Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Collections:
alternate yk ೃ࿔, Alternative Universes of Fandoms I enjoy., Bad Things Happen Bingo, BAMF Stories recommendation list, Batfam, Batman fics, Best BatFam Fics on AO3, dc!
Stats:
Published:
2025-12-19
Words:
3,938
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
124
Kudos:
617
Bookmarks:
110
Hits:
4,091

Why'd you have to chase the light, somewhere I can't go?

Summary:

"Why are you here, Nightwing?" Superman's voice was calm but firm as he spoke. He didn't even turn around, all his attention on the man lying on the bed, gripping his hand. He touched him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Dick didn't want to look: Bruce shouldn't be like this, immobile, surrounded by machinery.

"I'm here for him," Dick said, standing in front of the bed, still looking at Superman, because he couldn't see his father Bruce in that way.

Superman made a contemptuous noise, completely out of place for him, "And obviously, you're alone. Where are the others? Minding their own business?"

Dick curled his lip, defensive. "Someone had to stay in Gotham, you know."

"If my father had been saved from a cult that wanted to sacrifice him to an alien god, I'd be right there with him," the alien said angrily. "But apparently, he doesn't even deserve that grace, does he?"

 

(Batman was a legend. Batman was invincible. But Bruce Wayne was just a man, and Dick wasn't ready to face the chance of seeing another parent die, without being able to tell him he didn't hate him.)

Notes:

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Work Text:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Dick's line of work, he had often found himself doing things he didn't want to: identifying corpses, fighting for his own life, defusing the bomb placed around his younger brother's neck, seeing an entire city destroyed...

 

The list was very long, really. But at the top of the list, in first place, was having to see someone from his family injured and assisting them in the hospital.

 

Above all, Bruce. He should never have been there. 

 

"Why are you here, Nightwing?" Superman's voice was calm but firm as he spoke. He didn't even turn around, all his attention on the man lying on the bed, gripping his hand. He touched him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Dick didn't want to look: Bruce shouldn't be like this, immobile, surrounded by machinery.

 

Dick leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, ignoring the lump in his throat and how tight his chest felt. The infirmary was too bright—sterile lights bouncing off white tile, the hum of machines louder than any heartbeat. Bruce looked small beneath the sheets, wires snaking under his hospital gown, his face slack in unnatural sleep. Dick had seen him injured before, but never like this. Never still.

 

"I'm here for him," Dick said, standing in front of the bed, still looking at Superman, because he couldn't see his father Bruce in that way.

 

Superman made a contemptuous noise, completely out of place for him, "And obviously, you're alone. Where are the others? Minding their own business?"

 

Dick curled his lip, defensive. "Someone had to stay in Gotham, you know."

 

"If my father had been saved from a cult that wanted to sacrifice him to an alien god, I'd be right there with him," the alien said angrily. "But apparently, he doesn't even deserve that grace, does he?"

 

"He isn't..."

 

"What? Isn't he the man who raised you? The one who bled for you? Cried for you? Who fears he's not doing enough for all of you?" Superman demanded, full of venom. "Isn't that all he is? Oh, wait, I forgot. He's a control freak with no regard for anyone's privacy, right? He's just Damian's sperm donor, not his real dad..."

 

"Jason exaggerated," Dick interrupted, a sour feeling in his stomach, the way Superman chose that moment to dig up that old joke he and the others had between them. Just a joke, nothing more, to irritate Bruce a little when he got too annoying, "He was just trying to tease him, and it got out of hand, and..."

 

"Out of hand? Really? And you corrected him, Dick?"

 

"Clark, it was just a..."

 

"Did you correct Jason or whoever called you Damian's father when Bruce was within earshot? Did you?" the hero insisted, and under his gaze Dick felt himself again the twelve-year-old rookie who met his idol.

 

"No..."

 

"And why not?" Clark pressed him, his eyes half-closed towards Dick.

 

"Clark, really, it's not..."

 

"Because you liked it, deep down. Because you saw it as a way to spite your father, and you encouraged it, in front of him. You, who didn't want anyone to replace your dad, did it to Bruce!"

 

"I didn't replace Bruce..." Dick weakly tries to say, but Superman won't let him finish.

