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The receptionist’s nails were painted bright purple. He made a mental note to ask her about the brand. The colour contrasted with the sterile white of her desk, decked with various pamphlets, their contents blurring into a mere palette of colours. Rapid staccato of her fingers typing on the keyboard, the quick rhythm almost matching his fluttering heart. He wasn’t sure exactly how many 100-dollar-bills he thumbed to the taxi driver, all he knew was stumbling out with joyful thank-you’s underlined with concern ringing behind him, barely registering. He might have heard the door snick open, he might turn to find the driver standing behind him, looking sheepish. He wouldn’t know. He never thought to look.
Her eyes were green, a shade lighter than Damian’s and they widened with recognition. Good. That was good. Surely they were going to do everything in their power to keep him alive.
Death wasn’t going to be as kind.
He’d chosen this hospital with care, a repurposed bunker from the Cold War, entirely lead-lined and a decent distance away from both Metropolis and Gotham. The drive there cost him precious time that he didn’t have, the clock on his life ticking faster the more he tried to slow it down. There was no time left to buy. There was no way out of this.
The thoughts of Damian opened the dam, the individual faces of his children and his not-children flashing in front of his eyes. He was never under the illusion that he would have a long life, but since he was 25, the many potential scenarios of his death never played out like this. He opened his mouth, trying to say something. She asked him a question. He knew, because he saw her lips moving. Hopefully she didn’t think of him as too rude.
”My name is Bruce Wayne.”
Unnecessary, it was obvious that she knew, where’s his logical reasoning? He’s wasted so much of his already dwindling cognisance. He resisted the urge to blink his eyes, fearing that they would refuse to submit to his command to reopen. He’s not done yet, he still has important things to say.
“I am of sound mind. I forbid you from contacting any of my listed emergency contacts so long as I’m still alive.”
Her pencilled eyebrows drew down in confusion. Reaching out in a casual manner, completely opposing that by gripping his hands on the reception table, he forced a calm smile. Sweat beaded on his face, pooled in every crevice it could find. He wasn’t done , he wasn’t done yet. The words clung to the sticky accumulation in his throat of all the words he’d never allowed himself to say. God, Jason, they were just starting to get better. He’s going to be fine. They all will be. They will be.
”And I believe I’m having a heart attack.”
Her eyes widened, her eyebrows stretching up in alarm. It looked quite comical. If he wasn’t so busy gritting his teeth against the pain in his chest, he would have said something to lighten the mood, upped the Brucie persona to ease the worry wrinkles on her young face. Those shouldn’t be there, not yet anyways.
Someone’s going to have to pick Damian up from school. Tim wanted to discuss a case. Dick was supposed to come by for dinner. Cass had given him an extra long hug this morning, underlining her worry with rapid signs pleading him to stay home for the day. He’d brushed off a stray hair out of her face with light, calloused fingers, brushed off her worry with the promise that he would back before she knew it and pressed a kiss to her hair. It seemed trivial at the time. Those moments always did until precious hindsight highlighted their significance.
His sweaty hands lost their grip and the world tilted, swirling grotesquely until it began to form Dick’s tired features under a familiar black cowl then promptly faded into nothing.
Dick Grayson squinted at his buzzing phone through darkened sunglasses, his eyes straining from sleep deprivation and the traffic jam he’s been stuck in for the past ten minutes. When he saw the caller ID, he was suddenly wide awake, the leather of his steering wheel groaning under his tightening hold.
“Hey, Damian! Is everything alright?” He was mostly successful at keeping the alarm out of his voice, though he had no doubts that Damian picked up on it. He was about half an hour away from the manor and by the looks of it, the jam was starting to clear up but if Damian needed his help, he’d call superman to fly him if he had to, tabloid articles be damned.
A sigh rang all around him from the car’s stereos and it sounded just annoyed enough that his anxious worry lessened into mildly amused curiosity.
“It seems that father forgot to pick me up again,” Damian said dryly then almost imperceptibly, his voice softened into something less snide, shyer, “what’s your ETA?”
