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Bruce was still double checking through the seventeenth alibi of the case when warmth pressed into his side. He wordlessly readjusted, hoisting the boy up and onto the chair, tucking Dick into his rightful place by his side.
Dick readjusted a little too, nestling into Bruce until he was so small that the cape almost fully consumed him.
In truth, Bruce had not thought that Dick would come down here tonight. This latest illness had hit hard, making Bruce’s ward so miserable that he had not once tried to sneak out as Robin, electing instead to drag his feet around the Manor each time he tried and failed to sleep. Dick’s ever loyal companion Zitka had joined him once more on this journey, the poor Elephant looking just as tired as the boy.
Bruce just let him doze for a little while, not mentioning any of sniffling and certainly not bringing attention to the dampness he was certain was soaking into his suit.
With the inconsistencies of the alibis, Bruce knew that there must be an important piece of the puzzle that he was still missing but following up with the few leads that they had would require being out all night.
Usually, he wouldn’t mind. If Bruce could not handle a few sleepless nights then he would have never become a nighttime vigilante in the first place. Tonight however…
“How would you like a movie night, Chum?”
The boy stilled for a moment. When a small head came up from the little ball, Dick’s eyes were as dulled as they were wet.
When Dick spoke, it was in such a quiet whisper that Bruce relied on lip reading to make certain that he understood the meaning that he was trying to convey.
“No, Lad,” Bruce said. “I’m not busy.”
Dick’s lip wobbled, his gaze wandering to the Batcomputer.
“An old case,” Bruce said easily.
Old, of course, was a relative term. Surely new cases had begun to weave their webs in the twenty two hours since he had started to investigate this one.
Before Dick could insist that Bruce needed to be out there tonight, and before Bruce could allow himself to be convinced of the very same thing, he gathered Dick fully up and into his arms and stood.
Dick’s head burrowed into Bruce’s shoulder with a whimper.
As Bruce reached the stairs, Dick made another small sound that tugged at Bruce’s heart. Bruce held him a little closer, putting his foot up and onto the first step and-
And Dick lurched.
Bruce dropped down to his knee in an instant, rubbing Dick’s back as he tried to gag again only for the boy to bring up absolutely nothing.
“Oh Dickie…”
“‘m sorry.”
There was no need to apologise, of course there wasn’t, but there was nothing that Bruce could possibly say that will make Dick believe it. Instead, he gave his boy time to decide if he really was going to throw up or not.
When he was mostly certain that Dick wasn’t, Bruce brought him up from the Cave, pressing a quick peck to the top of his head when Dick made it all the way up to the top without gagging again.
It was as they stepped into the Manor proper that Zitka slipped from Dick’s hold.
In an instant Dick was bawling but Bruce just held him close as he swept the toy back up from the ground, coaxing Dick into grabbing onto her once more. Bruce hushed him as he only cried louder, not for the first time wondering what exactly Dick’s parents would have done in his position.
There was no denying that they would have been better than Bruce but Bruce did not allow himself to linger on that knowledge for too long. Instead, Bruce took Dick straight to the kitchen.
Dick whimpered, burrowing closer into him as though he thought that Bruce was going to force him to eat something. Bruce did indeed grab the sleeve of dry crackers that Alfred had set out to try to get Dick into eating something but he would not ever make the boy take them, especially not when his stomach was clearly unsettled.
Instead, Bruce also grabbed the small cloth that Alfred had allocated as what was to be used in trying to reduce the fever whenever it got too high, using it to glide over Dick’s skin.
It was a monumental task simply getting Dick to raise his head long enough to fully get his face but it was clear that the boy felt better for it, though his arm was still curled tightly around Bruce’s neck.
Balancing Dick on one hip while carrying the crackers and a small bottle of water was easy for a man like Batman, coaxing Dick into going down onto the couch was far harder though, especially when Dick made yet another miserable sound.
“What would you like to watch?”
Dick’s only answer was to try to curl once more against Bruce.
“I need to get changed first,” Bruce said. “You know Alfred’s rule about capes.”
“But it’s warm.” Dick mumbled.
Bruce opened his mouth. He closed it again, unable to find a single convincing argument that could possibly win out against that.
Instead, he settled onto the couch beside his Ward, letting Dick find the most comfortable position once more. It was more difficult this time apparently, Dick jabbing an elbow into Bruce’s still healing ribs three seperate times and brushing against his healing leg wound an extra two but Bruce would wait until the end of the Earth if that was what it took for Dick to find a position he liked.
