Archive of Our Own ^beta

The call comes in the middle of the night, when even Nightwing has finished patrolling and collapsed into bed for a few precious hours of sleep.

Dick, with his decade of training under the Batman and several months more under Deathstroke, is awake before Enya can finish even a full word. His phone vibrates loudly along with her voice, lighting up his ceiling as the screen brightens with a picture of Tim, face flushed and lips quirked into a smile.

Dick remembers taking that picture. It was early into Tim’s time as Robin, only a few weeks into his new life as a vigilante, and Dick had finally made enough time (and gotten enough sleep) to take the kid out to Amusement Mile for a day. He’d gotten less of a kick out of it than Jason had – Jason had never been, Willis and Catherine had never had the money to spend, but Tim had been several times with his own parents – but Dick had still managed to coax his new younger brother onto the few rides he’d always been too scared to try.

The photo on his screen shows Tim with powdered sugar dusting his cheeks, a fleck of fried dough on his lip. Dick remembers how much convincing it had taken to get Tim to split a funnel cake with him, the younger boy absolutely convinced that Bruce wouldn’t trust him if he broke something as simple as his diet so early into their partnership.

First rule of being Robin, Dick had said, happily munching on his own piece of funnel cake and already mentally adjusting his exercise regimen. Most of Bruce’s rules are made to be broken. You’ve got to keep him on his toes, or else his head gets so big it won’t fit into the cowl.

Tim had laughed, scooting closer to Dick on the bench they were sharing and Dick had grinned, bumping their knees together and offering the paper plate to him. C’mon, kid. Bruce never even has to know .

He’d tugged Tim close after he’d taken a few bites, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and tilted his camera for a selfie that was almost entirely Tim. Blackmail , he’d teased a moment later, then laughed so hard he’d nearly fallen off the bench at the shocked look on his brother’s face.

It had been a great day, one of Dick’s favorites with his brother, even months later with dozens more days spent together. That picture of Tim always brings a warm feeling to Dick’s chest, always makes him at least want to smile.

Now, at nearly four in the morning and with a headache that makes him wonder if maybe he was wrong about that possible concussion, Dick can’t muster anything but annoyance and exhaustion.

(And a ways under the exhaustion, he recognizes, worry. But the worry is there when any of the capes he knows calls. It’s a feeling he’s more familiar with than any other he can put a name to.)

He doesn’t ignore the call, doesn’t even really want to despite how heavy his hand feels when he lifts it to fumble for his phone.

“Tim?” He asks when he swipes to accept the call, flat on his back and staring at his ceiling fan as it spins endlessly. “It’s nearly four in the morning.”

He expects Tim to say I know, but you won’t believe what B let me do on patrol tonight– or maybe you went to Gotham Prep right? before jumping into a tirade about a particular teacher he wants Dick’s advice on dealing with. 

What he doesn’t expect is silence. Cold, still, silence. Not even a breath, for five full seconds. 

Dick is already sitting up, feet flat on the ground by the time he counts to six. “Tim? Everything alright?”

“It’s…” Tim starts, and something in Dick’s chest loosens at his brother’s voice, the knowledge that at the very least he’s alive . “It’s… Dick, I don’t…”

Any relief he felt at the teen’s voice is immediately swept away by the sheer fear soaking his tone. Dick’s heard fear like that – from Kory when she saw what Blackfire had done to Tamaran and her parents, from Raven when they first laid eyes on Azarath and Trigon’s destruction, and once, even, from Bruce, when the man was hanging from a noose and watching Two-Face beat Dick himself nearly to death. 

“Tim,” he says again, already pulling on a pair of stiff jeans and looking for a shirt. “You need to tell me what’s going on, alright? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You need to get here,” Tim says, urgent now. “It’s– Alfred says it’s real bad, and he’s in a coma , and I don’t know what to do, Dick, he’s barely breathing, even now–”

“Tim, take a breath. Who are you talking about?” He asks, even though he already knows. Still, he needs to hear Tim say the name.

“It’s Bruce ,” his little brother says, voice strangled.

