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“Will you write me a letter of recommendation?”
Dick looked up from the report he'd been picking away at slowly throughout the night, a sort of bemused expression on his face once he took in Tim's nervous demeanor. He wasn't sure he'd seen Tim sweat so much since his trauma practical, when he forgot how a tourniquet worked for a few seconds.
“Well, that depends.”
“On what?’
“On what exactly I'm recommending you for.”
If it was possible for Tim to look even more anxious, he achieved it, his eyes looking anywhere but at Dick. This only made Dick more interested, swiveling in his chair to better face Tim.
“Paramedic school.”
Dick was definitely not finishing this report before shift change.
“I didn't know you wanted to go up to medic.”
This was a lie, of course. Dick was well aware this conversation was bound to happen eventually. Tim was one of the best EMTs they had and Dick knew how ambitious his little brother was. He was bound to some day find himself with that all too familiar need for advancement, Dick just never knew the day would come so soon. Tim had only been assigned to ALS for a little under a year now, after all.
“It's been on my mind for some time,” Tim admitted. “And there's a class coming up in a month or so. And I was hoping you'd help me get in.”
“Okay,” Dick replied, his hands folded in front of himself. “Are you sure you're ready? Medic school is pretty rigorous. Lots of clinical hours, way more than basic.”
“I know,” Tim said and Dick had no doubt the kid had done his research. “I'm ready.”
“Are you sure you want a letter from me? I could ask Donna-”
“You're just as much a supervisor as she is,” Tim pointed out.
Dick shrugged. He'd never put much merit into the gold supervisor pins on his shirt collar, not like Donna or the others did. He wasn't made for office work, he hated reports and bureaucratic nonsense. He'd much rather be on the road, actually doing good, not stuck behind a desk on the phone with medcon and dispatch all night.
“Yeah, but she's got more sway-”
“That isn't true and you know it,” Tim interrupted once more. “Everyone knows you're the best night shift sup.”
“They do?” Dick asked, a bit surprised at the apparent common knowledge he was seemingly lacking. He wasn't aware the supervisors were being ranked.
“Don't be dense.”
Dick would have replied with something snarky but his radio decided to fill the silence instead, a loud alarm tone ringing out to signify a call.
“We'll talk later,” Dick promised, standing from the desk and grabbing his radio pack. “For now, it looks like Gotham needs some saving.”
Sometimes, Dick wondered what kind of cosmic luck had graced his ragtag family to make them all choose the line of work they did. Maybe it was because of Bruce’s father, Thomas Wayne, deciding to go into medicine before any of them were even a thought, let alone born. Maybe it was Bruce himself continuing on in his father’s footsteps and becoming the Senior Emergency Attending Physician of Gotham General. Maybe it was just their deeply rooted need to help everyone and anyone, a trait they all shared for better or for worse.
Perhaps it was just some strange amalgamation of all three. Whatever it was, it was certainly the reason for the impromptu family reunion in the ambulance bay early that morning, hours before the sun would even begin to rise.
“Jason, always nice to see you,” Selina Kyle, the evening charge nurse, smiled as Tim opened up the back of the ambulance to reveal Bruce’s eldest sons.
“Dickie just missed me that much, wouldn’t let me leave with the rest of my crew.”
“You’re the only MFR we had on scene, dumbass,” Tim rolled his eyes as he pulled the stretcher out. “Someone had to hold pressure on the packed wound, and I've seen the way you drive those engines, you're not going anywhere near the wheel of my rig.”
“Cry me a river, Tim Bit,” Jason bit back, sticking his tongue out in a very mature manner.
“Good morning, Gotham General!” Dick announced, his impression of Robin Williams in Good Morning, Vietnam a little too spot on.
“We have Derrick Suthers, twenty-one year old male, was at a bar enjoying the night when a mugger got a good stab at his arm. We’re a bit tachy at 120, BP is 100/62, SPO2 is sitting pretty at 98 with the nonrebreather going 10 liters per minute, respirations at 24 a minute, lungs sound good, no past medical history, no meds, allergic to penicillin, last had four too many beers and some pretzels. A and O, GCS is 13, pupils equal and reactive. Started IV and pushed fluids and have everyone’s favorite firefighter assisting with direct wound pressure.”