Dick pulled a sympathetic face, his heart aching at the subtle cadence of Damian’s tone. It was a shared, if unspoken, feeling of loss between them. Damian was still having a hard time getting used to being Robin under Bruce. The only part Dick missed in his horrible, awful, no-good time under the cowl was having Damian by his side and dammit, he could admit to himself how terribly missed his robin, the boy he’d come to view as more of a son than a brother.
“Twenty-five minutes. Ice cream on the way back?” He pressed his foot on the gas, shooting forwards and threading expertly through the now moving cars, ignoring the one or other indignant honk.
“I suppose that would be fine. Don’t splatter your brains out on the road, it would be hard to clean.”
Dick let out a surprised but genuine laugh, flipping off the driver of a black sedan that had cut him off very rudely as he sped up to pass them. “I missed you too, Dami.”
Damian scoffed at the nickname but it was soft, embarrassed instead of hostile. The ache in Dick’s face was starting to rival the one in his heart. He bid Damian goodbye, his wide smile settling into something more reserved. Worry pressed sharp teeth into his chapped bottom lip. Bruce’s forgetfulness had been one of the more prominent symptoms of his time spent in the time stream, though he had gotten much better in the last two weeks, almost fully back to the Bruce they all knew.
He pulled his lips back, releasing them from his teeth and grit them together, letting out a whistling sigh. He shouldn’t start worrying, at least not yet. Bruce could be held up in a WE meeting and simply forgotten to call someone else to pick up Damian. That was probably it.
And yet, why was there a horrible feeling settling in the pit of his stomach? Bruce didn’t like to be disturbed in his meetings so he resisted the urge to dial his number, shifting his focus on the road instead. Bruce was fine , just because they thought him dead once doesn’t mean every time he goes missing for a few hours, that he’s dead again. It was unreasonable paranoia born of exhaustion and will be gone as soon as he takes a good long nap in the thousand count cotton sheets Bruce likes so much.
No sooner than he thought that, his phone was buzzing again. A cold flash washed over him.
This time it was Tim. Alarm bells immediately started ringing, they were still on frosty terms and he couldn’t recall the last time Tim had voluntarily called him for a non-urgent situation. His hands shot out to answer the call, a dull sweat starting to break out on the arch of his brow. Before he could even attempt to utter a word, Tim was already speaking, his panicked tone immediately sending a cold spike of adrenaline through Dick’s veins, his stomach giving a sickening lurch.
“Tim, slow down.” The Batman voice was in place, calm, strong and totally not panicking through scenarios that were progressively getting worse.
“Bruce is missing,” Tim’s voice was breathless, like he had been running, though the rapid clicking of keys betrayed where he likely was.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, ” Tim almost snapped, his voice tense, “WE called me 15 minutes ago, asking me for files that Bruce should have given them three hours ago . Cass is freaking out, she said that there was something wrong with him this morning but she couldn’t convince him to stay at home. I’m reviewing the security camera feeds— dammit! Where the fuck are you?”
“Tim, listen to me,” he waited until the frantic clicking stopped, then continued, “this isn’t like last time.” He wasn’t sure if the next pause was more for him, Tim or both.
“He probably has a good explanation, maybe there was a case that needed immediate attention and he didn’t have the time to call any of us. It’s not unusual.” He heard Tim scoff, a bitter huff of air and he winced, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen them.
In contrast to his calm tone, his foot was almost pressing through the gas pedal, definitely breaking a few laws and speed limits along the way.
“I’m going to pick up Damian from school. Is Cass near you?”
“You’re on speaker.”
Dick breathed through his nose silently, his knuckles white, short fingernails digging through his palms, “Cass, when you say ‘something wrong’ what do you mean exactly?” He signalled and exited the highway, rolling the curve at an almost neck-breaking speed.
“She says his posture was pulled… inward? Hunched?” Tim transcribed, the confusion in his voice masking over the panic for the moment.
“Pained.” Cass’ voice was thin, barely audible, the way it only got when she was stressed or anxious.
