Work Text:
Some stopped to pray, other’s still rejoiced.
Your enemies sang and allies sat in silent shock,
All were transfixed by harald's tidings
The King fell and the city wept
But I didn’t see the crown, I was focused
on the loss of the man beneath.
The sounds of New York washed over Dick as he walked. Honking horns of cars and the muffled roar of a million voices chatting and murmuring gave the city a constant buzzing sound that was almost a soothing white noise. Kory was walking quickly past people as they made their way to the café on 9th avenue. Dick watched her hair swing back and forth as it hung loosely down around her shoulders. The red, near flaming hair seemed like a beacon amongst the sea of black suits and grey concrete.
Dick was tired. He didn’t want to be out and about, but Kory had decided he’d been cooped up at the computers for too long.
“Your eyes will melt.” she had told him while dragging him out of the lab. He was waiting for a test to come back. He had hoped it would help him crack a particularly difficult case. Dick had only come up to the city to use some of the Titans’ equipment. He really shouldn’t be away and having fun, but Kory would hear no excuse.
“And so I told him, there was no way that that would work out-- you know what I mean?” Kory happily chatted to Dick as they walked. Dick smiled absently as he nodded. He couldn’t remember what she was talking about now, but her laugh was worth the time away from the case, he decided. It sounded like bells at Christmas time.
“So of course he jumped anyway.” Kory snorted and clapped her hands together, imitating a collision.
“Was Roy okay?” Dick asked nervously.
“Oh yeah. Wally put a net underneath it before he let him try and make the jump.” Kory smiled and tossed her hair away from her face quickly as wind blew it about her. “But you should have seen the look on Roy’s face.”
Dick laughed as Kory twisted hers into a mock horrified and twisted expression. It was as Kory turned to cross the street that Dick noticed it. Dick tried his best to not pay too much attention to newspapers. They tended to print less truth then he could hear from a Gotham drunk. But his mind seemed to subconsciously search for any mention of Bruce no matter how long the two of them had been distant.
No matter how many fights and arguments they had, Dick couldn’t stop himself from listening every time the name Bruce or Batman was whispered on the streets. He would find himself eavesdropping on the most benign conversations as people recounted tails from old tabloids. Dick had once found himself listening to two men discussing the Wayne Enterprise Stock values for five minutes before he had realized why he found the conversion necessary to listen to.
It was this same subconscious scanning and listening that made him notice it. Dick merely glanced at the headlines. It took a full minute for his mind to catch up with the strange reaction his body had. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the black and white print, uncomprehending. Bruce was…. Batman was-- Dick crossed the sidewalk, feeling as if his body were moving through water. The words were moving and dancing in his mind. It was like a scrambled word puzzle that he just couldn’t solve.
He pulled at the slightly rusted, red newspaper box as bile rose in his throat. The door didn’t open. He yanked at it harder. The door didn’t give. He put his other hand on the handle and threw all his weight back against it. The door didn’t open.
A warm gentle hand moved over his. Dick stopped yanking blindly at the handle. Kory dug her still free hand around her purse and pulled out a quarter. Wordlessly she dropped it into a small slot next to the handle. The door clicked open and the rusted box squeaked slightly as he pulled it open.
Kory reached inside after a moment, when Dick didn’t move. Now that there was nothing between him and the paper he felt unable to do it. To do the simple action of reaching out and taking it, seemed impossible, as if the task itself was herculean. Dick couldn’t figure out why he was panicking. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath was coming out in gasps. But his mind didn’t seem to understand why it was doing that. Why was he crying?
He could see the words but what it said made no sense. He pulled the paper out of her hands and looked at the letters. They should have been there. There was a photo, but he couldn’t look at it. It was like the image had been censored from his mind.
Dick didn’t understand what he was reading. Kory reached forward and pulled the paper from his hands.
“Dick-- I’m… I’m so sorry.” She moved to pull him to her, but he pushed her away. What did it say? What would make her sorry?
He grabbed at the paper again and smoothed it out. He read the words over and over again. There, printed in bold black words, were two words. Words he knew. Words that made sense separately but seemed an oxymoron together. It.. Batman. Yes Batman, Bruce. He knew that word. He knew that word intimately. He breathed that word in and out as if it were the most important thing in the world, and it was.
He was. He was the most.. He was… everything.
Dick choked back a sob. He couldn’t bring him to read the second word. No. He couldn’t be. He-- it was impossible.
Batman couldn’t be dead.
Dick’s hands shook so badly Kory reached out to pull the paper back away from him again. He stepped back and her hand fell short. It wasn’t enough. He hadn’t seen enough. He didn’t want to read it. He didn’t want to know anymore. But some part of him was screaming at him, to look, to see.