 

"Where is Damian now?" Superman's eyes were red as he asked, "He's twelve, he certainly can't live alone. Where has he been since he ran away, months ago? "

"At my place..."

 

"And you thought about telling Bruce?"

 

"He already knew..."

 

"Did you think about telling Bruce his son was with you?"

 

No, the truth was that Dick hadn't. But he had Damian to think about, and he understood the boy's anger, he understood what he needed, and he wanted to give it to him. It was just a matter of letting him stay with him until things calmed down, it was always like that. He wanted to give his sibilings a safe place to go if they needed it. What was wrong with that?

 

Oh, who knows, a venomous voice decided to intervene, Maybe because you left Bruce alone, again, without any support, without Alfred, when he's always been there for you? If you had tried to contact him before, he wouldn't be like this now. If you had, you would have realized much sooner that he was in danger.

 

And here's the cold, hard truth: none of this would have happened if Dick had been better.

 

Superman ran his free hand over his eyes. "Two months of no contact, Dick. Two. Months. And you didn't think that was weird? Didn't you think it wasn't like him not to want to see his son all that time?"

 

He had thought so, actually. But with Damian so angry, he'd assumed the fight had been so bad that it was better if the two weren't in the same place for a while. It was to protect Damian, Dick said to himself. It was all for Damian. Things hadn't been easy after Alfred's death, and he knew what it felt like. Damian needed him.

 

Yes, but who was protecting Bruce? 

 

"I... I thought he was listening, for once...to Damian and… to Jason and Tim. They told him that... that he had to... back off... for once... because he was overdoing, always so... so..."

 

"So overbearing," Superman spat the word angrily. "What a surprise he was worried about his kids, when one of them died in his arms, and the other lost an organ trying to bring him back. Of course, just call him a paranoid freak, it's not like he had any reason to be worried!"

 

"You know how he tends to get..."

 

"I know, and I know he does it out of love. I know he doesn't know how to express his affection in other ways. I know he is like that, and I love him for it."

 

Such a simple word shouldn't have upset Dick so much, but the confidence with which Clark had said it, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, made him feel even more unworthy.

 

Because for him, loving Bruce had always felt like a betrayal of his parents, like a further wrong to their memory.

 

It had never come easy to him to love Bruce, and it was easy to blame the man. Bruce was a difficult man, after all.

 

But the truth was that Dick had never allowed himself to love him without it seeming wrong.

 

"I was the one who found him, Dick. As soon as I realised something was wrong, I looked for him. And I didn't have your help. You didn't even notice. You didn't care."

 

"We care!" Dick exclaimed, the words feeling like ash in his mouth, words meaningless because there were no facts to support them.

 

Everyone had remained focused on their own business, even glad that Bruce wasn't interfering, continuing their lives as if nothing was happening.

 

 And how terrible must it have been for Bruce after the first few days, seeing that no one was coming for him? Not seeing Dick come for him?

What kind of bastard would do that to the man he owed everything to?

 

This was crystal clear to Superman, "Really? You care? You? The one who overstepped in a role that wasn't his? The one who always justifies everyone else, but never his father? The one who's happy to have his brother at home even if he carries guns, and who cares if Bruce doesn't approve?"

 

"Bruce's a hypocrite, he knows how to use guns..." he tried to say, but Superman had nothing of Dick's shit excuse.

 

"Because it's his way of gaining control over his trauma, Dick. His parents were killed in front of him, at eight years old, by a gun. And your brother, the one you defend tooth and nail, uses the same model as the one that destroyed his life."

 

Dick gasped, feeling out of breath. "It's not the same...Jason wouldn't..."

 

"What, he wouldn't stoop so low to hurt Bruce? Are you sure? We're talking about the man who planted a bomb under the Batmobile, and even if he did it when he wasn't thinking clearly, it doesn't change the fact that he did a lot of unforgivable things. Things you forgave him for, in the end. But you never did that to Bruce, not even once. You all ignore his boundaries, thinking they make no sense, not even listening to him, arguing until he's the one who has to apologise because he doesn't feel comfortable. And every time he thinks he's the problem, because how else would you explain all this hatred? It never occurred to him that he's just dealing with a bunch of worthless kids..."

