TITLE: Carry Me Home
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
FANDOM: DC Comics
CHARACTERS: Bruce/Dick, Alfred, Tim
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: After a dark night in
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
NOTES: For Kay.
A low moan stirred him from sleep and he struggled upright, feeling something in his arm give and sickening pain spread over his shoulder.
"Batman?"
The trash beside him stirred and Nightwing's glove emerged, reaching for the lip of the dumpster to pull himself free. Silhouetted by the moon, he was clearly the peak of athletic perfection, an acrobat's body designed for flight and bloody chaos.
Bruce had raised a demon and he was proud.
Tinted lenses fixed on him, and the mouth twisted into a grimace. "You're hurt."
He started to protest but the world abruptly blacked out. Aware of movement, light, pain, he bit down on his lip and forced his eyes open.
"Stay awake," was the whisper in his ear. He tried to nod, but his head throbbed painfully. "And stay still." **********
They were outside the dumpster now – when had that happened? – and Nightwing was carefully strapping his arm to his side. It hurt more this way, but it would stop him damaging it further.
"Good thinking," he bit out, and saw the smile flit across Dick's face. No – Nightwing's face. They were still in the field, in danger.
"Equipment's busted," Nightwing said, reading his mind. "Bike's about six blocks away. Dawn's in forty minutes, give or take ten. Can you walk?"
Even if he couldn't, he wasn't going to let on about it. Bracing himself against Nightwing's arm, he struggled to his feet, feeling the world tilt absurdly and finding himself securely held in Dick's arms.
"I'll carry you," Dick said firmly, and he had bent down before Bruce could grab his shoulder
"Don't," he said, shortly. "I can walk."
He could sense the rolled eyes behind the mask. "Sure. We'll do it your way, then," followed by a muttered, "What other way is there?" ***********
~
Pain was breaking over his chest in waves, but he ignored it. Bruce was clearly concussed and he had to get him home.
Tugging Bruce's good arm around his broad shoulders, he took most of his weight, waiting a moment as Bruce staggered against him before stoically pulling himself upright. Idiot.
"What…happened?"
A good question. Dick took a step forward, to get them moving, and realised that progress would be slow as soon as Bruce tripped over his own feet. Hauling him upright again caused an explosion of pain across his chest, but he gritted his teeth and dragged them another few steps.
"Some kind of explosion," he managed, breath coming too quickly. He fought for control. "We were knocked off the roof." ********
They rounded the corner of the alley and faced the main street. His bike was over a kilometre away and the street was already beginning to show signs of life. They had to move quickly.
Half-dragging Bruce down the street, he managed to keep them both upright for about a block before he had to rest them against the wall, his chest heaving and driving a knife into his side with every breath. He had to get them home. This was no time for giving in to pain.
"Dick…" Bruce murmured and he forced himself up again, pulling Bruce with him and taking another step. ********
~
It was almost morning. Where had the time gone? It was nice to have Dick on patrol with him but it was always too short. He needed Dick with him.
They weren't moving very fast, but his legs were feeling the distance. Maybe he had sprained his ankle. Perhaps it would be better to let Dick carry him.
However, Dick wasn't listening anymore, just dragging them onward like a man possessed. It had started to rain and Bruce admired the way his boy's hair plastered over his head, jet black in the water. Not a boy anymore, though. A man now. His man?
"Stop?" he muttered but he saw Dick shake his head.
"No, we have to keep going. It's only a couple of blocks now. We're going to beat the sun." **********
Beat the sun. That sounded like a good idea.
His ankle gave way and he ended up in a heap on the street. Dick tried to drag him up again but his leg wouldn't support his weight, and he ended up clutching pathetically to Dick's legs. I am Batman – see me fall.
"I'm going to carry you," Dick declared, out of breath but still sporting a smile. Dick always smiled.
Bruce allowed himself to be thrown over Dick's shoulder, hearing Dick grunt with the effort but unable to tell him to put him down. No longer forced to walk, Bruce found the world seemed to dim and then it went away. *********
~
The last block was Hell itself.
Dick felt the knives in his chest as he staggered forward, one foot in front of the other, cursing each little item swinging from Batman's belt. Bruce thought he was prepared when he carried round all that kit. Dick thought he was just showing off.
Golden light spilled over the horizon as Dick reached his bike. Some punk had keyed the paintwork, but that hardly mattered now. Slinging Bruce over the pillion and against the wall, he stole some cord from his belt and tied it around them both. He couldn't risk Bruce falling off the bike and he was clearly in no state to hold on.