“All he’s missing is a nice bow on top,” Selina mused.
“Sorry, all out,” Dick smirked, jumping out of the ambulance to follow everyone inside.
“Can I let go yet, I’m getting cramps,” Jason complained.
“Oh, my heart goes out to you,” Tim mocked back. He was lucky Jason’s hands were full or else he might have taken a swing at the kid.
“We’ll take it from here,” Bruce said sternly, but there was a small smile on his face as he led the way to one of the open trauma rooms.
“You know the drill, sign on the dotted line and he’s all yours,” Dick passed his tablet over to Bruce, who gave a quick signature before he began to lead the patient’s transfer from the stretcher to the table.
One of the senior residents, Stephanie Brown, had found her way into the room, a purple stethoscope hanging around her neck precariously. A medical student trailed behind her, her face turning a bit pale at the bloodied bandages wrapped around the patient’s wound.
“Now you can let go,” Steph teased as she pushed Jason’s much bigger body out of the way. “Ever sutured a wound before, Kiran?”
“Um, no?” the med student replied, looking a bit nervous at the notion.
“Well, there's no time like the present!”
Tim, Dick, and Jason took their leave before the poor intern could lose her dinner, something that was bound to happen eventually in a teaching hospital like Gotham General.
“Thanks for the assist,” Dick nudged Jason in the side as Tim pushed the stretcher towards the EMS room to restock.
“It was either this or have fun on a structure fire I guess,” Jason shrugged.
“Or workout at the station for the fifth time tonight,” Tim mumbled, ducking just in time to miss Jason’s hand attempting to slap him upside the head.
“We’ll give you a ride back so you can have your fun.”
“Roy’s making spaghetti tonight, if you guys are free.”
“Oh, God, please let us be free,” Tim prayed out-loud, throwing a new pillow and stack of sheets onto the stretcher.
“Only if Kory is also making that garlic bread with three different types of cheeses,” Dick smiled, leaning against the hallway wall, his arms folded across his chest.
“She will if I tell her you might show up. She only makes it for you.”
Dick grinned even wider.
“It's ‘cause she thinks I'm pretty.”
“Pretty stupid,” Jason muttered, yelping slightly when Dick shoved his boney elbow into his side.
“See, attitudes like that don't get Kory’s Special Garlic Bread!”
“I'll text them and let ‘em know to expect two more,” Jason surrendered. He began to pat his pockets, his smirk falling slightly.
“That is… once I find my phone.”
“God, it's always something with you,” Tim shook his head, throwing a granola bar at Dick and then to Jason. “Can't take him anywhere.”
“I will spray you with a fire hose, little man.”
Dick tried to be as quiet as possible, but the apartment was pitch black and he had a terrible habit of running into things, especially when he couldn't see them.
He'd kicked off his boots by the door, not bothering to line them up next to the other shoes, and closed the door behind himself, locking the deadbolt in one swift motion. He threw his backpack on the couch and put the leftover spaghetti and garlic bread into the fridge for Wally to take to work with him for lunch.
By the time he'd made it to the bedroom his uniform shirt was unbuttoned and Wally was wide awake, a small, humored smile on his face as he took in Dick's untucked shirts and the way his hair escaped from the ponytail it had been corralled into fourteen hours ago.
“Sorry,” Dick winced, tossing his button down and then his white undershirt into the laundry hamper. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“I was already up. Waiting for you.”
“Liar.”
Wally flopped down dramatically, his crimson locks splaying out over his pillow. Dick rolled his eyes as he unbuckled his belt, hanging it on a hook he'd stuck to the side of the dresser for that exact reason.
“No, seriously, I was waiting patiently for you to bring me leftovers. I heard it was spaghetti night. Did you remember the garlic bread?”
“Of course I remembered the garlic- who the hell told you about spaghetti night?”
Wally tilted his head slightly, trying, and succeeding, at appearing coy.
“Bart.”
Dick pitched the bridge of his nose.
“And who the hell- ugh, Tim…”
Wally grinned, all teeth, as he inched closer to where Dick stood.