 

"Don't you dare insult my family, Superman," he snarled. "Don't you dare."

 

Superman remained unfazed, "I see you jump to their defence right away. You never did that when Hal or Oliver said things like that to Bruce."

 

Dick opened his mouth. He closed it again. Superman thinned his lips. "Of course you didn't. He's still unworthy, isn't he? Even after all these years, he's never enough. He has his flaws, but he's always stood up for you and the others. I can't say you've done the same."

 

"I...why are you telling me all this?"

 

"Because someone had to tell you. And because I don't want him to die without at least one of you apologising."

 

Dick felt his blood run cold. "He won't die. He can't."

 

"There's been too much damage. Ray and Barry are trying to identify the substance the cultists gave him, but even if they did, no one knows if he'll wake up afterwards..."

 

His voice broke, unable to continue, the anger replaced by a rawer emotion: grief.

 

It took Clark a while to get back to speaking. "I was hoping everyone would come. But I know you all too well to get my hopes up. You were my safest bet, but even so, you came after a week."

 

Dick had been busy. It was true. He was busy with the Titans, then with Kory, then...

 

Who was he kidding? He was stalling. He didn't want to go and get Bruce's dark looks, because he believed that Bruce was conscious, and pissed off at best, and he didn't want to argue after a shitty period. But now, Dick won't get any more gloomy looks, or angry nods, or tight lips, nothing at all,  because Bruce was dying, his children weren't there, because... because in the end, that was Bruce, he was always there for them, it was a given, right?

 

No one else had come because Batman was a myth, someone more than man, it was inconceivable to think that he could die. It was a mistaken certainty, they should have known. Everyone died.

And Bruce was just a man. A man who was always there.

 

Even after furious arguments, weeks of not speaking, even when they joked about Dick and Damian's relationship, even when they told him he was annoying.

 

Even when they walk around his damn house with the guns that killed his parents.

 

And it was at that moment that it struck him. When was the last time one of them had talked to Bruce without arguing? Or without yelling at him?

 

He didn't remember the last time he'd talked to Bruce without there being a crisis going on or a patrol.

 

Bruce will die thinking that none of them cared, that the child he wanted so much didn't consider him a parent, with the angry last words of Jason, Tim, and Damian, Steph's teasing, Cass's silence, Duke's indifference...

 

At that point, Dick broke down and cried.

 

He cried for his father (how many times hadn't he wanted to call him that? How many times had he yelled at him, saying he'd never be like John? And Clark was right, he was a hypocrite, because he'd done the same thing he accused Bruce of, and... and he can't even make up for it. He can't, he can't...)

 

Clark looked at him, without offering a word of comfort, knowing that sometimes there are things you simply can't forgive.

 

Dick wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, his skin raw and tight from crying.

 

"I can't do this alone," he finally managed to say, voice rough, gesturing weakly toward Bruce's still form. "I'll... I'll talk to the others. They'll come. They have to."

 

Superman's grip tightened infinitesimally on Bruce's hand, a silent conversation Dick wasn't privy to. "He wanted that, you know," Clark said quietly.

 

"What?" Dick wiped his nose with his sleeve." An apology?"

 

"Bruce thought that he deserved every cruel word," Clark murmured, running a thumb over Bruce's limp knuckles. "Every barb about being Damian's sperm donor, every time Jason called him a controlling bastard. He never fought back because he thought that was all he was worth."

 

Dick's breath hitched. The IV line trembled where it was taped to Bruce's arm, the only movement in the sterile silence. Clark's gaze lifted, heavy with something Dick had never seen in Superman before: raw, unfiltered contempt. "What he actually wanted? Was to have all his children with him, for once. Just once."

 

The words landed like a knife between Dick's ribs. He remembered suddenly, the way Bruce's hands would linger half a second too long when adjusting Damian's cape, how he'd stand at the cave's entrance after patrols, watching Jason's motorcycle disappear down the tunnel.

 

 Always waiting. Always left behind.

 

What a great fucking joke that this time he's going to be the one to leave them all behind.