“Alright,” Dick breathes, grabbing his wallet and keys and striding out the door, kicking it closed behind him and only just remembering to lock it. “Alright, alright. I’m on my way, okay? Tell Alfred I’m on my way and I’ll be there soon.”

“Dick…”

“I’m on my way , Tim,” he hisses, sliding down the old railings of his apartment’s stairwell. “You just… you stay calm, alright? I’ll be there in twenty minutes, tops, and we’ll figure out what to do. Are you in the cave?”

“He just… he was barely even moving, and that freak just broke him like it was nothing …”

“Tim!” Dick snaps, nearly shouting as he throws a leg over his bike. “Are you in the cave?”

“Yeah, yes,” Tim assures, something distant in his voice now. “Alfred wouldn’t take him to the hospital, even though–”

“That’s good,” Dick interrupts, the call connecting to his helmet as he secures it over his head, driving far faster than is safe as soon as his engine turns over. “That’s good, Alfred did the right thing. I’m already on my way, I’ll be there soon, okay? Just… just try to stay calm, Tim, and I’ll be there before you know it. Alright?”

Tim swallows, audible even through the phone. “Alright. Just…” His breath is shaky, and Dick swears his heart is about to leap out of his throat. “Just hurry, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” Dick reassures, his own voice terse. “I’ve already broken traffic laws you’ve never even heard of.”

His attempt at humor shocks a laugh out of his little brother, momentarily distracting him from his panic, and Dick manages to take his first deep breath since he answered the phone. “Okay, Dick. I’ll…. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Dick agrees, pushing his bike just that much faster. “Sooner than you know, Timmy. Promise.

The drive from Gotham to Blüdhaven is, at its best and with no traffic, thirty minutes. Dick makes it in fifteen, flying past what few cars cruise down the interstate at a speed that would make him nervous if he were any less focused on getting to Bruce and Tim.

A distant part of him is grateful for Bruce’s most recent round of cave upgrades when a hidden door opens just enough for him to squeeze by, saving him from flattening himself against a subway tunnel wall, but a far larger part of him is busy running through all of Batman’s emergency plans. 

By the time his bike skids to a stop, he’s already begun adjusting his patrol schedule to include Gotham again. 

“Tim?” He calls as he strides further into the cave, helmet and bike abandoned carelessly. “Alfred?”

“Over here,” Tim calls from the med-bay, exhaustion thick in his voice. Dick’s already headed that direction, gets within arms reach of the privacy curtains in another two steps and yanks it back with little care for the decorum Alfred always insists on, even in the cave. 

That sight that greets him makes him go cold, heart going still in his chest before racing into overdrive, breath catching as what he’s seeing processes in his mind.

Dick has seen Bruce injured before. He’s seen bullets buried in his chest, broken bones, concussions, injuries so severe they’re nearly amputations. Dick has given Bruce chest compressions in the field, has broken the man’s ribs himself and held gashes as long as his forearm closed with his own two hands.

But never, never , has he seen Bruce like this. He can’t even breathe on his own. There’s a tube shoved down his throat, an ventilator humming at his bedside. 

He stands there gaping for several long moments before he remembers that he’s not the only one seeing Bruce like this, and reaches out to rest a cold hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“What happened?” He asks, his own voice weak. It takes conscious effort not to let his hand tremble on Tim’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” the teenager says, voice quiet enough that it’s nearly drowned out by the heart-monitor beeping steadily. Dick can feel the way his brother deflates beneath his palm. “I mean, he’s been different lately – spread-thin, y’know? But he didn’t let me help, so I figured…” He takes a shaky breath, runs a hand down his face. Dick can’t tear his eyes from the brace around his father’s neck. “I thought he had it under control. I didn’t realize– we didn’t know he’d be so dangerous .”

Dick feels a familiar spark of anger in his chest, his throat tightening. He shifts his hand so it’s laid flat against Tim’s back, forcing himself not to allow his grip to turn bruising. “Who?”

Tim’s silent for a moment, and Dick can feel him shifting again, can hear the change in his breath as he drags a hand over his face. He bites his tongue to keep from snapping. 