“He kept rubbing at his chest and stubbed his toe on the door on the way out,” Tim continued, the panic returning to his voice full speed.
“It could have been his indigestion flaring up again.” Dick reasoned, forcing himself to slow down as he neared Damian’s school. That was another one of the symptoms from Bruce’s trip to the past. Nobody knew exactly why his tolerance towards food had decreased, but they theorised that spending so much time eating non-processed food had made his stomach all the more sensitive to modern food.
Cass completed the trifecta and voiced an impatient huff, “what he said too! He’s wrong! You’re wrong!”
He turned the corner leading to the school and saw Damian leaning near the doors, backpack slung over his shoulders with his phone in hand.
“Okay, I trust your judgement.” He ground out evenly, in control, as if his hands weren’t shaking as he came to a stop next to Damian, “Damian and I will arrive in ten minutes. Tim, keep looking for him. Cass, don’t beat yourself up, I doubt you could make Bruce Wayne do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
“Containment cells.” He heard Cass mumble before the phone line was disconnected, just in time for Damian to open the passenger seat and climb in. He glanced in his direction, opening his mouth in greeting, phone open on his video game of the week before he inevitably got bored with it. The pleasant expression on his face immediately dropped as he took in Dick’s appearance, his eyes springing in alertness, his phone disappearing into his pocket a mere second later.
“What happened?” Just like him, Damian had immediately slipped into his Robin voice, his hands twisting into the fabric of his hoodie.
Dick turned away, running a hand over his face, dislodging his sunglasses, “Bruce’s missing.”
——
“He was last seen six hours ago and he took a regular cab outside of WE’s headquarters and I just can’t find the plate number,” Tim was running a hand through his hair, typing furiously on the main screen as Damian, Cass and Dick examined the frozen grainy footage displayed on the side screens.
Damian hadn’t said a word since his greeting, his face settled in a deep scowl. To anyone else, he looked like he was pissed off but they all knew he was just as anxious as they were, if not more.
Dick rubbed at his eyes, pinching his nose between them in a meagre attempt to stave off the incoming headache. He took a deep breath, already dreading the words he had to say.
“Did you do a morgue and hospital record search?”
“Who do you think I am? Of course I did!” Tim snapped. He’s been at it for almost an hour now, with little to no result. When Bruce didn’t want to be found, he really didn’t want to be found. “There’s no record of him or anyone matching his description in any hospital within a ten mile radius.”
“Have you tried a bigger radius?”
Tim turned to look at him, his expression unreadable, “how big are we talking?”
“Try 100.”
The four of them stared at the computer in silence, watching as Tim ran the algorithm.
“This might take a while, there’s no need for everyone to stay here, I’ll update if I get something,” Tim mumbled, embarrassment colouring his tone, which was nice-speak for ‘fuck off and let me work’.
“Alright. Damian? Still up for that ice cream? I’m sure there’s some left in the fridge from last week. You’re welcome to join, Cass.” He added at the end. Cass just shook her head, carefully examining the still shots of Bruce for any clues. Damian walked by him wordlessly, heading toward the stairs that led to the manor. If Dick wasn’t already worrying before, he certainly was now.
He followed Damian up, catching up to him easily. Instead of the kitchen, they were headed towards the library. Dick followed without protest, giving Damian the time and space he needed to work himself up into saying what was bothering him.
They sat down on Damian’s favourite sofa, the boy immediately pulling his legs up and tucking his chin on the tops of his knees, his arms tightly clasped around himself. Dick made himself comfortable, letting his head tilt back towards the ceiling, examining the familiar stone. His eyes flitted to a familiar indent, now barely visible, where a chandelier had once hung before he accidentally swung too hard on it and made it crash over all the books. That was the first time that he’d seen Bruce truly scared. All the chandeliers in the house were removed the day after.
Maybe he got himself too comfortable because when Damian finally started speaking, he had been dangerously close to the edge of sleep and snapped back to awareness, his body carefully still.
