Work Text:
It had been a rough night. That was putting it lightly. Sure, maybe it wasn’t any of their worst nights ever (Jason hadn’t died again, Tim’s remaining organs remained, Damian didn’t have any more metal bones) but still… being a vigilante sucked some nights. And some nights Dick stayed up wondering if it was worth it. Most nights he just didn’t know anymore.
He and Damian came back into the bat cave early from patrol, clinging to each other. Both of them were covered in blood and exhausted, and Dick could tell that Damian probably had a concussion from a nasty fall he had taken earlier. There was also some annoying sharp pain at the back of his head, but that could wait until he got Damian sorted out.
He placed Damian down on a med bay bed and ran his usual checks. Yep, a concussion and a few cuts here and there, one of which would need stitches. It alarmed him that Damian wasn’t doing hardly any sarcastic quips or even his little “tt” sound he usually did. A silent Damian usually meant a seriously injured Damian, and even then Dick had seen him talk through some horrific stuff.
“Damian, what’s wrong? Talk to me, buddy. Is there something other than your head and cuts I need to be worried about?”
The kid’s eyes seemed glazed over, his body rigid and stiff. Dick was considering whether or not Damian was dissociating when he finally raised his hands and started signing.
Will Father be disappointed in us?
Dick was taken aback by the question. He knew that Damian sought after Bruce’s approval– they all did in some way or another– but to see him worry about it so openly was disconcerting.
“Why do you think that, Dami?”
We failed. The guy got away, and all we have to show for it is … Damian gestured to both of them, indicating their injuries. Mission unaccomplished. Grandfather would’ve been disappointed.
Ah. Okay. This was a still-healing-from-being-raised-by-assassins thing.
“Well, I know he’s not exactly the warm and fuzzy type, but Bruce isn’t Ra’s. He’ll just want to know that you’re safe, okay? We can get the guy another time, but unless you plan on the universe pulling another Jason, we can’t get another you.”
Damian’s lips quivered. Okay, was all he signed back.
Dick sighed and got to work stitching him up. Damian might not believe that yet, but he would see it eventually. That his work in the field didn’t equate to his value as Bruce’s son. Dick might’ve gone up and gotten Bruce to explain this himself, but they had finally gotten the man to sleep after too many hours of insomnia. He needed rest. They could talk about that later.
He finished the last stitch, Damian half asleep on the cot. Before he could make the kid move to his room, he pointed at Dick with concern. You’re bleeding.
“It’s not my blood, Dami. I’ll get a shower here soon, I’m fine.”
Damian gave him a once-over before heading upstairs. Dick was about to do as he’d said (shower) when Jason radioed in, panicking.
“Nightwing, need fear toxin antidote ASAP. Red Robin’s been dosed.”
Shit. Dick ignored another stab of pain from his head and went to grab one. A fear-dosed Tim was always a struggle to work with. Not to mention it usually made Dick want to cry.
“Where are you guys?”
“I’m bringing him back to the cave now. Also heads up– ow– I’m also a tad injured–”
“Hood–”
“But it’s not bad, I promise! Red Robin definitely takes priority here, I can patch myself up once we get him– fuck, Red, calm down– taken care of.”
They flew in on Jason’s bike a few minutes later. Tim was tied to the seat, struggling with wild panic in his eyes.
“You tied him up?!”
“We would’ve had to restrain him anyway! Just get the stupid antidote in him, poor kid’s been hallucinating his asshole dad for half an hour.”
Dick approached Tim with the syringe in hand, cringing at his little brother’s shaking and screaming. “Stay away! Don’t touch me!” Tim yelled, jerking himself away from Dick as much as he could while being restrained. He managed to get a few hits in, but nothing that really hurt. It was just frantic flailing.
The antidote went in as Tim melted to tears in Dick’s arms. “I’m sorry, dad, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
It took a moment, but finally the antidote began working. Thank god.
“Dick?” Tim whispered, still panting and wheezing a bit. “You’re bleeding… m’sorry…”
“Shh, it’s not your fault, Timmy. It’s not my blood, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”
“Oh. My dad?”
“Not here, baby bird.”
As soon as they managed to reassure him that Jack Drake was locked up for good and he was with his brothers, Tim drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Dick carried him over to a cot, not having the energy to get him upstairs. He was getting tired and a little dizzy, the pain in his head more persistent now. He needed sleep, but first Jason needed help too.