It was only when Bruce started carding fingers through Dick’s hair that Dick sighed, settling at last.
The peace lasted only as long as the opening credits did and all Bruce could do was rub Dick’s back as the boy lurched again and again. Bruce did not speak, not wanting to make Dick any more miserable than he already was but he did brush the budding tears from Dick’s face when he was able to lean away from the bucket a little bit.
Dick went to curl fully against Bruce once more but Bruce coaxed him into looking up instead so that he could clean the boy’s face.
Bruce stilled.
Dick’s baby blues were hazed, just as they had been for the last three miserable days but it was not his eyes that caught Bruce’s attention.
“You can go patrol, B.” Dick mumbled. “I’ll be okay.”
Bruce would not patrol but he could not remain here either, not when his boy had just brought up blood. He stood, taking Dick with him even as the movie continued on but Dick decided at last that he did not want to be nestled up close to Bruce apparently, squirming in his hold.
“Easy, Chum,”
“Patrol.” Dick said. “Or movie night. Don’t wanna sleep.”
For as much as Dick was trying to struggle, his strength soon waned and he had no choice but to rest his head against Bruce’s shoulder once more. The boy was trembling, his breathing far more shallow that Bruce should have ever allowed it to become.
“B,”
Bruce would need to gather everything Dick could possibly need but he didn’t know what Dick would need. This wasn’t an injury, this wasn’t even from patrol, it was from the classroom and yet there was no denying that this was just as emergent as any bullet wound or crush injury because his Ward, his Robin, his boy had brought up not vomit but blood and Bruce was moving as quickly as he could but it wasn’t quick enough, it could never be quick enough, he was screaming out for his parents and he wasn’t quick enough.
A hand tugged hard at Bruce’s neck but Bruce only moved faster. The hand came up from the neck into his hair instead, tugging even harder.
“What’re you doin’ B? You’re freaking me out.”
As if Dick was not the one who was the sole cause for Bruce’s heart to be rabbiting against his chest.
The back of Dick’s hand wiped against his face. When it came back wet he blinked, glancing down at it.
“That’s new.” Dick said simply.
That’s new. Dick had brought up blood and he simply said that’s new as if remarking on being served dinner on a different plate. He could be dying, he could genuinely be dying and yet Bruce had made the mistake of conditioning the poor boy to brush off any pain, any discomfort and now he was dying and Bruce was too slow, he was too slow and Dick was going to die covered in his own blood and Bruce had tried to sit down to watch a fucking movie.
It was a nightmare trying to get Dick to let go of him for long enough to get him into the car and it was even more difficult to force himself to step away from Dick and towards the other side of the car, his mind running through each and every terrible illness or injury that could have caused Dick to bring up blood and it was only when he turned the engine over that he realised that Alfred was standing in front of the car.
Alfred’s brow was quirked, no doubt because it had not even crossed Bruce’s mind to tell him that they were leaving but the older man made no attempt to step out of the way of the car.
Dick had already curled up in his chair, making himself so small that Zitka fully disappeared into his misery.
At last Alfred moved, coming to Bruce’s window but Bruce had to fight every single atom in his body that was screaming that he needed to get Dick to the hospital now, right now, they need to go right now.
“I must say, Sir, an outing when Master Dick is in this condition may not be the wisest decision you have made.”
“He brought up blood and-”
Alfred held up a hand and Bruce was useless but to fall silent.
“Blood, you say?”
In answer, Dick only whimpered.
Alfred was slow to come around to Dick’s side of the car and they were wasting time, Dick was dying and they were wasting time.
The door clicked open and Dick curled more tightly into himself, his whole body trembling.
Alfred coaxed him into raising his head all the same, tutting lightly when Dick’s eyes watered with new tears. He took his sweet time to assess Dick, testing his pulse, feeling his forehead in a way that made Bruce remember the all too familiar hand against his own skin.
“My boy,” Alfred said.
For a moment, Bruce was ten years old again but then he realised that Alfred was still talking to Dick and not himself.
“I don’t suppose you notified Master Bruce what it was that we had before bed?”
“Didn’t go to bed…” Dick muttered.
“Master Dick. What was it that we consumed before you were meant to go to turn in for the night?”
They were wasting time, they were wasting far too much time and Dick had been bleeding and he was dying, the boy was dying and there was going to be nothing Bruce could possibly do to protect him and-
Dick’s blink was slow.