“He calls himself Bane,” Tim answers, a long moment later. “He hasn’t been around long, but he’s already building himself a team, and he broke all the big players out of Arkham–”

“That was him?” Dick cuts in, eyebrows furrowing. He’d helped with that break-out after Babs had let him know what was going on, had even debriefed with Bruce in person after the mission. “Bane?”

“Mhm,” Tim confirms, already pushing forward before Dick can ask anything else. “We had no idea that whatever he was building towards was this , let alone that it was happening tonight. I mean, I wasn’t even here when it all went down.”

Dick’s eyebrows furrow, well-aware of Tim’s tendency towards Bruce’s work schedule and his subsequent lack of time spent in his own home. “Bruce called you?”

Again, Tim shakes his head. “No, Alfred. I hadn’t even fallen asleep yet when he nearly broke down my door knocking. I had to practically carry him back here, and by then…”

Each piece of the puzzle Tim drops into his lap only concerns Dick more, a pit in his stomach slowly growing as he begins putting together a story he has no idea what to do with. 

“Is Alfred okay?” He’s already turning to look around the white sheet blocking the next makeshift hospital room, relieved to see an empty cot.

“Yeah, of course,” Tim assures. “Well, he said he was at least. He went upstairs after… after Bruce stabilized.”

Dick shudders, slumping onto the small couch beside Tim and rubbing a hand over his jaw. He knows he’ll have to bully Alfred into letting him check for any injuries tomorrow, but he also knows that the butler is smart enough not to go to bed with anything life threatening. He adds check on Alfred, even if he insists he’s fine to his rapidly growing to-do list.

“This Bane, he knows, then?” He turns to look down at Tim now, absentmindedly strokes a hand over his messy hair and lets Tim lean into his side. “He knew who Bruce was.”

Tim nods, miserable. “He dragged B out, after he had… y’know.” He gestures vaguely at the way Bruce is held tight to a backboard on the bed. “Threw him off a building in Union Squre.”

Dick can’t hold back his flinch at that, the image vivid and yet unimaginable. “Christ.”

Tim nods again, inching closer until Dick pulls him flush with his side, holding him close. “It was…” He stops, swallows, and his voice cracks on his next words. “It was really bad, Dick.”

Dick closes his eyes, leans down to press a kiss to his brother’s hairline. “I’m sorry, kid,” he says. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s part of the job, right?” Tim says, but his tone falls flat at the end, his brush-off forced.

“Yeah, well,” Dick sighs, letting his arm fall back around Tim’s shoulder. “That doesn’t make it any easier to see. This part never gets any easier, no matter how many nights you spend in one of these chairs.”

Tim’s quiet for a moment, and Dick rubs his shoulder. 

“You’re allowed to be scared, Tim,” he says a moment later, still looking at Bruce. “ I’m scared, seeing him like this.”

“Really?”

“Really. This is…” Dick tucks his chin towards his chest and takes a deep breath. “This is bad, Tim. But he’s gonna be okay.”

Tim looks up at him again, worry etched into every line of his face. “Alfred said he’s in a coma . He said he might not even wake up.”

Dick forces a smile, is sure it comes off as more of a grimace. “When have you ever known Bruce to not get back up, huh? You’ve been Robin long enough now to know nothing keeps him down long. He’ll wake up.”

Tim scowls, shoulders hunching. “He didn’t get up though! After Bane threw him off the building, he just… laid there.” He shakes his head, leaning closer to Dick again. “We had to steal an ambulance, and Alfred refused to take him to a hospital, even though his injuries were–”

Dick cuts him off, shaking his head. “You can’t risk going to a hospital in the mask, you know that. You guys did the right thing, bringing him back here.”

Lips pursed, Tim turns back to the bed where Batman lays. He’s wrapped in so many bandages that Dick can hardly see any of his skin, left leg straightened with a brace and right arm in a cast. 

“We don’t have everything he needs,” Tim insists, a shadow of what Dick’s sure was much stronger urgency just hours ago echoing in his voice. “His back was snapped . A hospital could’ve taken better care of him.”

“You have enough,” Dick says, quiet but sure. Alfred may not have the materials nor skills of a surgeon, but Dick has never known the cave to be even close to low on medical supplies. 

They sit in near-silence for a few moments, the only noises the distant screeching of bats and the sounds of the machines keeping Bruce alive. 