“I’ll monitor him for a bit, but he should be ok– JASON?”
Jason was hunched over the counter, trying to disinfect a bleeding bullet wound in his thigh. His head jerked up at his name, a deer in the headlights look on his face.
“Like I said, it’s not bad.”
“It’s not bad, my ass!”
He dragged his other little brother over to another cot, despite Jason’s protests. “Really, Dick, I can take care of this myself. You’re the one who’s still bleeding.”
“It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s not my blood,” Dick shrugged it off. It could wait. His brothers needed him. He went about disinfecting and patching Jason’s wounds while Jason just stared at him with a weirdly calculating gaze. He was trying to finish the last of Jason’s stitches when his hands started shaking. Or was it his vision blurring?
He stopped what he was doing and tried to breathe. If he could just finish this last bit, Jason could probably get the rest done and he could go to bed, right? But no, he should push through and make sure Jason was fully taken care of before he ducked out… he was fine.
“Dick? Dick!”
Dick felt his knees buckle, his eyelids close, and heard Jason let out enough curses to fill Alfred’s old swear jar before he blacked out.
Dick woke up to the sound of medical machines beeping and the feeling of oxygen being pushed through his nose. He was in the med bay of the cave. He groaned and sat up, noting the distinct pull of bandages wrapped tightly around his head. The sharp pain had been replaced with a dull throb.
At the foot of his cot, a very annoyed looking Duke Thomas stood glaring at him, tapping his foot. He had scrubs on top of his pajamas. And next to him, Jason sat on a chair, arms crossed, a twin glare on his face.
“Dick. Do you know how bad it is when your crime lord brother has to wake up the day shift at 1am because the Eldest Daughter has collapsed in the med bay while trying to treat wounds that weren't even his own?”
“I…sorry, Duke, I’m sorry, but really I was fine. I was just tired, all that blood wasn’t mine–”
“It was, actually.”
“What?”
Jason held up his hand like a sock puppet and proceeded to mock him. “ It’s fine, guys, it’s not my blood, don’t worry about me – bitch, you can be a worse hypocrite than Bruce sometimes.”
Dick blinked at them. Duke just sighed. “Dude, you had a concussion, multiple stab wounds, and a cut on the back of your head that needed staples. Luckily none of the stabbings were in, you know, vital areas, but if Jason hadn’t managed to get me down here fast enough you might’ve been a goner.”
Oh. Honestly, Dick had been so hopped up on adrenaline and taking care of the others all night he hadn’t bothered to notice the other things. It did explain the pain in his head though.
He looked at Duke again. Duke’s arms were still crossed and his foot was still tapping, but his eyes held anxiety in them. He hated that Duke had had to find him like that. He was newer to the vigilante scene, he should’ve been one of the ones Dick looked after, not the other way around.
“I really am sorry you had to see all that, Duke. But thank you. I owe you one, okay?”
A small, mischievous grin came on his face. “Oh you’re gonna regret promising me that.”
“Probably, but I do owe it,” Dick said. “Wait, what about Tim and Damian? Are they okay?”
Jason winced. “They’re physically fine, Duke moved Tim upstairs last night too by the way. But Bruce is currently upstairs trying to convince them that none of this was either of their faults.”
Well now Dick felt even more awful. “How the hell was any of that their fault?”
“Well, Tim thinks the blood came from him hitting you while he was fear intoxicated, and Damian is kicking himself for not not believing you when you said you were fine, so. Yeah.”
Well fuck. That was the opposite of what Dick had been trying to do.
“They're not gonna believe it until you say it, so would you mind some little gremlin visitors?”
He groaned. “Yeah, let them in.”
The two burst through the door and down the stairs. Of course they’d been eavesdropping as well. They tackled his bed, asking over and over again: Are you okay? Are you really? Why didn’t you tell us?
“Hey, hey, I’m fine. Really, I’m okay, and it wasn’t anybody’s fault, I promise.”
He kept reassuring them like that until they calmed down, both still half recovering from last night’s adventures. They ended up falling asleep on him, Jason taking pictures of the scene with his phone for “blackmail” (aka, asking Babs to upload them to the family drive).
I will be okay for you, he thought as he watched their chests rise and fall steadily. I promise.