TITLE: Now Comes The Night
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
EMAIL: rosabeth@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-slash: Bruce/Dick
TIMELINE: Dick Grayson is still Robin, no sign of Batgirl
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: Violence
SUMMARY: Just slide over here/Leave your fear in the fray/Let us hold to each other/Till the end of our days
DISCLAIMER: They are DC Comics babies – I make no claim. Title and summary taken from Rob Thomas’s ‘Now Comes the Night’
NOTES: Firstly, I must make my apologies. I know very little about the DCverse, due to only being initiated through the films and some very good websites. This means that accepted canon and characterisation may be more than a little shaky and I welcome any constructive criticism to help me improve.
Secondly, this is the first in the Kythira Collection, a series of loosely connected stories that were written to, in and from Kythira, the lovely Greek island where I spend part of my Grecian holiday. So, whether sun-warmed, salt-sprayed or sleep-deprived, I ploughed on and this is the result!
Love to James, Lily and Sirius – you guys rock my world!
“I think you should be abed, Master Dick.”
He hadn’t moved. All the concentrated, passionate energy caged in black, the nervous, boyish excitement of the playboy ruse, or simply Bruce, the guardian he was too old for, the friend whose limits he constantly stretched and the man around which his entire world revolved – this force of nature, society, home was never still.
“Would he be sleeping, Alfred?” he heard himself say and even to his own ears, it sounded hollow, distant.
Only the barest movement of his chest, the slight quiver of his lips as he breathed – another victim of another crime in this desolate city of victims and crimes. But this wasn’t just any victim – this was Batman, caught for once off-guard because he had been trying to haul Robin out of yet another mess and hadn’t seen the thug come up behind him with a tire iron.
While Dick was still flailing off the side of the building, the guy had shattered bone and when Robin had finally learned to fly, his fury knew no bounds.
Breathing heavily amongst the downed heavies, he had unashamedly cried bitter tears over the crumpled form of his mentor as he’d splinted the broken arm and femur, autopilot medical training taking over, before dragging them both inelegantly back to the Batmobile.
The journey was a blur, the Cave a vague memory, his own split forehead mussing up time and space until it was forty-eight hours past and still no signs of movement from Bruce.
The large double bed of the master bedroom had never before seemed so foreboding and Dick, still half-dressed in his blooded Robin suit, felt like an intruder in this sanctuary, unwanted and out of place.
“I insist you rest, Master Dick. You have not slept, barely eaten – you have your own injuries to heal.”
“I’m not leaving, Alfred. He wouldn’t.”
A long-suffering sigh from the manservant – he had raised these two stubborn heroes and knew well the battlegrounds and artillery. Gently placing his hands on Dick’s shoulders, he encouraged him into an uneasy stand.
“Come now, Master Dick, there’s plenty of room. You can keep an eye while you rest a while. Off with those boots – you haven’t even changed, this won’t do – just climb in, easy now.”
Dick found himself pressed up against Bruce’s side, his uninjured arm draped loosely over Dick’s shoulder, protecting even in this illusion of sleep.
Different time, different place, Dick could pretend this was for real, that he had been invited, that Bruce willingly held him, protected, and softly, beautifully, kissed his forehead and told him he was loved.
Not this night.
~
From a dark place, Bruce Wayne knew this wasn’t real. Knew in his mind it was a dream, had pinched himself to prove it, but then – Dick’s startled yelp as he’d missed a defence, knocked clean off the top of a skyscraper, followed by a strangled cry as he’d grabbed at a gargoyle, youthful form smacked against the building. Behind his eyes, he saw that full mouth twist into a grimace, pupils darkening beyond the mask and one angry, weeping red line slashed into the pale forehead; he heard the harsh rattle of laboured breaths, the steady drip of blood against stone and, faintly, a panicked heartbeat running staccato with his own.