 

 

 

 

The cave was in chaos, full of voices as it had not been for a long time. Stephanie was playing with a batarang, listening bored to Tim talk about a new case he was working on, Damian looking longingly at the training dummies, with Cassandra and Duke taking his attention away from there because there were times when things were beaten and others when you had to wait, and this was definitely part of the second category.

Jason was the last to arrive, parking his motorcycle with a screech of tires echoing off the stalactites. His helmet came off with a sharp jerk, revealing the familiar scowl. "I've got better things to do than welcome the old man back from another one of his space adventures just to get yelled at for something," he muttered, tossing the helmet onto a nearby console. Stephanie grinned, leaning back in her chair with exaggerated nonchalance. "Oh, come on, Jaybird, why should you be the only one to skip daddy's lecture? Leave the rest of us to suffer?"

Damian rolled his eyes, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Father's lectures are warranted, given the incompetence displayed by certain individuals." Jason shot him a glare, but before he could retort, Tim cut in, spinning in his chair. "Relax, Damian. Bruce isn't even here yet..."
"Unless Dick's hiding him in his cape," Stephanie added. The laughter was cut short as Dick stepped into the cave’s dim light, shadows clinging to the hollows under his eyes. Stephanie turned, still smirking. "Oh, you are alone. Is Bruce coming? Or is he too busy preparing his patented disappointed silence routine?"

Dick’s fingers twitched. He swallowed hard, but his voice still cracked. "Bruce isn’t..." The cave fell silent. Jason scoffed. "Christ, Dickface, spit it out. What’d the old man do this time? Send you ahead to guilt-trip us?"

Stephanie’s chair creaked as she leaned forward, fingers gripping the armrests. "Dick?" His exhale was ragged. Damian took half a step back, shoulders tightening. "Grayson...?"

"We had to go to the Watchover?" Cassandra asked, while Duke grimaced, "Urgh, I didn't want Hal Jordan to see me scolded as if I were a child."

"Bruce would never let you go alone," Jason added, stretching lazily. "So unless he has something to complain about, he should do it here and not drag us all the way to space."

"Yes, he would never leave his only nephew's father alone..."

"Stop it."

The abrupt interruption surprises everyone. Dick clenched his fist, as if looking for something to hold onto.

"It was a stupid joke from the beginning. It's not fun. I love Damian. I love all of you," his voice cracked, "but he isn't my son. Bruce is his father. Our father. Even when we fight...especially when we fight...he's still…" His throat closed around the rest, but no one needed the words. The cave’s silence pulsed like an open wound.

Jason’s boots scraped against stone as he took a step closer, gloves creaking around clenched fists. "What the hell, Dick?" His voice was too loud, frayed at the edges. "You're talking like he's..." The realisation hit like a cattle prod. His breath stuttered. "Oh, fuck. Fuck no."

"Jason..."

"Don't use that tone with me. Don't try... fuck!"

Stephanie looked between the two without understanding, while Jason seemed to be on the verge of having a crisis. She said, "Okay, Jason likes to be dramatic, but you're all acting like Bruce is dead or something..."

She saw Dick's expression, the way he avoided looking at her, and had to lean on the Batcomputer's console for support. Duke said again, voice rough, "That's not a funny joke, Steph. And if that's Bruce's idea of fun, it sucks."

Jason snarled, "Bruce would never joke like that. He hates..." His voice cracked. Damian's fingers dug into Dick's sleeve. "Grayson. What does Todd mean?"

Dick exhaled sharply, "The cultists...they injected him with something. A neurotoxin resistant to magic. To medicine." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Even with the League working on it...they don’t know if...if they could save him..."

Damian whirled around, his cape snapping violently as he grabbed his sword from its sheath. "Then we waste no time. I will retrieve grandfather immediately—he will grant access to a Lazarus pit." His voice was steel, but his fingers trembled against the hilt. "Father will not..."

Die. Bruce won't die. But Damian didn't say it.

No one wanted to say it out loud. Because if they did, they would have to recognize that Batman was ultimately just a human being. And that they had failed.

Damian's sword trembled slightly in his grip, the blade catching the dim cave lighting. "Grandfather will assist us," he insisted, voice tighter than usual. "He has resources—connections—that even the League cannot access." Tim's fingers froze over the Batcomputer's keyboard, his face eerily blank in the monitor's blue glow. "After I detonated half of Nanda Parbat's reserves," he said slowly, "Ra's relocated the remaining pits. And we both know he doesn't do favors."