“And so I've been patiently awaiting my lover’s return, so that I may thank him for the glorious lunch I will consume come afternoon.”
“You are such a bad liar.”
“Okay, you caught me. It was actually your monstrous stomping that disrupted my beauty sleep, not the promise of pasta.”
“Poor baby,” Dick cooed in fake sympathy, pulling his 5-11 pants off so that they could join the other half of his uniform.
“Hey, someone has to get up and fix your shitty ambulances,” Wally said in mock-defense.
“And you fix them up so nicely, dear.”
“Don't patronize me,” Wally made a mad lunge for Dick’s body, wrapping his freckled arms tightly around his torso so that he could pull the half-naked man into bed with him.
“Wally!” Dick exclaimed, falling on top of the taller man, who had begun to try and wrap all four limbs around Dick like a spider might its prey. “I have to shower, I stink!”
“Can I join?”
“You have to work in, like, four hours.”
“Were you planning on showering for that long?”
Dick rolled himself out of Wally's grasp, causing the red head to pout quite pathetically. Dick stood and disappeared into the connecting bathroom, the sound of the faucet squeezing echoing from the open door, followed closely by water beginning to warm.
“Hurry up, West!”
Wally giggled like a school girl, kicking his feet in the air, before darting into the bathroom to join his fiance.
Later, after Wally had already left for work, Bruce called Dick, something he did in lieu of texting like every other human being on the planet. His phone rang for probably too long, as Dick had to try and find his way out from under the blanket cocoon he had wrapped himself in during the night. He almost knocked his cellphone clear off the nightstand but miraculously caught it, a move he was a bit sad to see go unwitnessed. Before the call could drop, Dick emerged, his hair wild and unruly as he swiped up on the green button.
“Did I wake you?”
“Of course not,” Dick replied, though considering he yawned mid-sentence he doubted his lie was very convincing.
“Did Tim talk to you at all about paramedic school?”
Straight to business, then. Bruce hardly ever wasted time with small talk and niceties, almost as if he was still worried about paying for phone minutes.
“He may have, he may have not, who’s asking?”
Dick, while he respected his adoptive father quite a bit, also lived and died by the Sibling Code, as did his younger brothers and sister. If Tim wasn't being forthcoming with Bruce about medic school then it wasn't Dick's business to go meddling. Best to see what information the old man had before he played too many cards, or however the saying went.
“Dick…”
“Why so interested? I think it'd be good for him. You and I both know it’s going to happen eventually.”
“Paramedic school is a big undertaking. It can be stressful-”
“Oh I'm well aware,” Dick interrupted, standing and stretching his limbs out at unnatural angles to elicit loud pops and cracks from his joints.
“Then you should remember what happened the last time a member of our family underwent the program.”
Dick froze, his entire body suddenly feeling like a statue in some forgotten corner of a museum. When he'd picked up the phone that morning he never would have guessed that the conversation would lead to where it currently was. He should have, the moment Bruce mentioned medic school. He should have guessed exactly what the man was thinking, should have predicted what he might say.
“That was different,” Dick said carefully, articulating his words in a way so that they did not waiver. “That wasn't… it wasn't as if the program… my circumstances-”
“I don't think he's ready,” Bruce said calmly, as if he hadn't just made Dick recall horrid memories. As if he hadn't reminded him of the price he paid for that red and gold emblem on his chest.
“Well I think he is, and supervisor trumps father, so there!”
“Richard-”
“Tim's not me,” Dick interjected, hating the sound of his government name. Bruce only pulled it out when he wanted to make a point. “Tim is… he's got a good thing going with Conner, and… he's not me. He's older than I was, smarter too. He's more than capable and I'll be there to help him if he needs it. So lay off!”
“I didn't mean to-”
“No!” Dick stormed his way from the bedroom to the living room, an overwhelming need to pace washing over him quite suddenly. “You don't… you don't get to casually bring that up at nine in the morning. That's not fair. That sucks, actually.”
“Dick-”
“I'll call you later. Maybe. We’ll see.”
Before Bruce could say anything else that would surely be interrupted, Dick ended the call and smothered the intrusive thought that told him to throw his phone against the wall and see it smash into million tiny pieces.
It would be far too annoying to pick up, after all.
“Did you get a chance to write it yet?”
Dick should have guessed Tim would be the first face to greet him when he finally made his way into the station, his wide blue eyes tracking his every move as Dick made his way to the computer to punch in.
“Write what?” Dick feigned ignorance, liking the way it annoyed Tim.
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, jerk!”
“I haven't the faintest idea,” Dick continued, watching with glee as Tim’s face contorted with anger.
“Stop rage-baiting me!”
“I have no clue what that is.”
Tim flopped down onto one of the couches with about as much grace as a deer that had just been shot.
“My letter of recommendation. Medic school. Surely your old man brain can remember that conversation.”
“Oh, that conversation. I apologize, it all begins to blend. You'll understand when you get to be my age.”
Tim shoved at Dick’s arm, but it lacked any real strength or effort.
“I'm serious, Dick.”
Dick was well aware. He could tell just by the way Tim's demeanor had changed. He'd gone from his goofy, slightly lopsided grin to an expression Dick was sure he'd stolen from Bruce, one that was all icy eyes and pursed lips.
“Are you sure about medic school? Like, really sure? Cause if you wanna wait, maybe get more experience, there's no shame in that. I could name you ten people here who worked as an EMT for a decade or more before jumping into medic.”
“What the hell is this?” Tim demanded, his eyebrows narrowing in betrayal. “I thought you'd be on my side.”
“Of course I'm on your side,” Dick argued. “Why wouldn't I be on your side?”
“Because you're trying to talk me out of this, just like Bruce!”
Ah, so Bruce had been playing him. Typical.
“I'm not talking you out of anything!” Dick began to walk towards the supervisor’s office, anticipating the conversation to turn more into a screaming match in the very near future.
“Yes you are, you totally are! Oh my God, what the hell, man?”
“I just want to make sure you're ready, is all. Medic school is-”
“If you say ‘hard’ or ‘stressful’ or any synonyms for those words I swear to God I'll scream. Just admit that you don't think I can do it!”
Dick sank into his desk chair, watching as Tim stood in front of his desk with his hands firm on his hips, his foot tapping rapidly against the linoleum floor.
“I think you can do anything, Tim, you know that. But you're young, I want to make sure you're ready and that you-”
“I'm not like you, you know,” Tim snapped, his glare sharp enough to cut through bone. “I'm not going to make the same mistakes you did. I'm not-”
Tim at least had the decency to cut himself off, but Dick only narrowed his eyes, the itchy hot prickle of rage beginning to creep up his neck.
“You're not what, Tim? Stupid? Naive? Any synonyms for those words?”
Tim sighed, running a hurried hand through his hair. He looked guilty, at least a little, but that didn’t really make Dick feel better. If anything it made him feel worse.
“Dick, I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t.”
“Just drop it,” Dick replied, not having the energy required to fight with Tim at the moment. Why his family was choosing that day to bring up his sordid past was beyond him, but he’d very much prefer it if they didn’t, thank you very much.
Tim opened his mouth, presumably to apologize once more or to offer up a rational explanation for his behavior, but he never got the chance as the shrill chime announcing a priority one call blared loudly throughout the office.
“C’mon,” Dick stood, pushing himself up a bit slower than usual. “We should probably take that.”
“People are weird,” Tim stated, readjusting his grip on the stretcher he was pushing as they walked out of the elevator of an apartment complex. “Guy's heart literally stopped and he doesn't wanna go get checked out?”
“Probably not his first rodeo,” Dick replied, pushing open the lobby doors and holding them open for Tim “People like to flirt with death. Makes them feel powerful or whatever.”
“Weird.”
“Agreed.”
They got back to their ambulance eventually, the remainder of their walk silent. There was still an awkward aura surrounding them from their previous argument and neither one wanted to be the first one to address it. Tim would have to apologize, for one, which is something he hated doing, and Dick would have to come to terms with the fact that he had agreed with his father for a moment and that was almost too much for him to bear.
Tim opened up the back door of the ambulance and aligned the stretcher into place so he could lift it. Once the motorized mechanism had done its job, Tim jumped into the back to replace the LIFEPAK on its charger and clean up the first in bag.