The stench of blood and sweat, the sharp scent of fear and he was at the edge, reaching for his Robin, desperate to bring him back to him. And a hundred times, a thousand, his hand was knocked away…too slow…too weak…just too far…
And he fell, betrayed eyes retreating down, down into the
It began again, but this time, he would escape, float free of this endlessly repeating hell and into…
The pain hit him in a wave, his wounds reporting in quick succession. His head, as if cleaved by an axe, his arm dull and deeply aching and his thigh in some kind of vice, a torture device that stuck him with pin after tack after nail – but this pure, breath-taking agony told him he was alive and he savoured every twinge, every burn.
Then he remembered Dick.
Just as his eyes flew open with a pained gasp, he registered the press of a warm vital form against his and tilting his throbbing head, he drank in the sleep-softened features of Dick Grayson.
He looked so absurdly young at rest, barely his seventeen years and Bruce felt wretched when the glow spread across his chest, the relief mixed with a sullying, inappropriate love that refused to fade. This was his ward, his protected, and even if his attentions were welcomed, he would be the worst kind of man to take advantage of such a beautiful, innocent young man.
Bruce took the time then to truly examine Dick, make sure he wasn’t suffering the terrible injuries that would speak of a horrific fall from a skyscraper, but they were nowhere to be seen. Just the stitched gash on his forehead and a magnificent bruise across his chest where the Robin suit had been peeled away. Hurt, yes, but not dead, not dead.
The rattle of silver and Bruce looked up, regretting the sharp movement instantly.
“Master Bruce, you’re awake! Oh, Master Dick will be pleased – perhaps now he will retire! But I forget myself – how are you feeling?”
“Battered,” admitted Bruce quietly,” but I’ll live. Is he okay?”
Almost unconsciously, his hand had slipped into Dick’s hair and the black waves clung to his fingers, holding on like Dick’s long, elegant fingers were gripping at his shirt.
“A little bruised, Master Bruce, but nothing serious. The young master is, however, on the insomniac’s crash diet, though I’m confidant that will be resolved now you are back with us.”
Bruce looked up at that, then back to the pinched pale face by his side. Dick was picking up his bad habits – but he could hardly say he was displeased. That his partner had driven himself to exhaustion was a cause for concern, but it also touched him in a place he had long thought cold – somewhere he had once called love.
“How long have I been out?”
“Just over two days, sir. I finally persuaded Master Dick to sleep last night. The toast was for him but I believe you should…”
Dick shifted then with a soft moan and Bruce’s grip instinctively tightened. Slowly, those cerulean eyes slid open and blinking to clear the fuzz of sleep, Dick seemed to get his bearings.
“Morning,” he muttered before full realisation hit him and he would have jumped clean out of the bed had Bruce not reflexively held onto him.
“Easy, Master Dick, you’re both a little fragile.”
Bruce watched as memories neatly slid into place behind Dick’s eyes and he relaxed back into Bruce’s side.
“How are you?” he said finally, and Bruce caught the familiar flood of guilt in those shadowed eyes and shifted his hand to cup Dick’s cheek.
“It wasn’t your fault, Dick.”
Shock then – that surprise coupled with secret pleasure at being known, being cared for.
“I…if I hadn’t…you don’t know that!” His voice was wretched now and he was weakly struggling to get away, but it wasn’t a particularly convincing resistance.
“I know that I’m here,” Bruce said firmly. “This means, I believe, that you pulled yourself to safety, defended me against stacked odds and conveyed us safely home. You are the hero I’ve always known you to be – I’m proud of you.”
Relief and muted joy replaced the doubt in his eyes and Dick gave him a tired smile.
“If I may, sirs, Master Dick should really change – in case of company. And I believe, Master Bruce, you require some medication?”
Bruce lowered his arm so Dick could slip away, but reached out to steady him when he stumbled tiredly into Alfred.
“A good meal wouldn’t go amiss either, hmm?” Alfred said reproachfully and Dick had the good grace to look abashed.
As he made to leave, Bruce suddenly seized his hand, causing Dick to turn.
“Come back? After?”
A genuine smile then and a slow nod before he moved slowly from the room.
In the lull between their exit and Alfred’s certain return with soup and a drugs trolley, Bruce took a moment to relish the real and precious knowledge that he could love, and was loved in return.
He vowed never to let that go.