Chapter Text
So often we dance on the needle’s edge,
walking that line between the dark and light.
Shrouded in the penumbra of death and life,
but never passing over.
It's onerous to go, when you call for me to stay.
But I’m so close. Almost, nearly.
Dick watched it happen as if in slow motion. One second Bruce was standing there looking at him and the next he was running. Dick didn’t know what had changed. But there was something in Bruce’s eyes as he moved, that told Dick something was wrong. Dick turned, peeling his gaze away from Bruce and to the street around him.
It was raining. Dick could see the little splatters of water as they hit the ground and ricocheted up from the earth they hit.
The cars driving past were making skidding and squealing sounds and there was a drill somewhere in the distance breaking through concrete. Dick wondered what they were building. Gotham was always building and tearing down. But nothing, nothing explained the look on Bruce’s face.
Dick felt the force of it before the pain. It was like being hit in the chest by a fist going hundreds of miles per hour. He felt his chest give under the pressure and something-- a lot of things break.
Dick looked down to see the slosh of red over his front. He blinked. The momentum pushed him back and he fell, still not sure what had gone wrong.
It looked like someone had hit him with a balloon of red paint. Dick reached back as he felt to try and catch himself. His arm didn’t move the way he wanted it to. His back hit the ground first and he finally felt the pain. Breath whooshed out of him in a gasp of blood and bile.
The first scream reached his ears.
He wanted to look around and tell them it was fine. That he was okay. That it was just some silly paint. But another part of him was screaming to say that they needed to get down. The words formed in his mind too late, his head smacked the pavement hard and he saw nothing but black.
Dick blinked several times fighting both the agony in his chest and the blinding pain in his skull. He wanted to tell whoever was screaming to run and take cover. There was a sniper. He needed-- he needed to move--to find out where they were. Dick tried to sit up and found his neck unable to hold him. He fell back against the ground again. His breathe came out in puffs. Blood splattered his face as he fought to get air. Something hot and sticky was in his mouth. It tasted terrible. It was-- Dick closed his eyes just for a moment. He-- he was cold .
His fingers felt numb and his toes wouldn’t even move.
“Dick!”
Dick’s eyes flew open as if on command. He knew that voice. He didn’t know why but it felt important to answer.
“No! Don’t move. Stay still. I’m right here. Just stay still.” The voice shouted back as Dick tried to sit up. The voice sounded far away. Dick had a strange wish to go to it. To crawl-- if he must-- to reach it.
“Dick, don’t move.” the voice called again. This time it was almost a growl, but Dick didn’t worry about the sudden change in tone.
He sank back to the ground. Something about the voice was familiar, it made him feel warm. Oh how he wanted to be warm. It was so cold. Why was it cold?
Something was hitting him. Dick blinked once, twice and then a third time. Water fell into his eyes. It was... raining. Had it always been raining?
Dick turned his head to look at the ground. Something ran down his face and mixed with the rain on the gray pavement beside him. It was a ruddy pink. Dick wasn’t sure but he didn’t think rain should be pink. He frowned. The liquid was hot and sticky. He opened his mouth to ask the voice what it was, but something moved wrong inside him. Dick choked on the words and a horrid cough rattled in his chest and lungs. The pain blinding.
Dick suddenly found that he wanted the voice to be closer. He didn’t want to lay there and wait. It hurt. He hurt and was cold. Dick reached out as if he could make the voice appear by pulling it from the air.
His hand closed on something briefly.
“I’m here. I’m here. Just-- oh Go--”
Dick felt sick as something pushed on his chest. His hand closed on empty air once more as the voice let him go. He screamed but no sound came out. The voice was back but-- it hurt. Why was it hurting? The voice had sounded so warm, so safe. But all Dick felt now was cold and pain.
“You’re okay. Dick, look at me please.” The voice sobbed.
Dick didn’t like that. He didn’t like the sound of it crying. He wanted to reach up and grab it again. To tell it, it was okay. But only the crimson liquid came out and a gurgling sound.
“Chum. Please-- Please stay. Don’t leave. I-- I need you.”
Dick fought to keep his eyes open. There was something there. The voice had a form. The silhouette kept the rain back from his face, but Dick couldn’t bring it into focus. It danced and moved like a desert mirage. It was as if it was there one moment and gone the next.
There was so much sound, so much noise, but it all felt faded and muffled. Dick reached up to pull at his ears. Maybe the voice had put cotton in them. They had been ringing earlier. Why though? He thought. He couldn’t remember why he was laying down or why he hurt.