He had to know, as if knowing would somehow make it better. He knew it wouldn’t. He knew it the same way he had known reading his parent’s autopsy reports, when he found them on the batcomputer, wouldn’t help. He had done it anyway.
Bruce hadn’t even been mad at him when he found out that Dick had hacked into the encrypted file that held the report. He had only pulled Dick back from the computer monitor and led him upstairs. Bruce had hugged him and made him hot chocolate. Dick could still remember the taste of the burnt milk.
Dick felt a lump form in his throat. He had yelled at him. The last thing he had said to Bruce had been mean. “I don’t need you micromanaging me like an infant. I’m not Jason and I don’t need you to save me.” He could still remember the way Bruce had flinched. He hadn’t liked it. He had regretted the words the moment they had passed his lips, but Dick-- ever the coward-- had just left. He had left and that was the last thing he had said to his fath--
Kory pulled him forward into a hug. Dick let her this time. If he closed his eyes he could pretend it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. He let himself cry into her shoulder. It wasn’t fair. Why would the universe take from him over and over again. Hadn’t he paid it enough blood and tears? Perhaps he was doomed from the start to be left alone.
“Dick-- come on. Let's go home.”
He let Kory pull him down the street; he just focused on her hand in his. The way it felt, warm and alive .
She still was holding the paper in her other hand. He reached for it. He had to know. He couldn’t stand the not knowing. He pulled it out of her grasp and shook it open. He made himself look at that horrible page. Kory would make sure he didn’t walk into the busy street. He trusted her to guide him as they went.
Batman found pinned to a fence. The Dark knight of Gotham was found dead last night by two police officers during an unrelated investigation. Batman was found with one hand tied to a wooden fence post while the other was nailed to the fence. Batman was rushed to Gotham General where doctors spent several minutes trying to resuscitate the famed vigilante and hero of Gotham City. However, all attempts at resuscitation failed. Batman was declared dead. The Gotham City police have yet to make any comment on the identity of one of the founding members of the Justice League .
Dick blinked and stopped in his tracks. Oh God, he thought, panicked. Alfred . If word got out that Bruce was… Alfred would be at the house alone. He needed to move him. To get him to a secure location. Kory came to a halt next to him.
“Dick?” She was looking at him with watery green eyes. Dick wondered if she was crying for Bruce or him. Would anyone but him and Alfred cry for the man behind the mask? He had been cold and distant since Jason died. What few friends he’d had over the years had all but been pushed away.
“I--” Dick found it too hard to talk. His tongue felt awkward in his mouth, as if it were enlarged.
She turned so that she was in front of him, blocking the view of the street off. All there was was her and the article and that terrible photo. He couldn’t make himself look at it. He couldn’t face it. He still could see his mother’s arms disjointed and broken when he closed his eyes. He could still see the shape of the pool of blood that had spread beneath his fathers broken body.
Dick turned the paper over to look at the photo blown up across the front page. He stared at the cowl, he looked at the man who raised him’s face. He frowned, blinked and blinked again. Bruce didn’t have a mole on his neck.
Alfred hummed as he moved around the kitchen, it was just after nine. He had a full day planned. He was going to repot the flowers in the greenhouse. Well he was going to repot half of them. He really should have done it last week, but Master Dick had come by and Alfred couldn’t help but make him cookies.
It seemed so rare that he would make them at all. Master Bruce still wouldn’t touch them. Alfred thought that was because it made him think of Master Jason. Alfred shook himself. He had to repot flowers, and he needed to rebuff the floor in the east wing’s hall.
Yes, it had gotten marked from black boots and heavy loads of equipment. So he would repot the flowers, buff the floor and he needed to dust the library again. It was getting musty, Master Bruce had been sounding stuffy the other day. It had to be the dust. If it wasn’t the dust-- No. Master Bruce had been stuffy from dust. Alfred nodded to himself as he set out a tray. Master Bruce had come out of the library sniffling because, Alfred needed to dust in there. It hadn’t been from cr-- It was from dust. Alfred set down a plate of eggs on the tray and rummaged in the refrigerator for orange juice.
Alfred didn’t want-- couldn’t handle it if Master Bruce-- if he was… No. It was just dust. Alfred could handle dust.
Alfred glanced at the coffee still brewing and went to get the paper from the front porch. He snatched it up quickly, tucking it under his arm as he slowly made his way back to the kitchen. The clock in the hall was ticking steadily as he went. Just as he entered the kitchen the coffee maker chimed signaling the end of the brewing cycle. He set down the paper on the tray next to the still steaming eggs without a backwards glance. Alfred quickly snatched up the pot and poured it smoothly into a mug and added to lumps of sugar.