“Does…” Dick steels himself, swallows the fear that wants to creep up his throat. “Does Alfred think he’ll be able to walk?”

“I got him Decadron,” Tim says. “Well, Commissioner Gordon got it – or, I guess it was mostly Bullock. But still, Alfred said we gave it to him early enough, so he should be able to walk again, if he wakes up.” He looks up at Dick, fear and faith brimming his eyes in equal measures, the deep brown of his irises shiny even in the low-light of the cave. “Do you– do you really think he’ll wake up?”

Dick is nodding before Tim has even finished the question. “He will.” 

“But how can you be sure ?”

Dick looks down at his little brother, at his wet eyes and the dried tear-tracks that he can only see because they’re pressed side-to-side, and thinks, selfishly, because I don’t know what I’d do if he didn’t.  

He says, “He’s going to wake up, and he’s going to walk again. He’s gonna throw Bane back in whatever ring of Hell he crawled out of, and he’s gonna need our help because he’ll insist on going out before his body is ready. Because doing that, being Batman , is what he has to do.”

Tim bites his lip, breath shuddery. “Because he’s Batman.”

Dick smiles again, and it feels less forced this time. “Because he’s Batman.”

Tim nods, like Dick’s assurance speaks their words into fact. He leans his weight fully into Dick’s side again, and Dick takes him easily, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and rubbing his arm. 

“He’s gonna be okay,” he says quietly, turning back to watch his father sleep. “Try and get some sleep, alright, kiddo? It’s too late for you to still be up.”

Tim hums, and Dick blows a breath out of his nose, the most of a laugh he can muster. If what Tim said about Bruce spreading himself thin is true, Dick knows he’ll be asleep in moments. He knows from experience that if Batman is working himself like a dog, Robin has to work just as hard. 

With Tim quickly fading from consciousness beside him, Dick is left alone with Bruce and his thoughts. 

The bright light of the med-bay makes Bruce look even paler than usual, even Dick and Tim’s tanner skin looks washed-out under the fluorescents. The fact that they’re not dimmed speaks to how exhausted Alfred must’ve been before he left.

Looking at Bruce like this, it seems impossible to imagine him ever waking up. Were it not for the monitor dutifully beating, Dick would almost wonder if he was even alive . 

His back was snapped . That’s what Tim had said, what Bane did to Bruce. To Batman .

Dick has known for years that his mentor isn’t invulnerable, and his days of looking up to Bruce like some sort of infallible god are long behind both of them. But the sight of him bound to a backboard, more of him in casts or braces than not, feels wrong .

This isn’t supposed to happen. Nobody is supposed to be able to do this to Batman.  

He knows it’s silly, that he’s too old to think of his father like that. But knowing his experience should have long hardened him to this doesn’t keep his stomach from rolling, doesn’t keep his heart beating too quickly in his chest. 

You have to wake up , he thinks to himself, not daring to speak aloud knowing how light of a sleeper Tim is. You have to wake up, Bruce. You will not leave us here. 

He doesn’t fall asleep, knows that he’s too worked up to even try. But he relaxes back into the soft cushions, shifts so Tim rests more fully against him, and trains his eyes on the monitor keeping track of Bruce’s vitals. 

He doesn’t want to grab his phone and risk waking his brother, but he starts mentally writing the text he’ll send his boss to get the next several days off work, runs through coworkers he can get to take his shifts. It’ll take all three of them and maybe even Barbara to keep Bruce in bed once he does wake up, and Dick knows that he can’t leave Tim here with this.

Bruce will wake up, and he’ll micromanage Dick and Tim until he can drag himself back to his feet, and with any luck they won’t have to think about Bane much past the end of the year. Dick can already tell that it’ll be a long, miserable road to Bruce’s recovery, but he knows with just as much surety that they will get to the end of that road. 

He takes a deep breath, and forces himself to relax further. His heart finally begins to slow as Tim snores lightly at his side. He takes measured breaths, trying to force his body to realize that they are fine , and his brain can let him calm down now.

The heartrate monitor beeps steadily. Tim snuffles in his sleep. Dick settles in for a long night.