Something wet and hot fell on his face. Dick started. The voice was so distant now. He wasn’t sure what was happening. His hand floundered for a moment but then it found its mark. The figure over him shook as he touched it’s face. It was wet, a mix of cold, icy rain, and hot tears. Dick didn’t like the voice crying, but he couldn’t remember why, and he couldn’t get the words out to ask. His arm grew heavy and trembled.
It was asking him to stay. Dick wondered for a brief moment, where he was going. He wasn’t moving-- was he?
Dick’s arm grew weak and fell. He didn’t hear the sirens or the voice scream. He didn’t hear the paramedics shouting, or the sound of other voices fighting to pull his voice away. For that’s what it was. He decided as the world faded into nothing around him, the voice was his. He wasn’t sure how but it was, in some way. That voice meant something to him. But he couldn’t hear it anymore. It had left him. Or perhaps he had left it. He wanted to tell the voice something. He wanted to thank it for keeping him warm, but it had vanished. Instead he was cold and lost in the darkness, drifting.
Bruce stood pacing in the hallway. Nurses glanced at him with looks of equal pity and fear. He glanced down at himself and not for the first time shuttered. He was soaked. The rain outside blew in sheets against the glass of the hospital windows. But the water that made his suit drip on the cheap tiles of carpet in the hall wasn’t what made him look so savage. No it was the blood of his--
Bruce closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him. He had been so close. Dick had only been twenty yards away from him and he was still too late. He could still see the red dot on his chest, the look of confusion on Dick’s face as he fell. He hadn’t understood. Bruce felt his nails dig into the palm of his hands. The pain was almost enough to clear his mind. He unfurled his fingers after a moment and forced his eyes back open.
Pacing wasn’t helping but he knew that sitting would be worse. So he beat a pattern of footprints into the carpet. If he stopped, he would think more. He wished for nothing more than his brain to stop.
No. That wasn’t right. He wished he could trade places with Dick. He wished he could make him better. Bruce didn’t consider himself a religious man. He had spent too long in the dark to walk a path of light, but he found himself praying. I will give anything. Just don’t take him .
“Sir?”
Bruce had never moved faster. He spun on his heel, water droplets dirtied by blood flew from his suit coat as he did.
A nurse stood several feet from him in pink scrubs.
“Yes. How is he?” The words rushed out of his mouth in a single breath.
“Still in surgery. We-- we were wondering if you and your son would like to wait in--”
The words were both devastating and the best news he had ever heard. Dick was still live if he was still in surgery. He was still fighting. But that meant he was still far from safe.
Bruce melted slightly, his body was a wire, taught and tense, but it was like he had been loosened ever so slightly. Then the words sank in. “I’m sorry my-- my son?”
“Yes he-- Did you not see him?” The nurse looked around, suddenly puzzled.
“What do you mean?” Bruce felt panic climbing up his throat. What else could go wrong? Was Tim hurt too? He was at WE that morning as well. Bruce should have thought-- Had the Sniper taken another shot? Was he too here injured and at the door of death?
“He was just here.” The nurse frowned as she spun. “Oh.”
Bruce felt his heart sputter as his eyes landed not on Tim but on his youngest. Damian was standing by the doors leading to the operation room. Bruce knew he couldn’t see Dick from there-- He had looked himself. Bruce started forward and then froze. He looked down at himself and shuttered. Damian knew Bruce was there and hadn’t come over to him.
Bruce knew why. He wouldn’t want to look at him either. He turned to the nurse. “I-- Do you have something I can…” His voice broke and he found tears building behind his eyes.
“I’ll get you a pair of scrubs.” She turned and moved down the hall quickly.
Bruce turned back towards the white doors, and Damian. He wasn’t looking at Bruce. Bruce wanted so badly to hide. He wanted Damian to never see… He likely already had, but Bruce couldn’t go nearer. He reached in his pocket for the third time to get his phone that day. He had called for an ambulance and called Jason. He still wasn’t sure what made him call his second eldest, but his fingers had dialed without thought.
Jason wouldn’t stop hunting whoever shot Dick and he would tell the others. Bruce’s hand shook as he pulled up his contact list. He had needed someone who would be just as ready to hunt down Dick’s kill-- would be killer. He had called Jason because he would do what Bruce wasn’t able to.
It wasn’t fair. Bruce knew that. But had he asked for Jason to come to the hospital, he would have refused. Jason didn’t do the whole vigil thing. He wouldn’t let himself look vulnerable in front of Bruce-- not anymore. Jason might not show it, but he loved his brother.
Tim and Damian might have that title in name, but Jason had never really known them as such. Dick was an odd linchpin. One that Bruce feared to lose would be their undoing.
They all would have hunted the sniper but, Tim was tied up at WE and Damian… Bruce looked up from the phone to look at the twelve year old just meters away. He was so small.
Bruce hit Alfred’s number and put the phone to his ear.
“Sir?”
“Al.” Bruce’s voice broke over his name. He had tried to be calm when he called Jason. But Alfred... “I-- I don’t.”
“I know. I’m just parking. Master Damian didn’t want to wait for me to find a spot.”
Bruce exhaled. So Damian hadn’t shown up alone. Alfred was here. “I’m a mess.”
Alfred sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to go back and--”
“No! I don’t mean.” Bruce clenched his fist again letting his nails dig into his flesh. “A nurse is getting me something to change into. I just. Damian doesn’t-- I can’t. Not like this.”
“Oh, sir.” Alfred’s voice wobbled. “I-- Master Jason didn’t say how bad.”
Bruce felt a sob build in his throat and found he couldn’t hold it back. He leaned against the wall, pressing his hand over his mouth. He could still see the paramedics reviving Dick on the scene. He could still hear the sounds of Dick choking on his blood. He could still smell the rain washing the blood into the storm drain.
Alfred was softly speaking over the phone to him but the words were lost in Bruce’s muffled sobs. He pressed on his mouth harder. Damian didn’t turn but his back was ridged. Bruce fought to control the tears. He squeezed his fist tighter. Anything to make his mind focus on anything but the memory of life fading from Dick’s eyes.
“Mr. Wayne.” The nurse sank down next to him.
When had he sat on the floor? He couldn’t remember.
“I have some scrubs for you. I’ll stay with your son while you clean up.” She handed him some towels and a pair of light blue scrubs.
She sat there with him as he fought to force his breath into an even pattern and rather gently pulled him to his feet.
“Thank you.” He mumbled as she ushered him into the nurses’ bathroom.
The light flicked to life as he stepped inside. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and gagged. He rushed forward and bent over the toilet quickly. His stomach was empty, he realized.
Lunch . They were supposed to get lunch.
He made his way to the sink keeping his eyes on the wall rather than his reflection. He peeled wet layer after we layer off and piled it in the sink. He turned on the faucet and let the water run over the likely ruined clothing. Quickly he stuck one of the towels under the water and let it soak the fabric. He scrubbed at his skin until it was raw and red.
Bruce dropped the now ruddy towel on the floor and ran the dry one over himself, before pulling on the scrubs.
The nurse was still with Damian when he emerged. She was standing rather awkwardly as if unsure what to do. Bruce wondered if Damian had lashed out in his fear. However, the look on her face when she spotted Bruce wasn’t one of relief. It was one of pity. He sped up.
Damian was looking at the door with glassy eyes. They were red and puffy, but no tears fell.
“Damian? He asked.
Damian stiffened but didn’t turn.
Bruce swallowed hard. “Thank you.” He said to the nurse. She smiled sadly and slipped away.
Bruce closed the distance between him and his youngest. Damian was tense as a piano wire when Bruce pulled him to his chest. Bruce didn’t let go. He knew his son didn’t often allow for physical affection, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want and need it.
“I’ve got you. You can-- you can let go. I’m right here.”
Damian didn’t seem to even breath. Bruce wondered if he had said the wrong thing. Had it been Jason or Tim he would have muttered promises he knew he couldn’t keep. He would have whispered reassurances that Dick would be fine and that they would all go home soon. But Damian wouldn’t thank him for lies and half truths-- Not when Bruce didn’t know.
After a long moment Bruce realized his borrowed top was wet. Damian had let his tears finally fall.
Bruce stood there for what felt an eternity just slowly swaying with his son held to his chest. They didn’t move until a light hand fell on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce turned slightly, loath to let go of Damian.
Alfred looked ashen in the fluorescent light. Bruce reached out with one hand to cover the butler’s, still on his shoulder.
“Tim called.” Alfred said slowly. He was eyeing Bruce nervously, as if waiting for him to break. Bruce knew he didn’t have the luxury of breaking. Not again.
“Where is he? How is he?”
“He’s upset of course. Mr. Fox is with him and the police.”
