Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So, let me get this straight. Just so I'm perfectly clear on all the details here. You drove all the way from Gotham to Bludhaven to bring me the pain pills that I'd left at the manor. But instead of giving me a call or even knocking on the door like a normal person, you BREAK INTO my apartment and rustle around in the dark because the world's greatest detective can't find where the light switch is?! Ahh..." Dick let out a hiss of pain.

They were sitting on his couch. Dick was now shirtless. Bruce had a suture kit in hand and was carefully sewing up the torn stitch in his side.

"You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you." Bruce said simply. As if it explained everything.

"But then when I did wake up, you couldn't just say, 'oh, hey there, Dick, just dropping by to give you pain pills!' I attacked you, Bruce! I thought you were trying to rob me."

There was a low sound in Bruce's voice, almost a growl. His voice coming out more Batman than Bruce. "You... Surprised me." He said as he finished the stitch. 

Dick looked incredulous. No one surprised Bruce Wayne. No one surprised Batman. But as he really looked at Bruce, he saw just how tired the older man looked. His handsome face was weary and worn down. Dark circles had made their home under his eyes. 

"You haven't been sleeping." Dick stated.

"We're not here to talk about me." Bruce deflected, placing a bandage over his handy work. 

"Of course not..." Dick muttered.

Bruce ignored the comment.

"I'm going to rewrap your ribs. We need to stabilize them in case any other injuries occurred. I'll rewrap your wrist and thumb as well, then you'll be back in the sling and won’t be taking it off for at least another week. Understood?"

Dick nodded. He was used to orders like this. There was no sense in arguing or putting up a fight. It wasn't like Dick was trying to get himself even more injured. The faster he healed, the sooner he would be back patrolling his beloved Bludhaven.

Dick watched as Bruce wrapped his wrist. The hands that had seen so much battle and brought Gotham's darkest criminals to justice were surprisingly gentle. Bruce cradled the broken wrist delicately, turning it slowly as he wrapped it with a bandage. Silence fell between them and Dick didn't know what to make of that. There was usually silence surrounding Bruce Wayne, but this felt different. This felt heavier and Dick couldn't take that heaviness. So he broke the silence with a question.

"How's Damian."

Bruce didn't even look up at him.

"Managing."

"He lost his mother."

"Something we are both familiar with." Bruce said quietly. He smoothed over the freshly wrapped bandage with this thumb. For a moment it lingered over Dick's radial pulse.

Dick watched Bruce's still thumb as the silence fell again. 

"And... How are you?" Dick managed to say.

There was a lingering pause.

"Managing." Bruce replied, releasing Dick's wrist to grab the sling off the arm of the couch.

"Are you sure about that?"

"We're not doing this right now, Dick."

"You lost the mother of your son. Your real son. I don't know exactly what you felt for her, but either way... That can't be easy... And with everything she put you and Damian through—!"

"I didn't love her." Bruce said suddenly. Dick could see his grip on the sling tighten. "Never did. I mourn her death because Damian loved her. But she's not the reason I'm..." Bruce trailed off before shaking his head. "Let me see your arm."

It always went like this. Anytime Bruce came close to letting anyone in, a wall would immediately go up—a fortress that no one in the world could break through. Dick had seen this wall many times. He had pounded against the cold stone door, begging and screaming to be let in. But the doors would always remain closed, and Dick was sick of it.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not letting you see my arm." Dick stood slowly, ignoring the wave of dizziness in his head. He had a point to make and he would be triple damned to make it.

"Dick, sit back down. You'll pull your stitches again." Bruce sounded exasperated, going on irritated which made Dick smirk.

"Good. Maybe I'll bleed out all over the floor. Then you won't have to worry about poor old Richard Grayson anymore." He moved to the kitchen, ignoring the way his shoulder ached as his arm swung at his side. He rifled through the refrigerator, pretending to be looking for something to eat. He heard Bruce get up from the couch and lean against the door frame. Bruce had taken his little bait.

"You're acting like a child, Dick. Not even Damian would act like—!"

"Don't you DARE compare me to him!" The words flew out of Dick's mouth before he could even register what he had said. He slammed the fridge door so hard that several jars rattled, one falling and shattering. He would worry about that later.  Right now all he could focus on was the man in front of him who looked like a balloon that had been deflated. Dick had never seen him look like that before–defeated. No one defeated Bruce Wayne. He had the urge to go to Bruce, to pull him to his chest, and hold him. He wanted to tell Bruce that everything was going to be all right. That after everything was said and done, Dick was here for him. Dick was here with him. Dick had always been here with him. Dick was just... Here . But Dick was also incredibly stubborn, and the anger that raged in his heart wouldn't allow him the chance to say any of that. 

Silence fell again. Dick hated it. But to his surprise, he wasn't the first one to break it this time.

"Richard.”