"He will do it, he has to do it, he..."

"He's going to want something from Bruce, Damian," Tim looked at him with a mixture of pity and pain, "A price Bruce would never pay. We can't do that to them."

"So let's let him... we leave him..."

"Superman wants us to go see it," Dick said, his voice flat, controlled, "He wants us... we talk to him... before... before."

"He will not die. Father can't... can't! He's Batman!" Damian exclaimed, as if that was enough to ward off the specter of death. Batman couldn't die. It was inconceivable. But Batman could have been replaced. Batman was just a cowl. Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

Dick had realised this too late.

"I'm sorry, Damian. There is nothing else to do. "

It seemed like the world was ending.

"I don't remember," Damian whispered, his fingers tightening in Dick's jacket. "I don't remember why we fought. How is it possible not to remember?"

Dick squeezed his shoulder, feeling the tremors running through the boy's small frame. "It's okay, Dami. Fights happen. Bruce knew..."

"I told him I hated him," Damian choked out, voice splintering like thin ice underfoot. His fingers twisted in Dick's jacket. "I said...I said you were more of a father to me than he'd ever be." Dick's breath stuttered, a dull ache spreading behind his ribs. "You don't mean that," he murmured, but Damian shook his head violently. "I know you're not," he hissed, "But I wanted to hurt him. And it worked."

The cave's stale air thickened with unspoken grief. Jason's helmet hit the ground with a hollow clang as he strode toward the weapons locker. The metallic screech of his guns being torn from their holsters made Tim flinch. Dick watched from the corner of his eye as Jason hurled them into the depths of the cave—the same model that had stolen Bruce's parents, now discarded too late. A bitter thought curled in Dick's throat: Should've done that years ago. But recriminations wouldn't stitch Bruce back together.

"I should have apologised, " Damian muffled, the voice so tiny, "I didn't. I wanted...I didn't know what I wanted...and now...father will die...and the last thing that I said to him was that I hated him..."

Tim's fingers dug into his own arms as if the pressure could hold him together. His mind raced: the last time he'd seen Bruce, he'd snapped at him for hovering over his case files, accused him of treating him like a child. Bruce hadn't even argued back, just nodded silently and walked away. At the time, Tim had felt victorious. Now the memory tasted like bile. It was three months ago. His last conversation with his dad was three damn months ago. 

What kind of son was he?

(The answer was obvious. He was the son of his parents. He was like Jack and Janet. In the worst possible way.)

Cassandra didn't remember. She had only been to the cave for the patrols, then with Barbare, but never with her father. Duke was always with his parents, but what was the point of being with someone who didn't recognise him when someone was waiting for him at home?

 

Stephanie stood up abruptly, knocking her chair backward with a sharp clatter, her fists clenched white-knuckled against her thighs. "There has to be a way," she insisted, voice wavering between desperation and defiance. "Bruce...he's cheated death before. We'll find a way. We always do."

Jason didn't even look at her as he slid a knife from his belt, flipping it absently between his fingers. "This isn't one of those cases, Blondie," he said, tone eerily detached. "We've reached the end of the line. There's no way to cheat this one. And if there were... I doubt he’d want us anymore."

Stephanie whirled on him, eyes blazing. "You're such a fucking asshole," she spat, but Jason just shrugged, the motion too casual to be anything but agony in disguise. "I'm stating facts. Who the hell would want to deal with people who despise you so much they never check on you because they assumed you were respecting their space? We practically left him to die. " The words hung like a noose.

Stephanie flinched, her voice cracking. "We didn't hate him." Cassandra stepped forward then, silent but unwavering, her hand brushing Stephanie's trembling wrist in agreement. "No," she signed, sharp and sure. "Never hate. But does he know?"

The cave seemed to shrink around them, the weight of that unanswered question pressing against their ribs like a vice. 

And Dick hated the feeling, but he knew it. He knew that they would never know the answer, they...

A signal came from the Batcomputer. It was Superman from the Watchtower. He didn't want to, but Dick answered.

He wished he hadn't.

 

 

Works inspired by this one: