Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alfred was busy tidying up the kitchen from the morning’s breakfast. It had been an incredibly stressful month and he was grateful for a bit of normalcy around the manor.

Bruce Wayne entered the kitchen followed by Damian. The father and son had been out in the garden having a ‘heart to heart’ as Alfred had described to Master Dick nearly an hour ago.

Damian walked ahead of his father, passing Alfred as he made his way to the main part of the manor.

“Tea, Pennyworth. My usual way. I’ll take it up in my room.”

Bruce cleared his throat expectantly which made Damian let out a huff.

“Please.”

“Right away, Master Damian.” Alfred replied, though there was the faintest of smiles on his face at Bruce’s fatherly reprimand. He waited until Damian was well out of ear shot before looking up at the younger man. “Everything go all right, Master Bruce?”

“Fine.” Bruce replied. Alfred noted the weariness in his tone. “We talked about a lot of things. I’m sure there’s still more we need to discuss but…” he trailed off looking around the kitchen, his eyes glancing at the fresh bottle of pain pills sitting on the counter. His brow furrowed.
"Where's Dick?"

"Master Dick has already made his way back to Bludhaven, sir"

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. "He's still injured."

"Yes, I made him very aware of that, sir. But Master Dick was quite adamant about leaving. He says he wishes you and Master Damian the best."

"That sounds like more than a goodbye."

"Yes, I had the same thoughts as well, Master Bruce. But perhaps Master Dick wants to avoid places that make him feel... Underappreciated." Alfred kept his tone even as he set the last of the dishes to dry on the drying rack.

Bruce thought about the butler’s words carefully before asking, “How so?"

Alfred dried his hands on a towel. "Follow me, sir.”

The pair made their way down to the Batcave. Alfred took a seat at the main computer beginning to type.

“Master Dick took over the role of Batman in your absence, sir.”

Alfred pulled up security footage from the week that Dick had decided to wear the cowl. Bruce watched as Dick stared at the glass case that held one of the Batman suits. He could see the tension in the younger man’s shoulders, and Bruce was almost grateful that the camera angle didn’t show Dick’s expression. Bruce knew that it was something that Dick had never wanted to do. Dick had never wanted to be The Batman. And Bruce’s mistakes had forced him to do just that.

Bruce folded his arms over his chest. “This I already know, Alfred. Dick debriefed me on everything.”

Alfred pressed another button. The security footage changed. It wasn’t Nightwing on the screen anymore. It was Batman.

Bruce knew that Dick had put on the cowl, but seeing him actually in it; seeing the young man who was full of light and life take on the mantle that held such darkness made a lump form in his throat.

“Chilling. Isn’t it, Master Bruce?” Alfred glanced up at the other man.

“He never should have had to do this.”

“Indeed not, sir. But Master Dick did what he thought needed to be done and quite more. Did he tell you that he stayed at the manor to help Master Damian with his training?”

The security footage changed again showing the training area. Dick was dressed in sweats and a gray tank, the front dark with sweat. Damian was dressed similarly and the two were sparring together. But it was like no sparring Bruce had ever seen.

“Zoom in, Alfred.” Bruce suddenly said.

Alfred did as Bruce asked, the camera zooming in on the former and current Robins.

They were… Juggling.

They each juggled three balls while using only their legs to attack one another. Dick dodged Damian’s kicks easily, never faltering once in his juggling. Despite Damian’s years of training with the League of Shadows, he struggled to maintain precise passes with the balls while trying to land a kick on the older man. It looked like the young Wayne’s temper was rising.

“Volume.” This earned Bruce a look from Alfred before the dark knight cleared his throat, “Please..”

“Very good, Master Bruce,” Alfred spoke as he adjusted the volume knob.

“--is pointless, Grayson. I don’t need to learn stupid games from an orphaned circus brat.” Damian jumped forward with a spin kick, but stopped short as he lost control of one of the balls. He stumbled to the side regaining his footing as he righted his juggling passes.

Bruce’s eyes moved to Dick. His bright blue eyes looked weary–a sign that he had been patrolling late as Batman. There were a few small bandages wrapped around his arms and a small one on his cheek. Not even Batman was immune to damage. But despite his evident exhaustion, the young man was grinning playfully at the frustrated Wayne.

“You were the one who asked for a training regimen, Damian. I’m just giving you what you asked for!” Dick dodged another one of Damian’s kicks by doing a backflip. His juggling uninterrupted by the showy display.

Damian snorted, “I should be practicing with swords. Not watching you needlessly show off. You waste energy that could be put towards crushing your enemies.” But Damian didn’t stop juggling. If anything, he looked even more determined.

“Anyone can use a sword. But what happens when you become disarmed? You’re gifted at hand to hand combat, sure, but what if you break a hand or dislocate a shoulder? Legs are a powerful weapon, especially when you run out of other options.”

“Speaking from experience, Grayson?”

Dick shrugged, keeping the balls moving easily in his hands. “I’ve shattered an arm or two in my day.”

“Swords can be just as good of a weapon as legs,” Damian countered. “You should try one sometime, Grayson. You might find you like it!” Damian launched himself at Dick again but this time he dashed to the left, getting behind him. He let out a victorious cry as he aimed his kick for the back of Dick’s knees.

Damian could best Dick in most styles of combat, but he couldn’t hold a candle to the legs of a Flying Grayson. Dick bent his legs before launching himself into the air in a backwards, twisting flip right over Damian’s head. The younger Wayne looked up at him in genuine surprise, losing his grip on the juggling balls. But as Dick flew through the air, he incorporated the falling balls into his own juggling passes. He landed easily on two feet, continuing to juggle his now total of six balls while Damian uncharacteristically crash landed into a heap on the floor.

“I could try out a sword, but I guess I’ve never seen the point.” Dick couldn’t stop the grin that was plastered on his face. His pun earned him an annoyed groan as Damian sat up.

It was then that Alfred walked into the cave to announce that lunch was ready. Dick stopped juggling, catching the six balls easily before dropping them on the ground. Damian hopped up at the mention of lunch.

Dick placed a warm hand on his shoulder, leaning down to murmur something that the security audio couldn’t pick up.

Damian rolled his eyes, but his face looked a little… Softer?

“Thank you for the training, Grayson. It was… Adequate.” The boy said before dashing up the cave stairs to head to the kitchen where lunch awaited him.

Alfred moved to Dick’s side. “Juggling, Master Dick?” He raised an eyebrow.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but he was smiling. “Helps improve concentration. Keeping your focus on more than one thing at a time. Plus I thought the kid could use a little fun. What with…” His brow furrowed and he shook his head, dismissing his own words as he moved to the Batcomputer and sunk down into the large chair that was usually occupied by Alfred… Or Bruce.

“Not joining the young master for lunch?” Alfred inquired, moving to Dick’s side.

Dick ran a hand over his tired face. His shoulders were sagging, but he kept his tone light. “Going to reach out to a few more contacts. See if I can find a lead on where he is…” Dick turned away from Alfred, his hands flying over the keys.

“Hard to do anything on an empty stomach, Master Dick.”

Dick glanced at Alfred, “I’ll be up in a few minutes. Just going to send these messages and then write up the patrol report from last night. Don’t want B to get in a tizzy when he gets back and gripe at me that I neglected writing the reports while being Batman.”

Alfred raised another eyebrow at the young man.

“I promise I’ll come up after the report, okay, Alfie? I promise.” Dick said, flashing a tired smile as he turned back to the screen.

Alfred shook his head, “Now where have I heard that before?” He mumbled to himself as he walked out the cave.

Alfred showed him more security footage: Dick and Damian returning from patrol, more creative training sessions, and Dick taking only cat naps here and there before continuing to try and find information on Bruce’s whereabouts. With each passing tape, Dick looked more and more exhausted. But he never once let it show to Damian. They certainly bickered, but to Bruce’s surprise, they worked together well.

“I have one more to show you, sir.” Alfred said as the screen changed once again. It was footage of the medical bay. Damian was lying unconscious on a bed. His arm was hooked up to an IV pumping a blood transfusion into his veins. There were bandages wrapped around his head and arms. He looked pale, a few bruises darkening his cheeks. Dick was sitting on a chair next to the bed. He didn’t look much better, his own arm hooked up to his own transfusion. He was shirtless, sporting several bruises and stitches on his chest and back. But his eyes were focused on Damian. His larger hand covered Damian’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m right here, little D…”

“He stayed with Master Damian all night.” Alfred commented, glancing at Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes stayed on the screen, watching as Dick would lightly doze off before stirring awake at any sign of movement from Damian. But he never let go of his hand.

"He didn't have to do all of that..."

"No, indeed not, sir. But the fact of the matter is that he did. And he's heard not a word of ‘thank you’ since your return."

Bruce was silent for a long time. His eyes stayed trained on Dick Grayson. His first Robin. Nightwing. And for a brief time, his successor as Batman.

"I hurt him. He did all of this... For me. And I hurt him. I keep hurting him." Bruce's voice was low and steady, but his fists clenched, betraying his self-loathing.

"Usually when one hurts others, sir, it's best to start off with an apology. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to go and make tea that Master Damian has requested." Alfred began to turn, but Bruce's voice stopped him.

"Dick... He's... The best of us, isn't he?"

Alfred couldn't help the twitch of a smile that crossed his lips. "One of the best I've ever known, Master Bruce."

Chapter Text

Dick was regretting his return to Bludhaven. Not in an existential sense. Bludhaven gave him the freedom and independence that he needed to be his own person, his own masked vigilante. Though its streets were riddled with crime and corruption ran deep within the concrete of the broken city, it was home. But only having the use of one arm was making this independence incredibly difficult. 

Brainwashed Batman had completely dislocated his shoulder. Not only that, but he had snapped his wrist and broken his thumb. Several ribs were bruised—two cracked. Not to mention the other parts of his body that held various bruises and freshly sewn stitches.

Alfred had insisted that he should stay at the manor until his wounds were healed, or at least until he had better use of his arm. But Dick, being the stubborn man that he was, hadn't listened. 

"I wonder where you get that from, Master Dick." Alfred had stated in his usual curt tone. The one that he usually only reserved for when Bruce or Dick was being difficult. Dick knew it had been a stupid decision, but he just couldn't stay at the manor right now. 

Damian needed Bruce's undivided attention. Even though the boy was more "grown up" than anyone should be at that age, he was still just a kid who had lost his mom and whose brainwashed father had almost shot him.

Dick knew loss better than most. He knew somewhat of what Damian was going through and he knew that Damian needed his father. There didn't need to be a lonely circus orphan getting in the way.

Dick let out a groan, adjusting himself on the couch. He knew it was the pain making him throw himself a pity party, at least partly.

But would it have killed Bruce to just say 'thank you?'

Dick had worn the cowl, something that he had been avoiding ever since he had given up being Robin. He had defended the streets of Gotham, a city he had given up watching years ago. He had watched over Damian (as much as one could watch over an eleven year old assassin) and together, with the help of Batwoman and Batwing, they had rescued Bruce. Then they had done it all again, rescuing Bruce a second time. There was no 'thank you' then and there was no 'thank you' now. 

"Should I have really expected one?" He thought to himself as he sat up from the couch. The pain in his shoulder was getting worse and he adjusted his slinged arm carefully. It was past time for his pain medicine. With another groan he stood, sucking in a breath at the sharp pain that shot through his broken ribs. Why did everything have to hurt?