He made it all the way to the stairs before he looked down. The second step on the stairwell was slightly uneven, from when Jason had tried to roller skate inside and knocked a rather heavy marble statue onto the steps. Neither Master Bruce nor Alfred had the heart to fix it.
It was as he was looking down to ensure he didn’t miss-step that he noticed it. Batman was stamped across the front of the paper. Alfred snorted and shifted so that the tray was held in one hand. He pushed the paper over so that he could read the other side of the headline.
The tray fell with a crash. Alfred neither worried or cared for the broken crockery, food and coffee that fell about the stairs in a mess. His heart was far too fragile for this hurt that was surging through him. Alfred hated to raise his voice. In fact he often told the boy’s hollering was beneath a gentleman.
Alfred screamed. “Bruce!”
He tore up the steps faster than he had since Dick had been young and plagued with nightmares.
He threw open the door to the master suite, still shouting. “Bruce!”
The bed was empty and still made. Bruce had never made it back, he had never slept. Alfred turned. He stumbled back down the hall and to the stairs. He fumbled on the last steps only catching himself on the hand rail at the last moment.
He didn’t stop longer than needed to right himself. Alfred made it to the clock quickly. His fingers shook as he tried to spin the hands into place. He cursed as he overcorrected the minute hand, and had to spin it around again. The clock swung forward and Alfred shoved it aside, making it pop off the track slightly.
“Bruce!” His voice broke as he ran down the stone steps. He stumbled as his heel caught the edge of one. He fell back, and stuck the stones hard. His teeth rattled against each other as he fell to the ground. He blinked once, then again. He was on his feet again before he even noticed the pain. Every step hurt. But he didn’t think it was his back or legs that gave him pain. No, the pain seemed to be centric to his chest cavity.
Alfred turned the corner that brought the main cavern into sight.
He could have sworn his heart stopped. There was no figure at the computer. There was no Batman half asleep leaning on his arms as he looked at endless documents. Alfred let out a sound that didn’t sound human.
“Alfred?” A panicked cry came from behind him and he spun and swayed dangerously.
Alfred didn’t dare breath. Bruce was running towards him, his hair wet and a towel hastily tucked around him.
“Alfred?” Bruce was still moving, but Alfred had frozen. He was too busy drinking in the way Bruce’s chest moved, the way his eyes were wide and filled with fear. He was enraptured by the beauty of it all. Bruce was alive and it was the single most wonderful thing Alfred had ever seen.
Bruce’s hands were pulling him over to a chair, pushing him down and running over him looking for injuries. Alfred didn’t care for what they did, it was enough to see them. It was a miracle that they were moving. His hands were warm and callused. Alive.
“Alfred what’s wrong?” Bruce was kneeling in front of him with eyes wide as saucers.
Alfred just reached forward and put his hands on either side of Bruce’s face. “I--” He closed his mouth and just looked into the lined and tired face. He still looked like the small boy he had brought home the horrible night all those years ago. His eyes were still just as blue and sad.
“Alfred, you’re scaring me.”
The words weren’t complex but they seemed to be more impactful than any elegant stanza. Alfred pushed down the fear and hurt. He always had. “The paper, sir.”
Bruce stood and turned the computer pulling up the Gotham Gazette online. He stared at the headline and turned to Alfred slowly.
“It wasn’t me.” He said slowly, as if his presence here wasn’t confirmation enough.
Bruce strode forward and hesitated for a brief moment. He bent down and wrapped Alfred in a tight hug. Alfred stiffened slightly. He hated himself for it. He had never been good with showing affection in a physical way. He had spent too many years not trusting anyone and worrying that his coworkers were double agents ready to stab him in the back. He knew it was a fatal flaw. He knew he had given Bruce the same difficulty in expressing his feelings, from years of his distant behavior. But some fears had stayed with him even after all these years.
Losing Bruce, losing the boys was even worse than any old fear. One he prayed he would never face again. Jason had broken them all. But Bruce, Alfred didn’t think he could survive that.
“I’m sorry.” Alfred leaned forward and pulled Bruce closer. He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but Bruce seemed to relax in his grip slightly.
They stayed like that until the phone rang. Bruce pulled away slowly eyeing Alfred with an odd expression.
Alfred didn’t pay much attention to Bruce as he answered the phone.
“Dick?” Bruce’s voice sounded thick. “No. I’m okay. I-- I just saw the paper myself. I’m-- Oh chum.”
Alfred looked up from his chair as Bruce sank down to sit on the top of the batcomputer desk. He was holding his face in one hand as he held the phone with the other. Alfred could just hear the muffled sobs on the other end of the line. Alfred watched Bruce mutter soft reassurances to his son over the phone.