Dick walked around the ambulance, to the passenger side, to hopefully get a jump start on filling out the paperwork for the call, but was stopped by a figure with a hood pulled over his face, his hands hidden in his sweatshirt pocket.
“Evening,” he said, his voice sounding as if he smoked a few too many packs of cigarettes a day.
“Hello,” Dick replied, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He was starting to have one of his classic gut feelings and that wasn't a good thing. They usually only happened when patients started going south or dispatch asked him to hold over past quitting time.
“Bet you guys carry all sorts of stuff, for emergencies, ya know?”
“Yep, lots of stuff,” Dick silently prayed to any and all deities that the man would get out of his way and let him get into his rig.
“What kinda drugs you got in there?”
Dick knocked the side of his fist on the ambulance, hoping that maybe Tim would hear him from inside and call for back up, or at the very least come out and be another body so that they could out-number the guy.
“Hey, man, get out of here, I'm not giving you anything-”
The man removed his hands from his hoodie, a handgun coming with them to point directly at Dick.
“C’mon,” Dick raised his hands up, his heart racing in his chest. “You don't wanna do this.”
“Just give me what I need, man.”
Dick took a single step back but that only seemed to agitate the stranger more. His grip on the gun tightened and he raised it slightly.
“Hey, you coming in anytime soon?”
Dick had never been more glad, nor more afraid, to hear Tim's voice.
Tim rounded the corner of the rig, his eyes widening at the sight of a gun point at his older brother.
“Dick-”
Tim's sudden presence startled the man and he jumped, his finger that had been hovering over the trigger pressing down. The sound of the gun going off was deafening, but it was the sudden onslaught of pain now radiating in Dick's shoulder that was his main priority.
“Shit,” the man might have said before he disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared, the echo of his boots hitting pavement bouncing off the highrise exterior walls.
“Dick!”
Dick wasn't sure when exactly the world seemed to shift, his eyes staring steadily up at the sunset painted sky of Gotham. As a matter of fact, he wasn't too sure when he'd ended up on his back, his hair getting caught in all sorts of broken pavement pieces and miscellaneous bits of trash. He would have spent more time worrying about catching something if his shoulder didn't hurt so much.
“Oh, God, Dick, hang on, let me get the bag!”
Whoever was talking sounded as if they were underwater, or perhaps speaking through a busted radio. Dick blinked, his right hand rising towards his opposite shoulder. He didn't get far before something that felt vaguely like a hand wrapped in a nitrate glove wrapped around his wrist before he could make contact.
“Jesus, don't touch it! Goddamn it! Dispatch, this is Medic 437, we have a medic down, we need ALS and PD backup now!”
Dick wasn't sure why they needed ALS. Weren't they ALS?
“Medic 437, repeat?”
Dick was pretty sure he recognized the voice coming from Tim's radio. She sounded so familiar but his brain was beginning to get a bit fuzzy and it was hard to focus on much besides the fact that he was still in pain.
“It's… God, Barbara, it's Dick…”
“Tim, what happened?”
“He came out of nowhere, I was only in the rig for a minute at most!”
“Timothy!” Barbara said sharply, startling Tim out of his own head. “What happened to Dick?”
Tim unzipped the red pocket on his first-in bag and grabbed his trauma sheers so he could cut Dick's uniform shirt and expose his wound. It was bleeding pretty steadily though the wound wasn't too big. The gun had probably been a 9mm, if Tim had to guess.
“GSW, left shoulder. Guy fled the scene. He's breathing, airway is clear.”
“Good. PD should be there in five. ALS shouldn't be too far behind.”
“10-4,” Tim responded as he got the remainder of his needed supplies out. Five minutes. He could do five minutes.
Tim carefully lifted Dick and log rolled him towards his own body to check for an exit wound. Dick winced slightly in pain but otherwise remained semiconscious.
“There's an exit wound,” Tim breathed, supporting Dick's body in his lap so that he could retrieve some gauze and tape from his bag to dress the exit wound. It wasn't bleeding nearly as much as the entrance wound, so Tim only needed a few 4x4’s to get the job done.
He flipped Dick back over and grabbed his penlight from his shirt pocket. Using his free hand, Tim opened Dick’s eyelids to check his pupils.