He went to where his jacket hung on the wall, digging through the pockets to find the pain pills that Alfred had given him. He came up empty handed.

"Well... Shit..." He cursed, running a hand over his face. It dawned on him that he had left them on the kitchen counter at the manor. After Alfred specifically told him not to forget them. But Dick had been caught up in wanting to make sure that Bruce and Damian were going to be alright, that the pills had completely slipped his mind. A lot usually slipped his mind when it came to worrying about Bruce Wayne.

He thought about heading back to Gotham to retrieve the pills, but then Alfred would most definitely make him stay. Then he would have to see Damian again. He would have to see Bruce again.

Dick could just hear Damian's voice, "Can't even remember to take your pain pills home with you, Grayson? Pathetic. Must be that Grayson blood running through your veins. A blood son would never make such a careless error."

The kid was very slowly tolerating Dick’s presence, but sometimes his words had a way to cut him just like the boy’s sword had when they had first met.

No, he would stay in Bludhaven and suffer through the pain alone–as miserable as that sounded. 

Dick managed to doze off on the couch. The afternoon sky had faded to a hazy black as night overcame the city. Police sirens and car alarms were the melodies that lulled Dick to sleep. 

But he easily awakened when he heard his door squeak open followed by the sound of heavy footsteps in the kitchen. 

There was someone in his apartment.

Dick slipped out of his sling with a wince (Alfred would kill him if he found out) and reached under his couch to grab a set of escrima sticks that he kept hidden there for emergencies. His left arm wouldn't have the strength or grip it normally would and his body wasn't in any shape to take on an intruder. But he would be damned before letting someone just waltz into his apartment. Plus, Bruce would never let him live it down, let alone Damian.

With quiet and precision that came from years of training with Batman, he snuck towards the kitchen. He pressed his back to the wall, readying himself. No amount of pain was going to stop him, but he really wished whoever it was had picked a different night to break in. He waited, listening for movement. The intruder was opening cabinets and drawers.

“Won't find anything valuable in there, buddy…” Dick thought to himself, readying himself to strike. He heard the fridge open and he tightened his grip on his escrima sticks. Dick had a piece of Alfred's famous chocolate pie in that fridge and he would be double damned if he let the intruder mess with its sweet structural integrity of perfection.

He darted into the dark kitchen, swinging his escrima at the intruder's back. The intruder suddenly turned, blocking the blow with a thick arm. Dick’s shoulder screamed in pain but he reacted quickly, sending a sweeping leg towards the intruder's knees. It should have landed easily, but it was as if the intruder anticipated his move, jumping back before the kick could land. Dick sucked in a breath as he felt warmth at his side and the smell of copper in his nose. He'd torn a stitch. But this was no time to think about that as the intruder moved quickly towards the living room.

"Not going to let you get away that easily, punk. Time to turn on the lights!" Is what Dick would have said if everything had gone according to plan. 

But it hadn't. 

His plan had been simple: leap over the kitchen bar, tackle the intruder, say the clever phrase as he turned on the lights to successfully apprehend said intruder. But muscle memory was a bitch and he had leapt over the table using his bad arm. The pain that seared through his nerves made his vision go white before he crumpled into a heap on the kitchen floor, clutching his arm to his chest.

It was then that the lights turned on and Dick looked up to see the intruder standing in the doorway of his kitchen.

"BRUCE? What the actual fu-?!"

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.”

Chapter Text

Dick was standing before a door. It was one he had seen a thousand times before, made of iron and steel. Dark. Impenetrable. He had never seen what lay beyond it, but he wanted to. God, he wanted to. 

Hope. That was what brought him back here time and time again. It was why he had fought and bled–for the hope that one day those doors would open for him.

He reached out a hand and slowly and deliberately he knocked. 

“Let me in.”

And for the very first time, the doors opened.

-------------------

I get stuck when the world's too loud

And things don't look up when you're going down.

I know you're arms are reaching out

From somewhere beyond the clouds.

-------------------

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson stood in unmoving silence. Bruce’s hands stayed on Dick’s neck. The younger man’s steady pulse was the only thing keeping him anchored. It kept him from running. But he couldn’t look at Dick, not yet. Batman was never afraid. But Bruce Wayne? He was terrified. 

“Breathe.” He suddenly heard Dick say. “Match your breath with mine.”

Bruce did just that. He closed his eyes, keeping his forehead pressed to Dick’s uninjured shoulder. He felt the rise and fall of Dick’s chest and heard each breath as it left his lips. Bruce matched the rhythm. Every instinct in Bruce’s body told him to fight this. It was easier to wear a mask than to face your very soul–or face the person who you were bearing your soul to. 

They stayed like that for a long time, simply breathing. Simply existing with one another. Dick remained silent. For once in his life, he didn’t have any words to say. He just let Bruce breathe.

“Do you understand?” Bruce asked as he finally looked up. "Understand that I…"

Bruce's breathing had steadied, but Dick could see the unease in his eyes. He didn’t want Bruce to look at him that way anymore. Dick gave his trademark grin. The one that lit up his whole face and made his blue eyes shine brighter than the sea. 

“Yeah, B. I love you too.” And without another word, Dick Grayson leaned forward and kissed Bruce Wayne on the mouth. 

It was slow and easy. For a moment Bruce froze, and Dick waited for him to run. But Bruce stayed, melting into the kiss. His hands tangled into Dick’s hair, as if he was afraid Dick would be the one to fly away at any moment. 

Dick broke the kiss first. “I’m not going anywhere, Bruce.”

“Neither am I.” Bruce said with finality as he pressed their mouths together again. This time it was more urgent as he poured all of himself into the kiss. 

The urgency surprised Dick, but he met Bruce where he was. His good hand gripped Bruce’s shirt, pulling their bodies closer. He felt Bruce’s tongue slide against his lower lip, asking for entrance which Dick happily obliged with a low moan. How long had he dreamed of Bruce kissing him like this? He had lost count of the years and it was hard to count when Bruce Wayne’s tongue was halfway down your throat. 

Bruce suddenly released Dick’s mouth. He trailed kisses along Dick’s jaw, down his throat, lingering over where his pulse beat. “Why did I push you away for long?” He spoke between worshipful kisses.

“Because you’re an idiot.” But Dick was smiling. “But it’s a good thing I’ve got a soft spot for idiots."

-------------------

You make me feel like my troubled heart is a million miles away.

You make me feel like I'm drunk on stars and we're dancing out into space.

Celestial.

---------------------

Dick was laying in his bed, his arm now safely back in the sling. He had argued against it, but Bruce had kissed him and did a series of very underhanded moves with his tongue which had turned Dick’s legs to gelatin. Needless to say, he had lost the argument. 

Bruce entered the bedroom, having just given Alfred a call to say he was staying in Bludhaven for the night. 

“Very good, sir.”  Alfred had said. “I shall keep an eye on Master Damian in your absence.”

Bruce had heard Damian mutter something in the background to Alfred.

“Ah, yes. Master Damian has informed me that if you decide to ‘have your way’ with Master Dick–his words, not mine–he demands that you use protection. He says that he will not have his Grayson completely soiled by you.”

That had made Bruce quickly end the call.

Dick glanced up as Bruce walked in, raising an eyebrow at his embarrassed expression. “Everything okay?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I think Damian has developed a fondness for you.” He said as he began to remove his shirt. 

Dick nearly scoffed. “Oh, I highly doubt that. That kid wants to skewer me with one of his katanas.”

Bruce, now shirtless, sat on the edge of the bed, removing his watch. “He told Alfred he doesn’t want me to soil you.”

“Soil me? What does that even–?” Dick paused, his face turning red. “Oh.” Now it was Dick’s turn to clear his throat. “And what is your opinion on that subject?”

