Chapter Text
A rush of adrenaline shot through Dick as his knee buckled under him. He just barely managed to grip the brick wall in time to steady himself, scraping his hand in the process. His leg landed harshly in a puddle, the sound of the misstep cascading off the walls. "Son of a-" He hissed under his breath.
He ran an agitated hand through his hair, blowing a shaky breath out as he pushed himself up and continued to limp down the grimy alleyway.
Only an hour into patrol and he wanted to head home. How pathetic. He let out another irritated huff as a sharp sting of pain throbbed from his knee and up his thigh. The tight, constricting material of his suit certainly wasn't helping the issue. A part of him was tempted to just tear right through his uniform to leave his right leg bare.
Dick sighed. He could do that, but it would be horribly inefficient. And maybe even a tad indecent.
He prayed none of the criminals he had apprehended for the night had noticed the way he favored one leg over the other, how he almost let out an undignified yelp when one of them got a nasty hit right near the aggravated area.
Maybe after two and a half decades of circus tricks his legs were finally kicking the can. He couldn't exactly blame them; it was his own stupid fault.
Two nights ago, he had thought he could land this jump between two rooftops. It seemed so close. So easy. Dick also knew he was anything but a novice to these types of stunts, so even if he happened to slightly miscalculate the distance, he could easily recover. If Bruce taught him anything, it was how to adapt.
He had not adapted.
And his right knee had paid the price, as he landed awkwardly and much harsher than he intended. It was like lightning had shot through him, like someone had shot a taser at his femur and didn't stop until he crumbled under the pressure. Since it had been on his way back from patrol, he didn't think he had overexerted himself aside from practically crawling home. Dick figured some ice and a good night's sleep would be enough to alleviate the injury.
It had not.
To his shocking dismay, the next morning, his knee hadn't felt better. It had swelled to the size of a ripe grapefruit, and holy hospital, Batman, it hurt.
He had been hobbling all day. Hobbling to the bathroom, hobbling to the kitchen, hobbling to back to bed to curl up and die, hobbling to go for a walk because "Hey, maybe fresh air will help"(it did not), hobbling out to patrol because crime waited for no one, and now hobbling down a dark alleyway with the vulnerability of a senior citizen.
Dick was incredibly appreciative of the freedom he had going solo as Nightwing. He relished it. But now, with a full night ahead and his leg begging to be severed, he couldn't help but remember what it was like when he royally messed up as Robin.
Getting an injury hadn't been too big of a deal back then. Dick, even knowing it was pointless, would usually try to hide it from Bruce, before being figured out in 0.2 seconds and forced onto the sidelines. Bruce would pick up whatever pieces Dick had left and watch over Gotham for the rest of the night. Sure, Dick would sulk and feel terrible about being benched, but deep down he knew Bruce would make it work somehow.
But he wasn't Robin anymore. Dick didn't have a mentor or a sidekick. It was just him. And Blüdhaven needed a hero, needed Nightwing, so he couldn't just stay home. The Wayne family laughed in the face of rest. He could suck it up. He could.
But Dick would also be lying if he said the thought of curling up in bed with Bitewing wasn't grossly appealing. He shook his head, hobbling further.
A loud male voice echoed from up ahead, followed by a women's shrill cry.
Dick's head snapped up, his eyes stretched wide behind his domino mask at the sound. He immediately began to run, abandoning the wall and rushing forward. The pain in his knee reacted accordingly, flaring mercilessly and sending a sharp spike of pain that took his breath away. His leg buckled, and this time he didn't catch the wall. Mud splashed and got in his hair as he slammed head first into the gravelly puddles.
The voices up ahead got louder. More aggressive. Sweat dripped down Dick's neck. Someone was in trouble- someone needed him, and he was just laying pathetically on the ground. He pushed himself up, letting out an exasperated groan. He began to stand onto his right knee, but found he couldn't put even an ounce of weight on it. He bit his lip. Crap crap crap.
It didn't matter if he couldn't, he decided, he would have to. Taking a deep breath, he heaved himself from the grubble, heaving one foot after the other until it became an uneven sprint. He clenched his fists the whole way, eyes watering at the sharp pain tearing through his leg. Every footstep pounded with such force he would've screamed bloody murder on any other occasion.
He was about to turn the corner, when he realized the voices had stopped. It was quiet. Eerily quiet.
As he made a hard left, he was met with two unconscious bodies and the woman who had screamed. But she wasn't screaming now; instead, she was talking to a man.
Specifically Batman.
…Batman?
Dick came to a stop and stumbled a bit. He stared at his father who seemed to be getting the details from the woman.