“Equal and reactive. Good.”
Tim did his best to cover the wound on Dick's shoulder but he could tell it would begin to bleed through the gauze much faster than he liked. He forced himself to remain calm, though. He could already begin to hear the sound of sirens in the distance, signaling that his backup wasn't too far away.
“How's it going, Tim?”
Tim took a deep breath.
“Dick? Can you hear me?”
Dick didn't react. Tim performed a trapezius squeeze and Dick’s eyes moved behind his eyelids for a moment before opening. He looked confused, his blue eyes clouded over in pain.
“Stop…”
“Dick, can you hear me?”
Dick turned his head away and closed his eyes once more. Tim pressed down on Dick’s wound, causing the older man to curl up slightly, his eyes squeezing shut.
“He’s stable, GCS is a nine. Wound is bleeding pretty bad still even with pressure.”
“Donna and Cassie will be there soon, hang in there.”
Soon ended up being only a little over a minute later. Donna was calm and collected as she walked over, Cassie following behind with their stretcher. Even with such a neutral look on her face, Tim could tell Donna was worried. Dick and she had gone through medic school together and were still very close, even outside of work.
“Where's the guy who shot him?” Cassies asked as she pulled the first in bag off the stretcher.
“Who gives a damn. Help me get him up,” Donna replied, perhaps a bit sharper than she intended to.
Tim and Cassie followed her lead, transferring Dick onto the stretcher easily enough. Compared to their usual patients, he didn't weigh all that much.
“PD should be here shortly. You should take your rig back to the station once they're through with you.”
“But-”
“The second I drop him at General I'll call you,” Donna interrupted. “Promise.”
Tim still hated not being able to go with Dick, though he knew rationally that was never an option. Donna was one of the best medics they had, and Tim knew from EVOC that Cassie had a lead foot. Dick couldn't possibly be in better hands.
“Okay,” Tim relented. “Take care of him.”
“You know I will.”
Tim didn't reply as he watched Cassie load Dick into the back, Donna jumping in behind him before the back doors closed.
“You did good, Tim,” Cassie said, her eyes not quite meeting Tim’s. “He'll pull through. He's tough.”
“Yeah,” Tim exhaled sharply, looking down at his gloved hands covered in Dick's blood. He'd need a new shirt too; the white fabric was beyond saving.
Cassie tried her best at a reassuring smile before climbing into the driver's seat.
Tim tried to look away from the blood but couldn't quite bring himself to do it just yet.
Dick woke up slowly and with quite possibly the world's worst headache.
The room was too white, too clean and sterile looking to be his own. The familiar weight of his fiance lying by his side wasn't there and the bed was much more uncomfortable than his own.
“You're in the hospital, dip shit.”
Dick wasn't sure if he had verbalized his confusion or if perhaps he'd just had a certain look on his face. Either way, Jason had answered his question.
Dick turned his head to the side. He could feel the pinch of an IV in his arm when he moved it and saw his current vitals on a screen not too far away from where he laid.
Yes, definitely a hospital.
“Hi,” Dick tried, though his throat was rough and scratchy, in desperate need of water.
That need was quickly met as Wally, who Dick had just noticed, brought a Styrofoam cup with a bendy straw to his lips. Dick took a few grateful sips before Wally pulled it away and set it on the table that nested above Dick's hospital bed.
“Sorry if I scared you,” Dick said, his eyes on Bruce, who had positioned himself a bit farther away than Dick would have liked him to be. He was still in scrubs. He'd probably been in the ED when they brought Dick in. He'd probably seen his eldest being rolled through the ambulance bay doors and freaked out. It was probably his worst nightmare come to life.
“You didn't,” Bruce replied.
Jason snorted. “Yeah, right. Even Selina couldn't get him to take a shower and change. He's been off shift for a few hours now.”
“Where's Tim?”
Jason's smirk fell slightly. “Made him go get coffee. He's being… Tim about it all.”
So he blamed himself then. Great.
“I want to see him.”
“Cass is with him now,” Wally said, his hand grabbing Dick’s and tightening. Dick squeezed back weakly. “Damian too.”