Bruce looked at Dick for a moment, eyes studying him. “You’re injured.”

“And if I wasn’t injured?” 

Bruce moved onto the bed, the mattress bending under his weight. A knee pressed between Dick’s legs, the other on the other side of his thigh. He slid a hand against the younger man’s cheek as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over Dick’s ear as he began to whisper everything that he wanted to do. 

And he wanted to do a lot.

Dick’s lips parted as Bruce’s tongue slid over the shell of his ear in between his words. His face felt hot and he could feel a familiar tingling sensation enter his lower belly. Bruce’s mouth moved to nibble Dick’s earlobe.

“Bruce. ” Dick hated how breathless he sounded. He shifted his hips, pressing himself against Bruce’s knee. 

Bruce pulled back, looking down at him. “Yes?”

“You know I’m not going to let you just get away with saying all of that and not delivering something .”

“Dick, you’re injured.” Bruce said again.

But that didn’t stop the devious smirk from crossing Dick’s lips. “Oh ye of little faith, there are many things we can do…” He leaned up to slide his tongue along Bruce’s lower lip.

“...what exactly did you have in mind…?”

-------------------

I see the light shining through the rain

A thousand colors in a brighter shade.

-------------------

Their clothes littered the floor. The only lights were the flickering lights of the city that shone through Dick’s bedroom window. 

Bruce’s head rested against Dick’s bare chest. Dick was absently running his fingers through Bruce’s sweat dampened hair. 

“We should have done this a long time ago.” Dick said which earned a low grunt from Bruce. "I'll take that as a ‘yes.’” Dick chuckled as he leaned down to press a kiss to Bruce’s forehead. 

Silence fell, but this time Dick didn’t hate it. It was a silence filled with calm and serenity. Peaceful. It was peaceful. 

“Is this real?” Bruce asked. Talia and Mad Hatter had dove deep into his mind. They had planted memories and emotions. They had made him believe things that were not true. How did he know that he could believe this? That being here in Dick Grayson’s arms was even real?

Dick let out a soft sigh. “Bruce, look at me.”

When Bruce met his eyes, Dick continued. “I’m here and I’m real. You are here and you are real. What we just did was very real. And the love I have for you is also very real .” He took Bruce’s face in his hands. “And I will keep telling you all of this until you get it through your thick skull that I love you.”

Bruce turned his head to kiss Dick’s palm. “I don’t deserve you.”

Dick rolled his eyes, flicking Bruce’s nose. “Stop it. Save the dark brooding for Batman. He’s not the one in my bed right now. Though… I don’t think I’d mind a little action in the Batmobile.” He winked slyly. 

Bruce grunted, “Alfred wouldn’t approve.” He settled back onto Dick’s chest, pulling the covers over them.

“What Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Alfred would know.”

Dick chuckled, draping his arm around Bruce. He closed his eyes, letting the other man’s weight and warmth settle against him.

“Yeah, he probably would.” He said as he drifted to sleep.

Bruce was up a little longer, fighting against sleep. He could hear Dick’s gentle heart beat in his chest.

Lub dub. Lub dub .

It was a heart that was selfless and kind. A heart filled with humor and light. A heart that Bruce had fallen so deeply in love with that it terrified him. 

“Bruce…” Dick mumbled sleepily. “I can practically hear your thinking… Turn off your brain and go to sleep… Or no sleepy morning sex for you… I mean it…” 

Bruce managed a soft smile. “You’re… Adorable…”

“Yes, yes. This I know. You can tell me all about how cute and sexy I am tomorrow when you bring me breakfast in bed. Now it's time for sleep.”

"I love you, Dick…"

There was a pause, and Bruce could hear the gentle smile in Dick’s voice as he said, 

"Mm…love you too, Bruce…"

-------------------

Needed to rise from the lowest place

There’s a silver lining that surrounds the grey.

-------------------