Hell no.
Whatever his father was doing here was none of his business. All he knew was that he had to get out of here before Bruce saw him.
But right as Dick went to turn on his heel and make his getaway, Batman sharply turned in his direction. "Nightwing."
Dick startled.
Damn it.
"…Hey, Batman," He said, cringing at how strained his confidence sounded. Bruce stared at him for a moment. Too long of a moment, Dick decided.
His leg was absolutely throbbing now, not just his knee. His thigh, his calf, his shin; all of it spiderwebbed from the crater of pain that was his kneecap.
But what was giving him away? Dick frantically searched himself, thinking of what could possibly be the reason for Bruce's staring.
Shoot.
He had been favoring his left leg instinctively.
He looked up at his father and ever so nonchalantly shifted so the weight was evenly distributed between his legs. His right leg imploded in protest.
He wanted to scream.
"Nice to see you," Dick managed to squeak out. "Looks like you've handled the lovely damsel- hello to you, madame- so I think I'm just gonna-"
"Stay there." Bruce ordered, before turning back to the woman.
Dick's mouth clamped shut. He pressed his lips into a thin line. Bruce knew. He had to. Dick's mind immediately begin whirring with different excuses, different ways to get out of this. He did not want a lecture. Or to be… heaven forbid… benched.
He furrowed his eyebrows…could Bruce even still do that? Could Dick be benched?
He blinked.
He didn't know.
A part of him wanted to think that of course not, of course he couldn't be benched, he was a grown man for Pete's sake.
…But the other part of him wasn't really sure if he could go against Bruce's word.
"Nightwing."
Dick snapped back to reality. He glanced at the woman, who was seemingly sent on her way to one of Blüdhaven's police officers. He swallowed.
"Yeah. What's up, B? I didn't know you were in the area." On any other day he would ask why Bruce happened to be here, but he was in so much agony. He just needed a place to collapse for a few minutes then he'd be good to patrol the rest of the night. He just needed to be free from Bruce's scrutiny.
Bruce stalked towards him.
Dick had to stop himself from instinctively backing up.
Damn. Is this how criminals felt? No wonder they screamed.
"What happened?" Bruce grit out. Sounded less like a question and more of a demand.
Without thinking, Nightwing went into full report mode, into the familiar back and forth rhythm they'd developed over years of working together. "I was back by the alleyway," (definitely not on his hands and knees),"-when I heard men's voices and a woman scream. I-"
"Not that." Bruce interrupted.
Dick squinted his eyes in confusion. "…What do you mean then?"
Bruce's hand shot out from his billowing cape, pointing.
Pointing at Dick's knee.
"What happened?" His father repeated.
A droplet of sweat slid down the side of Dick's face.
Play it cool.
"What do you mean?" He asked innocently.
"Nightwing." Bruce practically scolded. "You're a terrible liar, so don't even try." Before Dick could protest, his father continued. "What happened?"
Dick pursed his lips for a moment, annoyed. Of course Bruce could tell. He was a fool for trying to hide it as Robin and he was a fool now. A defeated sigh left Dick's lips as he looked back up at him. "What gave it away?" He asked flatly.
Bruce narrowed his eyebrows. "Everything."
Dick clicked his tongue irritably.
Everything. The hell did that even mean? He said it like it was so obvious. But then again, to Bruce, it probably was. They had known each other so long Dick wouldn't be surprised if Bruce knew the number of hairs on his head.
His leg ached. He shifted his weight back onto his good leg. No use in hiding it. But damn it all, he wanted to sit so bad. To crawl back home. Hell, maybe even to be carried there.
"Look, it's really nothing," Dick lied. "So why don't you just-"
"Dick," Bruce said roughly.
Dick chewed his lip.
"Go home. Call Leslie."
"Okay, okay, I will, after patrol-"
"No," Bruce argued. "Go home now."
Dick let out an exasperated huff, dropping his arms to his sides. "B, I'm not just gonna go home! It's a small thing, it's fine, it'll probably feel better if I walk it off anyways."
Bruce's face pulled into a scowl. "You think you can work efficiently like this?"
"Yes."
"Answer honestly."
Dick looked to the side.
His leg ached miserably.
If he were to answer honestly, he'd have to admit he wasn't positive he could walk away without falling.
"…Br…B, you know I can't just go home," Dick explained quietly. "I've got a whole night ahead of me- even that, just now, with those robbers and that lady- if you or me weren't there, they would've-"
"But I was here," Bruce interrupted. He stepped even closer, lowering his voice. "When did this happen?"