“I want to see him,” Dick repeated. “Tell him I’m not mad at him.”
There was a soft knock at the hospital room door. Everyone turned to look at the door and then back at Dick expectantly, waiting for him to give the okay. Dick nodded.
“Come in,” Bruce called.
The door opened to reveal the remainder of Dick’s siblings. Cass entered first, a comforting smile on her face. Damian pushed past her, a determined look on his face as he rushed towards Dick’s bed. Tim hung back slightly, a paper coffee cup gripped tightly in his hands, his eyes staring intently at the multicolored floor tiles.
“I’m alright, Dami,” Dick reassured. He couldn’t help but smirk at the way Damian elbowed Wally out of the way so that he could be closer to Dick.
“I know. Father did a good job.”
Dick looked back at Bruce. “You were-”
“Wouldn’t trust anyone else,” Cass said. “I helped. A little.”
Cass was Bruce’s most promising intern, and his daughter, so that made sense. Selina had probably been the only nurse he let near him.
“Tim,” Dick looked past his family and towards the door, where Tim still stood. He looked up at his name, his eyes watery.
“Oh, Timmy-”
Tim wasted no time in abandoning his coffee cup in favor of tackling Dick in as gentle of a hug as he could manage considering his momentum. Dick only winced slightly but the pain was dull and didn’t matter to him, not when Tim was in his arms sobbing into his hospital gown.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Tim cried.
“What are you sorry for?” Dick asked, running a hand through Tim’s thick hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I wasn’t there, I left you-”
“You saved me,” Dick pulled back to look at Tim, his face red and blotchy. Dick tucked a stray strand of hair behind Tim’s ear as he sniffled, trying to slow the flow of tears. “You did exactly what you were supposed to. I’m so proud of you.”
“Really?” Tim looked so hopeful, so terribly, horribly young at that moment. So much like Dick at that age.
“You’re going to make a great medic.”
Jason cleared his throat, looking a bit awkward to be interrupting the moment. “We should probably let you get some rest. Here are some get well cards. Kory put me in charge.”
Jason deposited the colorful envelopes on Dick’s table. There was one from the fire station and Dick could see another from his own station. He smiled softly.
“Thanks, Jay.”
Bruce stood from his chair. “Call if you need anything. I’ll be-”
“You’ll be at home,” Dick responded. “Also getting sleep. I’ll be okay.”
Cass began ushering Bruce out and Dick knew between her and Alfred he’d be no match. Jason wrangled Damian and Tim with a half-hearted promise to buy them lunch if they stayed under ten bucks each. Soon enough, Dick was alone with Wally, the red-head watching him as if he was the most interesting thing in the world. Maybe to Wally he was.
“How are you?” Wally asked. “Seriously.”
“Seriously?” Dick asked. “I’ve been better.”
“I imagine so.”
“You don’t have to stay. You can go home.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I want you to know that I’m okay.”
Wally chuckled softly. He leaned over and kissed Dick gently on his forehead.
“I know.”
“You can stay, but only if you promise to get some sleep. Your eye bags have eye bags.”
“You shouldn’t be throwing rocks in glass houses, my love,” Wally stuck his tongue out as he settled down in the recliner chair meant for patients, rolling over so that he was facing Dick.
“Sleep.”
“I love you,” Wally said in-between a yawn, his eyes already beginning to droop now that he was lying down.
“I love you too,” Dick smiled, looking away so that he could turn his attention to his pile of cards. They were all very sweet and varied from heartfelt wishes to jokes and crude stick figure drawings. There was even one from the emergency department staff and Dick was sure that was Selina’s doing. There was one from Barbara and the rest of the dispatch team, and even one from local PD though he tossed that one aside without feeling too bad about it. At the bottom of the stack was one last envelope, one that wasn’t labeled with his name like the others had been. It was completely blank, which wasn’t too weird, but the lack of handwriting meant Dick had a harder time guessing who it had come from.
Dick ripped the seal and pulled the card out to reveal a nice watercolor image of a bird with cursive printed writing wishing him to get well soon. Dick’s smile remained on his face until he actually opened the card to reveal blocky handwriting he knew far too well.
See you soon, little bird.