Slowly and stiffly, Alfred stood. “I’ll make us some tea, I think.”
Bruce glanced up at him with a mournful look, and mouthed “for three.”
Alfred nodded. Yes . He could do with a full kitchen. Even if it was brought about by a rather upsetting start to the day.
Bruce sat watching both Alfred and Dick shoot him nervous glances every few minutes. The pot of tea on the table had long gone cold, but no one moved to pour a new one or even just dump the cold tea out.
Bruce shifted uncomfortably under the weight of guilt. He wanted to slip away and pretend the morning hadn’t happened. But Dick’s face was still patchy and red, and Alfred… He couldn’t leave him alone, not after he’d had such a bad fall. He wished Alfred would go to the hospital or at least allow him to run the x-ray down stairs. But he insisted he was fine and a cup of tea would have him right as rain in no time.
Bruce had made up his mind to take him to the clinic after Dick went home, unless Alfred got worse before then.
Dick was uncharacteristically quiet and perhaps that was the most disturbing part of sitting here. Bruce knew the paper had shaken him. He had heard enough of the fall out over the phone to know his son had thought it real, even if for just the briefest of moments. It had felt real and Bruce knew that pain all too well. It was that pain that had brought them together in the first place.
Bruce finally stood and snatched up the tea pot. He moved about, careful to never leave Alfred’s line of sight in the kitchen, as he refilled the kettle and pulled out fresh ice packs. Dick was looking down at his hands folded in his lap. He would glance at Bruce but never really look at him. Bruce set down his cup of tea harder in front of him then he meant to.
Dick glanced up and Bruce caught his gaze finally. Dick swallowed and hastily looked down again.
“Dick?” Bruce sighed, standing by his shoulder unsure if he should try and pull him into a hug or just sit next to him. Dick hadn’t liked his attempts at closeness lately. But that was more Bruce’s fault, he knew. He was chafing him. But Bruce didn’t know how to try and show interest without helping. Dick didn’t want help. And so, Bruce was stuck constantly feeling out of place.
Dick shook his head slightly.
“Dick, you don’t have to-- you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to be here.”
Bruce stuttered to a halt as Dick flinched. It had been the wrong thing to say.
Dick pushed back his chair and stood, stumbling slightly. Alfred made an odd noise at the back of his throat, and moved to stand but winced.
Bruce stepped forward and grabbed Dick by his shoulders. “I don’t want you to leave. I just-- You look uncomfortable and I don’t know what to do.”
Dick’s eyes were wide and bloodshot from crying. He looked so much like that young boy Bruce had brought home. He looked just as scared and lost.
“I--” Dick choked slightly on the words. “I don’t know what to say either.”
Alfred was looking at the two of them, his mustache wavering slightly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see the headlines and call to tell you it wasn’t true, chum.” Bruce said, squeezing his shoulders slightly.
Dick shook his head again. “That’s not your fault. I just--” Dick turned away, pulling himself from Bruce’s grasp.
Bruce’s hands dropped to his sides.
“Are you mad at me?” The words felt like acid on his tongue. He hated them. He hated that he couldn’t even tell anymore. He should know the boy-- man before him. He had once know him better than himself.
Dick turned back, a look of horror on his face. “No!”
Alfred jumped slightly at the outburst but Bruce couldn’t look away from Dick.
“I’m mad at me.”
Bruce blinked.
“I said-- I was so mean and-- What if the last thing I said to you was… was that I didn’t need you and that-- I don’t blame you for Jason, B.” Dick was looking at him with tears staining his face. “I know you tried. I didn’t mean what I said.”
Bruce’s mouth had never seemed so useless. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be enough. He couldn’t think how to express that he didn’t care what Dick said to him, it wouldn’t change anything. He could never be mad at Dick. He had been hurt by the words yes, but he had seen the look on Dick’s face the moment he said them and knew that he hadn’t meant it to come out like that.
His mouth opened and closed several times like a fish floundering on the deck of a ship. Dick began to turn away again and Bruce moved without thinking. He grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and pulled him to his chest. Dick clung to him, barring his face in his shoulder. He was so big , Bruce thought. When had he gotten so big? It felt like just last week that Dick was asking if he could ride on his shoulders.
Dick was crying and Bruce didn’t know how to fix it. There was no toy to replace, no case to solve for him, there was nothing he could do . Bruce looked over Dick’s shoulder at Alfred and noted the tears falling down the man’s face. There was nothing Bruce could do to stop them from hurting. Even though it hadn’t been real, it still hurt. And someday, someday soon even, it could be real.
He couldn’t stop them from hurting when that day came. Perhaps it would only be true today, but he still held Dick tighter and looked at Alfred with a steady gaze.
“I-- I’m still here.”