick says.
“How long…?”
“Three days,” Dick answers before Bruce can finish his question. “It was bad, Bruce.”
Bruce hums and attempts to sit up. He doesn’t protest when Dick leans to assist him. “What happened?”
At this, Dick frowns. His mouth forms a thin line and Bruce can see that he’s holding back. He waits, patiently, too worn out to start an argument a mere few minutes after waking up.
“You remember a few weeks ago when Scarecrow tested that new type of gas of his?” Dick asks.
Bruce is confused. “I put on a gas mask.”
“Not fast enough, apparently,” Dick says. “Leslie says they’ve had people trickle in every day since then with various side effects. Some have been more serious than others but one thing is clear - the more time has passed, the more damage the gas has done. And,” Dick pauses. “They were all in pain.”
Bruce considers this a moment. “Hm.”
“Hm?” The anger is evident in Dick’s tone, even though his voice is even. “Bruce, seriously. You’ve been in pain for days, possibly weeks, and all you can say is ‘hm’? You should have realized something was wrong, you… Bruce, you can’t do this!”
Dick looks close to tears, and Bruce feels a pang of regret. “I didn’t… really register it. There was so much to do, it was easier to push it back until…”
“Until you collapsed in front of your kids,” Dick finished. “Right. See? This is exactly what you can’t do!”
“What?”
“Disregard yourself! What exactly was so important that you couldn’t stop by at Leslie’s?”
“The boys had a lot going on,” Bruce says. “Damian had his art show, and Jason had a boxing match. Tim needed help with a bigger project and…”
Dick stands up. He has his hands on his hips and he’s looking at the ceiling while he walks a frustrated round around the small room. “An art show…” he says under his breath, so low Bruce barely hears it. “Bruce,” he says louder, clearly. “Bruce, we don’t… We don’t need you to have a perfect attendance record. We need you… around. Alive.” Dick’s voice cracks and he slumps back onto his chair.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says.
After a couple of deep breaths, Dick says: “I know why you do it. I know Jason, Tim, and Damian didn’t have the best examples of adults being there for them but this isn’t exactly a healthy lesson, either.”
“I just…” Bruce sighs. “I need… I need all four of you to know I’ll be there. That I’ll drop anything when you need me, I…”
“We know that,” Dick says. “But there’s a difference between wanting you and needing you. You have to say no sometimes so you have the strength to say yes when it’s actually important.”
Bruce feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “When did you become so smart?”
Dick chuckles, sort of, but it’s wet and almost humorless. “I’ve practiced this for three days. It’s not coming out as coherent as it was in my head.”
“I do get it, though,” Bruce says softly. “I am sorry.”
“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “Yeah, I know you are. And I’m sorry, too. I don’t want to be angry, I’m practically victim-blaming.” He swallows. “Just… don’t do it again?”
“I’ll try,” Bruce replies. Carefully, he reaches out enough to take a firm hold of Dick’s forearm. “Thank you, chum.”
Dick huffs. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not helping you with the boys.” A pause. “Much.”
“That’s okay. That’s my job,” Bruce says.
“Just promise me you’ll remember to take breaks from now on?”
“I promise.”
“Good.” Dick folds his arms on the side of the bed and lays his head on them. “I’m going to sleep now. The boys will be here in a few hours.”
Dick’s out like a light a few seconds later, and Bruce feels sleep coming over himself again, too. He allows it to pull him under as well, enjoying the short period of peace and quiet that still surrounds him.
Damian
Watching Damian being wheeled away for surgery feels as if part of his soul is being sucked out. Dick follows the gurney until the nurses stop him, and doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until Bruce forces him to duck his head between his knees.
“He’s going to be fine, Dick. He’ll be fine.”
Bruce’s hands are shaking, though.
Damian is seven years old, and he’s in spinal surgery due to blunt-force trauma to his back. It’s so wrong and made worse with the knowledge of who caused the damage. Damian has so far refused to confirm it, but Dick knows his grandfather had something to do with it, and it makes him so angry he feels physically ill.
“Breathe, Dick. Breathe with me.”
“We - we can’t let him… Bruce, he…”
“I know. I know,” Bruce mumbles, even though Dick knows he’s not making any sense. “For now, breathe. Follow my lead.”