“I. I need to--” Bruce’s mind was spinning. The police. He needed to give a statement. He needed to go get Tim, he needed--
“Mr. Fox will bring him here after the police say it’s safe for him to leave the building.”
Bruce let go of Damian in shock. The boy pulled back as well, looking more afraid.
“Drake is in danger?” He asked, his voice breaking slightly.
“Oh. No. No. I’m so sorry.” Alfred’s eyes widened as he realized both Bruce and Damian had thought the worst-- that the sniper was now after Tim. “I meant there are road blocks everywhere and the city building is still locked down.”
“So…” Damian asked nervously. “Drake is fine?”
“Yes. Very worried and shaken, but he is just fine.” Alfred promised.
Bruce sighed. He wanted the day to be over. Or better yet for it to have never happened. He glanced at the doors. No one came through with news. Damian swayed slightly bumping into him. Bruce felt his already aching heart give a painful squeeze. “Lets go sit down, huh?”
Dick woke slowly as if he were shaking off layers of cobwebs. The room was both rather cold and warm all at once. His body felt somehow detached from his mind, as if he were floating above it somehow.
He didn’t remember opening his eyes but there was the ceiling. The popcorn coating was yellowing. It looked as if it hadn’t been repainted in years. He blinked, and let his eyes fall lower. The room had a rather modern wallpaper. It was a weave of blues and grays. A small television was mounted in the corner but wasn’t powered on. He slowly turned his head, it felt heavy and stiff. He wondered how long he had been here.
A small boy sat curled on a cheap pleather armchair, his knees tucked against his chest and his head lolling slightly. Dick smiled. Damian had drool on his chin.
He opened his mouth to call out for him but found it dry and painful. He winced and settled for just looking at him. Damian was wearing his sweatshirt, he realized. His hands were tucked inside of the too long sleeves, and folded over the tops of his knees. A phone lay wedged between his leg and the arm of the chair. Dick, turned his head further. He hoped Damian wasn’t here alone. Bruce wouldn’t do that-- He didn’t think. Perhaps it was an emergency. Perhaps Batman was needed and Tim and Alfred were unavailable.
The window was closed and the curtains drawn. Dick wondered if it were late or early. Batman would have wanted the blinds open incase he needed to stop by during patrol.
Dick reached for the remote on the arm of his bed. The IV line tugged and he hissed in pain. Dick hated IVs. somehow they always seemed to hurt more than his injuries-- though that was likely his imagination-- and they always left him feeling hopelessly cold. The liquid pumping into his veins might be necessary but he detested how it felt. He reached for the yellow bell button that would call the nurse. They would--
“Dick?”
Dick felt an odd feeling in his limbs and chest. The cold that had been inside his veins seemed to melt away. His heart spluttered. A figure moved, blocking Damian from view. But Dick didn’t mind. He remembered that voice. The memory was faint and muddled but it had been Bruce. Bruce had asked him to stay. Bruce had been calling for him… Dick wasn’t sure-- He didn’t need to know why.
“B?” His voice cracked and broke over the word.
The bed dipped slightly. Bruce. It seemed impossible that he had ever forgotten him. His eyes were wet, and blood shot. Dick wondered why Bruce was crying. He opened his mouth again and found a straw at his lips. Dick turned his head slightly and pulled away. His stomach churned at the thought of water.
Bruce chuckled. “I know, but your throat’s going to hurt until you do.”
Dick watched him fumble with the cup for a moment, then opened his mouth. Bruce smiled and put the straw back to his lips.
“Tim? Jay?” Dick asked after a few sips.
“They’re okay. Jason found the sniper, he’s in custody. Tim’s at home with Alfred. They’ve been taking turns staying with you.”
“How long?” The words hurt but Dick found his hands didn’t work enough to sign instead.
“A week. You’ve woken up a couple of times but…” Bruce blinked several times fighting back tears. “It’s been a very long week, chum.”
Dick’s eyebrows knit together. He was so tied, but Bruce needed him. He needed to tell him that they would be okay. That he would live. The room seemed to fade and grow darker. Dick fought the pull of sleep. It was important. His hand shook as he raised it.
Bruce smiled and took it in his own. He felt so warm, like fire. Dick opened and closed his mouth, a strange airy sound coming out.
“Shh. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce lightly squeezed his hand three times.
Darkness crept in and Bruce became a shadow. Dick felt his eyelids grow heavier. No, this was much too important. He needed to tell Bruce.
“I’m not either.”