Tying the knots securely, Dick twisted in the cord and positioned himself properly on the bike, kicking it to life and roaring away. ********
The pain in his chest was constant now, the knife being worried deeper with every breath, but he refused to acknowledge its existence. He was getting them home. They had to get home.
He had never been more glad to see The Manor in his life. The Cave recognised his bike and let him in, as they roared up to a waiting Alfred and Tim. Home.
"Master Dick! What happened?"
Tim cut the cord and hauled Bruce away from him, as Alfred helped him off the bike.
"Explosion. Fell off the roof," he muttered, as he watched Tim carry Bruce away. It was done. He was done.
"Master Dick? Can you hear me?"
With a small smile, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the floor. *******
~
Alfred caught him with a sigh, lowering his limp form to the floor. The young masters never knew how to look after themselves, which was surely something they learned from their mentor.
Searching for a wound, Alfred found none. He frowned and started to strip away panels of uniform.
"Alfred? What's going on?"
Tim knelt beside him and ran his hands over Dick's head. He inspected his hands for blood – nothing.
"Ah," Alfred said, as he revealed a rich bruise colouring Dick's ribs. He tapped at the skin carefully – dull.
"A chest drain please, Master Tim, and quickly," Alfred said in clipped tones, lifting Dick over his shoulder and moving him to a bed. Tim handed over the equipment and Alfred primed the needle. ********
"Sharp scratch now, Master Dick," he said to his unconscious charge and cut the skin with a scalpel, before forcing the needle in.
"Don't faint now, Master Tim," he said, as he fixed the tube to a bag and sutured the drain in place. With satisfaction, he watched the blood drain down the tube and Dick's breathing ease.
"A job well done, I think," he said and Tim offered him a vague smile. "Now, let's make our patients comfortable, shall we?" ********
~
When he next woke, his head felt terrible. His arm was plastered and his ankle bandaged – but where was Dick?
Finding painkillers was easy. Unfortunately, the noise he made brought Alfred and then he also received a lecture. However, he didn't care.
"Where's Dick?" he asked, grabbing Alfred's shoulder with his good hand. "Tell me where he is."
"Easy now, Master Bruce," Alfred said, gently. "He's just resting in the den."
"Resting?" Bruce frowned. "Is he hurt?"
Without thought, Bruce grabbed a crutch and hobbled up the stairs, Alfred following and making noises about stubborn men and his misfortune in being surrounded by them. Dick had carried him. Dick had been hurt and he had carried him. *********
He found Dick in the den, watching television with a drain sticking out of his side and a blood bag suspended from an IV pole. He looked up when the door opened and a grin spread his too-pale face.
"Hey, you're awake. Are you meant to be up?"
"What do you think, Master Dick?" Alfred's voice said wearily, but Bruce was already across the room, landing heavily on the sofa and scanning Dick for an injury.
"Relax," Dick said lazily, grabbing hold of his hovering hand. "It's just a fractured rib."
"You didn't tell me," Bruce said, angry at Dick's ridiculous attitude to life-threatening injury. "You could've died."
Dick's eyes turned hard. "I had to get you home. You were in no state to hear about my pain. And, look, we're here, aren't we? What do you want from me?"
Bruce floundered, uncertain of what he could say. Dick had made a tactical decision. Dick had done well. Dick…had risked his life for Bruce's. *******
"Bruce…let's just forget about it, okay?" Dick said, starting to pull his hand back. Bruce held on.
"You scared me," he confessed. "I…don't want you to get hurt." Head injury. The head injury was speaking. He was not saying these things.
Dick smiled. "Bruce, our job is dangerous. But…I don't want you to get hurt either."
"I am exceptionally glad you're both seeing sense at last. I'm sure I can look forward to hearing your retirement plans soon then?"
"Alfred, I would like some coffee," Bruce declared, suddenly desperate to be alone with Dick. He heard the sigh from across the room.
"Very well, Master Bruce. It was worth a try." *********
When they were alone, Dick looked at him seriously. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes," he said quickly and then he kissed him. Dick gave a surprised little gasp and Bruce smiled into the kiss, reassuring himself that Dick was alive and whole and his.
When he pulled away, Dick's wan face had some colour back. He was also looking completely mystified. "So…what was that?"
Bruce frowned. "I'm not sure." All he knew was that Dick was here, and for one painful moment, he had thought that might have been at risk. He needed Dick to be part of his life. He needed a world where Dick was close to him.
Dick laughed. "Okay. We'll work it out…later?"
"Later," Bruce agreed, and held Dick's hand close, knowing he was home.