It takes a while for Dick to steady his breathing. Bruce keeps a strong hold on him the whole time, and it’s the only thing that keeps Dick from completely spiraling.
“We can’t get Ra’s get away with this,” Dick says against Bruce’s shoulder.
“We won’t,” Bruce replies. His tone is stern and steady and so full of conviction that it’s impossible not to believe him. “There’s no hole deep enough for him to hide that I won’t find him.”
“He’s so young .”
“I know.”
“They’re all so… so young. Bruce, it’s not… It’s not fair!”
“They have us, Dick. They have us now. Calm down, keep breathing. Damian will be fine. They’re all fine. You’re fine.”
It sounds a bit like Bruce is trying to convince himself as well, but Dick doesn’t comment on it. He allows his dad to hold him there in the hospital hallway until he is steady enough to stand up. They make their way to Damian’s room and settle in to wait. Neither one says much, which probably allows them to sink into their thoughts a bit too much.
What feels like a small eternity later, they are told that Damian will indeed be fine.
Physically.
The less visible scars are evident in his eyes when he wakes up, and it cracks Dick’s soul a bit more.
“Dick?”
“Hm? Wha… Ouch. Ow, ow, ow…!”
Dick rubs his neck, which is very cruelly reminding him why falling asleep at the table is not a good idea. “Timmy?” he rasps out when his eye focus. “What are you doing up?”
Tim shrugs. He’s looking at his feet, but Dick can see that his cheeks are red. “Oh, Timmy....”
With some gentle coaxing, Tim allows Dick to gather him into a hug. For a while, the kitchen is silent except for the hum of the appliances.
Then, Tim says: “I’m sorry.”
“What? Why?”
“I was angry with you.”
Dick swallows. Oh, Timmy, indeed. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I..:”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dick repeats, pushing Tim away just enough to look him in the eye. “You were scared.”
“So were you,” Tim mumbles. “We all were. Even Clark, I think.”
“Yeah.”
“I kicked him.”
“He told me.”
“I hurt my toe. It’s like he’s made of steel.”
“He could be,” Dick chuckles. “All right, come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Tim shoots a quick look at the coffee machine, but Dick takes a firm hold of his shoulders and starts marching him up the stairs. He thinks about leading Tim to his room, but then he sees that Bruce’s bedroom door is open. It’s not until he pushes the door open a bit more that he realizes someone is already there.
“It’s okay, Jaylad. I’m here. I’m right here. It’s okay.”
Dick’s heart clenches at the sight of Jason curled up in Bruce’s arms, chest still heaving in the aftermath of what was clearly a panic attack.
“We shouldn’t,” Tim says quietly, already pulling Dick away. They are stopped by Bruce’s soft: “Come here, you two.”
Tim hesitates, but Dick nudges him in. He watches as Tim crosses the room and climbs onto the bed.
“You, too.”
“We’re still missing one,” Dick replies to Bruce’s beckoning. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks straight past Damian’s room to his own old bedroom. He’s happy to see his instincts had been right, and there is indeed a Damian-shaped lump under his covers, with just a tuft of hair visible.
“Richard?” the boy mumbles as Dick pulls the covers off him.
“Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep. We’re going for a sleepover.”
“Those ‘r for babies…” Damian says but he’s not even fully awake. Dick lifts him up gently and goes back to Bruce’s room where Bruce is still holding Jason with Tim’s arms around his back like a baby koala.
Dick places Damian on the unoccupied side of the bed before climbing in himself. He shares a small smile with Bruce and stays awake with his dad until all three boys are sound asleep.
“When do you have to go home?” Bruce asks as he settles Tim down onto the pillows.
“I am home,” Dick replies.
“I mean…”
“I know. Are you kicking me out already?”
“No! No, never, I just…”
“I’m kidding,” Dick says, yawning. “Not until Saturday. Clark will come over to help then.”
“That’s not…”
“Just take the help, Bruce,” Dick talks over Bruce. “Just… heal.”
As Dick closes his eyes, he feels a strong, warm hand go through his hair. “All right.”
“Good.”
He’s asleep seconds later.
Bruce wakes with a bony elbow against his ribs and with no feeling in his arm because someone is using it as a pillow. Tim’s hair is tickling his face and Damian - the smallest of them all - has managed to conquer half the bed.
Bruce has not felt this rested in a long time.