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Thundering down the corridor, Bruce barely registered the hospital faculty trying to slow him down. The staff who were under the illusion that Bruce could be convinced to sit down and drink a hot beverage while his son was in the building. His son whom he hasn’t seen in nearly three weeks.
“Mr Wayne, please, if you could just—”
The staff was cut off by a screech. A razor sharp sound that sliced through Bruce.
That was Dick.
He would pay for it later, but Bruce shoved his arm to the side, throwing the staff member off of him. Bruce followed the sound, charging forward on his mission to get to his boy.
The fear that hadn’t left him since the first ransom call pumped him with adrenaline. Finally, Bruce found himself in front of a flimsy door (too little security. Invest in bodyguards) and threw it open.
There. Dickie was on the bed. Hurt. Bruised. Injured. But alive. His baby was alive.
His baby was… was restrained. Wrists tied down to the hospital bed as his back arched off of it. Shaking his head side to side and screaming whenever he managed to breathe around his sobs.
“Untie him.” Bruce didn’t even hear his unrecognisable voice as he rushed forward. “Get those off.”
“Sir, you should not be in here—”
“Mr Wayne, it is for his own good—”
“Get them off!” He bellowed, reaching down himself to rip the Velcro away. Weak restraints that Dick in his sleep would have been able to get out of. Going to show just how clouded his mind was.
Predictably, Dick’s arm flew out, aiming nowhere but intended to hit. Still fighting despite everything. The medical staff jumped either backwards to avoid it or forward to grab him. Bruce whipped his glare at those stupid enough to try and hold down his son while he was near. His expression startled the doctors and they edged away.
With the threat backing away, Bruce refocused himself to Dick. The boy was in the T-Shirt and shorts he had been in when he was taken. The clothes dirty and ripped, the hospital not having the chance to have changed him before he woke up. His face was scrunched up and aggressive, still screaming and fighting. His body thinned in only the three weeks he had been held for ransom. Bruised and cut and burned.
“Dickie,” Bruce’s breathless whisper was lost under the weight of another wild screech. A hand came up to aimlessly whack him and Bruce turned his head with the punch unbothered. “Dickie, Chum, you’re with me now, Sweetheart. You’re with me. Hush, Dickie. I’m here now. I’m here.”
Tears pricked in Bruce’s eyes as his son gagged on a particularly violent sob. Hyperventilating under his own fear. The teenager’s eyes still scrunched closed.
Softly, carefully, Bruce brought up a hand to cup Dick’s dirty cheek. Keeping the warmth there even when Dick flinched away, his boy scared of pain.
“Dick,” he thumbed away a quickly replaced tear. He brought his other hand up to run it through Dick’s hair just the way his son liked it before he stopped himself abruptly. He eyed the ripped patches of hair on Dick’s scalp and brought his hand away. Not sure if Dick would confuse his intention with his kidnapper’s violence.
“Shh,” Bruce whispered. Not bothered by another hit from his distressed baby. “Shh, all the pain will go away soon. I’m here now. And when you’re all better we can go home to the Manor.” He rambled helplessly. “We can go home and put on a movie. Alfred will make us some popcorn. Extra buttered if you ask nicely. And then you can sleep in your own bed. Zitka missed you, you know? I’ll have Alfred bring her here. Shh, Dickie. Hey, hey, shh. I’ll install some new additions to your gym for when you’re better. You can practice some new tricks and turns. Put on a show for us, yeah? Yeah, Chum? I’m here, baby, shh, I’ve got you. No one will hurt you now.”
Feeling a helpless tear streak down his own face, Bruce raised his shoulder to wipe it away. The room was silent save for Dick’s wrenching sobs and Bruce’s helpless ramble.
Finally, a coherent word broke through Dick’s cries.
“No…” he hitched around his cries.
“Dick?” Bruce asked. “Dickie, open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me now, that’s it. That’s a good kid. C’mon, Chum.”
Bruce felt relief when wet lashes fluttered open obediently. Blinking through the soreness to look up at Bruce.
“It’s me, Chum.” Bruce reassured. “You’re safe now. It’s me, Bruce. It’s Bruce. It’s B. I’m here for you. It’s—”
“Dad.” Dick corrected with a thorny voice. The hands that had been throwing themselves around shakily reached up towards Bruce.
With his heart stuttering around the ruthless grip of Dick’s small voice, Bruce’s breath shuddered as he grabbed gently onto Dick’s hands. Leaning down closer as Dick wanted. “Yes, it’s Dad. I’m here, son. I’m here now. I’ll look after you.”
Dick sniffed, his screams depleted for now. Leaving behind pathetic whimpers. “Dad.”
“I’m here.” He promised. “I won’t let them touch you.”
Weakly, Dick’s lip wobbled. “They… they…”
“You can tell me,” Bruce comforted. “You can tell me all about what they did. They hurt you?”
Dick keened. “They kept hitting me.” He admitted. “And I tried to get away but I got caught so they— they broke my feet.” His breath got caught around a sob. His cut hands gripped tighter on Bruce’s. “They set me on fire. They drowned me. They laughed.”
Defeatedly, despite his boy being in his hands right now, Bruce felt more tears spill from his eyes. He leaned his head down until his lips could lightly kiss Dick’s bruised forehead. “My baby.” He mourned.
All this pain had all been unnecessary. Bruce had immediately paid the ransom. And the next one. And the next. He had begged over the phone. He had offered up everything the kidnappers wanted even before he saw pictures they had sent of Dick being poked by hot iron. They hadn’t even wanted the money. It had all been for fun. Fucking psychopaths who blamed Bruce for the financial inequality of the city. Who took it out on his innocent son who played no part in it.
He’d ignored every warning from Gordon. He had run through the street day and night as Batman. Bruce had even sent an emergency signal to Superman but the damn Kryptonian had been off-world the one time Bruce admitted to needing him. He’d called in other League members. Risking his identity to ask for help.
And it had all been for nothing.
No, not nothing. Dickie was still alive. Hurt. But alive.
Bruce laid another kiss on his son’s forehead before he rested his own forehead gently against it. “My Dickie. They can’t touch you anymore. I made sure of it.” He ran his thumbs comfortably up and down the back Dick’s hands. “I’m right here. Can the doctors help you feel better? Bandage your broken feet, plasters on your cuts, cream for your burns? I’m right here, I won’t let them hurt you.”
Once more, Dick’s lip wobbled unhappily but he shakily forced in a breath. Such a brave boy despite everything. “You promise you’ll stay?”
“I promise.” Bruce said fiercely. Raising his head back so Dick could clearly see his expression. “No one can make me leave.”
Chewing his cut up lip, Dick nodded, his grip not leaving Bruce’s.
For the first time since he entered, Bruce turned his gaze away and towards the doctors standing against the walls, their expressions torn with empathy. Bruce nodded to them. Gesturing for them to step forward.
Bruce stepped aside but kept on hand in Dick’s, knowing he was in the staff’s way but refusing to budge. Still, when the first doctor laid a light hand on Dick, the boy froze and anxiously looked at Bruce.
“Your Dad’s still here, Mr Grayson.” The doctor promised. “He’s not going anywhere right now.”
Calming down, Dick nodded, and under the protection of Bruce’s gaze, he finally felt safe enough to relax and slip away into unconsciousness.
Bruce still didn’t let go of his hand.