“When you said… when you said that father was missing,” Damian’s voice was barely more than a whisper, horror wrapped words uttered shamefully, muffled against his knees.
“There was a split second where I,” Damian paused again, the couch shifting under him as he hugged his knees closer. His hands burned with the need to reach out and wrap his brother in a hug but he had to wait for him to finish.
“I was relieved.”
Before he could do anything but let out a startled breath through his nose, Damian started blabbering, the words piling on top of each other in their desperate attempt to get out.
“I don’t hate him, I don’t want him to be hurt or— or dead, he’s my father but I miss how it used to be. I miss my batman. It’s simply not the same but it’s horrible , it’s disgusting to feel relief that your father is missing .“
Damian’s words cut off as his face squished against Dick’s shoulder. His whole body was trembling and it made Dick’s heart shatter.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, you didn’t mean it like that,” Dick spoke around the lump in his throat, his fingers carding through Damian’s hair, trying to soothe his trembling. The boy was rigid in his grip, shaking his head furiously against his shoulder.
“No, no it’s not! What kind of son wishes that sort of thing? What kind of son wishes their father would sustain a substantial, non-life threatening injury so that he’d take a break from being Batman? I am a disgrace to the mantle of Robin.”
”No, listen to me.” Dick commanded gently, pulling back from Damian just enough to place both hands on his shoulders, making sure to maintain eye contact with glistening green eyes.
“You’d be hard pressed to find a Robin that hasn’t though or wished that at least once. I know I did.”
Damian’s eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.
”Sure, it was under different circumstances but anyone who has worked with Bruce knows exactly how self-destructive and reckless he can be. None of us wish any harm on him and we’d rather it didn’t even come to that, but if that’s the only thing that would force him take a real break…” Dick trailed off, letting his own shame show, resisting the urge to avert his eyes.
“My point is, you’re not a disgrace to Robin. I am incredibly proud of how far you’ve come. You have given Robin as much purpose as it’s given you and anybody would be lucky to have you fighting by their side.”
Dick blinked and suddenly his arms were full of Damian again, his body moving automatically to encase the slightly trembling boy. He meant every word he said. It had taken them endless patient nights to get to this level. The Damian from mere six months ago would have bristled at the lightest affectionate touch and would have never even dreamt about initiating it, let alone accept it for this long.
“Alright, little man,” Dick ruffled Damian’s hair who immediately jerked away with an indignant sound. He grinned, “we’ve been here before, you and I. Wherever Bruce is, we’ll find him. I’ll go get that ice cream, meet you back in the cave?”
Damian crossed his arms with a huff and opened his mouth, probably to retort with something snarky but he was interrupted by twin pings from their phones.
All the lightheartedness he’d tediously tried to insert into the atmosphere was gone and they looked at each other again, expressions grim.
Get back to the cave, now.
The walk back to the cave was brisk and tense, the tension only amplified by the deathly silence that greeted them when they entered the cave. The clicking of Tim’s fingers on the keyboard had completely stopped. The eeriness of the silence was solidified by sight of Tim and Cass standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at the centre screen of the batcomputer.
“Oh god,” Dick whispered when he was close enough to recognise what they were looking at.
It was a hospital report. Not just any hospital report, but an ER admission form. He had seen enough of them over the years to know their structure by heart.
Bruce’s name was written on the top along with a timestamp, 14:33.
Three hours ago.
His eyes dropped to the reason for the admission, his heart dropped into his stomach when he processed what was written on it.
MI, myocardial infarction. A heart attack.
“He’s still in surgery,” Tim said, his voice tight and sat back down, opening a new tab on one of the side screens. Dick was still reading through the file, dread and anger accumulating the more he read.
The last drop that overfilled the bucket was the note added on Bruce’s file. “ Emergency contacts are not to be contacted.”