"I just- it was stupid," Dick said, frustrated. "I missed a jump, landed wrong. It was a dumb mistake."
"I've had my fair share of those," Bruce hummed. Dick frowned at the attempted consolation. His father continued his interrogation. "When was this?"
Dick looked to the side. "Two days ago."
"Has it gotten worse?"
Dick nodded.
"It looks swollen." Bruce commented.
"It is swollen," Dick said, upset.
He was just so mad. None of this would've happened if he had been more careful. He wondered for an agonizing moment if he would've made such a rookie mistake if he were still working alongside Bruce.
Is that what he needed? To be supervised? Chaperoned? Babysat?
He was surprised when a hand met his shoulder. "You're going to hurt yourself, chum." Bruce started, looking Dick in the eyes. "I can take over for tonight. But you should come back to the Manor. We'll get you checked out and treated so you can get back to normal."
Dick looked back at Bruce.
That comforting tone. Dick hadn't heard it in a bit. It made him oddly sentimental. It wasn't like him and Bruce were on bad terms. He frequently talked to the man.
But right now, having his father pat his shoulder and tell him everything would be okay; it made him feel a bit like a child again. And Dick couldn't find it in himself to mind.
He also didn't exactly mind being back at the Manor for the night. He could use Alfred at a time like this. Hell, he could use Alfred all the time, but especially now. And he could boss around his brothers if he wanted.
Guilt began to roll in his stomach at the thought of abandoning Blüdhaven, but it was met with an exhausted resignation. One night off, as hard a pill as it as to swallow, shouldn't be the end of the world. It had been hard enough even just walking to the kitchen that morning. He wasn't sure it made much of a difference what city he was in; Gotham or Blüdhaven, he was useless as he was. Being treated at the Batcave was always easier anyways. No questions were asked, and Alfred was disgustingly thorough. Dick had no doubt he would be in good hands. He'd be home.
He looked up at Bruce.
All the exhaustion, all the fear, all the pain; it came crashing down onto him. He stumbled for a moment, his leg giving out for the second time that night.
But this time he didn't fall.
Bruce steadied him with his hand, supporting his shoulder. "Do you want to lie down?"
"No," Dick grit out, not bothering to hide the strain in his voice anymore. "No, I just- I just need to get home. Some ice and it'll be good, I think."
Bruce scoffed. "You need more than ice. At the very least a brace. And crutches."
"Crutches?" Dick squawked. "B- I don't need crutches. I just gotta lay off it for a bit."
…For a bit? It suddenly hit him.
A day's rest wasn't gonna do crap.
But he couldn't just… take time off.
Nerves itched under his skin. He wasn't Robin and he definitely wasn't Batman; he didn't have a team. But he did have a city in need of protecting. "Bruce I gotta- I'll stay the night, but after that I need to-"
"What you need to do," Bruce interrupted. He gripped his shoulder firmer. "Is come home. And-" He ignored Dick opening his mouth in protest. "I will figure it out. I'm not going to leave Blüdhaven defenseless."
Nightwing chewed the inside of his cheek. It couldn't possibly be that easy-
"Stop that."
Nightwing looked up. "…Stop what?"
"Worrying," Bruce said dismissively. "I know that look. Do you trust me?"
Dick swallowed, but he knew the answer. He looked Batman in eyes, internally comforted by knowing the man who was behind it. He nodded.
"Good." Bruce said. "Then trust I mean what I say. You're coming home. I'll drive you. Let's go."
Dick scrunched his eyebrows. "You- now?"
"Yes. I said I'll figure it out. Let's go."
"B- you- okay," Dick relented with a sigh.
Bruce heaved one of Dick's arms over his shoulders with a gentleness Dick was long familiar with. "Careful. Can you make it to the Batmobile?" Bruce nodded at the car parked a couple hundred yards ahead of them.
Dick smiled. "I think I can manage. No fireman carry necessary."
Bruce grunted affirmatively and the two of them started their trek towards the vehicle. Dick took in the way Bruce was going as slow as possible to match his pace.
"By the way," Dick started as he limped. "What are you even doing in Blüdhaven? Missed me that bad?" He joked cheekily.
Bruce didn't reply.
Dick waited a beat before his smile slowly faded, replaced by a bewildered scrunch of his face.
He stopped and whipped his head to look at his father. "Did you really? Is that why you're here?" He asked in disbelief, grinning.
Bruce didn't look at him, instead urging the two of them forward to resume their walk. "Is that a problem?" He finally asked.
Dick smiled even wider. "No. Not a problem at all."