Bruce rarely ever used his first name. It was saved for near death experiences or nightmares, and since Dick had moved out of the manor the latter was pretty much eliminated. 

Dick stayed where he was; silent and seething. 

"I've never compared you to Damian. Not once." Bruce spoke slowly, as if he was choosing his words very carefully. As if anything he said would light the match that would start the fire of Dick's anger again. 

But Dick was coming down from the outburst, leaving him painfully exhausted. "Just… Forget it, Bruce. I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't fair to you. I'm just tired, okay? It's been a pretty hectic few weeks. But you've been through hell, and I'm sorry."

"You don't get to say that."

That threw Dick for a loop, the fading embers of his temper brightening. "Excuse me?"

Bruce visibly flinched. It was clear the words had also left his mouth before he could speak.

For all the training that both of them had been through to keep calm and composed under any circumstance, they certainly had a way of shattering that when the masks were off.

"'Sorry.' You don't get to say that. If anything, I…" But Bruce shook his head. "We need to get you back in the sling and elevate your wrist before it starts swelling again." And with that he turned, heading back to the living room.

Dick couldn't help but let out a dry laugh. Is this how it would always be? Would the two of them never be able to communicate like actual people? People who maybe actually cared for one another? Would they just meet at the edge and never jump off? Or throw up walls of anger as defense, arguing forever because shouting was so much easier than talking?

He leaned wearily against the door frame, watching as Bruce adjusted the sling.

“Why do you always run from me?” Dick’s voice was strangely calm. It surprised even himself. Maybe it was the pain hitting him or maybe he was just tired of banging against fortress doors that would never open for him.

Bruce’s body tensed, but he continued to fiddle with the sling. “Dick, I’m not–” 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Bruce suddenly looked up at him, the sling dropping from his hands. His green eyes were hard and there was a hint of something else in them. Fear? No. Batman… Bruce Wayne would never let fear show on his face. 

Dick continued, weariness etched into his voice, “I feel like a yoyo, Bruce. You throw me out and then pull me back in only when it’s convenient for you. And I just keep letting it happen. Dropping everything here in Bludhaven to help you with cases in Gotham, becoming Batman while you were gone, trying to keep an eye on Damian… Trying to find where you were. And when we finally brought you back home, the only thing you could do was chastise me that I let Kate and Luke help.”

Dick suddenly let out a laugh. It was dry and hollow–empty. “Did you know that Damian thought I wanted you dead? That I actually wanted to be Batman more than having you back and alive?” Dick knew he was rambling. Dick knew that he was being weak. He never allowed himself to fall apart, especially not in front of Bruce. But all of the anger, despair, and fear that he had shoved down for the past few weeks was starting to seep through the cracks of his soul. “I’ve never wanted you dead. Sure, I’ve hated you. I’ve been angry with you. You drive me fucking crazy sometimes, but I could never…” He felt his voice break and he cleared his throat to regain control. “Sorry. Probably the pain talking. I’ll put the sling on so you can–!”

“I told you, you don’t get to say ‘sorry.’ Why do you always–!? Why can’t you just–!?” Bruce seemed to stop himself before finishing even a single thought, but Dick didn’t have the energy to call him out. But it took him by surprise when Bruce suddenly called himself out.

“Why can’t I just say anything to you?” 

Dick looked up, blue eyes widening as Bruce suddenly stepped in front of him, closing their distance. His warm, calloused hands held Dick’s face as if he was the most fragile thing in the world, as if he would shatter in an instant.

 “Why do I run from you?” His breath ghosted over Dick’s face. His voice was low and gruff, but it wasn’t Batman talking. It was Bruce Wayne, raw and real and standing in front of him. “Why can’t I just say ‘thank you?’” His thumbs slid gently over Dick’s cheekbones. “That I’m grateful for everything you did. You went above and beyond to protect the city when I couldn’t. You watched over my son. You trained him and stayed at his bedside when he was injured even after all the hell he’s given you.” His hands slid into Dick’s hair, fingers raking through its black softness. He gripped the locks gently, pulling their faces closer to press their foreheads together. 

Bruce closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of the man before him. 

“You saved me. My physical body, but also…” his eyes opened. “You pulled me out of myself. You shattered the hold that Talia had on me. You stopped me from killing my son. From killing you.” Bruce’s hands slid down to Dick’s neck, his thumbs resting on his carotid arteries. He felt every beat of Dick’s pulse, feeling the life that stood in front of him–the life he had almost taken. “I almost killed you. I almost killed you.” Bruce’s voice quivered, sucking in a breath as the hands that touched Dick trembled. “How do I tell you that you are the best man I’ve ever known. You are the best of all of us. The best of me. You are the best of me, Dick Grayson.” He pressed his forehead to Dick’s uninjured shoulder, unable to meet his wide-eyed gaze. “How do I tell you that I love you?”

“Bruce, I think you just did.”