The anger snapped him out of his daze and he rushed by Damian, coming to a stand next to Tim. The next minutes went by in an angry haze as he tried to keep his voice level while getting as much information as he could. What the fuck was Bruce doing? The hospital was seventy-five miles away, that’s a good two hours if the traffic was light. It only clicked to him when Tim pulled up a history of the hospital, it was a repurposed bunker from the Cold War, its walls were lead-lined. No doubt this was one of Bruce’s contingency plans, one didn’t just stumble upon a hospital almost eighty miles away, especially not during a medical emergency. No, this was deliberate, everyone knew that lead completely blocked superman’s x-ray vision and muffled his hearing. It didn’t help that Clark had taken on his first off-world mission since Bruce’s return and was only set to return in two days.
Dick cursed under his breath as security footage from various cameras played through on amplified speed as the program tried to recognise Bruce’s face in any of them. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing that he was interrupted before they could find the footage.
“The car is ready.” Damian appeared next to him, a determined set to his jaw, “I’ve texted Jason the address, he is going to meet us there.”
Five minutes later they were seated in the car, Dick in the driver’s seat while Tim sat shotgun, his laptop open to the hospital’s OR board. The operating room Bruce was in was still glowing red, with the doctor’s name and CABG written in the small box next to the OR number and his name.
After making sure that everyone was strapped in, Dick floored the gas pedal, pressing them back into their seats and shooting out of the cave. The ride was spent in tense silence with Dick’s fingers tapping on the steering wheel, irritation and worry alike radiating off of him in waves. Thanks to his teetering on the edge of the speed limit and the rush hour traffic mostly dissipated, the two hour drive was shortened to a mere hour fifteen. About thirty minutes into the drive, Tim had chimed up to let them know that Bruce was out of surgery. The collective sigh of relief in the car was palpable. Dick’s anger has simmered down to a background buzz, his shoulders still tight.
Somehow, Jason was already waiting for them at the main entrance, a scowl on his face and what looked like his second cigarette hanging between two fingers. When he saw them, he stubbed it out on the trash can next to him, coming up to meet them.
A silent understanding passed between him and Jason, their differences put aside for the moment. He clasped Jason’s arm, whispering something in his ear and released him, building the front of their little group along with Tim while Jason hung behind, walking next to Damian and Cass.
The receptionist was a dark skinned woman with a kind smile which Dick reciprocated, upping up the charm. It was Bruce he was mad at, not the hospital staff simply doing their jobs.
“Hey, good afternoon. I’m here to see Bruce Wayne, would you be so kind as to direct me to his room?” He smiled his best gala smile, leaning casually across the counter.
The receptionist was unphased, nodding with a small, polite smile, her fingers clicking on the keyboard. This was purely for the sake of appearances, they knew Bruce’s room number from the minute that he was placed there.
“Hey, I don’t mean to bother you but did you say you’re here for Bruce Wayne?”
Dick turned around, smile stiffening a little when he was met with a lanky man that looked to be in his 30s, a nervous smile on his face. His face was a little familiar, though he couldn’t place it.
“Yes, can I help you?” Dick replied, no less charming.
“Well, it’s just— listen man, I tried to make him go to a closer hospital but have you seen how stubborn that man is? No offence of course.” He quickly added at the end.
“You’re the taxi driver.” Cass stated behind him, stepped up to stand in front of the man, their height difference almost comical.
“Excuse me, sir? Who are you to the patient?” The receptionist piped up and Dick averted his attention, quickly giving her their names.
”He’s in the ICU, room 217. That’s on the second floor, take a left after the stairs and walk through the corridor, last door to the right. Please fill out these forms before you go up.” She handed him a clipboard and a pen which he took with a bright thank you.
Finally free to divert his attention back to the man, he found all of his companions gathered around him. If it were any other situation, Dick would have laughed at the nervous looks the man kept sending Jason, who was just watching him quietly, his arms crossed.
”Okay, why don’t you guys go ahead and I’ll talk to our friend here,” he suggested, raising one eyebrow at his slightly guilty-looking siblings.
Several huffs and rolled eyes later, Dick and the man were the only ones left standing in the lobby, the clipboard clasped in his hands.