“Popsicles.” He said. “It was really nice. Can… Can I have another one?”
Dick’s apparently returned appetite buoyed Bruce’s heart for only a moment before all at once it was stopping again.
“Dick.” Bruce said flatly. “Was it red?”
Another slow blink, another eternity that could either be a waste of time Dick didn’t have or a clarification that Dick needed to establish.
Dick shrugged then nodded.
“It wasn’t blood.” Bruce said. “It was a popsicle?”
Another shrug before the boy fully curled into himself once more.
“Dickie.”
Dick whimpered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Master Bruce, perhaps this conversation will be best had in the comfort of the-”
“I wanted you to hold me.”
The words were quiet and yet they still struck Bruce like a truck.
“You… Wanted me to hold you?”
A nod, as miserable as the last. He sniffed, then again, his small body trembling with a barely suppressed moan.
“I’m sorry. I- I know you don’t like it, I know I’m annoying and I-”
Bruce did not quite remember if he had come fully around the car or he had simply launched himself over the console to get to Dick but all at once the boy was once again in his arms, head burrowed into Bruce’s chest.
Running a hand up and down Dick’s back did little to stifle the sobs but Bruce did it all the same, knowing just how nice it had felt when his own Dad had done just that.
His own Dad.
Bruce cradled his Son close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
He was careful as he stepped back towards the Manor, even more careful once he reached the steps. He cooed at Dick once they were inside once more, the boy losing the battle against the growing sobs.
Dick tried to say something, and while Bruce couldn’t quite catch the words he knew that it was that everything was hurting.
The poor kid seemed so resigned to it, as though he had long since accepted that this misery was to be his continued reality. For Dick’s sake, Bruce wished that the illness will soon pass, he did not like seeing Dick be in any pain at all and this had already lasted days longer than Bruce ever wanted it to.
Instead of taking him once more to the lounge room, Bruce tried to take Dick to his bedroom to see if he could get any actual rest but before he could even open Dick’s door, the boy sobbed ever louder.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “I believe our boy would benefit from being watched over the course of the night, just in case it was not simply the dye in the popsicles.”
Watched…
Alfred wanted Bruce to take Dick to his own bedroom.
It would not be the first time that Dick has slept in Bruce’s room. In fact, Dick had done just that not simply in times of illness or nightmares but sometimes he proclaimed that it was time for a sleepover, carrying with him a pillow, a Zitka, and a grin so bright that it lit up the whole room.
As it was, Dick did relax a little as Bruce brought him into his bedroom and then even more so when Bruce set him down onto the bed.
Dick curled back once more into his ball, holding Zitka tightly but soon enough he was whimpering again.
“Your stomach, Lad?”
Dick shook his head, new tears already spilling over.
“’s cold…”
It wasn’t. If anything, it was a little warm in the room and when Bruce’s hand glided over his son’s forehead he confirmed that his fever had actually gotten a little higher than it already had been.
Alfred appeared by Bruce’s side, carrying with him a tray of water, the crackers and fever reducers. Given that Alfred only gave medication as required, Bruce agreed that Dick had gotten to the point that he would need to take some in order to actually rest.
The bed dipped down as Bruce sat down onto it and he had barely even reached towards Dick before Dick was already in his arms yet again. Bruce readjusted him, coaxing him into accepting the medication and even managing to get him to have a few small sips before Dick hid away from Alfred as best he could.
He ran a hand up and down Dick’s back, feeling every ridge and applying just enough pressure to hopefully be comforting and not painful.
“Easy, Son,” Bruce said.
Dick stilled, Bruce’s heart alongside it.
“That’s new…” The boy mumbled.
“I’m sor-”
“I like it, Dad.”
Before Bruce could fully register those words, those beautiful words, Dick’s breathing evened out, and his weight changed as he fell into a deep sleep at last.
Alfred quietly went towards the door but before he actually went back out of it, he turned back towards Bruce.
“I suppose it is decided then?”
Bruce blinked up at him.
“What it is that you are wearing to this year’s Halloween Event.” Alfred said. “Bruce-Man and his loyal side kick, Pyjama-Boy.”
He was still wearing his suit. He was still wearing his suit. In the rush of trying to save his boy’s life, he could have very well compromised not only his own but Dick’s secret identity also but the most shocking part about all of it was that it would have been worth it.
If it meant keeping Dick safe, then anything would be worth it.
“You misunderstand, Alfred. He is not my side kick, he is my partner.”
He is my Son.