“Dick Grayson, nice to meet you,” he extended his empty hand towards the man, “let's go find a place to sit while I fill out these forms, shall we?”
— — — — — — — — — — — —
Dick’s knee was bouncing erratically, his hands running through his hair restlessly. The doctor left the room thirty-something minutes ago after taking a thorough patient history, explaining what they had done in surgery and talking them through the recovery process with the promise to come back later, when Bruce was awake.
Apparently, even after a decade and a half of knowing Bruce, there were still things to learn about him. Dick had answered most of the doctor’s questions but he faltered at the family history, never having had the reason to delve into it before. Tim picked up where he was lacking, citing various heart-related deaths in the Wayne lineage. How on earth had he missed that?
“He’s waking up,” Cass mutters but she might as well have shouted because within seconds Dick is on his feet, the others following close behind.
“Stay back, don’t overwhelm him,” Dick mutters, “even though he deserves it, hypocritical bastard ,” his voice rises pointedly as he steps up to Bruce’s bed, the others crowding behind him.
It has the desired effect as Bruce’s eyes snap open, immediately landing on Dick’s sweetly smiling face.
“Oh, hey Bruce. Nice evening, isn’t it? How are you feeling?” He asks, voice dripping with honey, his smile so wide it starts to hurt. Judging from the look in Bruce’s eyes, the intended effect was achieved.
To Bruce’s credit, he recovers quickly, the already pale skin of his face getting marginally paler when he glimpses at the pissed off vigilantes standing behind Dick. He grunts, trying to sit up but is immediately stopped by a tight hand on his shoulder.
“Oh that won’t be necessary,” Dick firmly presses Bruce back, using the control buttons to push his bed into a semi-sitting position.
“I’m feeling fine.” Bruce finally responded, tension clear in his voice, “what is everyone doing here?”
“Oh, would you look at that! Looks like he’s awake enough to ask questions , surely he’s awake enough to answer them,” comes menacingly from Jason, which earns him a look from Dick before he turns back to Bruce.
“Would you like some water after your open heart surgery, Bruce?” Dick doesn’t even know how he did it, but he even manages to hand Bruce a glass of water passive-aggressively.
Bruce lifts the glass, taking a measured sip, his eyes flitting from face to face behind Dick and that just won’t do, will it?
“Jeremy says hi, by the way. You know, Jeremy? The taxi driver that drove you two hours out here in a hospital in the middle of nowhere?” If Bruce Wayne were a lesser man, he would have choked on his water. Instead, his eye twitches once.
“He was concerned enough to stay in the waiting room after you passed out at the entrance desk. Couldn’t bear to have you die despite his many attempts to convince you to get to a closer hospital . I managed to make him go home but he left me his phone number and told me to update you on him. Isn’t he so nice?”
He feels rather than hears the group gathered behind him slowly disband and go back to their original locations, though the effect on Bruce was now amplified, glares coming down on him from all directions. Cass was the only one to change her seating, trodding with silent footsteps to sit next to Bruce. She settles by his side, her movements careful and deliberate as she tucks her face in his flimsy hospital gown.
“You promised.”
Her words were barely audible, muffled by Bruce’s clothes but those two simple words manage to undo Bruce more than anything Dick said in the past five minutes.
The effect was astonishing. Bruce’s carefully stoic face falls in itself and they could see the moment his heart breaks as he pulls Cass closer. For the first time since he woke up, regret is practically radiating off his face.
Dick’s exaggerated smile burns out.
“I’ll go get a nurse,” He mutters, avoiding eye contact and slipping out before anyone could call out the fact that he could just press the call button. He needed a minute away to compose himself, now that they knew that Bruce is going to live another day to make his stupid, self-sacrificing decisions.
15 minutes . That’s how long it took him to go into heart failure right on the table, surrounded by a team of doctors. If he had arrived just 15 minutes later, if there had been just a little more traffic, it would have been too late.
Dick’s hands clenched into fists, anger rising around his sickening worry, almost completely encasing it. How could Bruce be so stupid? They had just gotten him back, Tim was just getting back to his usual self, Jason had finally stopped shooting them on sight and for the first time in over a year, Cass spent more time at the manor than at Babs’. They were all still recovering, held together by a thin string that Bruce brutally stomped over with his little stunt. The hospital air felt poisonous in his lungs, filled with the smell of chemicals trying to mask over the pungent smell of death, a death that Bruce cheated by a hair's breadth once again.
Dick could have his back when fighting monsters and the scum of the earth, he could take a bullet if it came towards him, push him out of harm’s way if he wasn’t looking but this? He was powerless against this. Bruce had always seemed larger than life but since Dick had come to know his painfully human nature all too well, he’d thought the effect was long lost on him.
He thought wrong.
After he made sure a nurse was being sent to Bruce’s room, he took the stairs down with his phone in hand, and pressed on Barbara’s contact.
————
Damian watched as Richard left, resisting the urge to go after him and escape the pair of eyes he could feel settling on him. He pretended to be occupied by something on his phone, his fingers moving restlessly on the screen, swiping between apps and focusing on none. He’d already reached the highest level on the game he had downloaded and the hospital’s WiFi was too slow to start downloading another.
He was being a coward, making things worse by prolonging the inevitable confrontation but no words came to his mind, not a single language of the dozen he spoke had the right words. Maybe he should tell father that he was content about his recovery, like it was customary, but father will see right through him, right to his rotten core and he will be distressed. The doctor had instructed that father shall not be placed under much duress, for that was what led to the failure of his heart in the first place.
Maybe he should follow Cassandra’s example and express his words through physical language, surely father would simply accept it and attribute his sudden proclivity to physical affection as a symptom of his worry. It was a solid idea and one that would guarantee him a free pass, if he could only bring himself to do it. His hands tightened around the device, black spots appearing on the screen where his fingers were pressing down far too hard. He was a danger to father, he couldn’t even fathom how Richard had been so reckless to leave them in a room together. It would be painfully easy to hurt him now. His vulnerability was increased by the dozens of wires attached to his chest and the fresh stitches just above his heart. Any league-trained assassin will know three different ways to have him dead within minutes.
What if a split second was all it took for his hands to slip, just like his thoughts did? Father will be truly dead then and everyone would have witnessed it, his rotten core infecting everything it touched. A thought suddenly came to him that drew the breath out of his lungs. Was he responsible for this? Prior to his arrival father had been in peak physical condition, only to be presumably killed two months after his arrival and reach death’s doorstep three weeks after he came back. The common denominator was the presence of one.
He felt another pair of eyes settle on him from across the room and he pried his grip loose on the phone, pulling it closer to him as if he was completely immersed and ignorant to his surroundings. He was faintly following Timothy’s and fathers conversation, Timothy’s cutting tone contrasting with his father’s deep, calm retorts. They were talking about Wayne Enterprise business, though Timothy managed to slip a few less than polite remarks in between, his tone accusing. Damian wanted to snap at him, tell him to save his petulant, childish remarks until father was more by his strength but father seemed to be fine with it, merely countering Timothy’s remarks with gentle, understanding words.
Jason, who was now watching him, had been his companion in silence so far, save for a meagre threat that he would unapologetically shoot father should he ever do something like this again. It was clear that it was coming from a place of concern, not malice and judging by father’s light chuckle, he was aware of it.
Perhaps he should take Jason’s and Timothy’s approaches instead and react with anger at father’s recklessness to his own life. They seemed to find the right words, the right delivery to make it clear that their anger was just concern in disguise, therefore not increasing father’s stress levels. It only worked because father knew them, had lived with them for years and knew the intricacies of their personalities enough to be able to interpret their actions.
Father didn’t know Damian. They had only spent two awkward months in each other’s vicinity before father was lost and since then, a lot of things have changed. Father had been so busy in the past few weeks that they simply never found the time to spend in each other’s company without a pressing mission or other to attend to.
Hence, if Damian were to copy them, father would only see his anger, not what lies underneath. He will assume and reach all the wrong conclusions, which will result in stress as he tries to figure out how to soothe him. He was truly at an impasse, damned if he did, damned if he didnt.
“I’m sorry I didn’t pick you from school today, Damian.” Father addressed him suddenly and Damian almost twitched, his breaths slow and shallow.
”It’s alright, Richard picked me up,” he answered neutrally, cursing his voice for sounding robotic. He looked up from his phone and to the grey curl that rested just above father’s ear, quickly landing on a decision, “I’m grateful about the successful outcome of your surgery and I offer any necessary services to aid in your recovery.” He nodded solemnly, heart beating erratically and glanced back down to his phone, ‘immersing’ himself in it again. Father’s expression from the corner of his eye was vaguely disquieted. Jason didn’t even bother to hide his frown as the two of them watched him, the room quiet. His palms started dampening as he replayed and dissected his hastily chosen words. He’d thought they were perfectly adequate for the situation; his tone was polite and he’d even offered his help! What more must he do?
He had chosen wrong. Now father was going to stress about it, and will not rest until he figured out the mystery, discovering the lingering, infectious rot that resided in Damian along the way.
He tensed as he glimpsed father opening his mouth, leaning forward with an inquisitive raised brow. He was saved by a swift knock and the smooth sound of an opening door. The nurse was finally there. He knew that both father and Jason were too smart to forget about his slip up and they would inevitably come back to revisit it but for now, he could take a break, revisit his plan of action while they were busy with the nurse’s tests.
The next few days were rather quiet, or as quiet as anything having to do with them could be. Dick’s talk with Barbara had helped immensely, part of his worry quietened now that he knew she had things handled. They kept a steady stream of contact, Babs updating him about the situation in Gotham and getting updates about Bruce’s condition.
He didn’t dare to call it out, but anyone who knew them could notice how every single one of them was still on edge, going much easier on Bruce than they ever had before. Jason’s insults had been kept to a minimum, Tim wasn’t being half as snarky as he could be and Dick had calmed his anger down enough to take a normal tone while talking to Bruce. Damian mostly kept to himself, which hadn’t gone unnoticed judging by the crinkle that appeared between Bruce’s eyebrows every time he looked at him. Of course, trying to stop Bruce Wayne from stressing was almost an impossible task, but they made do with what they had.
The next day, Bruce could work off some of his pent up energy by taking a walk twice a day with either one of them or one of the nurses, who were all too happy to spend time with the charming Brucie Wayne. He had tried using that charm to convince his doctors into letting him exert himself more but they were adamant that he take it slow. They had already contacted Leslie to prepare for when Bruce got discharged from the ICU so that they could return to Gotham as soon as possible. Dick found himself grinning at the text from Barbara, detailing the colourful curses Leslie had let out when she found out. Bruce was sure to receive a stern talking to every day for at least the next two weeks.
Jason had to leave on day two, grunting something about not being able to afford a break in Crime Alley. He took Damian along with him despite his feeble protests, because he couldn’t afford to miss more school days without raising suspicion. Tim took over handling WE business from his computer, making himself comfortable on the chair he claimed, piping up with an update every once in a while. Cass stayed glued to Bruce‘s side, only moving when the nurses came to check on him, watching their work closely with sharp eyes.
A few hours after Jason and Damian left, Clark Kent practically flew in, dishevelled with his glasses askew, poorly concealing panic-wide eyes. For the first time in 48 hours, Dick could finally feel the tension seeping away from his bones, leaving the exhaustion to properly settle in.
Bruce was moved down from the ICU the very next day, his doctors pleased enough with his recovery to sign the release papers along with orders of strict bed rest and a slew of medications.
Somehow, the news story of Bruce Wayne’s hospital stay didn’t break, partially because of the hospital’s discretion, Clark’s reporter connections and the vicious way Tim had quietened any rumours online about it.
As they’re wheeling Bruce out of the hospital, Dick and Clark exchange a long look. It may not have gone as badly as it could have but it had been so close to, too close.